#since his voice dropped we sound fucking identical hello

[goodeapple]

be nice to your neighbors.

i have a million and two wip's in my Ysilla folder and somehow, i have to add one more.

i am an exhausting person. love y'all lots!

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Aemond is a simp & Ysilla is a plant nerd. Awkward flirting. Fluff. No smut :(

word count : 2,500+

It’s so fucking early. What self-respecting tattoo shop is open at 7AM on a Sunday? On God’s day? Aegon hasn’t stepped foot in a church since he was thirteen which explains the hours, but why the fuck is Aemond here and not him?

Aemond wasn’t exactly planning on going to church today, but maybe if he had the option, his ass would be in a pew next to his mother right now instead of perfecting a sketch for an appointment that isn’t even until next week. His Americano is lukewarm, steam long blown away by the small oscillating fan tucked up on a high shelf. A row of overstuffed books, on everything from Classic Americana design to Valyrian legends he wants to detail on paper, fill up the rest of the ledge. The next one down houses a line of knick knacks he could never force himself to part with- a tiny tacky snowglobe from Harrenhal, his grandfather’s Hand of the King pin from when he was in the courts, 8-tracks from his mum’s rebellious punk phase before she went to college, and at the end, a framed photo of him and his siblings the day they opened the shop. Three identical terrified grins are spread over their faces, nervous anticipation bleeding through the black-and-white snapshot. Little pieces of his life in his little corner of the world, where he gets to do what he loves. 

And the most important little worm to him sleeps the day away in her glass vivarium by the door. Vhagar lounges under her UV bulb, baking on a large smooth stone after inhaling her breakfast. His little crocodile without the teeth. The soft garden green bearded dragon with her yellow belly has been his constant companion since he rescued her from a Oldtown pet shop when he was a pre-teen. He hid her under his bed for a full seven months before his mum found her one day when she was searching for missing socks. It was an impressive feat, one even she had to acknowledge after blowing her fucking top. 

Aemond darkens the curve of the kraken tentacle he’s sketching, a piece for a client coming all the way from the Iron Isles. The little suction cups still need more depth and he hasn’t even begun to flesh out the texture of the skin yet when the bell hanging above the shop door tinkles, signifying an end to his blissful solitude. 

“Hello? Helaena, you here?” 

Aemond drops his pencil, shoving off from his desk, grumbling as he goes. There’s still a hint of sleep in his eye and he rubs it away as he walks up the hall to the lobby. 

“We don’t take walk-in’s on the weekends and we don’t have any appointments scheduled ‘till 9. So, are you sight-seeing or are you just overly punctual?” He doesn’t mean to sound like a dick, it just comes second nature. 

The back of the head that greets him as he blinks open his eye is a pretty one, thick brunette curls pinned up with gold butterfly clips. The girl abandons the magazine she’d been leafing through, turning at the sound of his voice. The wide-eyed look that’s spread over her face emphasizes plum-shaded irises, framed by palm leaf eyes. There’s a pair of beauty marks peppered on the dawn of her cheekbone. A rosy mocha mouth is pouted before it curves up into a charming bend of itself. 

“I’m sorry, I'm not here to get any work done. I was just coming in to give something to Helaena.” The woman shimmies the large gift bag held tight in her fist as proof. “I’m a friend.”

Aemond shrugs off his disappointment. “Oh, my bad.” She’d be a gorgeous canvas. The golden brown of her skin would take color like a fucking champ. Black would be even better. Really make the contrast pop. The smooth peak of her shoulders from underneath the oversized cream cardigan she wears is a tantalizing taste of something he wants to indulge in. “She’s not here yet.”

Her expression collapses and Aemond regrets causing such a look to dim her face. “Oh damn, she told me she’d be in at this time.” 

Aemond thinks maybe he should call his big sister, considering he hasn’t received her standard “i’ll be there in 10, I PROMISE 10 MINUTES AEMMY!!” text today, when the girl’s face blooms into one of recognition.

“You’re Aemond, right?” 

“Uh, yeah- yes, yes I am.” He coughs, straightening up a bit, manners braided into every core memory he possesses. His mom is, in Aegon’s terms, a “tightass”, but damn him if he doesn’t know how to treat a woman.

“I always see you coming in and out of here, and well, you and Hel and Aegon all look alike, so I put two and two together and made four that you’re the missing piece of Three Headed Dragon.”  She gestures to the air, implying she’s speaking about the name of the shop. The gold chains layered around her neck, some with pendants and some without, jingle with her movement. Aemond likes the softness of the sound. “And when she came in for a succulent recommendation a few months back, I asked about you and she told me your name, and… yeahhh. I just didn’t want you to think I was some weirdo who’s been waiting for the perfect moment to get you alone.” 

“Oh no, I wouldn’t think that.” Aemond looks very serious, even knitting his brows in a thick, no-nonsense line, but he has to bite his lip to keep from snickering, which she notices. 

She breathes out a laugh, dipping her head in surrender. She turns to the entrance, and Aemond is worried she might leave. He doesn’t mind her company, which is a miracle considering the hour. 

“Hey-”

“Is this your’s?” She points to the hyperrealistic direwolf stencil he’d cranked out last year during an artist’s block that he couldn’t shake for the life of him. The piece is gruesome, wicked lines and keen edges that intimidate even him, and he drew the damn thing. 

“Uh, yeah. Good guess.” The black frames adorning the gallery wall are a mixture of his and Aegon’s work, all in varying shades of grays and blacks. His brother’s signature new school style is easily distinguishable to Aemond, but he admits some of their earlier sketches are more uniform than not.

“You do beautiful work.”

Aemond’s eyebrows raise and he lets the compliment warm him.

“I appreciate that. Many wouldn’t call that beautiful, but I think it has a certain magnetism to it.” He looks the woman over, using the excuse of actually searching for ink so that he can appreciate her willowy arms and the peek of shapely legs through the dash in her skirt. “Do you have any?” Aemond gestures to the wall, before gesturing to her. She shakes her head no, freeing an errant curl that falls over her forehead. Aemond picks at his joggers to keep his fingers from doing something stupid. 

“Oh no. I’m not the biggest fan of needles. Self-admittedly, I can also be a bit of a flake, so permanent artwork on my body kind of gives me hives.” She shivers and Aemond thinks her modesty is adorable.

“That’s a shame.” 

Mystery woman snaps her fingers, spinning on her toes to pin him with a look, and Aemond basks in the scent of jasmine and sea salt that wafts his way.

“If I change my mind, I know who to go to.”  She blinks suddenly, her pointed hand gliding behind her to rub at the back of neck in a bashful way. “That is, if you’d ever want to. Or, if you’re like, accepting clients.”

“For you? I think I could make an exception.” Aemond leans into the counter, settling to her level. The way the flush of her cheeks drips into the creamy sweep of her chest makes him hungry. She drops her hand, edging forward on timid toes.

“Well, aren’t you sweet.”

He doesn’t really know how to reply to that. He can feel the tips of his ears heat up, and when she tucks her lock of hair back in place, Aemond wishes he would’ve done it for her. He can see a thin line of dark walnut bracing the white of her eyes with how close he is, so close now he can smell the cinnamon on her breath from the condensating chai latte she holds in her other hand. 

“Aemond!” The back door slams and his sister’s voice floats up the hall. 

“Fuckin’ A, I’m sorry I’m late. I hit construction traffic and I had to get gas or I would’ve been pushing my Volksy here, and then I needed a coffee, believe me.” A white-blonde head of super short hair is unleashed when his sister yanks off her crocheted bucket hat, and she gasps as she catches sight of the shop’s first patron of the day.

“Good morning, muffin, I was trying to get here as fast as I could!” Helaena is a tornado of violets, lavenders, and magentas, purple her chosen color of the day as she spins into the room, tucking her backpack into the lockable cabinet by Aemond’s knees. 

The girl’s smile is a thing of beauty and even if it’s for Helaena, Aemond will keep it for himself. 

“Good morning, Hel. No worries, your brother’s been keeping me company.” 

Helaena spares him a look, sending a delicately sharp elbow right into his ribs. 

“Has he? It must be your lucky day- he usually scares off the customers that aren’t on the schedule.”

Aemond throws a sturdy blunt elbow into her shoulder and revels in the wince that she tries to hide. 

“Mmmm, not scared off yet. But if you would’ve given us a few more minutes, who knows?” A wink is sent his way, showing she means it in all good fun. Aemond fires a smile back at her, curling his lip up in a smirk he knows carries some weight to it. She swallows- he can see the jump in her throat, before she damn near flings her reason for coming in onto the counter.

“Here! She came in yesterday towards closing time, a special delivery just for you.” 

Hel snatches it with greedy hands, unknotting the twine laced through the handles so she can stick her whole face into the bag. 

“Oh my word, it’s beautiful!” Helaena exclaims, wonderment turning her tone soft and breathy. Aemond can’t stunt his curiosity, knocking his sister’s head out of his way to peer into the gift bag. 

“It looks moldy.”

Mystery woman looks mildly offended by his assessment, but it’s his sister that thwacks him in the chest.

“Shut up! You and Aegon practically drowned my cactus when I went on holiday last summer; what do you know about plants? It’s stunning and wonderful and all mine!” Helaena pulls out the plant with careful hands, gathering up the trailing vines like she’s lassoing a rope. 

Hel oooo’s and ahhh’s , rubbing the silver spotted leaves between her fingers, smelling the somewhat heart-shaped sprouts for any lingering fragrance. Aemond’s surprised she doesn’t pop one in her mouth and give it a taste. 

“A cactus?” 

Aemond shrugs, happy to have the woman’s attention back on him, even if it is at his expense. “It looked thirsty.” 

The giggle she gifts him makes his 5AM alarm worth it. 

Helaena claps her hands together twice, calling attention to her like she’s a nursery school teacher. “Tell me about it- what’s its name and how do I keep it alive?” 

“It’s a Scindapsus pictus, but satin Pothos or silver Philodendron is easier to remember. Even though it’s not technically a Pothos or a Philodendron, it’s in the Araceae family, which can be confusing, y’know? It’s naturally from the Hills of Andalos but it can also be found from Tyrosh all the way to Pinkmaiden.” 

The siblings blink at her, both enjoying how she waxes on about something obviously interesting to her, even though it sounds like Dothraki to them. The brunette takes notice of the silence, tapering off her anecdotes while wearing a quiet, bemused grin.

“Anyways,” she twists the ring around her pinky in circles of nervous energy, “lots of light, water her like once a week, and she should thrive.”

“She’s perfect! Oh thank you for picking her out for me, darling. I’ll take such good care of her. ” Helaena has a way of hugging you with her words. It fills you with the warm and fuzzies, and the girl looks filled to the brim with them. She sighs though, shouldering the strap of her bag into place. 

“I gotta get back to the shop- my early lunch break can’t go past 7:20, or Miss Olenna will be pissed if I’m not there to let her windowshop the roses.” 

Helaena flutters around the counter, gushing promises of midday coffee dates and takeaway dinners before sweeping up the other girl in a rocking embrace.

The woman beams, happiness a good look on her, before pecking his sister’s cheek in parting. She pushes open the shop door, ducking out before catching it right before it closes. Her head ducks back in, and the same stubborn curl from before has come loose again, twisting around the corner of her eye. 

“It was nice meeting you, Aemond.”  

“Likewise…” Did he not catch her name once the entire time? Fuck him and his so-called manners. 

Her smile is so bright, it burns itself behind his eyelids. “Ysilla.”

“Likewise, Ysilla.” Aemond rolls her name off of his tongue, discovering he quite likes the taste of her. A gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl. 

She bids him a little wave of her hand before shutting the door softly. She looks both ways before darting across the roadway and into roots., an aptly named nursery that bursts at the brick with vegetation and flowers. 

Aemond turns on his sister with alarming agility. 

“Alright, share with the class. Who was that?” 

“That’s Ysilla, Aem. Duh. She runs the plant shop across the street.” 

He resists the urge to flick her in the forehead. His trainers are new and he doesn’t want her size seven foot print scuffing them up. 

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Well you would, if you ever bothered to come out of your room and meet our neighbors. She’s been in charge for about a year and a half now. Mr. Forel is an old flame of her grandma’s, or something like that, and she needed a job when he was thinking of retiring. So, perfect timing, I guess.” Hel fluffs the leaves, turning the plant pot this way and that, trying to decide which angle is most appealing. She carts it around the shop, holding it up to the spaces she’s thinking of occupying it with. 

“What are you two, besties?” Aemond is so not jealous. Nah, never. Nope. No way, no how. 

Helaena pauses, looking thoughtful before resuming her decorating.

“I’m kind of trying to be, but she goes to class after she’s done at the shop and if she’s not doing that, she has three brothers she helps take care of when her mum is working. So I stop off when I can and chat with her so we can catch up.” 

Helaena cheers as she steps off the footstool she keeps around for high reaching access, admiring the vines cascading from the partition wall that divides the waiting room from her piercing studio. 

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” His sister is obviously speaking about the plant. 

Aemond stares through the window across the street, the tan stucco building a bright bustle of life next to the high brow boutique to its left and Hot Pie’s bakery to its right. The numerous hanging pots from the ledge above the doorway would 100% split his skull if he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking. Big glass windows are crowded by giant emerald fronds and stalks of leafy sprouts. The flower pots mirroring each side of the doorway are starting to wilt with the season, but the vibrant highlights of color splash a last breath of life against the stone. 

If Aemond squints, he can catch a dark head of curls bouncing behind the register. 

Maybe a plant wouldn’t be a bad addition to his shelves. 

“Without a doubt.”

.

.

.

ps: i have another modern!au in the works of these two little fuckers, which is much longer, much angstier, and much more fun to read. should be out very very soon ;))

#hotd #aemond targaryen #ysilla targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #modern hotd #modern aemond targaryen #my writing

[mikimimouse]

Just like every Saturday around the afternoon Eddie grabbed his little box filled with peaceful bliss to head out for a smoke. Since the others deep cleaned his trailer Steve isn’t allowing his two boyfriends to smoke weed inside of it. Especially not on weekends, since the kids would come over to play DnD. As usual Eddie was heading for the door followed by Billy, keys already in his hand. Steve stayed behind most of the time, this time to prepare snacks for the party. Billy started the car and Eddie pulled out the cassette the two have been working on. A mixtape filled with music only them liked, 12 songs to be exact. 8 they chose together, and two of their personal favorites for each of the boys. Their taste was similar but not identical, hence why they settled on having each two songs of their favorites. The problem however, the cassette had space for 13 songs, and they couldn’t find a song to put in the last open slot.  

“This thing again, Munson?” Billy said while pressing down the gas pedal, cigarette between his lips. “I thought you wanted a relaxing trip into the woods.”

“It will be relaxing after we figured what to do with this last song.” Eddie said, placing the cassette into the player. “Suggestions, oh great William?”

Not wanting to enflame the same old argument Billy just shrugged.  

After arriving at their usual spot, a bench in the middle of nowhere, both sat down. Eddie lit the joint and passed it over to Billy, who raised an eyebrow.

“Only one?” he asked. Eddie sighed.

“That kid that sold it to me was short on stash, so today sharing is caring, sweetheart.”

The two sat in silence, until after a while Eddie sat up straight turning over to Billy, rather energetically.

“For all our struggle and all our hardship is one simple solution”, he started theatrically, swinging his arms as he spoke, “we let Steve decide.”

“That is a fucking stupid idea, Munson”, and in an instant Eddies hands dropped on the bench, head tilted backwards, letting out a grown. “You really want some kind of romance-drenched love song on our playlist?”

“Oh, I know”, Eddie said, voice sounding annoyed.  

The two went silent again, deep in thought.

“We could flip a coin,” Billy broke the quietness, “you know, we each make a suggestion and-”

“And let fate decide”, Eddie cut him off, “I like that.”

Both took a final puff before heading back to the trailer. They were earlier than usual, since they had to share a joint rather than enjoying one each. Parking the Camaro in front of the door, they could already hear loud music blasting from the inside. They opened the door carefully, trying to make as less noise as possible, and there he was Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. Dancing in the middle of the trailer in Billy’s basketball shorts and Eddie’s Metallica shirt. Dancing carelessly to Carless Whisper by George Michael. Not noticing his boyfriends standing in the doorframe, Steve proceeded to sing along. Holding back their giggles, the two tried to make not a single peep, to enjoy this moment just a little longer. A last twist and Steve froze, his eyes wide open meeting those of his boyfriends in the doorframe.  

“Hello princess”, Billy said “having fun?”  

Steves faced flushed red.

“I was until a couple of seconds ago.”  

“Oh, don’t be mad, Big Boy”, Eddie said “we were just enjoying the show.”  

That didn’t help the fact that Steve was already serious competition for any tomato at this point.  

“You were rocking it, gorgeous”, Eddie said followed by a quick peck on Steves cheek, before heading for his bedroom.  

“He’s right, princess”, Billie said kissing the other cheek and proceeding to follow Eddie. Leaving behind Steve, completely taken aback in the middle of the living room.

“What do you think Munson?” Billie asked, after shutting the door behind him.  

“I think we found the perfect song for our playlist.”

#long post #Billy and Eddie share the same music taste #they dont like Steves taste #carless whisper #they will play it now to annoy Steve #steve harrington #eddie munson #billy hargrove #stranger things #steddie #harringrove #harringroveson #mixtape #watching your boyfriend dance #polyamourous #hc #head canon #stranger things hc

[bestiesenpai]

Hostage - Okkotsu Yuta

At first when I saw this my internal response was that there was nothing that I really wanted to write, no scenario that would warrant answering such a question. But I’ve given it time and well...what better thing to write than a horny for love delusional yandere? Gender neutral and Okkotsu in this has graduated from the school, I imagine him to be mid-20s 4.8k words

Content warnings: yandere shit(which in this context includes kidnapping, past stalking and being really fucking creepy), manipulation, noncon hand job

How long had you been here in this dark basement with only a red couch and a TV that wouldn’t turn on? There wasn’t a single window to tell you if it was day or night, no clock on the wall to say if it had been ten minutes or ten hours since you were kidnapped. You didn’t even know who could have taken you, knocked out from behind after hearing a mysterious voice.

There wasn’t a single lead to go on except for the fact that you would pass out from time to time and wake up to food on the low coffee table, hot meals that helped to soothe your otherwise empty mind and body for however short a time it allowed. Sometimes there would be candy stuffed into your pockets as well, candy that you never ate and let pile up in one of the corners of the room.

The door at the top of the stairs leading down to where you were stayed locked at all times and no amount of banging and screaming and trying to break it down worked. All your efforts were for nothing, you didn’t even make a scratch in the wood.

Whoever put you down here seemed too hesitant to show you their identity. You never heard anyone outside the door and whenever you thought you did, you would wake up however many hours later with food and no recollection of what happened before then.

Until today, when the door silently swayed open and there was the barely there tap of footsteps coming down to greet you. Scurrying behind the couch and crouching down, you were scared to finally meet your captor.

“Hello there.” He wasn’t at all what you imagined. A young man with noticeable bags under his eyes, hair with a few strands that fell into his face and an otherwise unassuming and slim build. His voice was soft and gentle like he was talking to a baby as he roused them from slumber.

He immediately noticed the way you were trying to stay away from him, making sure to keep the couch between you as he rounded it. A sad sigh left his lips, a short sound like he was already getting frustrated with what you were doing.

“Darling, why don’t you sit down? There’s a lot to discuss.” Gesturing toward the couch, he took a seat at the end. It was then that you noticed the sheathed sword he had on his back as he took it off and laid it on the table.

Your mouth hadn’t been used to speak to anyone in a long time, tongue heavy and foreign in your mouth. Having given up screaming for help a long time ago, you didn’t speak to anyone unless to yourself, and even then it had devolved to being just thoughts in your head.

So you shook your head no, trying to keep your sudden anxious breathing down to a minimum. You’d waited for this day to finally see who took you but now that he was here in front of you, just his presence brought you great stress.

“Are you feeling okay?” The man asked again, brows furrowing slightly. The look of genuine concern on his face is what caused you to speak, spiking anger in your heart.

“No!” You shouted, surprising both him and yourself.

“Why don’t you sit down, hm?” He patted the cushion next to him and you shook your head harder.

“No, no. L-let me go!” Tears were already beginning to collect in your eyes, some spilling out the sides. Were they from anger at being held captive? From how concerned he looked when he was the one who put you there? Was it from fear of what he could do to you? Perhaps hopelessness at the whole situation was starting to set into places you tried so hard to keep it out of.

“You shouldn’t yell, (Y/N), it’s not good for your throat.”

“What the fuck would you know.” Now anger was truly taking residency inside your chest, making it tighten with each pounding beat of your heart. This man had the nerve to call you by your first name as if he was a friend, the syllables rolling so smoothly off his tongue it sounded as if he had said it a hundred times.

“Don’t swear at me.” He snapped, face immediately going hard as he stared you down. The look made a shiver go down your spine, the anger quickly making space for fear to come as well. He sighed again, glancing at his sword before looking at you again. “Now please, won’t you sit down?”

This time when he asked, you listened. Hovering on the very edge of the cushion farthest from him, your entire body was painfully stiff and unyielding even to your own breathing. It was different when you were standing and he was sitting, it felt like there was a level of control that you still had.

But this felt like you were just a pitiful little rabbit with their neck caught right in a lion's mouth.

“Oh darling don’t cry, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” His tone immediately shifted back to the soft and gentle one from earlier. Reaching his hand out, he stopped short of touching your arm when you curled yourself away. Putting his hand into a fist and tucking it back into his lap, he let out a sharp exhale. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t touch you, should I? You must be nervous now that I’m here.”

Sniffling and nodding were all you could do to answer him. Maybe there was a logical reason he might have taken you, there had to be a solution to whatever problem he had that involved you.

“It’s funny, I’d say. We’re soulmates and yet we’re still so nervous with each other.”

What?

“Why, it took me almost two weeks just to do this much! I finally stopped having Inumaki put you to sleep and-”

Huh?

“Before you know it this will all be a distant memory, we’ll be living together-”

“Wh-what the fuck.” Your voice was meek and trembling and there were fat tears streaming down your face that couldn’t be stopped now. Listening to this man go on and on about this life he’d made for the two of you all in his head was going to drive you insane.

“What was that?” He paused, a hopeful smile on his face. Glancing at him, you set your bleary eyes on the sword.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” As the swear left your lips, you flinched at his sudden inhale. “I-I don’t- I don’t know you. We’ve never met.” Burrowing your face in your hands was probably a bad idea, it was probably best to keep him in your line of sight, but you just couldn’t face him.

“Physically we’ve never met, but our hearts have. Our souls are connected, we just had to find each other.” There was a dip in the cushions and the ghost of his knee brushed yours.

“I don’t even know your name!” You croaked, further curling in on yourself by dropping your head to your knees. At this rate you were set to fall off the couch and onto the floor and you welcomed the reprieve not being next to him would bring.

“I’m Yuta. Yuta Okkotsu.” The first touch of his fingers on your shoulder made you yelp and jerk away, and you could imagine his hand hovering in the air. “But you can just call me your boyfriend, okay?”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Getting up from the couch the second time he touched you, you pressed yourself against the furthest wall next to a chess table with no pieces.

“Darling-”

“No, don’t fucking call me that!” Stamping your foot on the ground, you ignored his warning tone.

“(Y/N), I told you-”

“I don’t give a damn! I don’t want to be part of whatever bullshit you said earlier! Just- just let me go!” You were getting hysterical at this point, your whole body was hot and sweaty and your face was on fire. It was hard to hear anything over the ringing and pounding in your ears giving you headache.

Except you were able to hear the sound of a knife going through the air and feel it graze your cheek before sticking into the wall behind you. Everything fell away as you looked at the silver blade glinting in the harsh fluorescent light above you. There was just the tiniest hint of red at the edge, further proof that what you felt was real.

“I don’t mind you getting upset, I don’t mind you yelling and screaming at me. It’s a normal reaction to such a new situation.” Yuta’s low voice cut through the sudden silence and he stood up slowly, swaying slightly on his feet before planting them firmly on the ground. “But what I won’t have is such ugly words coming out of your mouth. That type of language doesn’t belong in a mouth as pretty as yours.”

He walked over to you slowly, building the tension with every step he took. It was then that you noticed, when he was only a foot away, that the silver of the knife matched the silver buttons on his shirt.

“If I have to remind you again, I promise I won’t miss.” Letting the sentence hang in the air, Yuta gave you a once over before grabbing onto your wrist and upper arm tightly and dragging you back to the couch. His strength was much more than you first assumed, there wasn’t a chance in hell that you could ever hope to wiggle out of his hold.

Sitting down with a huff, he pulled you onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. Putting your hands on his shoulders, he settled his on your hips, making sure you were properly seated on his outstretched legs. Staring at the buttons on his shirt, you tried to avoid getting too close - keeping at least some semblance of an arms length between you and making sure your sex was far from his.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” It was amazing how easily his mood shifted from one to the other. What had just been a quite heavy and intense moment was washed away by a little uptick of his lips and the tilt of his head to the side.

The things you wished to say were lodged in your mouth, waiting on the tip of your tongue for you to open up and let them fall out. But you couldn’t afford to keep testing his patience like this, not after what just happened.

“I suppose.” So you bite your tongue hard and say what you think will get you closer to getting out. Whatever it is he wants you can give him so long as it keeps him happy and lets you walk free.

“I knew you’d come around.” The smile on Yuta’s face takes proper form, pushing the apples of his cheeks up and wrinkling his eyes. One hand on your hips dares to venture further onto the small of your back. The warmth of his palm would be comforting in another setting.

“Y-yuta.” It almost makes you sick to say his name.

“Yes?” It makes his eyes light up.

“When will I get to leave?” Somewhere along the line you’d stopped crying and now only your eyes burned with the memory of the tears.

“When I know you’re ready, (Y/N).” He said softly, rubbing a hand on your back.

“Ready how?”

“I just want to make sure of a few things before we start our new life together. Is that okay?”

Did you really have a choice?

“What things?” You pushed, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about that right now. We’re together now and that’s all that matters.”

“Please tell me, I really want to know.”

“(Y/N).” He sang your name but it was anything but cheery. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, so drop it please.” Even though he was speaking his mouth barely moved, jaw locked tight in hardly hidden frustration.

“Okay.” You quickly let the subject go.

“Now darling…” Yuta brought a hand up to your face, trailing his fingers down your cheek softly. “Won’t you smile for me? You have such a pretty smile.”

The question of how he knew what your smile looked like cropped up in your head but you quickly stamped it out. Now wasn’t the time to worry about those things. Doing as he asked, you gave him your best smile.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” Skimming his thumb along your bottom lip, Yuta grasped your chin in his fingers. “I’ve been missing your smile so much lately, the recent missions I’ve been on have really put a damper on my mood.”

“I’m- I’m sorry to hear that.” Extending an olive branch wouldn’t hurt, right? It was clear he wanted your compliance in this scheme of his, desperate to have you love him. Your words shot straight into Yuta’s heart, making him bite his lip in to stop a shy giggle from coming out.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I have my darling with me.” A light blush went over his cheeks and Yuta let a sliver of the giggle out. “But there is something that would make me feel even better.”

“What’s that?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant when his thumb touched your lip again.

“A kiss. Just one, I promise.” Licking his own lips, Yuta grabbed onto your jaw more firmly. “I swear I’ll be gentle.” Weighing your options, the inkling that it wouldn’t be ‘just one’ was in the back of your head. But as long as it stayed just kissing, maybe you’d be okay.

“One.” You repeated, allowing him to pull you in and close the gap between you. Kissing Yuta was something that, once again, would feel nice in any other circumstance. The texture of his lips wasn’t bad, his breath didn’t smell and he seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe in another world, you really could have been soulmates.

Breaking the first kiss to take a short inhale, Yuta immediately went in for another. The hand that was on your jaw slid up to the back of your head, holding it firmly in his calloused hand to make sure you didn’t move.

“Y-yuta!” Whining against his lips, you tried to push away from him.

“Just one, I know! I know but-” He mumbled back, the tip of his tongue daring to touch your pursed lips. “I can’t help it, I love you so much.” Crushing you against him, Yuta got his tongue into your mouth when you gasped for air. The urge to bite him arose and you almost did, but he pulled away right as you made the decision to.

“You said only one!” Giving his chest a hard push, you wiped the spit off your lips in disgust.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Putting his hands on your back, Yuta grimaced at you. “I’m sorry darling, I just got excited! I’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, can you blame me for wanting more?”

You could blame him for that and a few other things. Wiping your mouth off again, you huffed angrily and avoided his sorry eyes.

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t lie to you anymore, I promise.” Yuta mumbled, already forcing you closer again. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Yuta, no.” Shaking your head, you put a hand over your mouth. The blush that was on Yuta’s cheeks got darker and a hand gripped the back of your neck.

“It may be a bit soon, but there are other places where I can kiss you.” Latching his lips onto the side of your neck, Yuta sucked on the skin lightly. He didn’t want to leave any unseemly marks on you and he wouldn’t dream of using his teeth.

“Yuta, get off.” Tugging on his collar, you squirmed at the feeling. “P-please, Yuta, get off.” You were getting more desperate by the moment, accelerated by his lips going down the column of your throat and to the collar of your top.

“I just want to kiss you, (Y/N).”

“No, no I don’t-” As his head nudged your chin up, you started to sweat and really yank at the fabric in your hands. “I don’t want you to kiss me there, Yuta!” Your voice reached a crescendo and the soft sound of his kisses stopped. Pulling away slowly, Yuta kept his head ducked down.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Releasing the hold on your neck, Yuta smooths his hand down your back once more and threads his fingers together at the base of your spine.

Struggling to catch your breath, you force yourself to relax and let your head dip down, uncurling the fingers fisting the fabric of Yutas shirt and letting the blood naturally flow back to them.

As the silent seconds tick by, there’s something that comes into your consciousness that can’t be ignored. There’s already a good amount of heat built up between you and Yuta from the kisses you shared and the struggle that ensued.

But was he that much of a repressed man that just kissing your lips and neck had his cock standing at half attention? It seemed so, because when you made a face at it, he chuckled sheepishly.

“Sorry.” Yuta wasn’t sorry for what was happening. He didn’t feel remorse for any of this, especially not the thing that was causing you distress now. It was only natural for such a reaction to occur! You were squirming so much on his lap while he kissed you that it was like you were begging him to get hard.

Gently raking his nails up and down your back, Yuta stared hard at your lips. His gaze almost pierced right through you and he wasn’t subtle about wanting another kiss. Another slurry of apologies left Yuta’s lips as he once again grabbed the back of your head and forced you to kiss him. His words got mushed together, spoken against your lips as he tried to work his tongue into your mouth.

Whatever screams of protest you had didn’t matter in this moment, Yuta was a man on a mission and desperate to take what was his. He felt bad about pushing your boundaries and ruining the chance of growing an actual relationship any time soon, but those were things he was willing to sacrifice.

And after all, good boyfriends help their partners grow in uncomfortable situations.

Moaning in a high pitch when your crotch just barely grazed his, Yuta took advantage of the fact you were too busy trying to push him away to focus on your lower half. Grabbing you tightly at the hips, he dragged you forward and fully pushed you against the front of his pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He panted as he moved your bodies in tandem, getting bolder and bucking his hips like a sad teenager dry humping for the first time. This continued for a while and you were sure he was going to cum when he suddenly stopped and flopped his head back against the couch.

Fervently wiping off your lips, the urge to slap him came over you in a blinding rage, and you quickly swiped your hand down. Fully expecting to make contact with his face, you put all the strength you could into the motion only to be stopped by Yuta grabbing your wrist.

“Hitting isn’t very nice, (Y/N).” He sounded like a disappointed preschool teacher and when you raised your other hand to try and slap him he caught that one as well. Holding both your wrists tightly in his grasp, Yuta stared at your heaving chest as he thought about what to do.

“Let me go.” You said, trying to tug yourself free.

“Sshh, I’m thinking.” His eyes wouldn’t leave your chest and he licked his lips. “I think I know a better use for your hands.” Letting go of one of them, Yuta was quick to go to the button on his jeans and undo them.

Your fingers were touching his clothed cock before you had a chance to protest. The speed Yuta moved at was dizzying and you seemed to be about 10 seconds behind him, left to scramble and catch up on whatever he’d done.

“Just a little, please?” Yuta whined and gripped your fingers around his cock, digging into the fabric of his dark underwear and outlining the shape of his cock.

“Yuta…” Back were the tears, a light misting this time that blurred your vision. It was gross touching him, even as the scent of a minty body wash rolled off him. This was gross, the heat from his cock and the way the skin moved beneath your fingers all felt horribly off.

“Just be good for me, (Y/N), I know you can do that.” Giving your lips a quick peck, Yuta let out a shaky exhale. His hand was holding yours so tightly your hand pulsed, throbbing from lack of circulation.

Touching him through his underwear quickly became not enough for Yuta and he hurriedly pulled his cock out, shoving his underwear down his thighs a bit to make more room. Unbuttoning the large overshirt he had on, Yuta let out another exhale as the sweat evaporated off his body.

“Are you shy? Here, touch it like this.” Gingerly now he wrapped your hand around his shaft, squeezing with just enough pressure to make sure you were really holding it. You tried to avoid looking at it, staring at the tanktop Yuta had on underneath his other shirt.

Tilting your head up, he kissed you gently as he worked your hand up and down his cock, slowly loosening his hold the longer he went until he was able to let go and you were still stroking him.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. “So, so much.” You whimpered in response, keeping your eyes tightly closed to avoid looking at him. “I’ve followed you for so long now, it feels amazing to finally be here with you.”

“Followed?” You didn’t want to know, you didn’t want to know, you didn’t-

“Six months. For six long, agonizing months I watched you from the shadows. Making sure you were safe, following you home from work to make sure no one messed with you, going into your home when you weren’t there to make sure you didn’t have the stove on-”

“Stop.” Sniffling back another wave of tears, you shook your head. “I-I can’t, please-”

“You’re right, I’m killing the mood.” Chuckling softly, Yuta kissed at the corner of your eye. Putting his hand back on yours, he sped up the pace and bucked his hips up. “A-and I really don’t want to do that.”

Kissing you again lest he start rambling again, Yuta moaned freely into your mouth. He had dreamed of this moment and so many others, staying up late at night just fantasizing about you touching him and finally being in his arms.

To say he was pent up was an understatement. Ever since he saw you, Yuta vowed not to touch himself, wanting you to be the only one that gave him such pleasure. It was a painful wait, but every time he saw you he knew it was worth it - and it was. He was already nearing an orgasm and it hadn’t even been that long.

“Oh darling-” His face started to screw up and Yuta broke the kiss, putting his head on your shoulder and making your hand go faster. “God I love you, (Y/N)! I lo-love-” He was babbling now, unable to focus on any full sentence coming out of his mouth. “Say it- tell me.”

“Say what?” You asked, struggling to keep your breathing even as you felt him get closer to the edge.

“You love me. Tell me you- tell me you love me, even if it’s not true yet.” Yuta was so close it hurt, but he refused to cum unless you said those words.

“I-I-” The desire to not say it was strong, keeping you from really forming the words. It wasn’t true right now and it would never be true. You would never love Yuta for as long as you lived.

“Say it, say it please!” Yuta wailed, his other hand gripping your waist so hard you were afraid he was going to break something. “I love you so much, just say it back!”

“I love you! Yuta, I love you, okay?” His hold was really starting to hurt and as soon as you said it, he let go. “I love you, I love you.” You repeated over and over until his body locked up and he came with an almost sobbing moan.

“Oh god, darling, I love you.” Yuta wasn’t crying but he might as well have been. His hand stopped for a brief moment before continuing, coating the back of his hand and your fingers in his cum. He kept going until he was able to squeeze the last drop of cum out of him, swiping at the tip with his thumb until the sensation began to hurt.

It was too quiet now in the room without Yuta’s frantic breathing and mindless babbles. Taking deep, gasping breaths, he forced himself to calm down and let go of your hand, letting his softening cock fall down against him.

“Here.” In his pocket he had a handkerchief and Yuta wiped your hand clean, diligently going between the digits and getting every last pearly drop. Throwing it onto the coffee table, Yuta collapsed back onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

His face was impossibly blissed out, a dopey smile stretching his face and showing off his teeth. He couldn’t be happier in this moment, the weight of your body on his lap a constant reminder that this was real life, the reality that he had been dreaming of and striving for for so long.

The door he had entered from creaked open much faster than when he entered, and there were thundering footsteps descending the stairs quickly. Yuta immediately perked up, hugging you close to his chest as he turned over his shoulder to look at who came in.

“This is a surprise.” There was a tall, lanky man standing at the bottom of the steps, his white hair sticking up in all directions. You wondered how he could see with a blindfold on and Yuta seemed happy to see him.

“Gojo, hello!” Rushing to fix his pants, Yuta helped you off his lap and stood up.

“I see you’ve finally made yourself acquainted.” Gojo grinned, his head flicking towards you for a moment.

“Mhmm! We uh- we’re having a great time getting to know each other.” Yuta flushed, trying to not make it obvious that his pants had just been undone and that you’d just been jerking him off.

“Well I hate to break up a happy couple, but there’s a visitor here for you. I think you’re going to have another mission soon.”

“Really, so soon? I just-” Glancing at you, Yuta bit his tongue. “I’ll be back soon.” Grabbing his sword and the knife still stuck in the wall, Yuta gave you one more look before walking past Gojo and up the stairs. As soon as the door clicked closed, you shot up from the couch and walked around to Gojo.

“Please, you have to help me, get me out of here!” Clasping your hands together in front of you, you pleaded as hard as you could. “H-he’s absolutely crazy, please help me!” Unable to look Gojo in the eye, you could only assume he was looking back at you from the way his head moved.

“That’s not very nice, now is it?” He questioned, quirking a brow and crossing his arms. “Yuta loves you so much, you shouldn’t say those things about him.”

“Sir please, you don’t understand!” Shaking your head hard, you let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t belong here! He kidnapped me, don’t you understand?!” It felt like you were the only sane one left in the world. Gojo chuckled and sighed, placing a large hand on the top of your head and leaning forward.

“Actually, Yuta wasn’t the one that actually kidnapped you.” A soft ‘no’ escaped your lips and Gojo laughed again, drinking in the sinking feeling in your gut and the way it twisted your face in agony. “It was me.”

#tw: noncon #tw: yandere #jujutsu kaisen #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[tinawriting]

Deja vu (F.W)

Requested: Yes/No

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

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Summary: After Fred and Y/n break up, he has moved on with someone new, or so she believed.

Warnings: angst-ish, swearing, fluff ending, my english

A/N: inspired by the song ‘deja vu’ by Olivia Rodrigo. Flashbacks are in italics. Fred. Is. Alive.

Word count: 1.7k

Y/n thought her life was perfect. She had great friends, she was great in school and she had a great boyfriend.

Fred and Y/n dated during seventh year. But before Fred and George made their scape they decided to break up.

She thought he would be waiting for her when she graduates, but the only thing that welcomed her was a broken heart.

"But you always steal my sweater!" He said with a playful grin.

"Because it's like ten sizes bigger than mine!" She said chuckling. Honestly, seeing a man 6 ft tall like Fred wear a jacket that didn't even cover his arms was a sight to behold. "Take it off!" She could barely breathe now, the only thing getting out of her mouths was wheezes.

"Why darling? Don't you think I look sexy?” He said before winking cheekily.

"Of course love, you look sexy in anything.” She said walking up to him. He opened his arms -or tried to, with her jacket making difficult for him to move- and she stepped in. She lifted her hands and cupped his face, bringing him down to kiss him softly.

When she went to Diagon Alley to finally visit Weasley Wizard Wheezes she looked through the glass in the door, and there they were, Fred and George with their best smiles talking to costumers. Her face broke into a smile at the sight of Fred in his work suit and proud for him expanded in her chest. She put her hand on the doorknob but then she saw a pretty girl with short blonde hair walking in his direction, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down to meet her lips. Y/n's face fell and she felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach, her eyes becoming very blurry all of the sudden. She let go of the doorknob and turned around, waking to her flat.

"Hello gorgeous," he said kissing her cheek. "What flavour is that?"

"You tell me.” She said grabbing ice cream with her spoon and holding his jaw to spoon-feed him.

He moaned in a loud and exaggerated way. "I love strawberry ice cream, can I have more?" She rolled her eyes but kept giving him her ice cream.

Entering her flat she collapsed on the sofa, her friend -and now roommate- Angelina came running from her room presumably because she heard the sobs leaving Y/n's mouth.

"What the fuck happened?" She asked frantically kneeling beside the couch.

Y/n said something unintelligent and Angelina sighed.

"Come on love, up," she said softly and Y/n lifted herself to a seating position. "Take a deep breath, Y/n, that's it, there you go. Now, do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Fred," her voice cracked. "Fred is wit-," she breathed in and out. "Fred is with some- with someone else."

"Oh darling, I'm so fucking sorry. I had no idea," Angelina said wrapping Y/n in her arms. She was the one who told her to go and see them today. They had rented the flat together just a couple of days before leaving Hogwarts in one of their -forbidden- excursions outside of the castle. Angelina was training to be a healer and both were working on a muggle café to pay the rent while Y/n decided what job she wanted to pursue.

Y/n started sobbing again. "It's just- I thought- I-"

"Shh, it's alright, it's okay."

After what felt like years Y/n got out of the flat, Angelina by her side. "Can't we just Apparate there?" Angelina groaned. They have decided to walk to Diagon Alley, even if  Y/n would absolutely love to, she couldn't avoid Fred forever, and wanted to be a civilised person and show the bastard that she could live without him, or that's what Angelina said. "No, I need to be prepared, and for that I need to think, so walking it is."

"Walking it is." Angelina repeated with a sigh.

They stood outside of Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes in no time. Y/n put her hand on the doorknob and with the weight of Angelina's supporting hand between her shoulder blades, she opened the door and stepped inside. Two identical voices called out "What can I help you with?" Y/n was too preoccupied starting at everything that was on display in the show to hear it though. "Maybe just a cup of tea?" Said Angelina behind her. Y/n got out of her daze just when a pair of brown eyes looked right at her, those eyes she knew too well. Fred was holding a box and it was dangerously close to be dropped. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

"Hey you two! Long time no see!" Said George and Y/n suddenly remembered that there was more people in the room, the shop was full of people actually. She let herself be enveloped in George's arms and returned the hug, looking over his shoulder at the only one person she wanted to hug.

"Hi- er- hello you two," said Fred scratching the back of his neck, his eyes not leaving Y/n's. "How are you d-"

"Fred?” Said the girl Y/n saw a couple of days before, and she felt her throat close.

"Oh! Right, yeah, this is Verity, my er, my-"

"Girlfriend." She said with a bright smile bringing up her hand for them to shake. And Y/n wanted to hate her for being so polite and pretty, but instead she smiled a little to big and shook her hand, noticing that it was small and soft and delicate. "Pleasure to meet you."

"So Verity, I haven't see you at Hogwarts, did you go there?" Said Angelina. Fred and George had close the shop early and invited everyone for a drink in their flat above the shop. 

"Oh yeah, I was just three years above all of you, Hufflepuff house." Verity said proudly. Y/n could see why Fred liked her, she was beautiful, and smart, and chirpy. But there was just one thing that didn't sit right with her. Then, Verity went to grab ice cream from the kitchen, Y/n watch as she spoon-fed Fred and he moaned in an exaggerated way that made Verity giggle. Y/n was sure her eyes were wide as plates in realisation and exchanged a look with Angelina that clearly said 'let's go'.

When they were out of the flat, and after Y/n told her about the ice cream revelation, Angelina kept looking at Y/n from the corner of her eye while they walked back to their flat, what made Y/n sigh. "Just say it."

"Alright, I think you should tell him that, you know, still want to jump his bones." Y/n groaned. "It's just, the word ‘love’ is so strong! But I think you should tell him your feelings, you won't sleep until you know he knows."

"How could I ever do that? He's taken! He's happy!" She sighed. "That's not my place anymore."

"Just think about it, you know I'll support you either way."

Y/n now hated Angelina, she decided. She turned and rolled at night without getting any sleep. A week had passed since they visited Fred and George. Did he know that she loved him? Did he think it was just casual? She got out of bed, got dressed and walked her way to Angelina's room and sat down next to her in the bed. "I hate you."

Angelina rolled over and looked sleepily up at her. "Whatever, just don't come back too late." Y/n sighed and kissed her friend's forehead and got out of the room, and a couple of seconds later, out of the flat.

She knocked three times and waited. The moment she started regretting it, the door flung open. A very sleepy Fred standing up behind it.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course.” He said stepping aside to let her in.

"Alright," she said entering the flat, her back still to him. "I just wanted to let you know something, and I know that is fucking selfish because you're taken and happy, but I need to be happy too, you know? I need it, and I need to know that you know that I love you. I've loved you since we were together and I'm still in love with you. And do whatever you want with that.” She said finally turning around. Watching as Fred was just standing there, eyes wide, his mouth gaping like a fish. "I'm going to go now."

"No!" He said a little to loudly and winced. "Don't go."

He took a couple of steps forward. Standing right in front of her. "Do you mean it?" He whispered.

"Of course I mean it you stupid prick-"

He cut her off crashing their lips together, his hands on either side of her face. She kissed him back quickly, her hands on his neck and hair, pulling a little. When she heard a small sound coming from the back of his throat, she pulled back.

"Fred what the fuck are you doing!? You have a girlfriend!" His mouth tugged a little at the right side. 

"I broke up whit her," he said shrugging. 

"What?" She breathed out. 

"Yeah, right after you and Angie left, I realized I liked her because she reminded me of you, it was like living in a constant déjà vu."

A lot of thoughts were swimming in her head, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was "Why didn't you wait for me?"

She watched as sadness washed over his face and her heart broke just a little bit. "I didn't think you'd want me back, and I missed being with someone, I missed being in love. And when I saw you I knew it wasn't the same thing, she wasn't you."

"You love me?"

He just shrugged, a small smile on his face. "I know we have never said it before, but I loved you back then and I love you now. And, if you take me back, I'll make sure to prove it to you everyday."

She answered him with a kiss, felling him smile when George's voice from somewhere in the flat called out "Congratulations!"

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley #angelina johnson #george weasley

[felix21im]

"Ice Cold", a Leon Kennedy x reader fanfiction

As an Art and Design student all you want to do is just knuckle down and finish that one goddamn piece you've been working on for months. Too bad your time is constantly stolen by your Waiter job with minimal pay, but hey, at least the tips are good if you unbutton your shirt that one more time.

Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Sketches

“It’s ten A.M. dumbass, get out of bed.” You woke up to the sound of your roommates voice and the feel of a pillow hitting your face. “We have our reservation in like fifteen minutes…”

The reminder of your scheduled fancy breakfast with your roommate managed to wake you up fully and you instantly ran into the bathroom to have a shower.

As you stood there with the water running on your skin you began to feel your head pounding. “Great, a fucking hangover.” You muttered as you turned the shower knob, stopping the water and leaving you cold. You stepped out of the shower with a towel hanging over your shoulders and sat down on the toilet seat. "Hey, can you maybe make me some tea or coffee or something? I got a headache, probably overworked or something" you lied, shouting to your roommate.

“Yea sure 'overworked', huh? Don't worry, I'll make something but get ready already!" You dried yourself with a small towel and put on some light clothes. A pair of shorts and a white shirt, it was hot outside due to it being summer and wearing anything other than shorts is a death sentence. You didn't feel like styling your hair so you just refreshed yourself, hoping you wouldn't look too bad. You stepped out of the small bathroom and were greeted by your roommate who handed you a glass of water with a pill. "I'm sure this will help more than just some tea.. after your 'overworking'". They winked at you and you feared they thought something different than what actually happened.

"Hey hey hey, that's not what happened okay? Imma tell you when we're eating, alright? But don't assume anything wrong, you hear me?" You laughed a little, but had to stop because of your headache. You took the glass of water and the mysterious pill, placing it in your mouth and then swallowing it with a gulp of water. You then saw your friend standing at the door, already wearing shoes and ready to go out. You sigh as you grab a pair of sneakers from under your bed, practically jumping straight into them.

“I read the reviews of this restaurant we’re going to and legit like all of them say that it’s super cold in there, you might want to grab your jacket.” They get the jacket off of the back of the door and hold it out for you to take.

“Thank you, thank you.” You accept the jacket and fold it over your arm as you place your phone in the pocket, but rather than it going straight in like normal, something is in there and blocks it from sitting perfectly. You place your phone in your back pocket and reach your hand into your jacket, pulling out a white envelope. The envelope was a little heavy and had a note written on it “This semester is on me, think of it as payment for agreeing to decorate my house - Leon S. Kennedy.” You slit the envelope open and it looked identical to your tips envelope, absolutely filled with cash. You let out a small gasp. "Holy shit."

You looked at your roommate who also looked at you and the envelope laying in your hand. "Yeah, holy shit. Are you working as a stripper now or how'd you get all the money suddenly?"

“Although I would be a great stripper… No.” You look at the cash, not knowing what to do with it. "I have to give it back. I can't just keep all.. this."

“Uh?! Yes you can!” Your roommate looked at you like you were an idiot. “That's like five grand there! If you’re not going to take it I will gladly take it for you!”

"No way! I can't just accept this money!” You close the envelope and place it on the desk on your side of your shared room. “This doesn't feel right, you know that." You thought about what you're going to do next. You looked between your friend and the money and decided you need to do the right thing. "I'm sorry, but I have to return it. As soon as I get my paycheck I will go out to eat breakfast with you, I promise! But I need to do this. Sorry." You grabbed the envelope again and walked past your roommate and out the door, giving them a look of excuse. They simply scoffed and slammed the door behind you.

As you sat outside on the curb you used your phone to look up where you were last night so that you could get Leon’s address. As you ordered your taxi it asked you for some contact details. “Kennedy.” You chuckled as you entered that as your last name, thinking it would be a funny joke. On your way you texted your roommate once again, apologizing for your behavior but not for your need to do the right thing. You sighed as you put your phone in your pocket and looked out the window.

After some time you arrived at what appeared to be Leon's home. You couldn’t really see it the night before since it was dark, but it looked even better during the day than you could have imagined before. You paid the taxi driver, with your own money this time, then left the car and went towards that big door. You looked for a bell but couldn't find one so you knocked against the thick wood, hoping someone would even hear it. After repeating this a couple more times and almost giving up, the door opens and you are greeted by a woman. She was wearing a white dress shirt and a black bustier over the top, followed by a black pair of trousers. Confused, you looked at her and then at the house, thinking you were wrong. "Can I help you with anything?" The woman asked, not even bothering to ask you inside.

"Uhm.." you stuttered, not knowing what to do in this situation. "I thought someone else lived here, but I guess I'm wrong. Sorry for bothering you." Something inside you actually hoped you typed in the wrong address. This couldn't be Leon's home, right? But it looked so similar? Maybe all the drinks added up over the night and made me remember this wrong..? You thought back to the day before and remembered how Leon was actually texting someone and didn't tell you a name or something. Maybe he actually has a wife or something and I misunderstood last night. Maybe he actually paid me to.. stay away? You shook your head. That's bizarre. Or is it?

"Who did you think lived here then? Maybe I can help you." You were taken back to reality from that woman's voice and looked at her.

Fumbling with your hands you tried to form a whole sentence, but all that came out was "Kennedy."

She looked at you. "Do you mean Leon Kennedy?" You nodded your head, still hoping you were wrong here. "Well, it appears you are right then. May I ask how you know him? I've never seen anyone like.. you here." It seemed to you she spit that 'you' out as if you were something less worthy than her. But maybe you were once again imagining things.

"Well, we actually met yesterday and he invited me to come over. I forgot to give something to him, so that's what I'm here for now. Can I see him now?" You looked at the woman standing in your way, trying to be confident.

“Mr. Kennedy is out of the house at the moment and he won’t be back for a few hours. I will tell him that you stopped by.” She stepped back from the door. “Bye now.” She practically slammed it in your face, the waft from the door causing your messy hair to blow backwards.

You rolled your eyes and sat down on the steps, exactly where you were sitting with Leon last night. You searched through your contacts and found Leon’s name. After tapping the call button it rang four times before you heard a rough “Hello?” come from the other side.

It took you back a little as it sounded like you had just woken him up. “Oh, hiya Leon.” You looked back at the front door as you began to talk. “I’m sitting on your doorstep right now…” You then looked back at the driveway, the pebbles and the green grass perfectly manicured. “I wanted to swing by to drop off that money you left in my jacket.”

“What, why?” He sounded confused. You could tell that he pulled the phone away from his face when he coughed, probably trying to clear his throat. “That money is for you, Buttercup.” He chuckled, making you blush a little. “You’re not supposed to give it back to me.” Sounds could be heard in the background as he talked but you couldn't tell what they were.

"Is there anyone with you right now?" You didn't even think about that question before it left your mouth.

"Don't worry about it. And also don't worry about the money. It's a gift, just accept it." You let out a small laugh.

"Just accept it? This is more money than I would make in two months! I can't just accept that, Leon! I can leave it with your girlfriend if you don't want to take it back, but I won't keep it." It was silent on the other side. You were worried you took it too far now.

But then, a chuckle and a full out laugh. "Girlfriend? I'm sorry, but you probably went to the wrong house. I don't have a girlfriend, partner or whatever, Buttercup." You could hear him still chuckle on the other side of the phone, but you didn't feel like laughing.

You felt kind of dumb right now. "Well, whoever that woman was, she just shut the door before me and left me sitting in front of it. So I guess I'm just gonna leave the envelope under the doormat." You looked around. There wasn't even a doormat. "YOU DON'T HAVE A GODDAMN DOORMAT? LEON S KENNEDY WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST THREE YEARS?" You heard him laugh out loud again and didn't even try to stop him from it. You just sighed and gave it up. "Well, Mr. Kennedy, I'm gonna find a place to put that money. And don't even think of sneaking it back to me, you hear me?" You didn't even wait for an answer and just hung up. You sat on the stairs for a few more minutes thinking about what to do next.

Just as you stood up to leave you heard the door behind you opening again. "Mr. Kennedy just called me. He wants me to let you inside. Please take off your shoes here and.. don't touch anything." There is not even a thing to touch here, what do you want? You went through the doors and left your shoes next to them. The woman looked at you again before turning her back and walking away. So now you just stood there, in this empty, big house with a woman who doesn't seem to like your company.

Just like the night before you went through the entire house looking around, but also trying your best to avoid that woman. At some point you even found some paper and a pen and began drawing some rooms with fitting, and for now missing, furniture. After a while you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket so you put your drawing away and checked your messages. Apparently Leon tried to call you a few times but ended up sending you a message instead. You opened and read it. I'll be back home in a few hours. Please just accept the money, but stay for as long as you'd like to. I wanna see you again later. - Leon. You had to smile. Who even puts their name at the end of a message nowadays? You just replied with a quick 'alright' before putting your phone away again. You went back to what you were doing: planning and drawing the interior design of Leon's big ass home, all from memory from your tour last night.

You ended up placing all of your designs and sketches on the floor in what you assumed was supposed to be a living room. It just had two simple fabric couches facing each other in the middle of a giant room. Each design was placed in order, somewhat resembling the floorplan of the house. You didn't know how much time passed, but you began to feel tired and had to take a small break. Since you didn't wanna cross paths with that grumpy woman, you just stayed in that room. After some time of relaxing you felt really tired and didn't have any more motivation to plan the last few rooms. It must have been the combination of lack of sleep and whatever that pill was that your roommate gave you, so you ended up sitting on one of the couches and you began to close your eyes. Before you even knew it you fell on your side and into a light sleep.

The sound of a door slamming against the wall scared you half to death. As you looked towards the noise, you saw the same woman from earlier looking at you. “My apologies.” She smiled as she looked to the other side of the room. You followed her eyes and noticed she was looking at Leon. He was sitting opposite you with all of your sketches in his hands. You rubbed your eyes, trying to look somewhat alive. Leon didn't even look at her or you, he was way too focused on your drawings. Next to him you saw a laptop, where he seemed to type a few things in separate to going through your sketches. You sat up and slowly walked towards him. Without looking up from the drawings he talked to you. "These drawings are amazing. When did you make all of these?"

You were flustered by his actual interest. "Uhm.. I just made them for fun while waiting for you.. I didn't even take it seriously.." You scratched the back of your head.

"Are you kidding me? You probably.. no, you DID more for the interior design in the past few hours than I or Angel over there did in the past three years!" You were kind of confused by the name. Angel? Her? Was that supposed to be an unfitting nickname or her actual name? You didn't want to ask so you kept that thought to yourself. After Leon's comment Angel looked at you even more disgusted than before, it's a wonder that was even possible.

You wanted to ignore the weird feeling that stood in the room, so you just sat down next to Leon on the couch. "What are you doing on your laptop?" You wanted to look at it but before you had the chance to make out what he typed in earlier he closed it.

"Nothing special, don't worry about it." You sighed but didn't push it. After a few seconds of awkward silence between the three of you Leon stood up from the couch with his laptop, walked towards Angel and gave it to her. You looked at him confused, but he didn't even notice that. He said something to the woman but you couldn't understand it since they were so close to each other. You didn't know what, but a weird feeling spread in your body. Jealousy? You had to laugh out loud, which made the two look at you.

"Is there a problem?" Angel asked you, to which you answered with a head shake.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking about... something funny." You saw Leon's lip lift up a little bit which made you smile a little bit, too. Angel turned back from you and Leon led her out the door to the main hall.

You could hear them talk for a few minutes before the door opened again and Leon came back in alone. "Soo.. now that you're awake, do you want to grab something to eat? We can drive somewhere or I'll just order something."

You thought about the offer, but instantly remembered why you came here in the first place. "No way, Leon! I can't take any more money from you. I actually came here to give you back that money you left in my jacket. It's good for you to have so much but I can't keep it! This doesn't feel right." You looked at him frustrated.

He just shook his head while laughing. "I told you it wasn't for nothing. You literally just proved me right with giving it to you after seeing your drawings. You earned that money."

You were kind of flustered but still couldn't just accept it. "Leon, it's really nice of you and I don't wanna argue. But you gave me way more money than these few sketches are worth! My roommate even thought I started working as a stripper!"

Leon looked at you with big eyes, then stepped closer to you. "Well.. have you considered working as one? They make a good amount of money and I'm sure you would do great." He winked at you as he laughed out loud and even though you knew he was joking you turned completely red.

"Leon...what. the. hell. No! Of course I didn't think about working as one! I'm happy with my current job.. I guess." You looked at him again, realizing how close he suddenly was to you.

"Well, if that's what you think, alright. But I'm not gonna miss that money and I'm sure you will bring it to good use. So please, stop arguing with me and just accept it." His smile had disappeared and his face was a little more serious, he really wanted you to take that money.

“I can’t, Leon.” You grabbed his hand from his side and placed the filled envelope in his palm. “It’s too much." He looked at you disappointed, as if all he just said meant nothing. "Whatever." He muttered to himself. It made you feel bad for your behavior but you knew it was the right thing to do.

You looked at him in a sorry way and wanted to walk past him. But he blocked the way. "That's all I came for, Leon. I think it's better I leave now. Your Angel is probably waiting for you already."

He scoffed at your comment. “I think you misunderstood something here. Angel is her actual name. If I had to give her a nickname it would be anything but Angel, believe me. She can be a pain in the ass, but she gets her work done. And that’s all that matters for me.”

You let out yet another sigh. Why were you relieved anyway? Whatever Leon is doing with women, or men, was none of your business. You’ve literally only known him for like a day and act like a jealous partner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say it like that.”

“You don't have to apologize all the time, sweetheart. I thought it was cute.” He gave you a little wink and you felt your face heat up again. You looked away shyish and waited for his next move. But it appeared he did the same since he was just looking at you, waiting for you to say something. “Ehem..Food, right? I guess that´s what you wanted. Soo... Do you have anything special in mind?” He looked at you with a childish smile and simply answered “Just you wait, I have something great in mind.”

“Pizza?” You chuckled. “I didn’t think a fancy man like you ate peasant food like that.” You picked up your phone and began looking up a place that would deliver to Leon’s house

“Oh come on! Who doesn’t like pizza?” He shuffled over on the floor so that he was sitting beside you, looking at your phone. “The third one down.” He pointed at a restaurant named The Broadway. “That’s the best one around here, trust me, I’ve tried them all.”

“Alrighty.” You tapped on the phone number and as it rang you held it up to your ear. “Oh hiya! I’m looking to place an order for delive-”

“Pick-up. They only do pick-up.” Leon interrupted you.

“For pick-up!” You corrected yourself. When the worker asked for your name you couldn't help yourself. “For Kennedy.” Leon chuckled slightly and shook his head.

You ordered food for the two of you and some simple drinks to go with it. Of course Leon would get wine for the two of you but there’s nothing wrong with soda, especially when you’re already eating a greasy pizza. “Do we get Angel anything?” You asked Leon in response to the other person on the end of the call asking if anything else was wanted.

“She loves garlic bread, just get her some of that.” Leon replied, looking up from his own phone.

After the guy on the phone told you a time to pick up the food both you and Leon put on some shoes and went outside. “You gonna drive up to that poor pizza place with your fancy Porsche?” You asked jokingly.

To your surprise he actually shook his head. “You can choose the car if you want to. If you got a driver's license, you can even drive it yourself.”

You looked at him shocked. “Yea, sure. I’m gonna drive one of your expensive cars. Even if I had a license I wouldn't dare to sit down on the driver's seat. If I destroy it there's no way I'll ever be able to pay for the repair!”

“What’s one car more or less?” As he said that and you looked at him with an open mouth you heard a garage opening next to you. The bright lights kinda blinded you at first but as soon as you got used to the brightness you saw multiple cars and motorcycles standing in the big garage.

“Wow. What the hell.” That was all you were able to say at that moment. “I’m guessing that this is like your passion or a hobby?” You said as you walked in. Each vehicle was spotless, so clean that you could see your reflection in each one.

“Yeah, something like that, you could say.” As he was moving past the different vehicles he told you a little bit about all of them. Even though you had zero knowledge of cars and stuff you listened to him closely, trying to understand what he told you. You could see it in his eyes how he loved talking about these things, which made you smile.

After a good twenty minutes however you had to stop him. “As much as I love listening to you blabber away, I really wanna get our pizzas now.” Exactly at that moment your stomach began to growl, making you and Leon laugh.

“Well then, I hoped you listened closely. Go on and pick a ride.” He gestured around the both of you. You were thinking for a few seconds before finding a car you liked. You pointed towards it. “I like this one.” He followed your gaze and walked towards the car.

“I see. So you like the big ones, huh? Well then this Jeep Grand Cherokee is perfect for your needs.” He talked like he advertised the car which made you laugh and shake your head. He opened the passengers door for you before taking a seat behind the wheel. In just a few seconds the car left the garage and you found the both of you on the main road. Leon drove the car with ease which really fascinated you.His left hand was on the wheel and he was leaning on his right arm, he probably noticed you staring because he turned to you. “You wanna take over? The streets are empty here anyway.”

You shook your head again. “I meant what I said before. Just you drive now, I'm starving.” He looked back to the street and the rest of the drive went on quiet but nice. “I’ll learn to drive another day.”

Once you got back to Leon’s house Angel greeted Leon at the door, completely ignoring you. Leon tossed his keys to her and she caught them with one hand. As both you and Leon kicked off your shoes Angel hopped into the car and placed it back into the garage with the rest of them.

Leon led you to the kitchen and placed the multiple boxes on the counter, rather than sitting down he reached into a cupboard and pulled out two wine glasses. “Red or white?” He asked you.

“I don’t really want to drink tonight.” You admitted. That small hangover you had this morning wasn’t all that bad but you didn’t want to repeat it.

“Are you sure?” He asked, filling up both glasses with ice cubes. “I would hate to drink alone.”

“Fine.. but only one glass!” You gave in, to which Leon held both of the glasses up in confusion. “Huh? Oh! Red!” You replied to his earlier question. Leon nodded and opened up a small wine refrigerator he had under the counter, he picked up a bottle and read the label to himself. “Only the finest huh?”

“The finest thing is sitting right in front of me.” He chuckled and winked at you as he poured the two glasses, placing the fresh cork on the countertop. “So is this a business date where I hire you to be my interior decorator?”

“I’m only a student, Leon.” You opened one of the boxes and a waft of the smell of the food hit your senses, making you feel even more hungry than before.

“Whatever you say, student. This doesn’t change the fact that you already helped me a lot today. So this one is on you.” He raised his glass and with a cling both of yours met. You took a small sip and then took out a piece of pizza. “Besides, wouldn’t furnishing such a fancy house like this look really good on your resume?” You nodded slightly.

“Yea, you´re probably right about that, too. But let's not talk about work now and just enjoy the evening.” He gave you a smile before eating and drinking too. That evening seemed to never end as the both of you talked and drank, with no end in sight.

Maybe working for Leon wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

A/N: hey guys! This fanfiction is a Collab from me and Qwertyyy12 on AO3. If you want to, you can also leave her some love over there :) thanks for reading!

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Taglist: @trinswhimsys

#resident evil #re2 #re4 #re6 #resident evil vendetta #leon Kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #x reader #resident evil x reader

[marlahey]

under the same roof part two: an old friend

a harry styles rpf part two of six  ratings/warnings: the stalking comes to an alarming head via chase, suggestion of violent intent, aggressive emotions, fuck the patriarchy notes: things get serious, intimacy occurs, we all suffer. moments were edited or cut to reinforce the utter lack of actual romance in a real stalking situation, but I promise we’ve made up for it in later parts!  fun fact: on a lighter note, this series should probably just be titled: sweet things that have actually occurred to annie that she forgot she wrote in and so suffers in every edit session. 

masterlist | part one | part three (14.12.2020) ... • friday, 4th january 8:34 pm • Blood roars in your ears as you sprint through the parking garage, but the sound isn’t loud enough to drown out the pounding footfalls that aren’t your own. Every gulp of air burns your throat but you can’t stop, you can’t even slow down. The hum of industrial ceiling lights overhead is the only other sound. No one would hear you scream.

You’d heard the second car door after yours, and the initial footsteps. A quick turn of your head was your worst fear realized: the blue-eyed man beelining towards you, so quickly you’d barely had a chance to try and outpace him. A heavy hand landed on your shoulder as the man grabbed a fistful of your cardigan before yanking back on the fabric. Twisting desperately against his hold, you’d heard a faint pop-pop-pop as the stitching around your collar snapped and gave. You’d practically fallen away from him before scrambling upright, sliding with little traction on the dusty concrete beneath your feet, and bolting towards the open center of the lot. Your breath pours out into the air. There are no security cameras. Why are there no security cameras? A white, hot panic inside your head makes it hard to think, but you must. You can’t take the lift as it leads to a dead end, so it’ll have to be the stairs. The torn neck of your sweater leaves one of your shoulders naked to the cold. You came so close to draping a scarf around your shoulders before you left your apartment this morning. Had you kept it on, you could have been dead by now. You tear through the door to the stairwell at the other end of the garage and take the steps by two. At any moment an obstacle could arise—a locked door, a dead phone battery, a hard fall on the stairs—and that would be it for you. You’d be a gruesome headline or a face on a milk carton. You would never see your siblings, or India, or Chowder, or your parents ever again. Hot tears sting the corners of your eyes. On the last flight of stairs before the lobby, the sound of the stairwell door slamming echoes up the passageway. You look instinctively. A black, gloved hand is making its way up the railing. You almost lose your balance bursting through to the lobby, and even though your legs are screaming, you do what all the brochures have ever told you to do and break into another full-fledged run to the lift around the corner. You wish you’d chosen a building with a doorman or security desk—some kind of human checkpoint. “No, no, no,” you beg under your breath, launching an arm between the closing doors. You stumble, half expecting it to be empty, and find yourself face to face with Harry.  His eyes skim you over, widening from behind his glasses. You’re still clinging to the doors of the lift. Down the hall and around the bend, the door to the stairwell bangs open again; you wince. Harry’s eyebrows knit together. Thinking on your feet, you lurch inside and drag your hand along the keypad, illuminating just about every random floor up to the penthouses in the twenties, but not eight, and nothing before it. Harry’s eyes dart between yours and the doors. The footsteps in the hall behind you grow louder. You smash the close door button a dozen times, but something in you knows it’s a lost effort. You rush forward and tuck yourself into Harry’s side, tearing his name tag off and stuffing it in your bag. He startles, twisting to look at you, but you stick to your guns and slip your arm around his back. A moment later your eyes meet in the vaguely distorted metallic reflection above the keypad. Harry’s eyes are full of questions; a plea is in yours. For a second time, the doors of the lift begin to close but are stopped by an interjecting hand. A third body enters. It is him. That yellow-grey hair, the wrinkles and the scar on his lip, the worn, leathery skin… Immediately, the man turns to stare at you, and scoffs. You jump, your hand instinctively grasping the back of Harry’s jacket. You will your knees to be still. The lift doors close. It is silent until the car lurches upward. Suddenly you feel a warm, heavy pressure across your shoulders. In the reflection of the doors, you watch Harry’s arm wrap around you. He squeezes once. Your frantic gaze is pinned down by his much more fixed one. He feels so solid pressed into your side, and his eyes are solemn behind his glasses. More serious, maybe, than you’ve ever seen in the last year.  Harry’s lips quirk—the suggestion of a smile—before he looks down at his feet: a ruse of casual nonchalance. Your stomach twists.  The blue-eyed man sighs impatiently. Harry moves his hand to your waist and pulls you even tighter into his side. The car bounces to a stop on the sixth floor with a ding. As the doors glide open, it dawns on you that you had not thought this all the way through to the end. Do you go with Harry? What if you put Sylvia in danger? What if the man follows you? Harry’s arm drops from your shoulders.  The same white hot panic from the garage sears behind your eyes. Is this it? Is Harry about to leave you alone to your fate?  You almost miss his hand reaching back for you, like it’s something he does all the time. Harry squeezes, hard enough to nearly be painful. It starts you into motion. Your legs feel stiff and inflexible like they can’t remember how to walk as he pulls you along, keeping himself between you and the blue-eyed man. You’re off.  The doors close.  Harry glances over his shoulder, your hand still tight in his. He gently guides you to walk in front of him, and you shudder at the thought of the man still watching. You do not hear a third pair of footsteps trailing you, and you do not dare turn around to check. There’s something eerie in walking down a hall identical to your own but knowing that none of these doors are yours.  “This is me.” Harry’s voice is low around the jingle of his keys as he nods to the only door in the hallway hung with a wreath. You say nothing as he steps aside to let you through. He peers into the hall one last time once you’re both inside before locking the door, deadbolt, and chain guard. You lean your back against the wall with your arms across your chest, clutching your sides. He looks over at you slowly, hesitates, and takes a step toward you. His Adam's apple bobs. Suddenly the air leaves your lungs entirely and you begin to heave. You feel as though you’d been sprinting on a treadmill for an hour and then stopped immediately, which keeps you from realizing that Harry has been saying your name. Tears gather in your eyes again; if you allowed yourself to blink, they would spill over. You begin to sink against the wall. Harry catches your elbows in his hands, but you keep sinking anyway. He follows you all the way down to the floor. “Sorry,” you gasp. “You’re safe.” Harry just shakes his head. “I’ve got you.” You nod and try to send a few deep breaths to the pit of your stomach, then clear your throat. “Call the police.” Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on his feet, flicking on light switches and digging his phone from out of his bag. You hear, “Yes, hello. I’d like to report… following my neighbor.” Your mind reels.  Harry’s voice sounds almost distorted, like you’re underwater. “In my apartment with me.” You catch, “...followed her into the lift,” as well as “Yes,” and “No,” to a series of questions before he reappears with a concentrated frown, watching you. “She’s safe.”  You pick yourself up off the floor and Harry gestures to the small two-person dining table. He angles his cellphone down to his chest as he’s pulling the chair out for you. “Do you want to speak with them?” he whispers. You take a deep breath and nod, holding out your hand. Your fingers tremble, so you place it face up on the table instead and turn on the speaker. He may as well find out now; you can’t imagine having to explain all this a second time.  “Hello?” “Hello, my name’s Officer Warren. We hear you’ve had quite a scare tonight. I know it’s hard, but try to stay as calm as possible and just answer a few questions for me as best you can.”  The fact that the dispatcher is a woman comforts you. “Okay.” “Are you injured?” “No.” “Can you just confirm your full name for me? And your address?”  You rattle off your details, noting with strange detachment that you and Harry live precisely two floors apart. His flat is 6F; yours is 8F. “How long have you lived there?” “Almost a year.” “And how long have you been in the UK?” “About two and a half years. I’m a student at UCL.” “I understand you’re with a neighbor. Do you feel as though you’re in immediate danger?” You look up at Harry before your eyes dart to his front door, hesitating for longer than you want to. “No.” “Can you tell me what’s happened?” You close your eyes. “A man tried to grab me in the parking garage.” “Was this a man you’ve met before?” “He’s been following me since June. I see him everywhere I go. It happened the first few times in public places like on my walk home or when I go jogging, but then I started seeing him everywhere.” Your eyes open again. “Like, I’ve seen him on campus and in restaurants where I was eating. He was walking behind me the first time I ever went to Ilford for work, which is completely out of my way. He took the same tube as me once and tried to grab my hand.” You hear Harry’s knuckles crack across the table from you. “And how long ago was that?” “December twentieth.” “Have you ever come to the police with this information?” “Yes. I filed a report at the Lavender Hill station on the first of October and we went through some headshots but none of them were him.” You hear a series of keystrokes. “Yes, I see your file here. And can you describe what happened today?” “I was picking up some archives at the Ilford Historical Society–” “For school?” “Yes. I’m a research assistant. They have a postbox under my advisor’s name. I usually pick up the archives for the week on Thursdays, but I didn’t get around to it until a few hours ago. It’s usually just three or four storage boxes but today there was a sealed yellow envelope—” Your voice runs higher, choked. You turn away from Harry as you swallow another wave of emotion, but your voice is hardly any different when you begin speaking again. When you turn back, Harry’s hand is a little closer to yours on the table. “Today there was this big yellow envelope with my name handwritten on it and I figured it was just something from my advisor, so after I carried everything to the car, I opened it, and it… there were all these pictures of me.” “Are you able to tell where these photos were taken? What you were doing in them?” Your bag sits half open on the table beside you; you can tell without looking that Harry’s followed your eyes to the mustard yellow envelope poking out the top. You don’t want to open it again. You don’t have to. The images are burned behind your eyelids. “There’s one of me on the tube looking at my phone. Another one of me leaving the shops. There’s a few at the gym.” You sniffle. “Most of them are taken through the window of my flat. They must’ve been across the street because you can see me through the blinds and I’m—when I don’t…” You stare at the edge of the table. “When I’m undressing.”  You lean your forehead into your hand. Harry is stock still across from you. The pause before the officer speaks again feels like it stretches forever. “Can you tell when the most recent photo was taken?” It takes a beat to admit, “It’s from two nights ago,” and the words taste bitter in your mouth. The clack of a keyboard is audible again through the phone.  “You said you’ve been to the Lavender Hill station before? Have you reported these photos yet?” You gather your thoughts. “I was going to go straight there, but I wrote these long descriptions of all the past times I’d seen him. The officer I spoke to the first time I went in, she told me to write down absolutely everything I remembered, so I did—the times of day I’d seen him, where I was, what I was wearing… She said having my own record would help my chances of opening an investigation. I keep all of that at home in my flat, so I decided to go home and grab my notes to bring with me to the station, along with the pictures. I borrow my best friend’s car to commute to Ilford, so I drove straight home.” “And what happened when you got home? In the car park?” You take a deep breath. And then another. Your eyes squeeze shut again. “Take all the time you need.” “I turned into the car park… I pulled into my usual spot. I took off my jacket and left it in the passenger seat, thinking I would come back to it in a minute. I got out of the car and locked it… ” You swallow dryly. “I heard a car door shut behind me. I turned around and saw the man—I recognized him.” “Do you remember what he was wearing?” “He was wearing, um, black gloves, a grey sweater, black jeans, and I think his shoes were black too.” You frown at your hands. “I could hear how quickly he was walking up behind me. I tried to get away, and he—” You swallow. “He grabbed me. Or at least, he tried. He tore the seam of my sweater and I managed to like, pull away. And then I just ran. I was too scared to try the lift so I just took the stairs all the way up to the lobby. But he followed me.”  Your eyes flicker up to Harry absently before you go on. “Harry was in the lift—the—my neighbor, so I ran over and put my arm around him to make it seem like I wasn’t alone.” Harry nods at you from across the table.  “And the man was able to follow you into the lift?” The tips of your fingers ache at the memory of slamming desperately into the close door button. “Yes.” “Did he try to communicate with you in any way?” You shake your head and then remember she can’t see you. “No. He was just staring at me.” “Has he ever approached you or tried to make contact before?” “Just the one time on the tube and the pictures.” “Were you followed out of the lift?” “No.” “And you’re in your neighbor’s flat now, is that right?” “Yeah.” You run your sleeve beneath your nose with a sniffle. “And the man knows which floor you got off at?” ”Correct.” “Do the windows in both of your flats face out on the same street?” Your stomach drops. “Yes… They do.” “I want you to remain calm and stay on the line, can you do that for me?” It’s deadly quiet as you and Harry look at each other. You feel eerily as though you’ve wound up in a Hitchcock film. “Yes.” “Move away from the windows and find a place in the flat that’s not visible from the street—” The legs of Harry’s chair are scraping the floor before you get the chance to react. “...and do not turn out any lights or change the way any of the blinds are positioned.” “C’mere.” Harry’s voice is gravely urgent. He leads you to the kitchen with a hand between your shoulder blades, and brushes past you to lower the blinds of a small window above the sink. Your eyes widen as your hand reaches toward him. “Harry—” He glances back, too late. “Don’t… ” You stumble. “Don’t fix any more of those.” He nods once.  “Yes, don’t touch the blinds. Don’t change anything that would make it look out of the ordinary. If someone has been staking out your building from the same place across the street every night, you could give yourself away and put you both at risk.” “Okay.” Harry leans against the sink with his arms crossed, and you mirror him.  “Since you already have a file on record and the whereabouts of this man are still uncertain, it might do more harm than good to have you come in again for questioning at this hour. But we’ll need you to come by first thing in the morning. You absolutely cannot go back to your flat tonight. He knows very well which unit is yours, and he’s clearly found access into the building somehow. Do not turn on the lights, do not fuss with the blinds, do not go to retrieve any belongings. If it’s something dire, an officer can escort you.” “Okay.” “And don’t leave the building, either. If you need a place to stay, there’s a section of the precinct that can hold you till morning. An officer will have to drive you there, too.” “Okay,” you parrot. “Listen carefully. It’s not forever, but right now we need you to keep yourself absolutely out of sight. Anything that could result in your being followed… Well, we would strongly advise against your taking unnecessary risks. We obviously want to keep you and anyone else involved as safe as possible.” “I understand.” “A patrol officer is en route to your address. He’ll stay posted outside the building for a few hours. If something happens, don’t hesitate to call. Is this a number we can redial if need be?” You look up to Harry; he nods fiercely. “Yes.” “Try to get some rest. You’re safe now, and we’ll see you first thing in the morning.” “Thank you, officer.” You pass Harry’s phone back to him before digging through your bag to retrieve your own. The dial tone rings in your ear as you turn to face the living room. You’re sent to voicemail. “Uh… hi, Mom. It’s me. Just give me a call back when you get this, okay? I—um… Everything’s fine I should just… give you an update, so. Anyways. Talk soon. Love you.” You set your phone down on the counter, but can’t manage to meet his eyes. Some part of you had been worried that he would judge you—or worse, pity you. He doesn’t speak, nor does he try to touch you. Your eyes are pulled towards two sets of rainbow-painted handprints stuck to Harry’s fridge—one large, one tiny. A wave of nausea washes over you at the imposition you’ve entitled yourself to, the risk involved, the implications.  “Thank you.” Harry jumps at the sound of your voice. “For everything. I should—” you loop an arm through the strap of your bag— “I should go.” “Woah, woah, woah… ” Harry catches your arm before you can take three steps. You freeze. He releases you immediately. “And go where? You heard the officer, yeah?” He’s shaking his head slowly. “You can’t go back to your flat.” “I did hear her,” you counter. It comes out more curt than you had meant it. “There’s a safe place for me to sleep at the precinct… Thank you again, I can show myself out.” “That’s ridiculous—” You turn away and he says your name, once, imploring. It’s more of a plea than a demand, keeping you still. You still have your eyes on the door, but since you’re no longer moving, Harry goes on.  “You can stay here, it’s fine. I’ve got a spare bed n’ all. You can sleep in Vi’s room.” Your resolve wavers. His voice is a pitch softer as he asks, “What is it?” Your mouth hangs open a moment before you can find the right words. “I don’t—we don’t…” We don’t know each other seems far too accusatory with everything that’s transpired between you, especially after tonight. You grind your teeth, reeling the words back. Harry’s fingers touch your elbow, hesitating, and when you don’t pull away he wraps his hand gently around your arm. Tears well up in your eyes and you can’t blame them on the guilt, fear, or relief alone… all of it at once leaves you itching to escape.  “We’re practically strangers,” you settle on finally. “I put you in danger, and I put your family in danger—” Harry’s thumb rotates in tiny circles in the crook of your arm, a touch so light you can barely feel it. You think unbidden of the lift on New Year’s Eve, and the brush of his lips over yours. You want to fall headlong back into that memory—to abate what is shaping up to be one of the worst nights of your life. “I’m Harry.”  You blink. “What?” He smiles at you—a quick, sanguine flicker of a thing. “I’m Harry… Styles. I’m twenty-six. I graduated from Kings with a Bachelors in Art History and Psychology. I’m an Administrative Assistant to the Director of the National Gallery—” his smile is real now, wider— “But sometimes I pick up shifts keepin’ an eye on the gallery for the extra few quid… I have a daughter named Sylvia. She’s almost five. I get her every other week. I grew up in Cheshire. I have a sister named Gemma and my mum’s name is Anne.” You sniffle. “Why are you telling me all this?” “So you and I aren’t strangers anymore.” You have no idea how to respond. “You’ve never been here before,” Harry continues. “If someone’s been keeping close tabs on our building, then maybe this is the safest place for you right now. If I felt you were putting my daughter in harm’s way—” you open your mouth to speak and he raises a finger— “I would ask you to leave… As it is, if you go now, I feel that I would be putting you in harm’s way… And I don’t want to.” The two of you stand at a stalemate. “Please don’t make me.” Harry lets go of your arm and eventually backs up to lean against the sink again. You could leave if you wanted to. Eventually you sigh and drop your bag down to the kitchen floor with a thud. “Are you hungry?” Harry asks. “I was gonna fix something for myself anyway.” You shake your head. “I don’t think I could eat anything right now.” The more powerful urge is to erase this night from memory, to scrub away the feeling of a rough hand on your shoulder. You absently rub your thumb into the sleeve of your shirt where the grime from the door to the stairwell had smeared. Your shoulder is still bare from the gaping hole. Harry tilts his head, as if he’s going to say something more, but you blurt, “Could I use your shower actually?” “Of course.” He leads you to the end of a brief hallway with three adjacent doors, only one of which is open. “Be back in a sec.” Harry emerges moments later with two folded towels, then flicks on the light as you trail behind him. Your eyes are immediately drawn to Harry in the broad mirror that covers the entire wall above the sink. His bathroom is virtually identical to yours, but it’s striking to see his familiar reflection somewhere outside of the lift.  Harry pushes aside the curtain to the shower. “Fuck.”  He sets the towels down on the toilet seat and hastily gathers up the army of rainbow rubber ducks lined along the rim of the tub, before yanking off a plastic water wheel suction cupped to the faucet. Clear synthetic stickers in the shape of cartoon rocket ships and planets cling to the shower wall which Harry peels off in a stack before scooping out a myriad of other colorful knick-knacks from the bottom of the tub. “Harry, you don’t have to do that.” “I’m just now realizing how mad this must look to someone who isn’t the parent of a four-year-old—” “Harry, please. You’re already doing so much for me. You don’t need to remodel your bathroom.” “Alright, well… ” Harry rises, brushing his hands down the front of his suit trousers with flushed cheeks and glasses halfway down his nose. He cards his fingers through his hair. “Just be careful not to step on those little sparkly buggers. They’re the most painful by far.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” You have to suppress an laugh at the image of him having stepped on every last toy in the tub enough to compare. “So, like, the red is hot and obviously the blue is cold but it’s very sensitive so I find it’s best to just leave it at about three o’clock—wait you…” Harry shakes his head with a frown. “You probably have the same one, don’t you?” You nod, wringing your hands. “Do you have a shirt or something I could borrow for after?” “Of course,” he almost cuts you off, disappearing into the hallway. You perch on the edge of the tub and run the faucet to adjust the temperature. There’s three raps on the door. “Come in!” you call. Harry squeezes through the door and you catch his eyes in the mirror. “Let me know if these fit.” You watch his reflection lift the clean towels, put down the bundle of clothes, and restack the linens on top with the ease of someone who’s clearly used to taking care of someone else. “Thank you, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He nods and closes the door firmly behind him. Sylvia’s bath wrap, bright yellow and embroidered with her initials, hangs by its duck shaped hood on a hook next to the door. Steam is starting to rise from the shower. You take a deep lungful and step in carefully. Although childrens’ soaps and clutter are unfamiliar, the water pressure is the same as the shower in your apartment, if not better. It pounds down against your back and shoulders, and for a minute you let yourself just stand in the hot spray. It takes several seconds of inner coaxing before you can close your eyes and tilt your head back beneath the water. A hardened blue stare flashes in your mind’s eye, but you push it back determinedly. You think of Harry’s clear, level gaze. You think of the way he’d looked as he pinned a poppy to your chest—as he’d drank from that half-empty bottle of Prosecco.  So you turn your attention to the soap instead. It’s strange to see the source of several of the mingling scents you’ve picked up from him in the lift over so many months, and even more strange to pick the bottles up and use them on yourself. But there’s something cathartic in the act of scrubbing yourself raw, especially the spot on your shoulder where you had to wrench yourself away from that painful grip. By the time the last of the shampoo and soap are swirling down the drain, buoying a tiny rubber duck that Harry had missed, you finally feel a bit more like yourself again.  The towels are in easy reach. You wrap your hair in one, wind the other around your body, and tiptoe across the bathmat, wading through a junkyard of toys. A hotel toothbrush packaged in plastic lays atop the pile of clothes Harry had left, so you quickly brush your teeth before giving the bathroom a cursory tidy. You have to roll up the cuffs of his sweatpants to your ankles. You can barely see your own reflection, so you crack open the door to air out the steam a bit. Somewhere a kettle shrieks. You creep into the hall, clutching a neat bundle of your clothes and set your things down on the chest table in the entryway before joining him in the kitchen. Harry has changed out of his work suit and into a plain white tee shirt and grey sweatpants. Sundry, mismatched tattoos are scattered all along his left arm and it catches you by surprise. No rings. You have no idea what to do with yourself, faced with the reality that you’re standing in Harry’s flat, wearing his clothes, smelling like him. You lean gingerly against the counter, sort of surprising yourself as you blurt out, “I thought you said you were hungry?” Harry freezes, like he is both realizing you’re there, and also that he contradicted himself. “Lost my appetite I guess. Tea?” “I’d love some, yeah. If there’s enough water. Thanks.” “Sure.” You watch as Harry pulls down a veritable armada of teabags. “Gotta be prepared,” he says with a vaguely self-deprecating smile. “We take our tea seriously over here. These—” Harry gestures—  “haven’t got caffeine.”  Something tells you that an entire bottle of cold medicine couldn’t knock you out tonight. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” Your phone vibrates against your hip and you pull it out to skim the text from your mom. Hi honey. Sorry I missed your call, hope everything is alright… It’s late for you now so I’ll try back in the morning. Hugs. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as guilt taps you on the shoulder. You’re drained and it would be lovely not to rehash tonight’s events for a second time when you know it would do nothing but worry her. Since you’re in reasonably good hands, you lock your phone and shove it back into the pocket of Harry’s sweats. “How do you take it?” Harry murmurs. “With a little bit of milk, if you don’t mind.” He places your tea on the counter beside you before adding the milk. “I don’t mind,” he mocks your accent gently, and it bothers you how good he is at it. Harry passes you the mug. You raise it to your nose and inhale the steam. “Thank you, Harry, for being so… okay with all of this, and for just like, making me feel… ” You trail off, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to have, like, an ounce of normalcy tonight after all that.”  You tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. Harry pushes his glasses up his nose with his thumb and idly plays with the tag hanging by a string over the side of his mug. “I’ve heard you take responsibility a dozen times tonight for the danger that someone else put you in,” he says after a minute. His eyes are vaguely unfocused, and trained on the blinds. “Tonight was not your fault. Like, you were smart, brave and all that, but you shouldn’t have had to be.” He takes a sip. “I’m glad I was there.” Harry doesn’t say anything else. It’s cathartic in a way you wouldn’t have expected, to hear him state it back to you so plainly and without nuance. There’s not a thing you could say to that in defense of the argument that you are indeed to blame. But there were other choices I could have made. I shouldn’t have gone running that morning. I should have known to be more vigilant, buying those groceries. It was reckless of me to choose sheer curtains. I should have apparated to class instead of taking the tube. The logic sounds absurd to you in a new way when held up to the light. You absently stir your tea; there’s an orange tabby painted on the ceramic. “Chowder!” Harry’s eyebrows fly up. “Sorry?” “My cat! He’s all on his own in my apartment.” “Does he have water?” “Yeah, and food. And he's a few years old so he’ll be fine. I just feel awful, he’s never spent the night alone.” You shake your head. “Sorry for making you jump, it just crossed my mind.” “No, it’s okay… Do you want—should I go up and check on him for you?” “No, no. That’s not necessary. I’m just, you know, a terrible cat mom.”  “Ha!” Harry barks. It’s the loudest sound you’ve ever heard him make. “You don’t even want to… Oh Christ,” he shakes his head, creasing with laughter, “You have no idea.” “What?” You ask after a minute, unable to help yourself from joining in his laughter. His face is turning pink. “Do you have any idea how many nappies I’ve put on backwards? How many haircuts I’ve botched? I mean with my real, human child. I assembled both of Sylvia’s cribs upside down because the instructions were in Japanese. One after the other. It was the same fucking crib.” He deadpans your name at you. “Sylvia’s first word was fuck because Daddy couldn’t shake the habit of saying it all the fucking time.” “Oh my god.” “Yeah. We thought she was just a quiet kid, but then we were getting concerned that she wasn’t speaking by her second birthday. We took her to a speech therapist. So imagine you’re me, watching your daughter in her little highchair with her mum right up in her face, going, “Vi can you say ma-ma? And the child throws her binkie… and yells, Fuck!” You’re laughing so hard it’s completely silent.  “Didn’t say it.” He swipes a tear from the corner of his eye, and it bumps up his glasses a little. “Yelled it. Not a thing wrong with her… Oh,” Harry sighs. “Annie wouldn't speak to me for a week.” He shakes his head. “That’s incredible.” “So, like, newsflash… ” He takes a sip of his tea. “Nobody has any idea what they’re doing. There’s no such thing as a perfect parent or, um—cat mum as you said.” “So…” you venture after a pause. “Annie?” Harry laughs once through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright. Fair.” He sets his tea down on the counter. “Thought maybe we’d get to have this conversation over Prosecco,” he says, chuckling dryly. “Sylvia was definitely… unexpected… ” Harry begins delicately. “But she’s, like the funniest person I know and also my favorite person on the planet. So… I dunno. It worked out.” He clears his throat. “She was conceived on the night I met her mum at a pub in Essex and that was that. Haven’t really looked back. Annie—Vi’s mum—is an amazing person. We were never in love or anythin’ even close, but she’s the best co-parent I could ever dream of.”  “Vi’s a cute nickname.” “S’her first name, actually.” Harry smiles over the rim of his mug. “Lanh Vi.” His voice dips low and elongates the first syllable. “Lanh means gentle, happy. Vi is a family name. Annie wanted to give that to her parents, a proper Vietnamese name on her birth certificate. Sylvia’s sort of a good compromise for when she goes to school.”  Harry stares at some middle distance, smiling like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. “Annie’s parents took a little convincing that any of this was going to work out—mine too—but I love our unconventional little family, and I’m really looking forward to her wedding. Sylvia’s in store for two really incredible mums.” He looks back at you and shrugs. “It’s not such a bad life. Sometimes I wish there was a more exciting answer.” “That doesn’t seem like a bad life at all.” The corners of Harry’s lips drop a little the moment you open your mouth. His head is tilted slightly as though he’s trying to gauge your reaction. You try to mirror the same, reassuring smile he’d given you earlier, then cover a yawn with your hand. “What time is it?” you ask. Harry checks his phone. “Half ten—or just gone.” “No it’s not,” you frown, but he holds up his phone to show you. “Oh god…” “Time flies when you’re talking about parenthood.” He takes your empty mugs, setting them carefully in the sink. “Thank you.” Without turning around Harry announces, “I think I’m gonna have you sleep in my bed and I’ll take the air mattress in Sylvia’s room.” “No.” You shake your head. “Harry I swear if you insist on that, I’m calling a taxi to the police station.” “No, honestly… They’re the only two rooms in the flat with the blinds consistently drawn, and her room’s empty most nights anyway since I’m such a pushover.” It takes a moment for that comment to sink in and when it does you feel your heart melt a little. “You’ll sleep much better in my bed than on my inherited air mattress from the nineties.” “I won’t,” you lie seamlessly. “I don’t sleep well in new places anyway, so at least one of us should get a good night’s rest.” “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” he relents. You’re glad you don’t have to argue about it. “Thank you.” Harry leads you to the linen cabinet in the hallway and removes a cardboard box from the very top shelf. An enormous dust cloud falls like an avalanche down his shirt and he coughs hysterically, scrunching his nose. “Last chance to change your mind,” Harry croaks, wiping his glasses on the front of his shirt. You shake your head and he turns to the door across from his, where his bed is half visible in shadow. The two of you shuffle into a cubby of a room, and Harry drops the box onto the plush pile rug with a thud.  Your neck cranes as you look around the tiny space, about as roomy as the lift. The walls are painted navy blue with silver and gold stars exploding in a galaxy across the walls, and your hand floats to your chest in memory of when Sylvia had pointed at you with a tiny finger, recognizing the shape at the end of the chain hung around your neck. Her bed frame is painted a deep, forest green and the two small pillows upon it are shaped like rain clouds. Plastic dinosaurs of all different sizes and colors line her windowsill. A small, homemade bookshelf is aligned by the bed. “You mind helping me spread it?” Harry’s voice brings you back down to earth, and you grab two corners of the plastic to lay out the mattress like a picnic blanket on the floor. It’s a tight squeeze, but at least it’s a queen. You look down at it with your hands on your hips, and Harry tilts his head, running a hand over his stubble. Harry steps back out into the hallway, ducking into his bedroom. You hear the creak of a closet door and shifting fabric as the beam of light from his room slants across the hall into Sylvia’s, illuminating a diagonal path right up through the wooden slats of her toybox. There’s a small, familiar shadow outline on top. You crouch down to pick up Jojo and his mother in one hand, running your fingers over the soft velvet of their floppy ears. It feels a little odd, to be so comforted by a child’s toy that doesn't even belong to you, but here you are. “I see you’ve found an old friend.”  Harry leans against the doorframe, watching you. His arms are full with a clean sheet, spare pillow, and quilt. The fondness in his voice is hard to miss, but you wonder if it’s for his daughter, for the toy, or for you. “I would’ve thought Sylvia brought him to her mom’s, too.” Harry’s lips twitch with amusement before he puts the pillow and quilt on top of Sylvia’s dresser. “She used to take him everywhere.” He visits every corner of the mattress to tuck the sheet around. “Here, let me help you with—” “No, no, it’s always easier like this before you blow it up.” Harry steps into the corners of the room that aren’t completely swallowed up by the giant, deflated bed. He removes a paper lantern night light with constellation cutouts from its outlet, replacing it with the motor to the air mattress. “This part always takes a bit.” The small plastic box sputters into a whine and the mattress begins to inflate. “Just give it a few minutes… S’ old.” Soft whirring fills the room before he speaks over it. “We almost lost him on a trip to Brighton once—” he nods at Jojo, still in your hands— “Vi was inconsolable until we found him wedged between the bed and the wall in the hotel. Managed to convince her that leaving him at home—or at least only to Bridget’s on the first floor while I’m at work—was the best way to keep him safe.” He steals a glance at you and unfolds the massive quilt on top of the bed as it rises, before fluffing the pillow and tossing it to one of the long ends. “Then she started insisting on leaving him here on the weeks she spends at her mum’s.” “How come?” Harry’s smile is somewhere between pointedly self-deprecating and unbelievably loving. “Says she doesn’t want me to be lonely while she’s gone.”  Before you can fully process all the ways your heart is both warmed and a little broken, Harry is disappearing into the hall again, returning with a throw blanket and fanning it out over the quilt. “Okay.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “That should do it. Do you want another pillow?” He turns to you suddenly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I have a couple more on my—” “No, no. This is more than enough… Thank you again, Harry,” You reassure him with the understanding that this is goodnight. Harry runs a hand through his hair and a little puff of dust is drawn out. “If you, um—If you need anything, I’ll be… my bedroom’s just there.” He twists around to point. “Don’t hesitate to like… yeah, wake me up if you need—if you feel… ” He laughs once at himself, exasperated. “Sorry, I’m tired.” You shake your head and smile sympathetically. “So am I.” “Goodnight, then.” Harry backs out into the hallway. He pauses in Sylvia’s doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. At that exact moment, the motor clicks off and the sudden silence feels unbearably loud.  “I want you to feel safe here.” The room is so still that you see the shadow against Harry’s neck bob as he swallows in the yellow light of the hall. His eyes are steady and clear. You take a breath in, and nod. “I do,” you say, steadfast. “I promise… Goodnight, Harry.” He shuts the door behind him. • saturday, 5th january 12:46 am •

There had been a knock, of that much you are sure. One solitary rap jolts you from sleep, followed by the raucous succession of a dozen more as you sit up on the air mattress. It stops for a moment. Then starts up again. “Harry?” you whisper into the blackness, your heart suddenly pounding. In your groggy trance, you weren’t sure the first time you heard it if someone was knocking on the door to Sylvia’s room, but by the time your eyes adjust, you’re sure it’s coming from farther away. It stops. You’re still for a minute, careful not to rustle the quilt. There is no sound apart from a faint siren in the distance. You unplug your phone from where it charges beneath the nightlight, squinting at its bright little face. 12:46. Perhaps it’s a police officer? Surely they would have announced themselves, wouldn’t they? You slide down the mattress and creep up to the door, pressing an ear against the wood. There is nothing but the echo of your own blood rushing in your ear. You have to close your eyes and count to three before turning the doorknob. Harry is already in the hall, the door to his bedroom left gaping. He turns to you and immediately brings a finger to his lips. The sound of an open hand smacking against the front door is unmistakable. Harry inches towards the noise. He freezes suddenly, then twists to look at you, reaching his hand back with fingers outspread. Stay here. Harry rounds the corner out of sight until it becomes unbearable to stand there a moment longer. You tiptoe in his wake, and move at the same time he does. The only light in the flat spills from his open bedroom. Here in hall, the shadows are long and dark and Harry’s expression is harder to make out until he glances over his shoulder. He nods at you once before training his eyes on the door again. Your feet move of their own accord, as though they have unilaterally decided that the safest place for you is as close to Harry as possible. It seems jarring to you, that this man in a tee shirt and boxers is the same man who, not a week ago, seemed like a piece of art with his burgundy suit and damp curls; the memory of loose limbs and laughter clashes against the image of him fraught before you. Harry peers through the peephole. Your eyes are cemented to the back of his head and you begin to feel dizzy, only just realizing you’ve been holding your breath. He tenses. In a freezing rush of dread, you suddenly know exactly who is on the other side of that door. You know you shouldn’t panic. Harry raises a finger to his lips again in another soundless imperative and you know—from a place that feels somewhere outside your body—that the last thing you should be doing is opening your mouth. But this is a terror hurtling beyond fight or flight. Your primary functions are in a deadlock with a searing hysteria clamoring for you to scream, and something desperately carnal that believes you could only survive this moment if you were silent enough.  Harry is still gesturing at you to keep quiet. He turns his back to the door and approaches you, the weight of his gaze keeping you motionless. He reaches forward and presses his palm firmly against your parted lips. All of a sudden you’re just as close as you were in the lift four nights ago when he tasted like brandy and the beginning of something new. The look he had given you on New Year’s was playful and wanting. In this moment, however, a pair of hard and urgent eyes bore into yours, igniting the pit of your stomach with a different kind of fear. Harry wraps his free hand around your wrist. You blink and blink. Beneath the steel resolve in his face, a desperate question forms: Do you trust me? You want to answer but you don’t know how. So you just keep staring. He pushes you backwards, gently, leading you around the corner and down the hall, his hand cupped to your mouth all the while. Even if you’d wanted to glance at the front door, Harry’s gaze is a magnet to your eyes. He walks you all the way into his bedroom, until you feel the mattress on the backs of your knees. You’d fall if not for Harry letting go of your wrist to guide you down with a hand on your waist. His lips move soundlessly around the words, stay here, and you manage to nod. Only then does he release your mouth. Your eyes can only focus on the closet door directly in front of you. It takes every ounce of your concentration to just keep breathing so you don’t pass out as Harry doubles back out into the hall, leaving you on the edge of his bed. You can feel an outbreak of sweat around your temple and on the back of your neck. You know you’re shaking but that feels distant, too.  You have no idea how long Harry is gone, you just know he closes the door upon his return. You’re still trying to pace your breathing as he crouches down in front of you. He has his phone to his ear. You can only catch a few of his words at a time.  “My name is Harry Styles… previously reported an, um, incident involving… yes… no… returned… knocked on the door. No, he’s gone now… I waited, to be sure. But I—” There’s a pause. “I think he’s knocking on every door on this floor.” You hear something like a choked gasp. Only when Harry’s eyes dart to yours do you realize it was you.  You have put the entire building in danger.  “Yes, she’s still here.” His free hand reaches up to your knee as he listens to the dispatcher, but he seems to think better of it at the last moment, worrying the edge of the duvet between his fingers instead. “Right, yes. I understand. I will. Thank you.”  Faint ringing replaces the feeling of water in your ears.  “They’re sending someone,” he murmurs after hanging up. “He’s gone.” You hear that broken gasp again. “He’s gone, I promise.” Your shoulders cave inward when you feel the full, painful heave of your sob. Tears stream down your cheeks as you cover your face. Harry’s hand lifts again. You shrink away and he immediately moves from you to stand. “I’ll be—”  You seize at the first part of him you can reach, grasping a weak fistful of his soft cotton tee. Harry is completely still beneath your trembling fingers. He doesn’t pull away or move closer. He just hovers there, steady. “Please…” You want to ask him to stay. You want to ask for help. You want him to touch you so you know that you’re real—that you’re not in fact still trapped alone in the most terrifying part of a nightmare, but the words are unbearable.  The sound of your name in Harry’s mouth undoes something inside you. Through your tears you finally lift your head to find his eyes. His expression seems torn, like he wants to comfort you but doesn’t know how. You’re not sure which one of you bridges the gap, but your forehead lands in the warm slope between his neck and shoulder and that seems to be all the confirmation Harry needs.  His hands slide up your back to hold you as you all but collapse into him, crying with enough force that Harry draws you off the bed and onto the floor with him. He smooths one hand up and down the length of your spine as the other wraps so far around your back that you can feel his fingertips hooked over your hip. “S’ok,” he murmurs, his lips pressing into your temple like he intends to seal the words to your skin. Harry doesn’t try to shush you. “S’gonna be alright. ‘M here… I’ve got you. You’re safe… I’ve got you.”  When your wracking sobs give way to hiccups and finally to something halfway controllable, he stops talking and just holds you, rocking ever so slightly in a sort of motion that only a parent can do. You have no idea how long you sit like that, a tangle of limbs and soaked collars and cheeks, until you’re finally able to speak.  “I’m sorry,” you choke out. “You—”  “None of that,” Harry says immediately. You feel his nose dig into your hair, his breath warm as he sighs. “I mean it, alright? No more apologizing for any of this. Might have to make you a jar like the one Annie has for me in her flat.” The thought is strange enough to pull you, however briefly, out of your current misery. “You have an apology jar?”  He exhales sharply. “Swear jar, actually.”  Your laugh bursts out unexpectedly, sort of wet and weak, but there nonetheless. You feel the soft stroke of his thumb on the back of your head. “That’s more like it.”  You draw back and Harry’s grip tightens, just for a moment, before he releases you. He brushes your damp cheeks with the side of his palm before you can do it yourself. You see the same concentration he wore when he’d pinned that Remembrance Day poppy to your jacket. It takes effort to silence the instinct to be ashamed and keep his eyes.  “They said it might be a bit before an officer can get up here,” he says, searching your face. “They’re puttin’ together a couple patrol teams to canvas the building and stay outside the rest of the night.” All you can think to do is nod. “Can I get you anything? Water?” “Please,” you reply, grateful. “I should—” you make a vague gesture at yourself— “clean myself up a bit.” Harry opens his mouth like he wants to comment, but just nods instead. You use his shoulder to push yourself to your feet; his hand covers yours and you feel his thumb running across your knuckles.  You say, “Thank you,” but it’s not nearly enough. He squeezes gently, staring up at you and saying nothing. You walk on unsteady legs to the bathroom. You can feel his eyes on you even when you close the door. Lacing your fingers atop your head, you sigh at the tearstained, swollen-eyed version of yourself staring back at you in the mirror. After blowing your nose and splashing a few handfuls of water across your face, you join him on his side of the bed. His phone is in his hands. He finishes sending off a long, blue bubble of text before looking up and passing you a water from the nightstand. He runs the tip of his index finger around the rim of his own glass.

You bring the drink to your lips, then lower it immediately; the glass clacks against your teeth with the tremor of your hand. You can feel Harry’s eyes on you even though he doesn’t turn his head. Again, you try taking a sip with the same result and sigh. “I think I’m gonna try my parents again.” “Sure.” You set your water on the nightstand and head to Sylvia’s room, shutting the door behind you. You take a deep breath before collapsing back on the mattress. The stars rotating on the ceiling like a merry-go-round make you nauseous so you unplug the nightlight before dialing. Your mom answers after the first ring, emphasizing your name like a scolding. “Hi, Mom.” “What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night in England. Is everything alright?” “That’s actually what I need to talk to you about.” You hardly get a sentence in before you hear her rushing to get your dad and the three of you have an hour-long, emotional crash-course on the last five hours of your life. There isn’t too much to fill in as you’ve kept them more or less updated on the blue-eyed man and your previous trips to the police department. You assure them that you’re in one piece and that you couldn’t have wound up with a more generous host, but that doesn’t assuage your mom from insisting on speaking with the police herself. She makes you promise to stay on the line until the authorities arrive. Before long, you hear a light rap on your door. “Yes?” Harry cracks it open without peeking his head inside. “Police are here—take your time. I’ll go out and speak with them.” “Thanks, Harry… Mom, some officers just arrived I think.” You pinch your phone between your cheek and shoulder, softly close the door behind you. “I’ll call you back once we’re done with everything.” You rush through a quick goodbye and meet Harry in the entryway. He’s thrown on some gym pants and a sweater and his arms are folded across his chest. The fully-uniformed men seem bulky and out of place in the sixth-floor hallway, as though they couldn’t squeeze in Harry’s modest apartment. It’s not like you’re the one in trouble, but your heart skips a little anyway. “… every floor of the building and searched the surrounding perimeter with no sign of anyone matching the description, and from the security footage we seized, we can see that he pulled out of the car park about forty-five minutes ago.” “Okay.” Harry nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Alright. Great.” The officer who had been speaking turns to you. “And you must be the young woman who—” “Yes.” You jerk your head quickly. It’s more like an anxious spasm than a nod.  “That’s me.” “We were just filling your neighbor in that we were unable to find the culprit, but the building and surrounding area seem to be clear. If at all possible, we think it would be best for you to stay here just for the night, then come straight to the station in the morning to make a plan.”  You simply nod again. “I will.” “You’re flat 8F, is that right?” “That’s correct.” “Were any of these marks on your door before this evening?” The officer pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to reveal the last few pictures in the camera roll. Your stomach drops. He flips through several photos of a long, black streak above the handle of your front door, and a sizable ding in the wood by the door jam. The impact was hard enough to scratch the paint. “No,” you manage. “I don’t recognize those. Did he, um…” “The door didn’t give,” the officer says. It’s just reassuring enough to keep your knees from buckling. He turns to face Harry again. “And you’re certain that the man showed no signs of knowledge that she—that the two of you were in this particular flat?” “Yeah. I watched him make his way down, knocking on a couple more doors.”  “Was he stopping by every door?”  Harry takes a moment to think. “No,” he replies. “It seemed a bit random if I’m honest.” “Right. Well, keep an eye out for any unusual activity in the next few days, especially on this floor. Don’t hesitate to let us know if anything changes.” The officer looks to you again. “In the meantime, we’ll see you at the station tomorrow?” “Yes, um… ” You clear your throat as your cheeks warm. “I’m sorry. Would one of you be willing to speak with my parents on the phone? They’re a bit worried and want to talk to a professional.” You hold up your cell. “Of course.” After dialing for him, you hand the officer your phone and he begins to engage your mom in what sounds like a very animated, reassuring dialogue. You and Harry are leaned against opposite walls in the hallway, spaced out in exhaustion. You cover a yawn with your hand and catch him doing the same. Do you dare check the time? Your hands absently pat your front and back pockets, and you frown in trying to recall where you’d last set your phone. You roll your eyes in glancing up at the officer pacing in the entryway on the phone with your mother. “S’ just gone two,” Harry mumbles. You make a light noise in the back of your throat. “I’m sorry, Harry.” “That’s a tenner in the apology jar.” You breathe a laugh without humor, shaking your head back and forth against the wall. “I just can’t wait for this day to be over,” you whisper. “Would you like to speak with her again?” The officer’s voice clips into your half-conscious conversation. You hold out your hand and tuck the phone between your cheek and shoulder again as Harry thanks the officers one last time before showing them out.  Apparently satisfied with the conversation she’d had with the police, your mother circles back to the matter of your current state of limbo. “You’re sure you’re comfortable staying with this neighbor? Where are you sleeping?” You can practically hear the alarm bells from across the Atlantic. “It’s fine, Mom. We’re friends… sort of.” Friends that drunkenly make out in the lift. “He has a spare mattress. I’m staying in his guest room.” She digests this information in silence. “I’m alright, I promise. It’s just for tonight.”  There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I want you to call us, alright? No matter what time it is here or there, I want you to check in with us every day until we know for sure you’re absolutely safe.”  “I will,” you vow. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? I’m exhausted.”  “Right yes, go get some rest. We love you.”  You swallow with a little difficulty. “Love you too.”  Harry’s idling by the sink with your empty glasses.  “Sorry about that,” you say, and then wince when he gives you a sidelong look. “They can be a bit protective.” He shakes his head, his expression somehow more grave than you were expecting. “I know exactly how they feel.” Harry rubs his eyes under his glasses. “I’m sorry,” he says into his palms. “I’m knackered.” “Yeah, of course… Get some sleep.” You hesitate. “You sure there’s not anything else I can get you?” “I’m sure.” He pinches softly just above your elbow. “See you in the morning.” Harry disappears into the hall. You listen to the sound of his bedroom door click shut before tilting your head to the ceiling and letting your eyelids close, literally twenty feet below your own apartment. You could probably throw a basketball higher than that. You sigh and look back down at your phone on the counter, quickly drafting a text to India and then deleting it. For a minute you stay like that, a statue in the pale light of Harry’s kitchen—the relic of a girl who woke up this morning unscathed. It’s probably for the best that you get some sleep tonight, but standing in front of the nursery with your hand on the doorknob, you can’t bring yourself to face the pitiful air mattress again. You turn to Harry’s bedroom door in defeat. Who on earth are you trying to fool? Heart hammering, you swallow your pride and crack open the door to Harry’s bedroom, stepping gingerly inside. It shuts behind you with a delayed click-click, impossibly loud. Nothing apart from blackness is visible before you, but suddenly comes the sound of a long breath in from somewhere in the room. Blankets rustle. Your fingers tighten on the doorknob behind you. With a tink, soft, yellow light spills over every surface in Harry’s bedroom. His nose scrunches and eyes squint. His hand flounders once against the nightstand before he locates his glasses, pushing them swiftly onto his face. Harry’s expression relaxes as he props himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. Your face stings with heat, but you hold your ground. His eyes are soft, careful, yet strangely unaffected. Without a word, or the slightest suggestion of ambivalence, Harry reaches out an arm to the opposite side of the mattress, and tosses the corner of the duvet halfway down the bed before meeting your gaze from across the room. It feels like a weakness, to cave and accept his offer. You want to explain yourself, suddenly, but there are no words for this time of night and the chasm you’re hanging over by your fingertips. So you approach the bed in silence and slide beneath his covers.  Backs turned to each other, you curl up so far from Harry that your knees hang over the edge of the bed. You hear the cool sliding of blankets once more before absolute stillness. The last image of your day is the dim, golden glow of Harry’s lamp vanishing on the ceiling. • saturday, 5th january 4:07 am • It’s disorienting, adjusting to a room you can immediately tell isn’t your own, momentarily teetering between asleep and awake. It’s even more disorienting when you realize that you are not alone. There’s a knee between yours and a heavy arm slung over your waist. You’ve migrated to the center of the bed somehow during the night, flipped on your back. But what draws your attention the most is the warm breath in the curve of your neck. “Harry?”  It was the asleep-half of your brain that had thought to croak his name. You don’t know what kind of reply you’re expecting to receive in this blue, small morning hour. Perhaps you won’t get one at all. Perhaps you’re dreaming. You stare up at the ceiling.  If you close your eyes now, would you even remember this come dawn? But the grip around your waist tightens, just for a moment, before you feel his body slide up against yours, a sigh fanning over your cheek.  “Yeah.” Harry’s voice is low and gravelly, but unmistakable. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest through the fine cotton of the shirt he’d loaned you, and he sounds surprisingly alert. A small silence lingers. “Alright?” Your eyes stay trained on the ceiling. Are you?  Part of you wants him to clarify the question: are you alright after everything that happened tonight? Are you alright… with this? “Yeah,” you breathe.  Harry doesn’t say anything else. For a moment you think he’s fallen back asleep but then he shifts closer to you. You watch as the shadow of his arm reaches over your body for your hand—you had left it open and maybe a little vulnerable beside your head on the pillow. You can feel the calluses on Harry’s fingertips as they slide up your palm and find the space between yours. You don’t dare turn your head because there is a question in your eyes that you realize you can no longer ignore, and you are afraid of his answer. So you close your fingers around his and do not speak. Harry exhales. You’re hyper aware of the way his body relaxes as he squeezes your hand. You take a deep breath. You know it’s no use wondering whether or not Harry is going to remember this in the morning. Even if this is a dream, you cannot deny that you’re warm and you’re safe and that you will remember, possibly forever, regardless of whatever happens or doesn’t happen between you. It’s a vaguely scary thought.  You close your eyes.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction

[stubbornness-and-spite]

With Friends Like These...

Happy holidays! This is my gift for @sunflowerstalks for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Thank you @authorgirl0131 for beta reading!

Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Remus-typical raunchiness, kissing, mild gore, mildly graphic injuries, mild angst, swearing

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort(emphasis on the comfort)

Characters: Janus, Patton, Roman, Logan, Remus, Virgil

Powers/Magic Focus List: 

Janus- studies potions, has scales on half his body

Patton- fire powers, studies energy manipulation

Remus- witch, studies mind magic

Roman- witch, studies nature magic

Logan- alchemist

Virgil- hedgewitch, studies medicinal magic

Word Count: 5156

Summary: All Janus wanted was to have a nice dinner with Patton, but when you live with a crazy alchemist and a witch with a penchant for dramatics and your boyfriend is literally the hottest person in the room at any given moment, sometimes life gets in the way.

AO3 link in reblog - story continues under the cut

~

“Roman, Logan, I swear to god, if you’ve ruined the dinner I made for Patton in the five minutes I left the room, I will dismember you and use your remains for potions,” Janus snarled at the sight of smoke coming from the kitchen. 

“Ummm,” a voice came from the kitchen. “Roman and Logan didn’t ruin anything?”

Janus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, walking into the kitchen blind, not wanting to see the disaster.

“Hi, Patton,” he said calmly. “You’re here early.” Janus opened his eyes to see a blushing Patton standing in front of a smoking stove.

“Hi, Janus,” Patton chirped. “I missed you!”

Janus sighed fondly, letting go of any pretense of frustration. “What did you do?”

Patton flushed. “I let myself in and saw that the kitchen was empty and the stove was off. I wanted to make sure the food stayed warm, so I tried to heat it up.”

“My stove is not complicated, Patton,” Janus sighed. “You could have just turned it on.”

“Yeah,” Patton admitted. “But I’ve been getting better at heating things myself! So I picked up the pan-”

“And torched dinner,” Janus finished.

“And torched dinner,” Patton agreed.

“Are you two lovebirds done trying to make the scalded remains of that monstrosity romantic?” Roman called from the doorway. Roman was one of Janus’s roommates and had been since their sophomore year of college. They both were suspiciously quiet about their freshman year roommates but no one had ever managed to piece together any of that mystery.

“I called my brother and he said we could go over there for dinner,” Roman said with a smirk. “Something about assuming that between the two of you, something was going to go wrong.”

Patton scowled good-naturedly. “Was that what he meant when he told me to keep my hands to myself when I left earlier?”

Janus slipped a gloved hand into Patton’s. “I assure you, it was not.”

“That wasn’t either,” Roman snapped with a grin, gesturing at their hands. 

“Oh?” Patton asked, his eyes wide with faux innocence. “Did Remus mean I should put my hands on parts of your body that aren’t covered in heat-proof cloth? Because that would be very irresponsible.”

Janus stammered and almost swallowed his tongue as Patton dragged his fingers up Janus’s fire-resistant jacket and hovered them by the jacket’s collar where he could feel the burning heat scalding the wisps of hair on his neck and heating the scales on the left side of his face.

Roman coughed loudly. “I’m going over to Patton, Remus and Virgil’s place. You’re welcome to join me if you aren’t planning to do it in the kitchen. And if you do, make sure that you fully burn whatever you touch.” Roman looked over his shoulder into the hall and called. “Logan! It’s time to go unless you want to be reminded what charred snakeskin smells like!”

Logan coughed awkwardly as he left his room. “I would recommend we all vacate the premises as soon as possible,” he said, avoiding eye contact with all of them. 

“Hi, Logan,” Patton said without turning away from Janus.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan replied curtly. “I would really recommend we leave quickly.”

Roman groaned. “What did you do this time, nerd?”

Logan flushed. “If we leave now, we won’t have to find out.”

“You want to leave a project without finding out what it does?” Janus asked incredulously, pulling away from Patton with concern. “What did you do?”

Logan’s hand drifted to cradle his right arm. “I had two reactions going at once. They were meant to work in tandem, but one rebounded and now the walls are screaming at me. The effects should subside enough for me to fix it by tomorrow.”

“Logan, take off your shirt,” Roman said firmly. Logan sputtered and stumbled back. “Take off your shirt,” Roman insisted.

Logan scowled and tried to pull his shirt over his head. He hissed in pain as it caught on his right arm. He tugged harder, not moving his arm, until he yanked it off, crying out as it jostled his arm.

“Eve and all her daughters, Logan,” Roman hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day.” Logan’s right arm was mangled, the bone warped and the skin peeling and bubbling like it was being burned.

“I’m fine,” Logan growled. “Everything is intact. When the burning subsides I can fix it.”

Roman stepped over and put his hands on Logan’s shoulders. “You are not trying medical alchemy on yourself. I don’t care if you’ve done it before, you aren’t doing it again. We’re going to see Virgil and Remus and you’re going to let Virgil fix your arm.”

“I can deal with the active reaction,” Janus offered. “I’m not half as good as you, but I should be able to reverse it.”

“I can do it,” Logan insisted.

Janus shook his head. “If you weren’t dealing with a rebound, you probably could. But you are so I’ve got it.” He shrugged. “Besides,” he said, gesturing to the scaled half of his face. “My curse gives me a bit more natural protection than you. If you’re really worried, I’ll have Patton with me to siphon off any excess energy I can’t control.”

“You know I’d do that for you anytime too, right Lo?” Patton asked, frowning at Logan. “It’s a lot safer for me to be a conduit than you and having a living conduit gives you more control over your reactions.”

“I know,” Logan snapped. “I’m the one who’s actually studying alchemy. I’m perfectly capable of controlling my own reactions without your help.”

“Come on,” Roman cut in before anyone could get more heated. “Let’s head over to the others and worry about this later.”

“No,” Logan snarled, “We can worry about this now.” He twisted away from Roman and threw both of his arms down to his sides, ignoring how his mangled arm twitched. “I’m sick of you all thinking I’m incompetent. I make mistakes sometimes, we all do, but I know what I’m doing. I have worked too hard for you all to keep acting like I need you to hold my hands. I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your help.”

Roman lunged forward and grabbed Logan’s right wrist, both of them ignoring the tears welling up in Logan’s eyes. 

“We’re not helping you because we pity you,” Roman growled. “We’re not helping you because we think you aren’t good enough by yourself. We’re helping you because you’re too smart for your own good and you worry us sick with how little you care about your own safety. We’re helping you because just because you can do it alone doesn’t mean that you have to. So please,” he sighed and dropped Logan’s wrist. “Please let us help you.”

Logan stared Roman down for all of three seconds before he dropped his eyes with a sigh, tentatively rubbing his right wrist. “Okay.”

Roman sighed in relief. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about grabbing your wrist. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, Roman,” Logan said softly. “It’s okay.” Logan bit his lip and without thinking, leaned up on his toes and kissed Roman.

Roman’s eyes widened and he froze, Logan’s lips shaking slightly against his. His hands drifted forward of their own accord and threaded into Logan’s hair, pulling him closer. Logan dug his nails into Roman’s back and clung to him for dear life.

After a moment they pulled apart and Roman chucked. “First kiss and I’ve already got you shirtless,” he quipped. He groaned suddenly. “Virgil is going to be so pissed that I kissed you first.”

Logan’s eyes flew open. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “I forgot you were dating Virgil.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Did you miss the part where I said he was going to be pissed that I kissed you first? I mean, if you’re only interested in me that’s fine, but Virgil and I have both been flirting with you for months.”

“Oh.”

“As sweet as this is,” Janus drawled from across the kitchen. “I would like to eat sometime tonight. Perhaps we can continue this with the raccoon actually present?”

Roman blushed. “Come on, let’s go.”

~

Roman, Logan, Patton, and Janus entered Remus, Virgil, and Patton’s apartment with all the grace of a herd of elephants. Remus popped his head out of the kitchen at the sound and grinned when he saw them. 

“I thought I might be seeing you before tomorrow,” he crowed. “Did Pitter-Patton burn Double-D’s dinner or did the Ro-Lo tornado force you over here?”

Patton scowled lightly and swatted at Remus who batted his hand away with an oven mitt. “I burned it,” he said sullenly. “I thought I was getting better.”

“You are,” Remus said with a grin. “I don’t see any ash on you four so I assume the apartment is still standing.” He turned to yell towards the living room. “Hey Virgil, you owe me ten bucks!”

Patton and Roman made identical affronted noises.

“That’s not to say that the Roman and Logan tornado didn’t also force us out,” Janus said dryly. “Patton just managed to burn dinner first.”

“Dammit,” Remus muttered. “Hey Virgil, I also owe you ten bucks!” he called.

“Can we just say we both lost the bet and you should shut the fuck up?” came a muffled shout. “I’m studying!”

“While I am glad to shoulder the blame of any of my dear comrade’s actions,” Roman said with grace. Suddenly, he got a glint in his eye and smirked. “It was mostly Logan!” he yelped.

Logan tried to look intimidating, but his soft grin that hadn’t faded since they’d left the apartment ruined any efforts. So, he rolled his eyes and swatted Roman in the shoulder. 

“Fuck!” Logan shouted, gripping the wall for support, tears welling up in his eyes. He’d smacked Roman with his right arm. His arm felt like it was pulsing along with his heartbeat and he swore he could see bone through his torn skin. Black veins started inching past his damaged forearm and up his bicep. “Oh, what did I do?” Logan hissed, finally managing to catch his breath. He stood up shakily and coughed, straightening his tie.

“My apologies,” he said, coughing to cover up a wince. “You were saying?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Remus cut in, eyes wide. “You need a doctor like now. At least let Virgil look at you if you won’t go to the damn hospital.”

Logan sighed. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m fine. And Virgil is busy studying.”

“Uh, no, I’m not.” Five sets of eyes swung over to the end of the hall where Virgil was standing, his couch and books abandoned. He flushed and ducked his head. “Yeah, I was pretending to study so Remus would leave me alone and not make me help cook,” he admitted. “That went out the door when you started screaming, L. What the hell happened?”

“My reaction rebounded,” Logan replied stiffly. “Despite my earlier refusal, I… could use some help.”

“Gotcha,” Virgil nodded. He gestured to the living room behind him with his head. “Come in here and lay down. Roman, come help me clear space.”

Roman nodded gravely and scurried into the room to clear off the couch so Logan could lie down right away.

“Left or right?” Virgil asked, digging through his bag and not looking at Logan.

“Right,” Logan replied curtly.

“Okay,” Virgil fell silent for a second. “Put your head closer to me so your right arm is open and your left is against the back of the couch. Roman, get him a pillow.”

Roman grabbed a pillow and Logan settled down on the couch. Meanwhile, Patton, Janus and Remus filed into the kitchen to finish dinner and to give the other three some space.

“Virgil,” Logan said quietly. “Thank you.”

Virgil brushed him off. “Shut up, nerd.” He flipped through a black leatherbound book that looked one wrong look away from falling apart. “Roman, look at me and pay attention.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I’m listening.”

Virgil scowled. “Look at me. I need you to grab something off of my ‘fuck up’ shelf and if you grab the wrong one and I don’t notice, we could kill him.”

“You never let anyone touch your ‘fuck up’ shelf.” Roman’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah, well,” Virgil muttered, not looking at anyone. “We’re on a time crunch.”

“We aren’t,” Logan protested.

“We are,” Virgil snapped. “Whatever you did didn’t just rebound, it cast something else inside your arm. There’s a good chance that it will eat your arm if I don’t get it out.” Virgil lifted his head and looked at Roman. “Roman, look at me. Go to my room. From the door, there’s a shelf on the left, the left, with bottles. Grab the one labeled “Logan” and the one labeled “Janus” and bring them here without opening them.”

Virgil turned to Logan without watching to see if Roman listened. “Okay, you are going to be completely honest with me about what hurts, how much, and where. I could do so much damage if I don’t take something into account or if I try to fix something that isn’t there.” Virgil knelt by Logan’s side. “What hurts?”

Logan stared at the ceiling. “My forearm is either numb or burning. I can’t tell. My upper arm feels like it’s being stabbed. I’m dizzy and feel like I might throw up but that might be because I kissed Roman and I’m terrified I ruined our friendship.”

Virgil stiffened. “You kissed Roman?”

“Yeah,” Logan admitted. “I kissed Roman.”

“Okay,” Virgil said haltingly. “After I fix your arm, can I kiss you too?”

Logan smiled. “I would like that.”

~

Logan stretched his arm and smiled. “It feels great,” he said. “Better than before.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Because you don’t take care of yourself, L. I don’t like having to use my ‘fuck up’ jars. Don’t make me do it again.”

Roman coughed from his chair across the room. “I have to ask. What is a ‘fuck up’ jar?”

Virgil smirked. “The ones I just used? Fixes for the most likely way each of you will fuck up. Logan’s was a quick fix for a reaction that rebounds. I used Janus’s because it looked like whatever L used for his components mixed with his arm and made a poison. The jars just have standard herbs and components, so I can tweak them to fit whatever actually happens.” He smirked. “The ones on the right are components for hexes, tailored to however each of you would want to fuck someone up.”

Roman gaped. “I see why you didn’t want me to get them confused.”

“Yeah,” Virgil snorted. He shook his head and grinned at Roman. “So, I heard you kissed Logan.”

Roman blushed. “I kissed Logan.”

“Was it good?” Virgil leered, ignoring Logan’s reddening face.

“So good,” Roman teased. “So very good.”

“What about you, L?” Virgil said, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Was kissing my boyfriend good?”

Logan stared at the ceiling. “I would rather not answer that question.”

“Okay,” Virgil said, softening. “How about this one? Can I kiss you?”

Logan sat up and turned to Virgil. “Please.”

~

“So…” Remus drawled. “Anyone wanna guess why they’re taking so long?”

“No,” Janus snapped before that conversation could go anywhere. He was sitting at the kitchen table and scowling. Remus was bustling around the stove, pots and pans bubbling cheerfully, with a pink apron that said ‘I like my butt rubbed and my pork pulled’ on it. Patton had been leaning on the counter, watching Remus, but he walked over to Janus and pulled up a chair next to him.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked.

“I’m fine,” Janus snarled.

Remus snorted without looking at them. “We know you well enough to know you’re not, Jan. What’s wrong?”

Janus huffed. “I hate this. I hate that we always end up here. I hate that I can never do something nice for my boyfriend, that you,” he jabbed a finger at Remus. “Always need to come running in to fix everything.”

“I’m really sorry I ruined your dinner, Janus,” Patton said softly.

Janus scoffed. “Patton, it was shit. I was in the bathroom trying to figure out an excuse to throw it out so we wouldn’t have to eat it before you showed up. I was ready to recruit Roman to just hex the entire kitchen and be done with it. I’m the one who always ruins things.”

“Do you think we care?” Remus cut in. 

“Remus,” Patton chided.

“No, Patton,” Remus pushed. He turned around to face Janus. “I’m serious. Do you think either of us give a shit if you mess up? I love cooking for you two. I love spending time with you two. I can back off if you want me to, but I like coming in to rescue you. And Patton? Patton adores everything you do. If there was ever a person who genuinely meant ‘it’s the thought that counts,’ it would be Patton. We don’t care if you’re perfect. We lo-” he coughed. “Like you, the way you are, a lot.”

“Yeah,” Patton murmured. “We love you. A lot.”

Remus’s eyes dropped to the floor and he turned back to the stove. 

“Hey, Janus,” Patton said, looking at Remus. “Can you give us a minute?”

Janus blinked. “Um, sure?”

“Okay,” Patton replied absentmindedly. He leaned over and kissed Janus on his scaly cheek. The scales sizzled slightly, but Janus didn’t flinch. 

Janus swallowed heavily, his mouth suddenly dry, and stepped out of the kitchen.

~

“Remus,” Patton started.

“Don’t,” Remus said firmly, not looking at Patton. “I’m sorry, okay? He doesn’t know and I won’t push. He loves you and he’s happy.”

“He loves you too,” Patton insisted. “He loves you too and…” he took a breath and steeled himself. “And so do I.” Remus turned around to look at Patton. “We love you too. Remus, you have to know that. You’re with us on ¾ of our dates and you’ve heard us complain about the ones when you aren’t there. We like you, Remus.”

“I like you both,” Remus admitted. “But I like you too much. I’m too much. It’s for the best.”

“Because you feel too intensely?” Patton asked sharply. “So do I. I burn things when I get mad. Janus has to wear gloves because touching me hurts him. We work with it and we will work with you. Do you want us?”

“I want…” Remus breathed. “So much. I want to let J and L experiment on me until I can put my mouth everywhere on you. I want to lick Janus’s scales. I want to never need a blanket again because you’re cuddling me and I’m drowning in my own sweat. I want to find out how Janus’s tongue feels. I want-”

“You,” Patton finished. “I can only make guesses for Janus, but Remus, I want you too.”

“Kiss me?” Remus asked breathlessly. Patton smiled helplessly and pointed at the ceiling, a flame flickering above his finger like a birthday candle. 

“Sorry,” he said.

Remus shook his head, grinning widely. “No, it’s fine. I can’t feel pain right now, so we just have to be quick enough to not do lasting damage.” Patton’s brow furrowed and Remus laughed. “The oil was splattering so I did a quick hypnotic charm on myself so it wouldn’t bother me. It wears off in about an hour; I do them all the time.”

Patton’s pupils went wide. “You,” he breathed. “Are. So. Smart,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss pressed to Remus’s lips. “You’re smart and wonderful and-”

“Hot?” Remus teased.

“So hot,” Patton hissed, grabbing Remus’s neck and pulling him in for a searing kiss. 

~

“We really should talk to Janus,” Remus said, licking his lips for any remaining taste of Patton.

Patton smiled, bemused. “Did you really think I would kiss you without talking to him first? We should but he probably already guessed.”

“Or,” came a voice from the doorway. “He got self-conscious wondering what you two were talking about and came back and decided to enjoy the show.”

“Hi, J,” Remus said quietly.

“Hi, Remus,” Janus responded. “Care to kiss me too?”

“Oh, hell yes,” he hissed, lunging across the room to throw himself into Janus’s arms. Janus caught him by the sides of his face and slammed their mouths together. Remus’s hands flew up to Janus’s and pulled off his gloves, reveling in the feeling of cold scales on his right and a warm, clammy hand on his left.

Remus pulled back for a second, smiling at the small whine that escaped Janus. “I love you,” he whispered, before crashing back into him.

~

By the time the six of them actually sat down to eat, they were all beaming with suspiciously red mouths.

“So,” Remus said with a glint in his eyes. “Are double dates going to be six people now?”

Janus cuffed him upside the head, but the sparkle in his eyes matched Remus’s and he was doing a terrible job of hiding his laugh. He sat down next to Remus and slipped off his gloves to eat. Remus snagged the left glove with a wink and sat down between Janus and Patton, sliding his newly gloved hand under the table.

“Maybe we should swap Janus out for Virgil,” Roman teased, smirking at his brother. 

“Oooo!” Remus cheered gleefully, “I’d take that trade.”

“We’re not trading,” Virgil deadpanned. “Living with these two hazards to society, I would probably die of stress in a week.”

“Oh, you love us, Doctor Gloom,” Roman snapped goodnaturedly.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Doctor Do-the-Most.”

“As much as I would enjoy spending more time with Virgil,” Logan cut in. “I do rather enjoy living with Janus.”

“Relax, Sub-astute Teacher,” Roman groaned with a grin. “We’re not actually swapping roommates. Janus knows too many secrets for me to let him leave.”

“I was almost flattered, but then Roman opened his mouth and I remembered why I should have known better,” Janus deadpanned, not looking at any of them.

“You know you love me,” Roman taunted.

“Really?” Janus said, locking eyes with Roman. “I had thought the fact that your brother’s tongue has been in my mouth would make you less inclined to carry on our sordid affair.”

“But however shall I go on without it?” Roman faked a swoon. “It is the only excitement in my dull and pitiable life!”

“Alas,” Janus cried, swooning as well. “It cannot be, for as I am bound to my loves so are you to the bitchy raccoon who would punch my teeth out if we were ever to be amorous.”

“Bitchy racoon!” Virgil yelped indignantly.

Janus smirked. “You’re the one who assumed I was talking about you.”

“I love that you’re more upset that he called you a bitchy raccoon than that he said he was having an affair with your boyfriend,” Roman said, sitting up with a grin.

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, any excuse to punch Janus, but if you two really wanted to, I wouldn’t try and stop you.”

Janus coughed. “Well. This just got uncomfortably honest.”

“Yeah.” Roman winced. 

“Sorry?” Virgil said hesitantly. “I mean, was I supposed to say I’d try to control your love life? Our relationship has never been like that.”

“You do know we’re joking, right?” Janus said suddenly. “I’m not interested in Roman. At all.”

Roman let out an affronted gasp and grinned. “Well, my ego had been irreversibly damaged, but same. Flirting with you is fun but I’m not interested in anything more than that.”

“Well, now I know that.” Virgil muttered.

“Did you really not know they were only joke-flirting?” Logan asked. “Roman doesn’t look at Janus the way he looks at you. Janus doesn’t look at Roman the way he looks at Remus and Patton.”

“How does Janus look at me?” Patton spoke up.

Janus flushed. “You don’t have to answer that-”

“Like you hung the moon,” Logan answered. “He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars, like he’d learn how to hang them himself if it would make you smile.”

“How does he look at me?” Remus mumbled.

“Like looking at the sun,” Logan said without hesitating. “He looks at you like you like everything that is is because of you and if he looked too long he would burn up.”

“Where did that come from?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Logan’s eyes dropped. “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

“Well, now I have to ask,” Roman murmured. “What do you see when you look at me and Virgil? How do you look at us?”

Logan looked up and caught Roman’s eyes like he was the only person in the world. “I see someone who’s not afraid to try, who makes me be not afraid to try. I see someone who could stand next to galaxies and still shine brighter. I see someone was given countless opportunities to be selfish and chose to be kind. I see someone that I could picture myself falling in love with.” 

He turned to Virgil, biting his lip. “I look at you and I see someone who took their fear and made it a strength. I see someone who is loyal to a fault, but strong, stubborn, and determined enough to be loyal anyway. I see someone who I could spend the rest of my life learning and still always find something new that makes you worth knowing. I see someone I could see myself falling in love with.”

“Oh my god,” Roman whispered to Virgil. “He’s perfect.”

Virgil barked a laugh, startled out of his trance. “We already knew that, Princey.”

~

Remus was sitting between Janus and Patton. He hadn’t eaten a bite because both of them had silently grabbed his hands at some point and there was absolutely no way in hell that he was letting go. 

Patton squeezed his hand gently and he melted. Remus had been gone on Janus since about a week after they’d met in freshman year. Janus had sat down next to him in a basic introduction to potions class and immediately started complaining about his roommate. Remus still wasn’t sure if Janus had thought he was Roman and was too embarrassed to admit it after realizing his mistake or if Janus really just walked up to a stranger to complain about his roommate. Remus had, of course, taken his complaints as a challenge, to simultaneously be worse than the roommate and to terrorize the school into assigning Janus a new roommate. Remus liked to believe he had succeeded on both fronts, but considering Janus was now dating him, the first one was probably a failure.

Remus was very okay with being a failure in that particular venture. Janus was amazing.

Then there was Patton. Remus had hated Roman for introducing Patton and Janus because they had fallen for each other hard and fast. The day Janus started wearing heat resistant clothes and gloves everywhere was the day Remus decided that if he ever met Patton, he was going to steal his liver. Then this absolutely adorable little fireball with a smile like the sun waltzes into Remus’s psychology class, asks to sit next to him, and absconds with the remains of Remus’s heart. Remus would do anything for either one of them, including keep his silence. He let times hanging out with one of them become dates he third-wheeled on without saying anything; he made sure they ate and ate well, putting to use the skills he’d learned growing up with busy parents who always had time to make dinner but never time to make anything interesting; he listened to them gush about each other and only cried a little bit after he was alone. He took what they were willing to give him and enjoyed it, because they were happy and he loved seeing them happy; he was happy and it was enough. 

But as always, then there was Patton, who saw too much and couldn’t stand by if he saw someone hurting. Remus was utterly terrified that they were just indulging him, that they felt guilty about his jealousy, but Remus wasn’t noble or chivalrous; he was selfish and, at least for now, he would take.

~

Patton had never been more scared in his life. He squeezed Remus’s hand and practically squealed when Remus squeezed his back. There were so many things that could go wrong, not the least of which was that the two of them would get tired of having a boyfriend that they could barely touch and leave him. Patton adored Janus and had practically swooned when he’d first talked to Remus. They were sweet and wonderful and perfect for each other. If that meant that they weren’t perfect for Patton, then he was pretty sure he loved them enough that he’d rather see them happy. But for now, Janus was smiling at him and Remus was holding his hand and as scared as he was about the future, Patton had never been happier.

~

Janus was feeling a lot of things. Mostly uncomfortable. He was still hung up on the short conversation he’d had with Virgil and Roman when they’d first sat down. It was no secret that Janus and Roman were close. Janus had only met Remus because he’d mixed him up with Roman in his frustration and by the time he’d noticed, he was enjoying Remus’s company. Janus had feelings for Roman, but they had only ever been platonic. Virgil, on the other hand, had been the subject of more romantic fantasies than Janus would care to admit. They’d been friends as kids, close in middle school, drifted apart in high school, and ended up at the same college. Except they’d done more than drift apart in high school. Janus developed a crush on Virgil and like the exceptionally smart 14 year old he was, he’d stopped hanging out with him and started being rude. Virgil eventually blew up on him their sophomore year, screaming painfully specific insults and obscenities in the middle of the cafeteria. They didn’t talk again until Roman tried to introduce them their freshman year of college. It had been awkward and they never really got close again, but they were back on speaking terms. 

It still hurt, hearing Virgil remind him of exactly how badly he’d messed up. ‘Any excuse to punch Janus.’ In Janus’s opinion, any excuse for Virgil to punch Janus was probably fair.

Remus looked over at him, his mouth barely pinched and his brow slightly furrowed. He squeezed Janus’s hand.

Janus smiled and squeezed his hand back. He leaned over and dropped his head onto Remus’s shoulder.

“Love you,” Remus whispered into his hair.

Janus squeezed his hand. “You too.”

~

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #tssides #moceit #intrumoceit #prinxiety #analogince #logince #intruality #mild gore #university au #college au #magic au #mild angst #hurt/comfort #i need a writing tag

[poppys-writing]

a continuation of this drabble, and this time with our Hero!! Caretaker will be in the next ;)

Hero woke to a start in a poorly lit, cheap motel. Scanning the room with their eyes, they found Sidekick passed out on the sofa beside them, the bed all to themself. Sidekick’s got to stop doing that they, deserve rest too, Hero reminded themself. They tried to sit up to go wake Sidekick and switch spots, but were met with immediate and flaring pain - resulting in a loud cry and an exasperated fall back on to the pillows. 

Sidekick immediately stirred, jumping from their cramped nap on the cheap sofa to Hero’s side. “Relax, relax!” Sidekick eased, watching Hero’s pained and stressed expression as it broke their heart. “Don’t try to sit up. Don’t know if you remember, but you took one hell of a fall.”

A fall? What were they falling from in the first place? Guess that means I don’t remember it. “Gimme the rundown of what happened, and quick. We gotta get home, I bet Caretaker’s worried sick about me.”  

Sidekick opened their mouth for a moment, closed it and thought of how to begin, then sat on the beside to describe the tale of horrible events. “For starters, we were ambushed. Tipped off about Villain’s scheme to blow the base of the Centennial Tower while the Chancellor hosted a party of ambassador and world leaders. Y’know, the important type. Anywho, as I said, run-of-the-mill ambush. Right? Wrong! They had some cyber techno-shit beyond the usual, I’m talking 3D projections and all, it was actually quite impressive if ya ask me-”

“Sidekick. Focus.” Hero snapped back at them. Sidekick gave a sheepish grin in return, then continued on. 

“Sorry boss, you know how I get about that stuff, but anywho. You got the civilians out, I dealt with the techno-shit ‘cause that’s my usual business, but things got screwy and we ended up backed in a corner by one of the bots. It had targeted me, but you tackled it instead, and went tumbling through the glass and through the penthouse. Don’t know how you landed exactly, but it’s a miracle you’ve been able to regenerate so far. Obviously took a beating to the head, with all that crusty dried blood, but nothing that a couple days won’t fix.” 

Hero expected much worse. They wiggled their fingers and toes to make sure all was healing right - and yep, except for the usual pain and slight tingly numbness that comes from the typical severe head trauma, all was functioning. So what’s the catch? Usually waking up in a motel instead of their cozy bed with Caretaker bedside them and the pets in-between means things went more south than usual on a botched mission. “That it, Sidekick?”

“Well, there’s one more thing...we were getting ambushed because Villain was busy raiding the base.” Sidekick quickly explained, a telltale sign that they’re growing more nervous. 

“Well, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, right?” Hero asked, and Sidekick nodded. Before they could answer, Hero continued on. “Villain’s gotten in before, but it’s not like there’s jackshit he can find. You need a biochip to access confidential information, and unless that stupid fucking--” 

The look on Sidekick’s face answered Hero’s question for them. 

“You’re fucking with me. That fucking asshole! I knew we couldn't trust the biotech suit. He gave away your chip info, didn't he Sidekick?” Hero hoped the answer would be yes, because if it was anyone higher than Sidekick’s chip info...

Another sad pause, and Hero’s heart dropped with Sidekick’s words. “No...yours.”

Hero impulsively grabbed the pillow beside them and chucked it at the wall. At least pillows thrown with abnormal strength can’t break through walls. “Fuck,” Hero muttered under his breath. “Do you know what he did? What he saw?” Please say it was nothing important. Please, say the system locked him out or someone miraculously came in early for work and stopped him. Please, please, please. 

“Also no,” Sidekick unfortunately answered. “The first thing he did was lock me out of the system,” Hero’s mouth opened to fire another range of rapid-fire questions Sidekick wouldn’t be able to answer, so Sidekick just continued their thought and anticipated some of Hero’s worries. “I did everything I could without being in the system anymore. I let staff know their information could potentially be compromised and advised them to lay low. Heat sigs from perimeter cams I had wired outside the system indicated that they left shortly after arrival, which is somewhat good news for us. I called my S/O and told her to go to the safe house and she called Caretaker too, but-” 

For a shit situation, that’s about the best outcome they could hope for. “Oh,” Hero shrugged, shoulders relaxing as they snuggled back into the cheap pillow. “That’s fine! We’re fine! It’s all fine! We’ll just go to the safe-house, meet up with your S/O and Caretaker, and then go from there! Right?” Please say yes. Universe, please let this be simple. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” Sidekick spoke slowly, making deliberate eye contact with Hero, who was lit up with false optimism. “Caretaker didn’t show up.”

Hero was immediately taken aback, their neutral look quickly shifting to an astonished glare. “What do you mean? There’s no way! Me and Caretaker talked about Code Green, they know what to do. You--” 

A dull buzz from the phone next to them. Unknown number? Please be Caretaker, please be Caretaker. Hero reached for it, but Sidekick’s hand grabbed it before they could. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hero immediately shot at Sidekick, grabbing the phone from Sidekick with ease even in a weakened state. Sidekick didn’t try to fight them, but looked on with pleading eyes. 

“Hero, you don’t know who’s on the other end. Best to play it safe and let it ring, you don't want to jeopardize-”

“I’m not jeopardizing shit other than Caretaker’s safety if I don’t pick this up.” Hero flipped Sidekick the bird, then defiantly slammed the accept call button. Holding it up to their ear, they withheld speaking until they got anything from the other end. 

A moment of silence. Hero waited, prayed to hear the sweet and familiar voice of Caretaker. Just for them to say “don’t worry, I’m alright,” so then this horrible feeling of dread and pressure can be lifted from their chest. Please, please, be Caretaker. I need this to be Caretaker. 

“Hello, handsome,” The sing-song voice of Villain greeted from the other end. Hero's eyes immediately shot to Sidekick’s, which were just as wide as his. “Heard you had a bit too much fun at a party last night.”

Taking a level breath, Hero tried to calm themself. Who knows what advantage Villain has on them right now? Best not to tempt any unwise actions at the moment. “What do you want, Villain? You know you’re a real pain in the ass, right? Now I’ve got to come over there, kick your ass, and get a new security system.” 

A long, long chuckle from the other end made Hero’s spine chill. Even calling is just...so unlike Villain. And the tone in their voice? It’s more proud and boastful than usual, as if wanting Hero to try and tease a little surprise out of them. “I don’t want anything, Hero, because I’ve already got all that I want right here.” 

“Enlighten me.” Hero quipped back at them, rolling their eyes to Sidekick with their signature smirk. It can’t be that bad, since the biochip only unlocks access to baseline confidential information: more than likely, not much that Villain couldn’t guess themself, aside from...

The ID code linked to the biochip. It’s not synced to their Hero identity, but to their real identity. All he’d have to do is log into the system once, and....oh fuck. 

Another sick, long laugh on the other end of the phone. “I was trying to toy with you, but I just can’t help myself Hero! Darling, why don’t you come over here and say hello?”

Hero could feel the pit in his stomach fill with every negative emotion, but mostly guilt. Guilt and rage. No. Please, no, not this. Not--

The sound of a struggle on the other side of the phone, Hero listening intently and hoping for the first time ever that he doesn’t hear Caretaker’s voice, until--

“Hero!” Caretaker cried out in-between shaky, raspy, exhausted breaths. “I’m not worth it, not worth the risk - please, please, just promise me you’ll-” 

Even though Hero didn’t want to hear Caretaker’s voice, they were holding on to every last word, every last syllable and sound like it would be the last time they heard them. They could feel the pain that they heard in Caretaker’s voice, holding back a cry of their own as they heard Villain toss Caretaker away. More struggling, then the return of Villain. 

Hero didn’t hold back. “You sick fuck!” Hero screamed into the phone. “They aren’t involved in this! Let’s settle this, you and me! If you want to save your life, you’d be smart to tell me where the fuck I can get them now, or else--”

“Not so fast!” Villain cut them off, “for the first time since we started this little feud that’s now turned into a full-blown war, the cards played out in my favor!” they joyously exclaimed. “And you, my dear Hero? Why, you’re just going to have to watch this game play out, because any harm that befalls me will be dealt back to Caretaker. Oh, how much fun me and your sweetheart are going to have! Speaking of which, I must get going - Caretaker and I have so much catching up to do!” 

The dull, dead line didn’t last long, because Hero promptly threw it into the wall. Glass shattered, but so did Hero’s composure. 

Whatever it takes, Hero told themself, I’ll get Caretaker back. Whatever it takes.

[[ tagging people who expressed interest in a continuation! @silverwhisperer1 @whatwasmyprevioususername

if you don’t want me to tag you in the next part, please let me know! ]]

#hero whump #villain whumper #hero/villain #caretaker whump #hostage #captivity whump #creepy whumper #I love this a lot actually #I'll keep it going if any of y'all want me to #villain whump #hero #villain

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 17

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns to be a person separate from the trauma that shaped his life for so long, and begins the arduous process of preventing what happened to him from happening to anyone else. It gets far more personal than even he could have anticipated.

Content warnings: Caleb's backstory (especially references to abuse and grooming), referenced deaths of family members, near-dissociation, near-panic attacks

Chapter summary: Caleb tries to make some positive decisions for himself and reaches out to Felix to teach him a spell (and help him cope).

Chapter notes: Chapter title is from Silhouette by Sleeping At Last

*****

Chapter 17: It must be so hard, in the mess you’re always cleaning up, to believe in the ghost of unbroken love.

Caleb and Essek dropped Caduceus at the Grove after breakfast the next morning. They would be picking him up again the day after next, along with the rest of the Nein, but any time he could spend with his family was to be treasured.

They then teleported into Beau and Yasha’s side of the house in Rexxentrum. Caleb had begun the process of putting a new teleportation circle in his laboratory, but it would take time, even with Essek’s help.

Yasha peered out from the kitchen. “Hello! You just missed Beau.” She looked at Caleb, who had slept poorly until he had given in and polymorphed himself into a cat, and swept both him and Essek into a tight hug. He liked this side of her, less concerned about making a social fuckup and just doing what felt right.

Essek awkwardly patted her back. “Hello, Yasha.”

She let them go. “Oh, Caleb! I’ll get the note. Give me a moment.” She ran upstairs, thundering around the upper floor.

Essek set a pouch of Xhorhassian spices and fried bugs from the region on the kitchen table; he had gotten lucky at the market yesterday. The peaceful conclusion of the war had freed up trade, allowing a better variety of goods to be found, especially in port cities such as Nicodranas. This also meant Essek had been able to stock up on a few hair and skincare products that were hard to find outside Rosohna. He had insisted on picking up a few products for Caleb as well. Caleb was still a little unused to being clean, let alone having a skincare routine.

Yasha pelted back downstairs and passed Caleb a little scrap of paper. “Here.”

“Danke.” Feeling the high quality of the paper between his fingers, Caleb suspected Nico had torn this piece from his own spellbook. Caleb made plans to leave some paper and ink lying around downstairs in case Nico came again while everyone was out. For now, he committed Nico’s handwriting to memory and stashed the note between the pages of his new journal. Then, he reached into his pocket and handed Yasha its twin. “For you. I thought… maybe it was time we collect happier memories.”

Yasha accepted the leather-bound journal, slightly smaller than her old one so she could keep it on her person with ease. His was identical. “Thank you, Caleb. This is a lovely gift.” She held the leather to her nose and inhaled deeply. She chuckled. “It smells like the ocean.”

“Ja, for now.” He hadn’t told the Nein what his old journal had held. But, if nothing else, the soft look on Yasha’s face confirmed she understood it was tied to his past, much like hers had been. He wasn’t sure he would ever tell the Nein, aside from Essek, what he had truly planned with the letters and the T-Dock. He was sure Beauregard suspected, and possibly Veth, and he was certain the rest, especially Caduceus, had caught on that he was headed down a self-destructive path. But Caleb had made the decision not to pursue it. Unveiling that now would upset them, and he had upset them enough. And Caleb preferred to keep that chapter of his life shut, lest he fall into temptation again.

It was time to look forward, as much as he was capable. As much as the current circumstances would allow him. The past would always have a hold on him, but he could choose to let it guide him towards making things better instead of breaking the world to undo what had already been done.

On that front, he had promised to pay Felix a visit, and Essek had burned his teleportation spells so Caleb still had his free for the day.

***

Caleb landed alone in Blumenthal. His breath still seized in his chest at the sight. He pressed a hand to his sternum and gulped down air until the world stopped spinning. He wondered, a little frantically, whether this would ever get easier. And then the panic passed, and he could breathe again.

He checked in with the gravekeeper, who confirmed they were holding off on the Baumanns’ funeral for a few more days in case Nico was willing and able to attend. He passed on the news that Nico had made a small amount of contact, and Caleb willed himself to exude what quiet optimism he could manage.

The gravekeeper was an elderly widow who had been tending the Blumenthal graves for as long as Caleb could remember. She knew him, of course, and that was unnerving as always. But he was trying to stay calm about the people of Blumenthal knowing the professor visiting Felix had once been Bren, son of Una and Leofric Ermundrud. It was hard, though, knowing there were at least a few neighbourhoods who could make the connection between what happened to the Baumanns, and what happened to the Ermendruds. They had not stated outright at any point that Nico had killed his parents, but the more people who knew about what happened, the more people were likely to suspect the truth. And, of course, the Schneiders knew. Caleb didn’t want the townspeople to think of Nico that way; he was going through enough. Caleb wasn’t sure how he felt about himself, only that there was a weight in his guts that intensified whenever he thought about it too much.

Caleb made one last stop before meeting Felix. He was here anyway, and he had not visited his parents since he had buried the letters with them. So he picked his way through the winding cemetery. It was easy to find his parents again, now that he had been here once.

“Hallo,” he said quietly, kneeling in the grass before their paired gravestones. His last visit hadn’t been that long ago, really, but he had been so swaddled in his grief that it had been hard to think straight. He pulled out the new book and rested it on his knee. “A lot has happened since I last came. I have a house now, in Rexxentrum, and a job teaching at Soltryce Academy. I’m going to stop what happened to me, and the both of you, from happening to anyone else. Best I can, anyway. Mixed success so far.” An inappropriate chuckle escaped him. “It’s… strange. Seeing these young boys, Felix and Nico, who had been set on the same path I had walked. We stopped Felix before he could… but I wasn’t fast enough to save Nico’s parents. I am… doing what I can now. They are both so young. Children, really. And, well, you know children that age rarely feel like children. I didn’t. I think Trent exploited that.”

He let the quiet wash over him. A light, fresh breeze played against his face. Most residents of Blumenthal were probably hard at work right now. This was a farming town, after all.

He remembered the journal on his knee. “Oh, and I have a new book now. This one is for happy memories. Nico left me a thank you note; I suppose that’s the first one. He’s not… he needs time. But I am starting to believe we can help him. I’m… I think that scares me. I understand what he’s going through better than most, but… this is a huge responsibility. I hope I don’t fuck it up. Sorry, mother. I would blame my new friends, but, in truth, I’ve always had a mouth on me. My friends are very cool, though. I think you would have liked them. Well, jury’s out on Beauregard, but she grows on you. Maybe I’ll tell you about our adventures next time I visit. Well, some of them. From Trostenwald, to Xhorhas, to a floating flesh city, to a Rexxentrum courtroom... we had a big year. And it’s because of them that I can bear talking to you like this.”

A tiny thought, right at the back of Caleb’s head, suggested he should bring the Nein next time. Or maybe one or two of them. Nine people clustered around a pair of graves sounded like a lot.

Caleb wanted to stay longer, but he had to check on Felix. He sighed, and pushed himself to his feet. “I will return, I promise. I will not leave you for as long as I did the first time. I love you both.”

He stepped away while he still had the will to do so. The grief was there, but he felt in control of it. For now, at least. And there was a family that needed him.

***

Louise Schneider was tending the vegetable patch in front of the house, while Friedrich knelt by a wooden cart, replacing a damaged wheel. Caleb fought off nausea at the sight of the cart; it looked just like the one his parents had owned. That… was fine. He was fine. Blumenthal-standard cart. The things were everywhere.

Louse set her trowel aside, sitting back on her heels. “Hallo… Caleb?” She was, evidently, struggling a bit to figure out what she was supposed to call him.

“Ja, hallo.” His voice was a little rough, but steady.

“Felix is in his room.” Louise wiped her brow with the back of her glove. “He’s been a little… reclusive.”

Sensing this conversation was going to take more than a few seconds, Caleb sat in the grass with her. “Okay, talk to me. How is he? And how are the two of you?”

Louise huffed a short, rueful laugh. “It is hard to tell how your child is feeling when he barely talks to you.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Caleb said, as gently as he sensed she would tolerate. “My situation was not like Felix’s, but I can understand a little. It’s… not a comfortable feeling to know that all the love in the world is not enough to… to…” He breathed. “All I know is that I have grappled with the guilt of my actions for a long time, and the fact we were able to get to him before it went that far… it does not erase the shame. It is an ugly thing, to face yourself, to face the person you have become, even if you were manipulated and abused and brainwashed to become that person.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” she whispered.

“Love him. Show him you are there for him, in whatever way he can bear.”

Louise gazed back at the house. “But if love wasn’t enough…”

“It takes time,” Caleb told her. “You can’t measure it, or count it. Time looks different for all of us. But with your support, it will be easier for him to come to terms with what happened to him, and to understand he is not a bad person for the things he was persuaded to do, and almost did… easier than it is for me. You have to remember, Frau Schneider, that those of us in the Volstrucker program thought we were serving our country, and we were honoured to do it.”

“We thought the same,” Louise murmured. “When Felix was chosen for the program…” She sighed. “I told Master Ikithon to do whatever it took to help him be what the Empire needed.”

The ground was unsteady beneath Caleb, and he was relieved to be sitting down. “My mother and father felt the same, if Ikithon spoke true. He usually does.” A wave of pettiness overcame him, and he chuckled. “Did. That is why it is so difficult to process. He rarely lied to us outright. And we thought we had a choice. We did, to a degree. We chose to serve, and we thought we had to endure what he put us through and what he asked us to do… so we could serve our country.”

“What do you now believe?”

“I believe there are good people in the Empire,” said Caleb. “There are things worth preserving. The child abuse and murder of innocent Empire citizens are not among of them.” He was getting distracted, so he steered his thoughts back in their original direction. “Now is the time Felix needs you most. The biggest thing that has helped me is knowing there are people who care about me and value me, even when I don’t care about myself.”

“We’re trying,” said Louise. “Thank you. He should be in his room, if you’d like to talk to him.”

“Ja, I will. He has been working on a Transmutation spell, which happens to be my specialty.” Caleb pushed himself to his feet, straightening his coat. “And, Louise?”

“Ja?”

“We were children a long time ago,” he said. “And my memories of Blumenthal are too… complicated to linger on, but I remember your kindness. And I have seen your love for your son. You are a good mother. Remember that, and extend that same kindness to yourself, ja?”

Louise picked up her trowel, her movements slow as if through water. “Danke.”

Caleb moved towards the house, exchanging a wave with Friedrich. The front door was open, so he stepped through. The house only had one storey, so he moved past the living area to a short, thin hallway. One door was open, revealing a wide bed for two people. He knocked on the other door.

“What?” said Felix, voice tinged with adolescent irritation that brought back a fuckton of memories for Caleb, of studying in his bedroom until his mother interrupted to coax him down for a meal. It ached, but bearably so.

“It’s Caleb. May I come in?”

“Ja, I guess.”

Caleb turned the knob and slowly pushed, poking his head through first. Felix was sitting on the wooden floor, beside a low bed made from a rough timber frame. His spellbook lay on the floor in front of him, but it was seemingly open to a random page, and Felix’s hair was mussed as if he had just been lying down. On the floor, if Caleb were to guess.

“Would you like some good news?” Caleb said, stepping inside. He shut the door, leaning against it while he awaited Felix’s response.

“That would make a nice change,” Felix said flatly.

Caleb sat on the floor in front of him and pulled out his new book, removing Nico’s note and handing it to Felix. “Nico visited my home while it was empty the other day. He left this.”

Felix scanned the note with careful, controlled slowness. He passed it back, staring sightlessly at the pages of his book.

“He also responded to a Sending,” Caleb continued. “Only to tell me he did not wish to talk, but that is progress. Has he spoken to you?”

“Nein,” Felix said quietly. There was a heaviness to his posture, and he seemed to lack the energy to express himself with his face or voice. Aside from that singular spike of irritation when Caleb had knocked.

“Well, it appears he is listening. If you can bear it, I would suggest you keep talking to him.”

“Ja, okay.” The Felix in front of him was a far cry from the Felix in his messages. Exhausted, flattened… defeated, in some ways. Beaten down and ready to give up. Caleb knew the feeling well. It was why he had been messaging Felix so frequently, knowing that he had no one else who could understand what he had been through. What he had almost done.

It would have been easy enough to talk about the Fly spell and let him have a distraction, but they had things to discuss first. It was better to end their meeting today on a positive note, rather than give him a reprieve now and drag him back to earth later.

“I spoke to your mother,” Caleb said, sitting with the guilt of not giving Felix the distraction he sorely needed. Not yet.

Felix huffed quietly. “Was it a useful conversation? Mine haven’t been.”

“I have the luxury of not being family,” Caleb replied. “I can tell her things that you never would.”

Felix snorted. “Right.”

“She says you’re becoming a recluse.”

Felix shrugged.

“Why is that?”

“What am I supposed to say?” Felix muttered, and Caleb got the sense he probably would have snapped at him, had he the energy. “I know they’re afraid of me.”

“I don’t think they are, Felix.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was going to kill them, and I would’ve succeeded. I know that. They know that.”

“I don’t think they’re worried about that right now.”

“Then they’re stupid.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about your parents, Felix.”

“Murder also isn’t nice, but I was going to do that anyway.” Felix flipped through the pages of his spellbook until he landed on one Caleb recognised: the formula for Fireball. “Push the cart in front of the door, throw one of these fuckers into the house, or maybe a Lightning Bolt would’ve looked like a freak accident.” Having not expected this, Caleb had to fight a wave of nausea and grasp tightly to the present, and hoped it didn’t show on his face; this wasn’t about him or his bullshit. “Hadn’t decided. Whatever. If I aimed right, it would be over quickly. If not… it would be over eventually. Nico had similar plans, which apparently worked.” Felix’s fingers spasmed on the page, as if resisting the urge to tear it. “If my mother and father do not fear me, they have deluded themselves into thinking I’m innocent. Makes a certain kind of sense, I suppose. I never could tell them what Trent had us do. I have nothing to say to them. I see no point trying to comfort them when they should be afraid of me. They should not want me here.”

Felix was spiralling. Badly. Caleb was out of his depth, and his brain was not turning as efficiently as it usually did, on a knife’s edge of whether to stay present or dissociate entirely. But he had to do something.

“Would you like to guess where I have been today?” Caleb asked. “It’s here in Blumenthal.”

Felix shrugged. “I hate guessing games.”

“I visited my mother and father. Spoke to them for a while.”

Confusion furrowed Felix’s brow for a moment, before he looked up, understanding. “Can’t imagine they were very talkative.”

Caleb’s laugh surprised both of them. “You’re not wrong. Rather one-sided. But maybe they can hear me.”

Felix continued to take the bait. “Fine. I’ll bite. What did you talk about?”

“Life updates. I have only visited once before, a few months ago, and that was more… intense. And, well, since then, I’ve hit several personal milestones I wanted to tell them about.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I am about to guilt-trip you into speaking to your living parents.”

“Oh, fuck you.” There was no aggression behind it, merely exhausted resignation, as if Felix already knew Caleb had the upper hand.

“I am not expecting you to bare your soul to them,” Caleb said. “I understand the impulse to hold back and I do not wish to deny you your privacy. But, it is very easy for people like us to get caught in our heads, and it can be difficult to pull ourselves out of it without help.”

“And if I don’t want to have to look at them and remember I was going to fucking kill them?”

“You seem to remember that well enough without seeing their faces.”

Felix shoved his face into his hands, sighing loudly. “I don’t know what I would even talk about. We have nothing in common anymore.”

“I’ve always found admitting I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing is very helpful.”

Felix snorted.

“And I do not agree that you have nothing in common.” Caleb didn’t try to make Felix look at him. If this were one of the Nein, he probably would have gotten obnoxiously in the way until they couldn’t ignore him, like Jester, Veth and even sometimes Essek had been known to do for him. But, with Felix, his words would have to be enough. “You have told me you love them, and they clearly love you. There is a lot of common ground there.”

“What common ground?” Felix curled more deeply inward with the gravity of defeat. “I cared more about some bullshit Trent put in my head than how much I love my parents.”

This was far more familiar territory to Caleb. “You are not alone in that, Felix. I loved my mother and father. And I killed them just the same. Trent exploited our patriotism to isolate us from our families and tie our worth to serving the empire, to serving him. And by having us kill our families based on a lie, one of the only lies he ever told us, he could ensure we had no one else to support us. That we would not believe we deserved better, even if we learned he had modified our memories. He wanted us to have nothing else but him. Did he pull that ‘we are family’ bullshit with you?”

Felix dropped his hands, snickering bitterly. “Ja. All the time.”

“Creepy, ja?”

Felix kept laughing quietly.

“He invited me to a ‘family reunion’ with him, Astrid and Eadwulf a few months ago,” said Caleb. “My friends came with me. Do you remember Caduceus?” Felix nodded. “He told Trent he was a fool, and that no one loves him.”

Felix scoffed. “You’re lying.”

“I am paraphrasing. He did call Trent a fool, but what he said about love was… wait, let me quote this exactly. I have this burned into my memory forever.” Caleb cleared his throat, and did not attempt to mimic Caduceus’s voice because he was awful at accents, but he quoted: “He said, ‘I think it has been a long time since anyone has pointed out to you that you're a fool. Pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential. It's love that saves them. And you would know that, but you have none around you. You said so yourself, you surround yourself with lies and deceptions. And I wish for you, in the future, to find someone who will mourn you when you are gone. Respectfully.’ And then Trent left.”

“Okay, two things,” said Felix. “First of all, Caduceus is cooler than you. Second, your memory is terrifying and I am rethinking every word I have ever said to you.”

“Caduceus is very cool, ja. And the memory is a blessing and a curse for me and everyone around me. I also have a very good sense of time, and I have used it to annoy the shit out of my friends.”

“Nerd.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Fuck off.”

Caleb chuckled. “Back to my original point. Trent is a piece of shit. He wanted us to believe we chose to follow him, ja, but the choice was false. He wanted us to believe we did not deserve better. Even now that we are free from him, it is not easy to break that conditioning. Our minds are more fragile than we like to think, ja?”

“Ja, I guess.” The momentary brightness faded from Felix’s expression, and the heaviness returned.

“And an important step in countering that is to reach out to the people who care about you.”

Felix slammed his spellbook shut, hiding the Fireball spell from view. “And if I don’t want to?”

“Let me ask a question in return. What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you so sure you do not want to repair your relationship with your parents?”

Felix groaned softly. “Did you have to word it like that? Of course I…” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Arschloch.”

“Then, is the problem less about what you want, or don’t want, and more about what you think you deserve?” Caleb had far too much experience in feeling that way.

“Fuck you, Caleb.” Felix scrambled to his feet, hugging the spellbook to his chest. “Are you going to teach me this spell, or did you just plan on lecturing me all day?”

Ah. There was the limit. “All right, I’ve said my piece.” Caleb got up. “You said you’ve transcribed the spell?”

“Ja. I just… it’s not an easy spell to practice.”

“I know. Shall we go outside? We will need space for this.”

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #critical role #cr2 #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

[hale-13]

Scare Tactics

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 19 Prompt - Fear

“And just to show you we mean business…” Peter flinched when his index finger was grabbed and sharply snapped in half, leaving him breathless. He didn’t scream though. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “Tough kid,” the leader mused, petting Peter on the head. “I’m going to let my men work him over,” he said to the camera lightly. “You pay me within the next four hours and I won’t start cutting off things he’ll miss. Sure would be a shame… he’s got his whole life ahead of him you know.”

Words: 2407, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Character: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Canon Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Torture

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“One more hour! C’mon, just one more hour please,” Peter begged, hands twitching and sweating as he looked around frantically. He could do it. He just had to do it.

“Whatcha doing Pete?” Tony asked right in his ear causing Peter to let out a high pitched scream and rip the VR headset off his head, nearly tossing it into the wall and only barely catching himself at the last second.

“What the fuck!” He exclaimed, panting and placing a hand over his racing heart – it was galloping under his fingertips. Tony, standing next to him with his hand extend like he was reaching out to touch Peter, had his face pinched up like he was trying not to laugh and failing spectacularly.

“What was that?” The man questioned, pulling the headset from Peter’s twitching fingers to set it down on the bed and safely out of reach lest Peter almost throw it again. “You okay?”

“You scared the shit out of me!” Peter told his mentor dramatically as his heart rate slowed to a more manageable rhythm. Damn he was so close to winning!

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Thought you had a tingle or something,” he said with a teasing tone and that was it, Peter was never letting Tony and May have lunch together again. Tingle… seriously? “What were you doing anyway?” Tony asked, picking the headset back up and turning it around curiously in dexterous fingers.

“Playing FNAF,” Peter said with a shrug. “I had nearly won too!”

“Beg pardon?” Tony asked with a head tilt. “Did you just have a stroke? I don’t speak teenager.”

“It’s a game Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbled, grabbing the headset back to turn it off. “A horror game. You’re a security guard and you have to live through the night without a bunch of animatronic animals killing you.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Tony commented, passing Peter his untouched book bag – he was supposed to be doing homework while Mr. Stark was in a meeting but oh well. He could always do it later, it was the weekend after all. “Happy’s pulling the car around. You sure you don’t want to stay? It’s getting a bit late.”

“I’m good,” Peter insisted, throwing the bag over his back and tightening the straps a little to sit more comfortably. “Besides, May and I are supposed to marathon the new season of Lucifer tonight.”

“Ah yes,” Tony said with a smile. “Do tell aunt hottie I said hello would you? I’m looking forward to our monthly co-parenting coffee date next week – can’t wait to tell her about this!”

Peter groaned and blushed. “Please don’t,” he muttered, skirting around his mentor to get to the door. “See you next week?” He asked as he paused in the doorway, turning back to look at the man and smiling.

“Yeah I’ll see you next week kiddo. Don’t have too much fun this weekend!”

“Bye Mr. Stark!” Peter called as he raced to the elevator, bouncing impatiently on his toes as it descended to the garage where Happy was waiting in one of the many black town cars Stark Industries owned.

“Took you long enough,” he groused good naturedly as Peter hopped into the back, dropping his book bag into the foot well and buckling his seatbelt with a bright ‘hey Happy!’ before pulling out his battered copy of The Collected Works of Shakespeare. He was supposed to finish MacBeth before class on Monday morning and he had been putting it off for a while (re: the last two weeks). Thank god for SparkNotes!

He read in the peaceful silence of the car as Happy navigated the busy Manhattan roads into the more quiet streets of Queens, finally pulling to a stop in front of Peter’s building and unlocking the doors. “See you Monday kid,” he called as Peter jumped out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride Happy!” Peter answered as he shut the door and waved the car off before letting out a sigh. It had been a long week and he was looking forward to just hanging out with May and decompressing. He felt like he barely saw her these days since she moved to working nights – it had been way too long since their last Netflix binge sesh. Peter took the stairs two at a time, forgoing the ancient and slow elevator, and was soon standing outside his door, fumbling for his keys.

As he went to slip the correct key into the lock, Peter felt every hair on his body stand on end as a shiver tore through him. He paused and looked up and down his hallway. Everything was quiet and peaceful, nothing out of place, so why was his Spidey sense tingling? With a gulp, Peter looked at his door and felt his heart freeze in his chest. May!

Peter swiftly unlocked the door and threw it open only to pause just over the threshold.

May was seated in one of their kitchen chairs, pulled into eye line of the door to the apartment, and looking pale but utterly pissed as the masked man behind her jammed the muzzle of his gun further into her temple. Peter, his heart nearly beating out of his chest and his adrenaline spiking to leave a metallic taste in his mouth, held his hands up immediately in surrender. As if it would ever be a question with May involved.

“Close the door,” the man said firmly, jutting his chin and Peter felt it snap closed behind him, paying no mind to the other invaders that were scattered around the room, his eyes stuck only on May.

“What do you want?” He asked, surprised that his voice was steady – he could tell that his body was still and sure but inside he felt like he was about to shake apart; like he was standing in the epicenter of an earthquake.

“Your cooperation mostly,” the man with the gun answered, passing the weapon off to one of his underlings and approaching where Peter stood motionless, hands still raised, just inside the door. His eyes were a pale blue and they scraped over Peter’s form quickly before he held out his hand. “Phone, watch, bag. Give me anything that Stark might have chipped and don’t try anything funny. I’d hate for anything… untoward to happen to your Aunt.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, slowly pulling his bag off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor with a thump. One of the men behind him picked it up and started riffling through it as Peter unlatched his watch and passed it over along with his phone. He was grateful that he hadn’t brought his suit with him to school today or he’d have a much bigger problem – assuming they didn’t already know he was Spider-Man of course.

“Search him,” the man called out as he dropped Peter’s phone and watch to the floor before pointedly stomping on them until they broke. Peter fought to hold still as he was patted down, making eye contact with May. She gave a minute shake of her head and Peter bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He knew she didn’t want him to compromise his identity for her but he would do whatever he could to keep her safe – Spider-Man be damned.

“He’s clean,” one of the goons called out, nudging Peter forward and forcing him to sit down opposite May.

“Peter Parker,” the leader mused, walking over until he took up all of Peter’s sight leaving May out of view and ratcheting Peter’s already frantic heart rate up more. “Tony Stark’s personal intern. How does one get that job eh?” He looked at Peter expectantly and Peter grit his teeth together.

“Right place right time,” Peter grunted, his eye contact never wavering. The leader frowned behind his mask and smacked Peter sharply, causing his head to whip to the side. It was more surprising than painful and Peter glared back in obvious loathing.

“That will be your only warning,” the leader grunted, leaning down so he was eye level with Peter. “Next time it’ll be your aunt. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Peter confirmed, gripping the arms of his chair tightly and trying to control his strength. By his count there were five men in their apartment. If he were alone or in the suit it wouldn’t be a problem but with May involved…

“Now let’s try again,” the man continued, pacing a circle around Peter’s chair like a shark circling prey and thus giving him the briefest chance to make eye contact with May again. The skin of her forehead was red and dented where the gun mashed into her face. But he eyes were full of fear and anger for Peter – her sight was locked on the cheek he could feel burning and already swelling. “How did you get your internship?”

“September Foundation,” Peter answered. “I submitted some of my work on clean energy and Mr. Stark was impressed enough to offer me the internship.”

The man hummed, stopping his circling and placed both hands on Peter’s shoulders, squeezing them. “But it’s not just an internship anymore now is it?” He questioned, tone light. “I doubt any normal intern gets access to Stark’s personal lab or stays overnight. For a while I thought you might be his bastard but, no, it doesn’t seem you are.” Peter tensed at the words and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. “However you are important enough for him to pay handsomely for I’d wager.”

“He won’t,” Peter insisted, not breaking eye contact with May – she looked terrified now and he wasn’t sure who she was scared for most. “He doesn’t negotiate with kidnappers.”

“We’ll see,” the man said lightly, unconcerned. “Here’s the deal Parker. You’re going to come with us, quietly, and I won’t put a bullet through your aunt’s skull. I hear that you watched your uncle bleed out from something similar – wouldn’t want another death on your conscience now would you?” Peter flinched violently, unable to hold it back and felt tears prick at his eyes. He couldn’t cry now. Not in front of these assholes. “You’re going to come with us and, once we get you back to base, I’ll call in the order to let your aunt go. If they don’t hear from me within the next six hours… well I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Peter nodded slowly and tried to silently apologize to May – she was watching him with tears now cascading down her cheeks and shaking her head, begging him not to give in. “I’ll do whatever you want,” Peter agreed, sealing his fate.

His Spidey-sense screamed at him and he forced himself to hold still as the gun clocked him across the temple, knocking him out instantly.

—————————————

When Peter finally woke up some indeterminate amount of time later it was to a throbbing head and aching neck from sitting slumped over and tied to the most uncomfortable chair he had ever had the displeasure of sitting in. He opened his eyes with a groan to look around the room. It was darkened, of course because why wouldn’t it be, and empty, also not a surprise. The door in front of him was made of a dark metal the same as the chair he was sitting in which was bolted to the floor.

He tested the cuffs that were binding his wrists to each arm of the chair and found that they weren’t reinforced and should break easily with his strength. So they didn’t know he was Spider-Man then – that was a plus. Peter could work with that.

Before he could look around much more or even try to formulate a plan, the door in front of him flew open to admit multiple people, all in masks, and a camera set up that had Peter’s blood running cold.

“I have to thank you for your cooperation,” the man from earlier said gaily as he entered the room last. “You made this much easier than anticipated.”

“My aunt?” Peter asked, voice wobbling a little but his eye contact unwavering.

“Fine. As we agreed,” the man confirmed, kneeling down a little to look directly into Peter’s eyes. “Now we’re going to make Stark a little video, a one-sided video chat if you will, to ask him for a little… monetary gift. All you have to do is sit here and look pretty while we do all the work okay?” He said condescendingly, running a hand through Peter’s hair before patting his cheek mockingly.

It took all of Peter’s willpower not to head butt him directly in the nose.

The set up was done fairly quickly, the camera pointed directly at Peter and the red light blinking. His captor came to stand right behind him, hands resting on Peter’s shoulders again.

“Oh looks like he’s tuned it! Hello Stark, I think I found something that belongs to you,” the leader said, squeezing Peter’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t just leave your things lying around you know. Don’t want them to get displaced.” Peter grit his teeth in irritation and humiliation – he couldn’t believe he had let himself get kidnapped – that he had put Mr. Stark in this position! “Anyway,” he continued lightly, “I have a little request. A trade if you will. I’ll give you back your intern and you give me twenty million dollars and a clean way out of the country. Shouldn’t be too hard for you right?”

Don’t do it Peter tapped out on the arm of the chair in hasty Morse code. Don’t give them anything. I’ve got this Peter tried to say with his eyes. Trust me.

“And just to show you we mean business…” Peter flinched when his index finger was grabbed and sharply snapped in half, leaving him breathless. He didn’t scream though. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “Tough kid,” the leader mused, petting Peter on the head. “I’m going to let my men work him over,” he said to the camera lightly. “You pay me within the next four hours and I won’t start cutting off things he’ll miss. Sure would be a shame… he’s got his whole life ahead of him you know.”

Later, his jaw hanging loose and his body aching with breaks and bruises, Peter will let a single tear fall.

The door knob turns and his adrenaline spikes.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump19 #Prompt: Fear #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

[bubbyleh]

Good Things

angst w/ a happy ending cw for unethical science and trigger phrases word count: 8,569 (nice)

Dr. Coomer knows what he’s doing is very illegal and he could get in a lot of trouble. He does not work in Biological Research, and he has no clearance to be here, especially this late. But what else is he going to do, spend the night in his dorm room?

No way. Not since they agreed to go forward with the divorce. It’s stupid and dangerous, but hey, the worst thing he’s going to find is some half-disected cow or something.

And then he finds the tube.

He didn’t realize what it was at first, the back of it was metal and faced the door Coomer came in from. It was just a weird pillar in the middle of the room, he thought, until he found himself in front of it and realized. Suspended in a green liquid, lit by fluorescent lights inside and sleeping, there was a person. He’s wearing a medical gown, and there’s an oxygen mask and other monitoring equipment strapped to him.

“My goodness,” Coomer says without meaning to.

The person in the tube cracks an eye open, clearly having heard him and woken up. He glares at him before moving his hands in a manner that Coomer recognizes as sign language.

Too bad Coomer’s very rusty. Crap, he thinks he still has his old books somewhere. He waves and shrugs with an apologetic smile.

The tube person rolls his eyes, before exaggeratedly pointing at Coomer. Then, by making a hook with his left hand and a fist with his right, he makes the shape of a question mark.

Clearly this man can hear him, so Coomer clears his throat. “Well, I’m Dr. Harold Coomer,” he introduces himself. “I work in Waste Disposal. Who are you, then?”

The question catches the stranger off-guard. He looks around as if confused by who Coomer could be addressing, his dark hair swishing after him. When he turns back, he points to the base of the tube, where Coomer notices for the first time the placard at the bottom.

BU-33Y

“Huh,” Coomer remarks, squinting at the name slightly. “So you’re Bubby, then?”

He facepalms, but the name sticks.

☆*☆

[B is the department. U is the project designation.]

Coomer nods along as Bubby explains his name. He’d been surprised when Coomer returned a week after their first encounter, doubly so when he could actually understand the signs he used. Bubby still seemed apprehensive to speak with Coomer, but he didn’t tell him to leave.

[33 is my number, Y refers to the batch I come from.]

Bubby had told him a lot about himself, or rather, the project he originates from. The Ultimate Lifeform, Black Mesa’s attempt to make a perfect scientist. Incredibly intelligent, superhuman abilities, and government property. Eventually his testing is going to involve him working among other scientists, a prospect Coomer is thrilled by.

“Batch?” Coomer questions. He feels somewhat awkward, sitting in front of the tube. Bubby doesn’t seem to mind, though.

[Same genetic code,] Bubby winces at the thought. [My brothers, I guess. I’m the youngest.]

“Well, where are the other thirty-two, then?” Coomer asks. “And all the other batches?”

Bubby looks past Coomer, deeper into Biological Research. [Gone. Some of them are around, kind of.] For the first time, Coomer notices fear on his companion’s face. [They were out too long. They died, or fell apart.] He kicks, legs swishing through the green tube goo.

“But you’re not going to, right?” Coomer has to know. He’s just met Bubby, so maybe his attachment is a little much, but this person is so smart, so witty, so intelligent! To think he could just… stop being, one day.

[No,] Bubby’s got a confident smirk on his face, but his hands are shaking. [They’re working to fix it. I’m gonna be out of here for good someday.]

☆*☆

Their meetings continue for months. Coomer doesn't bring up his impending divorce with Bubby, mostly because he doesn't want to think about it. It isn’t a crime to want to hold onto the one person who doesn't look at him with pity these days! Besides, Bubby always redirects conversation away from his own feelings, why the hell would he listen to Coomer’s?

Well, part of that assumption is challenged when Coomer finds Bubby in his tube, fidgeting with his fingers with a distant look in his eyes. He doesn’t even notice Coomer at first.

“Good evening, Bubby!” Coomer grins, putting on his best friendly face. Bubby startles, going rigid almost like a goat. “Is something troubling you?”

Bubby shakes his head almost immediately, but seems to pause upon making eye contact with Coomer. He looks away as he signs, [Actually, you might be able to help me with this.]

“Ah, what do you need?” Coomer takes a seat in front of the tube, as he often does when he comes to see Bubby. He waits patiently while Bubby struggles to find his words.

[Do you remember what you told me last week?] Bubby starts, but after Coomer gives him a lost look, he adds, [About being a man.]

Oh, Coomer remembered! He’d been showing off the enhancements he’d received from the Cybernetics department, because while Bubby was familiar with their work, seeing it firsthand was a whole other thing entirely. Bubby was trying to downplay the fact that he was marvelling his Extendo-Arms™ when Coomer mentioned that they had done a few of his transition surgeries as well.

The look of pure confusion on Bubby’s face would be something Coomer always cherished. He gave him a brief explanation on gender identity, sadly not touching on the more intricate details due to time restraints. But Bubby had gotten the gist of it! And now he was asking to know more? It was a scenario Coomer could only dream of.

“Of course I remember!” Coomer exclaims. “Would you like me to elaborate on some of the points I made? I know I had to leave before we could get into my own lived experience, but I hope the general descriptions were adequate!”

[I’ve been thinking about it,] Bubby is obviously uncomfortable. [I’m not a man. Or a woman.]

Well that’s certainly not what Coomer was expecting, but that’s not a bad thing! Finally, a friend who also isn’t cis! He shakes his fists up and down in excitement, before rushing forward to scoop Bubby up in a big hug.

Sadly, there is still a glass wall between them. Coomer slams his face right into it.

Coomer hears Bubby laugh for the first time. Even though it’s muffled by the oxygen mask and tube, not to mention sounding more like a witch’s cackle than something joyful, it’s still the most beautiful thing Coomer has ever heard.

☆*☆

For a few days, Coomer misses his meetings with Bubby. Although they weren't operating on any real schedule before, Coomer had made sure his visits were occurring most nights. But after the divorce was finalized, well… he needed some time by himself.

Bubby’s rapping their knuckles against the glass the second they see Coomer, clearly trying to get his attention. There are less wires connected to them than before, the vast collection reduced to only their oxygen mask.

“Hello Bubby!” Coomer greets apologetically. “I’m sorry for my absence recently, I had a bit of an issue…”

But Bubby clearly isn’t listening. They’re enthusiastic to the point of stimming, excitedly pointing at the large button on the other side of the room.

Coomer walks over to the button and inspects it. It’s been here all this time, yes, but he’s never really thought much about what it does. “You want me to press this?” he clarifies.

Bubby nods, hands flapping so fast there’s no way they could stop to sign. They have that evil look in their eye again, the one that reminds Coomer how vibrant they are and makes his heart skip a beat. He presses the button without hesitation.

Immediately, the liquid in the tube begins to drain, and Coomer worries for a moment that this is going to kill Bubby. But the way they’re lightly kicking against the tube wall, anxious and thrilled beyond measure, tells Coomer that this is exactly what they wanted.

Finally, the tube water is gone, and the glass drops. Bubby takes one step forward, then slips in some of the liquid left at the bottom.

“FUCK!” they yell. It’s the first word Coomer ever hears them say.

“Oh dear, Bubby!” Coomer’s at their side in an instant, helping them sit back up. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bubby shoos away Coomer’s helpful hands. Their voice is almost exactly what Coomer expected, pointed and snarky. They shoot a glare at him. “Where the hell have you been? I got the all clear that I’m not going to fall apart yesterday.”

Coomer winces, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Bubby doesn’t even know he was married, let alone in the middle of a bitter divorce up until recently.

“I, um,” he stammers. “I had something happen?”

Bubby rolls their eyes. “No shit.” They take Coomer’s hand. “Can you grab my glasses for me? You’re about to watch me burn shit.”

Coomer tries to ignore the burning feeling in his face and chest when he looks at their hands, instead focusing on the burning feeling that comes from standing way too close to Bubby’s fire.

☆*☆

Things change very quickly after that. Bubby gets their neural implants put in—which they’re rightfully pissy about—but they’re moving forward. After all, limiting the government secrets you can tell is a sign that you’ll soon be around people who don’t know them. Besides, Coomer already knows anything they would have told him without the barrier, so they’ll always have him around!

Just mentioning that halts Bubby’s thrashing against the metal walls and medical equipment. Their hands still, their expression softens, and they tilt their head slightly, as if in wonder of the man in front of them.

Coomer feels seen in a way he never has before.

☆*☆

They wait a few days after Bubby’s “release into the wild” (as Coomer calls it) before visiting with each other again. Give Bubby a few days at work and the plausible deniability that he met Coomer during that time. But now that time is up, and Coomer’s excited to hear how Chemical Engineering has been treating his friend!

His friend. Coomer has long since accepted he has a bit of a crush on Bubby, which is kind of embarrassing to admit as he’s rapidly approaching forty years old. When you constantly catch yourself thinking about running your hand through your friend’s hair, though, or wondering what it would be like to kiss him with all those sharp teeth… it’s obvious at that point.

In stark contrast from before, Bubby visits Coomer’s dorm room. He insists that his own is nowhere near ready to receive guests in, and he’d much rather see what a lived-in space should look like. Coomer doesn’t mention he only got downgraded to this singles’ dorm a month ago.

The second he steps in, while Coomer tries to avoid thinking about how good he looks in actual clothes, Bubby starts complaining.

“What the fuck!? Why do you have a better dorm than me?!” Bubby gestures around him. “You’ve got, like, three different rooms here!”

“I’ve been working for Black Mesa for almost twenty years, Bubby!” Coomer explains. “I have a bit of seniority over you.”

Bubby rolls his eyes. “Big deal, I’ve practically been working here for thirty-eight years! That’s more than you!” He crosses his arms and grumbles about favoritism.

Coomer puts all his energy into ignoring how adorable Bubby looks when he’s grumpy.

☆*☆

“Harold! What do you mean you’re divorced!?”

They’re sitting on the couch in Coomer’s dorm, Bubby clutching one of his throw pillows. It hurt to bring up, but Coomer figures that Bubby would have found out eventually. He really didn’t want them to hear about it from a colleague of theirs that was an acquaintance at best.

“Well, I am!” Coomer attempts to keep a tone of cheerfulness in his voice. “The proceedings started just before I met you, and everything’s been finalized for a few months now.”

Bubby stands, and Coomer’s afraid for a moment that they're about to start lecturing him on trust.

They point a finger at him. “You’re telling me you have an ex we could have been bashing this whole time?!”

☆*☆

Though it takes a while, Bubby finally relents and allows Coomer to come over to their dorm, and while it’s much smaller, he loves it more than his own. It’s cozy! The two of them have to sit on the bed to watch TV, since there isn’t enough room for a couch.

Which is exactly what they’re doing. Coomer has a lot of media he plans on catching Bubby up on, prioritizing his own favorites! But they are currently watching an action movie, which he knows they’ll both enjoy. Acts of heroism and explosions? It’s like the industry was made entirely for the two of them!

They’re sitting very close, Bubby practically leaning against him. Not that Coomer’s complaining, they’re practically a heater. And given how far underground they are, he’s taking any source of warmth he can get. The physical contact is also making him very flustered, and thus, more body heat!

A huge explosion rocks the screen, and Coomer laughs. “See, Bubby! I told you there would be something in here for you!”

“Huh?” Bubby mumbles and sits up. They’re clearly rubbing their eyes.

“Bubby, have you been asleep?” Coomer asks, already knowing the answer.

They blink, the fog clearly leaving their brain. “Oh,” Bubby says, as if realizing that’s what happened. “Yeah, so what? It’s my room.”

“You have company!”

Bubby squints at Coomer, before removing their glasses. “I don’t see any company.”

“Bubby! You can still hear me!”

“The world is just blurry shapes now! For all I know, I’m alone!”

Oh, well if someone’s going to be childish, then Coomer can play their game. Using Bubby’s reduced eyesight to his advantage, Coomer snatches their glasses from their hand. They gasp dramatically.

“Harold! How dare you!” Bubby attempts to swipe their glasses back, but it’s a little hard to do that when their hand-eye coordination is shot. Coomer holds the glasses above their heads, teasingly.

“What’s wrong, professor? Can’t find your glasses?” he grins, waggling the sight aids ever so mockingly.

Coomer was not expecting Bubby to tackle him to the bed. “It’s doctor, shut up!” they growl, reaching for his outstretched hand. “Give them back!”

He does his best to shove Bubby back, but since he’s not putting too much effort in, it’s no use. Finally, Bubby’s hand manages to find purchase on the glasses’ bridge. They yank their glasses back, shouting a triumphant “Aha!” as they do so.

Bubby returns their glasses to their rightful place, smirking with their shark-like teeth showing. “You thought you could-”

Coomer suddenly realizes how close their faces are to each other. And that Bubby’s practically got him pinned against the bed. His hand lingers on their stomach, halted in its effort to push Bubby away.

Bubby seems to as well, as they suddenly stop talking, their cheeks turning a bright red that Coomer’s sure matches his own. After the longest moment of stillness, they abruptly fall back, almost fearful.

“Fuck!” Bubby curls in on themself, gripping their temples with their hands. “That was- it was nothing!”

Coomer sits up, tentatively reaching a hand out. “Bubby…”

They slap his hand away. “Stop it, Harold!” Bubby’s tone is harsh, but Coomer can hear their voice cracking. “Just stop, okay?! It was nothing!” They’re practically about to pull their hair out of their head.

“Bubby!” Coomer grabs onto their wrists, bringing them between the two of them. He looks Bubby in the eye. “Calm down. Breathe with me, alright?”

Clearly biting down whatever they were going to say, Bubby nods as if it’s the only thing they can do. Slowly, Coomer sees the tension fall from their shoulders, their arms going slack. After a few rounds of breathing, Bubby gently draws their hands back, and Coomer lets them.

“Now, what’s the matter with you?” Coomer moves to sit beside Bubby. “And don’t you dare say it’s nothing, again.”

Bubby drops their head onto their knees. “I know you’re in love with me, Coomer. You’re like a puppy, it’s not hard to read you.”

Coomer sighs. This is a rejection, then? As a divorced man, Coomer should be used to this, but… he isn’t. Not from Bubby.

Bubby looks back up at him. “And I know what you want in a relationship, and it’s not me.”

Huh?

“Not you?” The concept is so absurd that Coomer’s sure he must not have heard them correctly.

“Actual person things!” Bubby gestures to the ceiling as they speak. “Like going to the surface, or living together, or going to nice restaurants!” They frown. “I can’t give you that.”

A beat passes while Coomer figures out how to respond to that.

“You know you’re wrong, right?”

Now it’s Bubby’s turn to look confused. “What?”

“While those things are nice, I don’t need any of them in a romantic relationship.” He takes Bubby’s hand. “I just need someone who’s nice to spend time with and is willing to put the effort in.”

Bubby’s face turns bright red again. “Oh,” they say, squeezing Coomer’s hand. “Well, I can do that.”

“Can you?” Coomer’s mostly joking, still riding the high of mutual romantic feelings, but Bubby takes it seriously.

“Of course I can!” They throw their arms around his shoulders, a stupid grin now spread across their face from cheek to cheek. “Just you wait, Harold, I’m going to romance the socks off of you!”

For the second time today, their faces are inches apart.

Bubby doesn’t back away this time. “I can kiss you, right?”

“Oh most definitely,” Coomer responds.

It turns out, kissing Bubby is everything Coomer had hoped it would be and more. Their lips are warm, and the feeling of them smiling into the kiss as they grip the back of his shirt, pulling him closer, is one he’ll never forget.

☆*☆

There are certain things you don’t notice about a person until you spend a night with them. After sharing a bed with Bubby a few times, Coomer comes to several realizations.

The first is that Bubby sleeps like a log. Seriously, Coomer would have expected them to be at least a little bit twitchy. But the second Bubby’s out, they aren’t moving again until the morning.

Which is difficult in combination with the second item: Bubby is a clinger. It’s cute to see someone who’s usually so standoffish be completely affectionate at night, but not so much when Coomer feels pins and needles in his arm and he’s physically incapable of moving it out from between the two of them without waking his partner.

And waking them up is a bad idea because of the third realization, which is that Bubby is not a morning person in the slightest. Coomer already had a sense of this from their first meeting, but Bubby absolutely HATES waking up for the day. They practically need to be lured to the lab with a trail of coffee mugs every morning.

But their annoying sleeping habits aside, Coomer thinks it’s worth it. After all, he gets to hold Bubby for a whole night! Listening to them breathing, running his hand through their hair (they’re starting to go gray), he has never felt more at peace.

☆*☆

Coomer finds Bubby waiting for him outside his dorm room, standing there with his arms crossed and tapping his foot rapidly. His scowl immediately melts into a smile the second he spots him.

“Well, hello there Bubby!” Coomer waves. “What are you doing here so early? I thought our departments let out at the same time.”

“Harold, you will not believe the day I’ve had.” Bubby places a hand on Coomer’s back, serving as both affection and a way to rush him through unlocking the door. “Some idiot almost blew up the entire lab!”

Coomer turns the key and opens the door. “Well that’s not good! What happened?”

Bubby brushes past him, plopping himself on the couch with great flourish. “The man was clearly ignoring proper lab safety! The whole experiment burst into flames while his back was turned!” He seems strangely satisfied as he speaks, a look Coomer would know anywhere. “We got the rest of the day off because of his arrogance.”

Taking a seat next to him, Coomer narrows his eyes at Bubby. “Darling, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Bubby raises his hands in the air, feigning innocence long enough that Coomer almost begins to feel bad. Then he gets that wicked grin on his face again. “I did, though. I spent the afternoon eating chips in my dorm, and it was a million times better than working for this hell facility.”

“Bubby! You were supposed to bring those chips here with you!” Coomer chides him, but in reality, he doesn’t care that much. He’s proud his wonderful partner fucked over the system just a bit.

Bubby stares at him blankly for a moment. “Oh yeah! I forgot about that.” He shrugs. “They were good, though.”

“I’m sure they were,” Coomer sighs, but his obvious smile shows no ill-will behind it.

☆*☆

Over the years, the folks over at Biological Research get a bit more lenient with Bubby. They’re finally able to see some of Black Mesa's surface facilities, which are mostly just a few upper-level labs. The only condition is that Bubby is not allowed to leave the property.

That’s fine for both of them, though. There’s a lot to do on the surface if you’ve never been there before, and they end up sitting in the sunshine together, talking about things they definitely would have talked about below-ground as well. Bubby seems to enjoy the sun on their skin, acting a lot like a lizard basking in a bright light.

“I see you’re having fun,” Coomer chuckles.

Bubby is laying flat on their back, and even though Coomer knows they’ll yell at him for letting them lay down in the dirt, right now he can’t bring himself to stop them.

“It’s so warm out, Harold!” Bubby exclaims, wearing the happiest grin ever. “You know I love the warm!”

When the sky begins to darken and the temperature cools, Bubby sits back up and scooches over to join Coomer against one of the rock outcroppings that litter Black Mesa. They stretch their arm out, subtly wrapping it around Coomer’s shoulders and leaning their head against his.

“You know I love you, Harold,” they whisper. Coomer has never seen them look so peaceful before.

Coomer beams, taking hold of Bubby’s free hand and kissing his partner at the same time. “Of course,” he replies. “And I love you.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, watching the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon. Bubby’s gaze turns to the stars above them. Being out in the middle of nowhere, Black Mesa has very little light pollution. No matter how bright the stars may look, though, Coomer thinks there’s no way they can be brighter than Bubby’s eyes right now.

“They can’t program stuff like this into a person,” Bubby remarks, eyes still glued to the sky. “I’ve known about stars and love my whole life, but…” They falter, their expression becoming grim for the briefest of seconds. Then, they look back at Coomer. “Experiencing it is something different.”

Coomer doesn’t need to respond, not vocally. He pulls Bubby into the biggest bear hug he can muster.

“Ack! Coomer!” Bubby grunts. “Not all of us are ninety-percent metal!”

“Forty-seven point five!” Coomer corrects them, but he releases Bubby with an apologetic head pat. “I’m sorry, though. I just love you too much! I want to hug you all the time!”

Bubby’s face goes red immediately. Even after all these years together, Coomer can still make them blush as though it were their first date all over again.

“Yeah! W-well!” they stammer. “Good! You should want to do that!”

Choking back his laughter, Coomer pulls Bubby in for another, more gentle hug.

☆*☆

They’re curled up on his couch late one night, watching an old movie when Coomer decides to bring up the elephant in the room.

Coomer stops running his hand through Bubby’s hair. “Your hairline is receding. You know that, right?”

Bubby immediately sits up from where he was resting on Coomer’s chest. “Shut the fuck-”

“I was just saying!”

“I do not want to hear it!”

“Bubby, dear, you’re completely gray already. My hairline is also receding!”

“Yeah, well.” Bubby crosses his arms, turning away from Coomer. “You’re a year older than me, so that makes sense.”

Coomer shakes his head. “Well, I suppose there’s only one way to settle this.”

Bubby gasps. “You wouldn’t!” He scrambles to the other side of the couch. “Stay away from me, you bastard!”

“A fight to the death!”

And with that, Coomer lunges.

☆*☆

All good things must come to an end. It’s a concept Coomer is intimately familiar with.

☆*☆

The morning begins in Coomer’s kitchenette, Bubby hunched over the table drinking their coffee out of a mug that says “Total Stud” on it. A gift from three years ago. As they rub the sleep from their eyes, Coomer bounces around preparing breakfast for the both of them.

“You’re heading back down to Biological Research again today, aren’t you?” Coomer asks over his shoulder as he fries a few eggs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Coomer spots Bubby signing, [Yes.] Must be a rough morning, then.

“Medical checkup?” Coomer asks, slipping their eggs onto two plates and serving one to his partner. But Bubby ignores him. They pointedly hold the mug with both hands, taking a long and drawn-out sip.

Coomer bites his cheek as he sits across from Bubby. “You know, they’re dragging me into another meeting down there today.”

[Clone thing?] Bubby absentmindedly picks at their eggs. Scrambled, just how they like them.

“I believe so,” Coomer sighs. “You’re sure it’s different from you?”

Bubby nods. [It’s just you in two bodies. Wasn’t like that for me.]

While it’s a relief that there aren’t going to be any more children brought up in Black Mesa like Bubby was, Coomer’s still not entirely sure he likes the implications of the alternative. A hivemind of himself just wandering around the facility? Is that something he wants?

“But, anyway.” Coomer got sidetracked. “I was thinking we could head down there toge-”

That wakes Bubby up more than coffee ever could. “No!” they shout, rising from their chair in an instant. The second they register their panic, though, it’s gone. “It’s… we shouldn’t go together. I’ll probably leave after we eat.”

Maybe it’s the way they look into his eyes, like a caged animal, but something about what Bubby says next sticks with him for the rest of the day.

“They aren’t good people, Harold.”

☆*☆

Coomer catches sight of Bubby as he’s rushed into one of the offices, through a window into a test chamber. They’re back in a medical gown again (that hurts to see), shoulders slumped as a scientist speaks to them. Their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds, Bubby offering him a small smile, which Coomer returns.

Then the scientist snaps at Bubby, who immediately goes rigid and turns away from Coomer.

☆*☆

“To put it simply, Dr. Coomer, the sequencing of your DNA is ideal for mass-producing clones.”

The man in front of him—Dr. Daniels, as the nameplate on his desk reads—smirks as he speaks, and it isn’t at all close to the endearing ones Bubby has. It’s cold, calculating, and makes Coomer want to squirm. When you’re the head of Biological Research, you get to be intimidating.

In the back of his head, Coomer hears Bubby’s warning. ‘They aren’t good people, Harold.’

“How did you get my DNA in the first place?” Coomer inquires, because he knows for a fact he hasn’t given them any.

Dr. Daniels just laughs at him, more mocking than assuring. “Cybernetics had a few samples on record, in the event of complications during surgery,” he says. “It wasn’t hard to get ahold of them.”

Coomer frowns. Damn, he didn’t think those were still around. ‘They aren’t good people, Harold.’

“You see, I’m worried about the shared consciousness,” Coomer looks for an out. There’s a strange noise in the hallway, but it’s easy enough to ignore. “They’d just be mindless extensions of myself?”

“That’s a simplification, but yes,” Dr. Daniels begins rifling through his desk drawers. “I apologize, I swear I had a paper here that would explain it better.” His brow furrows, but he’s interrupted when

CRASH!!

Another noise from the hallway, this time even louder than before. And people are shouting. It startles the both of them.

Dr. Daniels grumbles, “What the hell is happening out there?”

The office door flies off its hinges in a fiery burst of energy, and a figure steps in. And figure is the right word, because it’s difficult to make out any features beyond pure black and literally engulfed in flame.

Oh fuck.

That’s Bubby, isn’t it?

They look between the two people in the office, finally settling on Dr. Daniels. They point towards him as they speak.

“You.” Their voice is full of malice, more than Coomer’s ever heard from them before. They take a shambling step forward, leaving a trail of fires and scorch marks behind them as they walk. “Get away from him.”

But Dr. Daniels makes no move. “Now, now, Subject 33, there’s no need for this.”

Bubby is careful to avoid Coomer in his approach, made easier by the fact that Coomer has retreated to the side of the office. He can’t really escape without jumping through fire, and, well…

He can’t leave Bubby.

“I’m not going to let you hurt him,” Bubby hisses, climbing onto the desk and raising a hand to strike. “Not like you hurt me.”

Dr. Daniels isn’t afraid. He only shoots a disappointed glance Coomer’s way. “I see.”

He turns his attention back to Bubby. “Thirty-three drop.”

They’re just words, but they have an obvious effect on Bubby. Their flames extinguish immediately, leaving them smoking slightly. Their limbs go slack, and they fall backwards off the desk.

For a moment, Coomer is convinced Daniels killed them.

“What a shame,” Daniels walks around the desk, grabbing onto the back of Bubby’s medical gown. “You were doing such good work in Chemical Engineering. We’ll have to move you, now.”

As Daniels drags Bubby behind him, Coomer meets their eyes again. Despite the limpness in their body, Bubby is wide awake and begging, pleading for help.

But Coomer is frozen still.

Daniels unceremoniously drops Bubby in the hallway, calling out to the survivors of Bubby’s rampage to put them back in the tube for now. He closes the door after that and looks at Coomer.

“Now, as for you…”

‘They aren’t good people, Harold.’

☆*☆

All good things must come to an end.

But, thinking back on it, Bubby wasn’t just a good thing. No, the term “good thing” is not enough to describe the impact they left on Harold Coomer’s life. He knows it isn’t, not with the way he wakes up cold every morning, reaching for a warmth that isn’t there. Coomer finds himself boxing up leftovers more often than not, making enough food for two out of habit. He cries whenever he finds something in his dorm that Bubby left behind, like their mug or a sweater.

All good things must come to an end, but Bubby was more than that. Bubby was always more than people wanted them to be, everyone except Coomer. And when you spend so long living with so much, the absence is terrifyingly empty.

Bubby was an inferno. Bubby was the stars in their eyes. Bubby was passion, and intellect, and bravery, and cowardice, all in one.

Bubby was loved.

☆*☆

It goes like this.

Coomer is transferred to Biological Research, where they can keep an eye on him. He is not given a choice. He will participate in the cloning experiments, and he’ll live with it.

Bubby’s been transferred somewhere else. Their dorm has been moved. Coomer is not to speak with them again, under any circumstance.

Life continues, but it doesn’t move on.

☆*☆

Several times a day, Coomer catches himself thinking about Bubby.

‘What are they doing right now?’

‘Where are they?’

‘I miss them.’

‘Bubby would love this.’

‘Bubby would hate this.’

‘I should tell Bubby about this!’

It always hurts.

☆*☆

Coomer has to figure out grounding methods on his own. Everytime a new clone pops out, a piece of Coomer disappears for good. He loses items more often, because his thoughts strayed to a clone’s at just the wrong second. He still remembers things, but it’s getting harder and harder everyday. Some days his head is cloudy, and he can’t quite figure out what it is he’s supposed to do at work.

If Bubby were here, they would make fun of him. Yeah, they were kind of a jerk, weren’t they? A loving, wonderful jerk. But they wouldn’t have complained, there’s no doubt in Coomer’s mind.

Some days, when he wakes up, Coomer doesn’t remember that Bubby’s not by his side anymore.

☆*☆

Things don’t get better, but over the course of fifteen years, they do get easier.

Coomer starts making friends again, a young man by the name of Gordon Freeman. Coomer can tell he’s stressed out being so young in such a competitive field (especially working in Anomalous Materials, the things he’s heard about that department…), so maybe he takes a bit of a mentorship role to him.

It’s nice. They’ve known each other for a year at this point, and, well, he’s kind of like the son Coomer never had.

Gordon mentions that there’s a big test coming up, apparently his team is pulling other Anomalous Materials teams in just to make sure everything runs smoothly. And though it’s complicated, his job is rather simple. Push a crystal into a laser!

What could go wrong?

☆*☆

Of course Coomer shows up the day of the test to support Gordon! He hasn’t got anything better to do today, so he might as well see what all the fuss is over at Anomalous Materials.

It’s easy enough to bullshit his way past their front desk, having a million clones of yourself running around means there’s a million spots for you to fill should you need to. He briefly greets Gordon in the locker room, wishing him luck as he hurries on his way.

But, finally, he finds his way to the control room. The perfect place to watch from!

There are two scientists inside, both of whom are tall and lanky. One’s pretty young, Coomer thinks he must be around his mid-thirties. And the other-

“I swear to you, Tommy, this man says-”

He stops the second he spots the intruder, face slightly twitching in a way Coomer knows means he's resisting wincing. He’s lost more of his hair since Coomer last saw him, and though it’s been fifteen years, he’s aged pretty well, all things considered.

“Bubby?” The name comes tumbling out of Coomer’s mouth before he can stop himself. There's no way…

That does something to the scientist, dropping his stern expression for something softer. “Harold? Is that really-”

They’re interrupted by a clattering noise in the test chamber, all three of them turning to see Gordon has entered, accompanied by a security guard.

“Fuck,” Bubby swears. “What the hell is he doing?”

The other scientist, Tommy, preoccupies himself with yelling back and forth with the security guard.

“Tommy, do you know this man?” Bubby snaps (Coomer doesn’t remember him being this standoffish), appearing annoyed when he receives no answer.

“You know, he didn’t bring his passport!” Coomer jokes, trying to lighten the mood but…

Bubby is pointedly looking away from him, his attention focused on the computer terminal in front of him. He keeps mumbling about how fucked the technology in this part of the facility is, and honestly, Coomer agrees. Why they’re having Anomalous Materials run such high-risk tests in such a poor state, he has no idea. It’s like they’re asking for something terrible to happen.

And something does.

Things get worse as the test continues. The Anti-Mass Spectrometer begins to smoke, the computers in the control room are clearly on the fritz, and Bubby is still ignoring Coomer. But everything goes wrong after the crystal sample is placed in the laser.

They attempt to shut the Anti-Mass Spectrometer down, but it doesn’t work. Electricity arches throughout the room, striking the walls and loosening panels. All at once, an explosion rocks the test chamber, sending the three scientists ducking to the floor.

While Coomer doesn’t understand whatever the hell just happened, Bubby and Tommy certainly do. The second the test chamber stills, they rush out of the control room, heading two separate directions.

Some little part of Coomer’s heart that remained intact shatters.

☆*☆

Between all the zombies and aliens wandering around and the sheer destruction that’s been wrought on the facility, it’s quite obvious that Black Mesa has become defunct. As their team of five travels through the depths of their workplace, Coomer revels in the fact that he finally has an opportunity to get rid of these clones. With each of their deaths, it’s like a part of himself comes back.

Bubby catches on. Coomer occasionally spots him taking out a clone from the corner of his eyes.

That first night, after they all stop to rest, Coomer is surprised that Bubby chooses to sit next to him. After a full day of nothing from Bubby, Coomer had thought he was losing him all over again.

“This is the end of Black Mesa, isn’t it?” Bubby asks. Despite their proximity, he still won’t face Coomer.

Coomer looks out at the sleeping forms of their companions. Gordon is still stuck in his Hazard Suit, which probably makes sleeping even more uncomfortable. Tommy, meanwhile, has taken off his lab coat and bunched it up into a pillow.

“I believe so, Bubby,” Coomer admits.

Bubby sighs, but it’s not disappointment. It’s relief. Coomer is shocked to feel him take his hand into his own.

“It’s good to see you again, Harold,” he finally confesses. “You won’t believe how much I missed you.”

Coomer chuckles. “I have some idea.” Every nerve in his hand is buzzing, and if he was too old for this when he and Bubby first started dating, then he’s definitely too old now.

“So what are we doing, then?” Bubby’s being vague on purpose.

“Well, we should probably…” Coomer’s thoughts drift back to their final encounter, “talk. About everything. And then, I suppose, if you’ll have me…” He looks to Bubby, hope in his eyes.

Bubby scoffs, trying to keep his voice down. He leans his head against Coomer. “Seriously? You want to pick up where we left off fifteen years later?”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t!” Coomer says. “Who’s around to stop us now?”

Instead of arguing, Bubby lets his head drop down to Coomer’s shoulder. “You have a point,” he whispers after stifling a yawn. “We’ll talk in the morning?”

“We do need our rest,” Coomer concedes, resting his head atop Bubby. “Goodnight, then.”

Bubby falls asleep fast, like he always did. As for Coomer, despite the two of them laying against a concrete wall, it’s the best sleep he’s gotten in years.

☆*☆

While Bubby sticks to Coomer’s side like glue, it’s clear they’re avoiding being alone with him. They’ll slyly take ahold of his hand as the two of them walk side-by-side, but the second the team rounds a corner ahead of them, they’re dragging Coomer forward while shouting “We’re going to be left behind!”

They still haven’t talked about that last day.

But Coomer finds himself unable to complain too much. Having Bubby with him again, smiling and laughing, holding them… it’s everything he ever wanted.

☆*☆

When they finally make it back to the surface, Gordon has a great idea.

“Why don’t we just climb?” He gestures to the rocks in front of them. “Why don’t we just go over the rocks and fucking get out of here? We’re at the surface…”

Bubby tries to deter him, reminding Gordon that they’re in the middle of nowhere, but Coomer gets an idea.

“I could always try to clear the mountaintops with my SuperLegs,” he suggests, and when he doesn’t hear no, he goes for it.

He’s up there for but a few seconds, but what he sees beyond the walls of Black Mesa shakes him to his core.

There’s nothing there.

☆*☆

After the rocket launch, Coomer catches Bubby staring out the window instead of sleeping. Their eyes are trained on the night sky, watching the stars twinkle with a determination Coomer’s never seen before.

“Bubby,” Coomer calls out to them, shocking them from whatever trance they’re in. “You should really sleep.”

To be honest, it’s more for his sake than theirs. He just needs to feel Bubby by his side, tonight more so than any.

“Right,” Bubby moves back to Coomer’s side, nestling their face into his shoulder. “When you- I didn’t realize you were telling the truth, earlier.”

Coomer sighs. “You saw it too?”

They nod, mumbling, “There’s really nothing out there, is there?”

What do you do when facing down the limits of your own reality? What is there to do but seek comfort in that which makes you feel human?

☆*☆

Bubby's been whispering with Benrey. Occasionally the two of them will fall behind or run ahead of the group, mumbling to each other as they glance around nervously. While it is suspicious, Coomer knows Bubby! He hasn't heard anything terrible from him!

But still, he is acting rather strange.

"Bubby, dearest?" Coomer asks. Bubby is apparently back in one of his clingy moods, as he wrapped his arms around Coomer the second everyone decided to take a break and refused to let go.

Something about the word "dearest" irks Bubby. His eye twitches, which is definitely not the effect it had on him fifteen years ago.

"What?" Bubby's obviously fighting against a harsh tone, a contrast to the fact he's currently holding onto Coomer for dear life.

"I wanted to make sure you were doing alright, after yesterday," Coomer continues. "You’ve been on edge today."

Bubby grimaces. "Maybe it's the alien invasion we're fighting off."

"You know that's a flimsy excuse."

"What does it matter?" Bubby huffs. "What does any of this matter?"

In all his years of comforting Bubby, of offering words of encouragement in the face of dire circumstances, Coomer has never fallen short of words like he has now. How can he provide him with answers that he himself is reaching for?

Bubby notices his hesitance and sighs, tired. His eyes are stern and hollow. Without another word he stands, joining the rest of the group and leaving Coomer behind.

☆*☆

Coomer is too trusting. How many times over the years has Bubby called him a fool? Lambasted his desire to look for the good? 'The world isn't as kind as you imagine it, Harold, get your head out of the clouds.'

Bubby and Benrey betray Gordon. Walking towards that dreaded room, Coomer notices that same hollow expression on Bubby's face, his words betraying him.

A second before the lights go out on Gordon, Coomer sees the most twisted grin worm its way onto Bubby's face. A grin he can hear wiped away when Gordon screams in pain, knife tearing through flesh.

The whole time, Coomer is frozen in place. His PowerLegs feel more like stone than advanced cybernetic enhancements. His friend is being hurt, right in front of him! And he can’t…

He can’t..

Do anything.

It's fifteen years ago, all over again.

The second the thought crosses his mind, Coomer makes an excuse to run, hoping at least someone will follow him. He can't let this happen again, he can't be trapped by his own inaction! Gordon might be beyond saving, but they aren't!

Nobody pursues. Coomer finds himself wandering the halls of Black Mesa. Alone.

☆*☆

Stupid.

Useless.

Cowardly.

Selfish.

Spineless.

Coomer realizes it's no wonder he lost Bubby. He didn’t deserve them.

☆*☆

The clones end up being good for something after all.

When you have three hundred subhuman extensions of yourself, it turns out you have what could be described as a one-man army.

☆*☆

Coomer has a plan. Screw everything else, he's fucked up beyond measure in here. He is getting out of this game, one way or another.

He's got all the clones he could find, one surging attack should do the trick. After all, the man is suffering from a recent amputation, he shouldn't be that hard to take down. Well, Coomer didn't anticipate Tommy, but that's not too big of a wrench. He's knocked down, he stands, ready to fight again, but...

But he sees Gordon. So weak, so bloody, so delirious. And yet still walking.

The anger recedes. Coomer stands down, offering peace instead. Despite everything, he can’t bring himself to hate Gordon.

☆*☆

They find Bubby locked up in their tube, and with the way they enter the room, Coomer doesn't even realize they're in there at first.

Coomer is angry, he's furious at Bubby for their betrayal. They sold Gordon, their friend, out to the military! Of all people!

But seeing Bubby back in their tube, pounding on the glass, begging to be let out, for Gordon to understand they were tricked and lied to.

It isn't right.

If Coomer can get a second chance after the stunt he pulled, then Bubby can as well.

☆*☆

They stop for the night in a small room that they climbed into through the roof. As the group talks, Coomer sits next to Bubby, even lays near them when it's time to go to sleep. But he can tell, from the way their eyes keep glancing towards the bloody stump where Gordon's hand used to be, that their mind is elsewhere.

Bubby doesn't reach out for him at night, and after the day they've all had, Coomer isn't sure he should make the first move. Still, even subconsciously, they lay back-to-back as they sleep.

Until Coomer's back suddenly feels cold.

He sits up, noticing Bubby has woken up and is trying to worm their way back onto the roof. Their eyes meet for a moment, both of them silent before Bubby climbs up.

Coomer decides to follow.

The sight Coomer finds is not unfamiliar to him. Bubby sits on the roof, their knees drawn to their chest, gazing up at the starry sky above them. Their eyes are not full of their usual wonder. When Coomer sits down next to them, they finally speak.

"I fucked up," Bubby confesses, eyes still glued to the sky.

Coomer already knew that, but... "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I-" Bubby starts, but they swallow and try again. "When I saw the void, I thought that meant that nothing here mattered." Coomer wraps an arm around Bubby, and they lean into him. "That my whole life, what happened to us, it was all fake and meaningless."

"But we're real," Coomer says, not a lecture, but an affirmation. "We love, we feel pain, we have fun. To an extent, we're alive."

"That we are," Bubby agrees. They pause for a beat, before revealing, "I hated you."

Coomer remains quiet, mostly out of confusion.

Bubby pulls back to face him. "Biological Research knew the whole time that you were seeing me. They thought you were a good influence, so they didn't step in." They grip the sleeve of Coomer's lab coat. "But that day, they mentioned it to me, and I… I just snapped."

Vaguely, Coomer remembers Dr. Daniels saying he had "expended his usefulness" sometime before the cloning began.

"I wanted to protect you, Harold. You were the first good thing in my life, I couldn't let them hurt you," Bubby whimpers. "But when I needed your help, you didn't… you…"

Harold Coomer froze.

Something clicks in the back of his mind. When the soldiers attacked Gordon, Bubby knew that Coomer wouldn't act.

Bubby yanks Coomer back to their chest, holding him as close as possible. "I blamed you, and I hated that I blamed you, and I loved you. Harold, those first years without you were awful."

Coomer can hear Bubby crying, and he knows he's doing the same.

"I'm sorry," Coomer sobs into their shirt, hugging Bubby just as tightly as they hug him. "My darling Bubby, I am so, so sorry."

"Don't say that," Bubby repeats it like a mantra every time Coomer apologizes. "Harold, don't you dare say that."

☆*☆

They make it to the end. They're loomed over by the twisted monstrosity that is Benrey. They destroy their passports, and pour everything they can into knocking this bastard down once and for all.

Bubby erupts in flames, his body once again becoming a vague silhouette. Unlike the last time he saw this sight, Coomer feels no dread. There is no pit in his stomach.

This is elation.

☆*☆

They share their first kiss in years in a Chuck E. Cheese, of all places. After watching the two of them dance around each other for five days, Gordon finally feels comfortable enough to ask them what the hell their relationship status is.

Coomer opens his mouth to answer, but Bubby has a better idea. He tilts Coomer's face towards his own, leans in, and kisses him right on the lips.

It's like nothing has changed in fifteen years. When they kiss, it's like they're young all over again.

☆*☆

They survive after the game. Bubby questions it aloud one day, but Coomer doesn't want to think about it. Whatever has happened that allows their continued existence, it's nothing short of a miracle.

Bubby and Coomer end up crashing in Gordon's house for a few days, considering they don't quite have a place of their own yet. On day three, Gordon's son Joshua calls both of them his grandpas, and Coomer cries for an hour.

They move out eventually, when their government mandated hush money comes in. Not far, but Bubby clearly wants some independence. It's a nice little place, cozy but not too small.

Bubby never starts the conversations about marriage, but they're always an active participant. When Coomer had first brought up the idea, Bubby had to put their magazine down, their eyes blown wide.

"Holy shit!" they exclaim, realization hitting them like a train. "We can do that now!"

After fifteen years of absence, waking up with Bubby by his side, curling their fingers through his hair, is magical. The life they never thought they'd have—a house on the surface, with a family all their own—is reality. Coomer has never been happier.

All good things must come to an end. But Bubby has always been better than good.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #hlvrai boomer #boomer #dr bubby #dr coomer #my writing #good things #cw unethical science #cw trigger phrases

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Nessian multichapter fic)

Chapter 19 - Nesta

This is too long for Tumblr, so read part of it below but all of it on A03.

Emerald blazed threateningly in the dark forest and Nesta’s stomach lurched.

She wanted to snap at Cassian to move — to do something to stop the Illyrian from firing his arrows — but he remained fixed in place, his siphons winking but unused, as if he were out of power. He was still holding Nesta behind him, his grip tight around her arm. And Nesta knew, as surely as breathing, that he would do anything to make sure that she remained unharmed — even if he had yet to move a muscle.

Slowly, Cassian held up his other hand in surrender. Again, the siphon on the finger straps of his leathers flashed through the darkening forest.

“It’s me, Lorrian.”

Hard hazel eyes scanned over them both and Nesta watched them flicker in recognition as they settled on Cassian.

With an angry growl, the Illyrian lowered his bow. His wings flared before they retracted back in again, the same way Cassian’s did when he was pissed off.

“You couldn’t have just warned us of your arrival in your usual fashion, you stupid prick? What the fuck happened to you?”

The males voice was bass and sonorous. It bounced off the trees and rattled through Nesta in a way that made her bones feel brittle. She watched those sharp eyes flit around the dell. His expression turned grim as he took in the charcoaled and bloody remains.

“Fucking kerits, that’s what,” Cassian snapped. “A whole pack of them. Since when do they come this far down from the mountains? We nearly died.”

The males expression turned grim. He kicked at a severed head and Nesta watched it roll into the foliage, tongue still pink and lolling. “I’ve never seen them down here before. What was that silver streak? It looked like fire. It shook the perimeter like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I thought the house was going to come down.”

“That was Nesta,” Cassian explained shortly. “We were trying to get to safety. I thought her magic might pierce through Frawley’s magic. Instead, it felt like a cannon had gone off. It scared off the rest of the kerits and threw me into a boulder.”

Wincing, Cassian brought a hand to his shoulder as if he were remembering the impact. “It near dislocated my shoulder.”

Cassian turned to Nesta then, a critical eye running over her body. Despite her blood splattered face and hair, Nesta was otherwise unharmed. The kerits hadn’t even come close to touching her. She’d incinerated her half circle and Cassian had dealt with his.

“Any injuries I should know about?” he asked her.

Nesta shook her head, but Cassian’s gaze lingered on her a few moments longer, as if he weren’t sure he believed her. Even she was suffering from disbelief; they had been so outnumbered it seemed a miracle that neither of them were suffering from major injuries.

When Cassian seemed satisfied she wasn’t hiding anything, he waved a tired hand. “Nesta meet Lorrian. Although Lorrian is Illyria’s best aerial warrior, it would appear your power managed to scare the shit out of him — congratulations.”

The stern expression of the male - Lorrian - did not disappear at the introduction, and Nesta watched him cross his arms tightly across his muscled chest, the green magic of his right arm flaring from the movement. His piercing look was one of a warrior but Nesta did not flinch, she just stared right back. She was well versed in staring down opponents — what was another Illyrian bat?

It only took a few seconds for Cassian’s words to sink in. Lorrian’s eyes cut sharply from Nesta to Cassian. “Are we talking of the female who killed the King of Hybern?”

Cassian’s hand was instantly on the small of Nesta’s back as she stiffened habitually. The gesture was unusual; Cassian rarely touched her without cause. She resisted the urge to bat him away. When Lorrian tracked the movement she knew why Cassian had done it. It was protective — he was telling Lorrian where his loyalties lay.

Deep in the pit of her stomach, Nesta felt something primal growl.

It made her want to seethe at the same time her body melted into the sound.

“That would be the very same female,” Cassian said with a lightness that was laced with warning. “Feel free to thank her any time.”

A beat of silence followed as the warrior examined the female before him, but then Lorrian’s hardened expression relaxed, and in its wake — a smile. It transformed his face in the same way Cassian’s changed from General to the male she knew when he was off-duty. It was an intentional crack in his armour and the open vulnerability of the action did not escape Nesta. Never had she been that willing to shed her mask for someone she had met moments before. Even her sisters hadn’t seen all of her.

“Well, why didn’t you say? It’s good to meet you, Nesta Archeron.”

A large hand was thrust out towards her — the one that wasn’t glazed in emerald light — for Nesta to shake.

Nesta hesitated for a moment before she moved to grasp Lorrian’s hand. His hazel eyes were sincere and his gaze unwavering, and although her movements were stiff and measured, she made sure her handshake was firm when she grasped his own, even if her hands were spotted with blood.

Lorrian didn’t seem to mind. He bowed his head respectfully at her before he turned to Cassian. It was not a move that Nesta had seen any other Illyrian male do to another female.

“You had better come inside in case there’s anything else lurking about. Frawley will want to see you and you could both do with cleaning up. When she learns about the kerits, she might not be so pissed that you tried to break through her protective magic.”

Cassian winced. “If the witch bids it, I suppose we better.”

Lorrian barked a laugh as he held up his palm to gap between the boulders. It was identical to what she and Cassian did when they entered the bungalow. Emerald siphons flared and the invisible barrier began to fizzle away from the inside out; a splash of gold in the dark.

Exhaustion was pressing on Nesta so keenly that she had to summon all of her focus into getting her body to move forward. Cassian seemed to sense it, his eyes flickering briefly with remorse as they both followed Lorrian to the gap between the boulders. For a moment, Nesta thought Cassian was going to offer to carry her but he clearly thought better of it, gesturing for her to walk through the pocket before him with that crooked half-smile of his.

The hole in the protective bubble sealed with more fizzling, golden light as soon as Cassian had passed through. With it came an overwhelming sense of relief. Unlike the woodland they had left behind them, the forest here felt lighter, as if it were completely devoid of threat. Around them, the woody terrain was alive with movement: birds sung in the trees and small animals scuttled amongst the foliage. Even the trees and plants seemed to take on a brighter and more vibrant quality, the green so lush that if Nesta weren’t so weary, she would bend down to run her fingers through the fluffy woodruff with its constant smattering of tiny, white flowers that grew beneath the pine trees.

“So what actually brought you both here?”

Lorrian’s voice broke Nesta out of her reverie. He was speaking over his shoulder and he looked at Nesta first before his eyes travelled beyond her to land on Cassian. They were walking in single file down a narrow track between the trees, with Lorrian leading the way and with Cassian at the rear. Nesta had no doubt that it was an intentional positioning from Cassian. She could still feel his urge to protect combined with guilt that laced her stomach. The latter was no doubt eating away at him. He clearly hadn’t thought the barrier would react so strongly to her fire or that they would be in danger in the forest.

“I haven’t seen you for a few months,” Lorrian finished. His pointed look at Cassian told Nesta that a visit was overdue. “I imagine it wasn’t your intention to be hijacked by kerits.”

“I took Nesta to see Kamanam today,” Cassian told Lorrian after he had huffed a dark laugh. “We were close by so I thought we’d say hello. We were surrounded by those cackling shits as we headed down into the dell.”

Lorrian stared at Cassian for a little too long but he only nodded silently to show that he had heard. His siphons glowed and with it, the bow and arrows strapped to his back disappeared. The light encasing his arm also vanished, revealing nothing but air from a few inches below Lorrian’s shoulder. His leathers had been tailored to accommodate for his missing limb, the fabric sewn neatly around the stump.

“And how did you like Kamanam, Nesta?” Lorrian asked.

Knowing not to stare at the male’s missing arm, Nesta kept her gaze straight ahead. The path had widened and Lorrian dropped back a few steps so he was side-by-side with her. The movement was slightly laboured, as if he were adjusting to the loss of balance. He was watching Nesta with apprehension — as if he were expecting her to recoil. Nesta wanted to tell him that she was broken too and that she didn’t care to judge anybody, but as usual, her throat had become too tight so she flicked her eyes up to meet his head on.

Something that Nesta translated as respect tinged with relief flickered behind Lorrian’s irises, and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed, as she managed to admit, “The Arches are very beautiful.”

But then we nearly died, Nesta wanted to say, but didn’t.

The conversation was such a stark contrast to moments before — casual rather than frenzied — but from the unease laced with pine that sat heavily within her, Nesta knew that this was Cassian’s coping mechanism; feigning joviality because otherwise the gravity of what had happened would be too much.

And Lorrian seemed to know that, too.

His head bobbed. “You should come back on a clear day. Get this one to fly you over the water.” He jerked his head to Cassian who was still a few paces behind. “Frawley and I do it even now, and we’ve been living here for years.”

“If you think I’m ancient,” Cassian told Nesta, the low rumble of his voice travelling the distance, “then you should ask Frawley how old she is. She’s never answered me and I’m still burning with curiosity.”

Lorrian chuckled. “Don’t do that, Nesta. Not if you want to live, at least.”

Lorrian’s features were nothing but friendly now and in the dappled light between the trees, Nesta was able to study him more closely. His dark, curly hair was cropped close to his head and flecked with silver. If Lorrian were human, Nesta would guess that he was forty-or-so, but she had no idea what that made him in Fae terms. He was leaner than Cassian, which wasn’t wholly a surprise; Nesta had never met an Illyrian who was larger or stronger than Cassian. Even so, Lorrian’s remaining arm was still corded with impressive muscle and his skin was marked with the same black tattoos, interspersed with scars.

Nesta couldn’t find it in herself to reply to Lorrian. Perhaps she should have felt warier that she was about to meet a witch, but with every step they took through the woodland, the worse she felt. Her brain became more foggy, her limbs weighing her down like lead. And on top of it all, an all-consuming sense of exhaustion had overcome her.

If she were alone, Nesta would have curled up on the forest floor and made her bed amongst the woodruff and wooly thyme.

“Home sweet home.”

Lorrian’s words pierced through the fog and Nesta managed to drag her eyes up from the soft undergrowth to look ahead of her.

They had just navigated a sharp right-hand turn in the dirt path, and in the distance Nesta could make out a large, thatched cottage. The walls were the colour of magnolia and the red brick chimney was spouting soft billowy smoke.

Yet, whilst it appeared to be a beautiful sanctuary, Nesta found her spine stacking stiffly against her. Nesta hadn’t stepped foot in anyone’s home except Cassian’s in months, and he was the only person who knew she was afraid of fire. How many open and roaring hearths were there going to be in the cottage? How was she going to avoid losing control when already she felt like someone was closing a fist around her windpipes? How was she going to step over threshold without losing it completely? How was she —

Worry stabbed through Nesta so fiercely that her breath caught. She was so preoccupied in trying to take air into her lungs that she didn’t have a spare thought to identify that it wasn’t her own. As they neared the property, Nesta barely saw the chickens in the coop or the horses in the paddock. She didn’t even notice the honeysuckle — her favourite — that climbed up the exterior walls of the cottage. Her lungs rattled as panic clawed through her. Silver spluttered and died at her fingers, her power still too spent from earlier to protect her. Something cracked inside of her; light rushing into the dark, icy water rushing over warm sand.

“Nesta.”

In the far distance, she heard her name but it was muffled. She felt as if she were drowning underwater. It felt like the Cauldron all over again.

She choked on air.

“Nesta.”

This time the sound had a distinctive voice. Something turned inside of her, like a key clicking in a lock, and as her vision started to clear, she made out the large shadowed outline of a male as he stepped towards her. Startled, Nesta flew backwards, an unknown burst of energy taking hold of her. Her hands instinctively balled into fists, but then the scent of pine and musk washed over her and with it came a sense of calm and clarity.

Slowly, her fists unfurled.

“It’s just me,” Cassian said. His words floated towards her. He was still nothing but shadow; large, muscular body and impressive wings. “I’m going to touch you. Ok?”

A strangled noise emitted from her throat and then a large, warm hand was resting on her cheek.

Unthinkingly, Nesta reached up to grab it. Her fingers closed around the hand as her eyes started to see again.

Cassian’s face swam into view. Even through the cracked and dried blood, the concern etched upon his face was so stark she knew that he believed himself responsible for her trauma.

Taking her hand, Cassian rested her palm flat over his chest. Beneath leather and skin, she could feel the pounding of his heart as it threw itself hard against his ribcage, and in her stomach… so much guilt the emotion was bitter on her tongue.

“Breathe with me,” he ordered, before he proceed to take a long, slow breath in.

The sensation of air rushing into his chest was like a balm, and Nesta found herself following his breathing until her lungs no longer rattled and her vision righted completely.

“Is it the chimney?” Cassian asked when her breathing became even, enough that she was no longer gasping. “Or is it... everything that just happened?”

Nesta’s fingers curled around his hand and pressed once into his palm at the same time as she nodded. Both.

“The fire won’t make any noise,” he promised her. “I’d say I’d take you home, but you look like you’re going to collapse and the flight is over an hour.”

Even as he spoke, she knew that if she insisted he would take her back to Windhaven. There was such sincerity in his voice and expression that it hurt to look at him, so she cast her eyes beyond him to their surroundings.

Lorrian was nowhere to be found. Dread twisted through her and that panic started to rise again.

“Where—” Nesta started, but her breath had started to shudder again so she trailed off. There was no point in asking anyway. Of course Lorrian had witnessed it all. No doubt Cassian had asked him to go inside to give them some privacy.

The knowledge was mortifying.

“I asked Lorrian to go inside and silence the fires.”

He squeezed Nesta’s fingers then. She still hadn’t let go of him. The warmth of his touch was comforting against her ice cold skin. It chased away the numbness that was hovering over her like a threat.

“Lorrian suffers from battle trauma, too,” Cassian told her. “You saw his arm?”

Nesta dipped her chin. The action took all of her effort.

“He’s fighting a lot of demons. He won’t mention it. Neither will Frawley. She’s Lorrian’s wife. She’s a witch — she can magic the fire so it won’t make any noise.”

Silence stretched between them. Nesta tried to process his words and form a response, but it was too difficult. The heaviness was washing over her again and already she had started to become unfeeling.

As if Cassian could sense that he was losing her, he dragged a coarse thumb over the back of her hand. The sensation was muted, as if it were happening far, far away.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

Nesta stared at him. She wanted to frown and ask him why, but words had become difficult again.

Cassian shook his head. The gesture was remorseful and… he was angry at himself. “I shouldn’t have taken you here. Frawley’s portion of the forest has always been the safest—”

“Cassian.”

Cassian broke off as a small, petite female walked briskly towards them. She was wearing a long smock dress which was belted loosely at the waist with leather and made up of different shades of grey. The way her skirts swished around her as she moved gave off the illusion that she was walking through smoke. Pure, white hair fell just below the female’s shoulders and as she came closer, Nesta saw that her eyes were different colours; the left honey brown and the right ice blue. The effect was so startling that half of her face seemed to be bathed in light and the other in dark.

“You scared the shit out of my husband,” she told Cassian brusquely, as she drew up short in front of them.

Cassian made a noise in the back of his throat. The sound reverberated through Nesta. “Did he tell you about the kerits?”

The female — Frawley — snorted in an unkempt sort of way that would have resulted in upturned noses if they were in the human realm. Nesta got the impression that Frawley wouldn’t care. She struck Nesta as the sort of female whose mannerisms were clipped and to-the-point. She didn’t seem like the sort of person who would give a second thought to lady-like behaviour and would impale anyone who decided that they should put her down.

“Introduce me to your companion, Cassian,” Frawley ordered. “And I’ll pretend not to know that this is Nesta Archeron until you do so.”

Cassian grunted in exasperation but his pupils were no longer dark. He had turned to greet Frawley but he hadn’t let go of Nesta’s hand. Frawley’s ice blue eye darted down to glance at it. Cassian squeezed her fingers before he let go, his hand immediately finding purchase on the small of her back again. Encouragement, she realised, for the social situation he knew she did not want to be in.

This time Nesta didn’t want to bat him away. She felt frayed and raw, his touch the only thing keeping her tethered to the present.

“Frawley, meet Nesta Archeron. Nesta, Frawley is the witch who oversees the Eastern territory of The Steppes. And,” he said with a deliberate pause for emphasis, “is supposed to keep the beasts in the forest under control.”

Frawley made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat at Cassian’s words but she did not retaliate. She only rested her disconcerting eyes on Nesta. They seemed to work independently of one another and brown found Nesta after blue.

“We can’t leave it solely to males to protect, can we Nesta?” Frawley clipped. “Now, do come in, it’s getting dark and Caerleon gets forlorn when I leave him inside for too long.”

As she spoke, a sound halfway between a whine and a roar came from the cottage door. Frawley looked pointedly at them as if to indicate the sound had proven her point, before she turned sharply on her heel.

Somehow Nesta made her legs move, even though she wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground. As if he knew how badly she was faring, Cassian kept his hand on her lower back. The sensation alone was enough to keep her upright. She would not add to her burning shame by having to be carried across the threshold. It was bad enough that Cassian had to fly her everywhere as it was.

“That’s quite some power you expelled.” Frawley threw Nesta a discerning look over her shoulder. “I bet you’re feeling drained.”

“Yes,” Nesta said simply, because she couldn’t say anything more.

“Nothing I can’t sort out,” Frawley clipped as she opened the cottage door. It was a wooden stable door, the top half already open. Nesta saw a blur of sandy fur and she tensed instinctively.

A thumb caressed her back, the movement soothing against the sudden terror that gripped her — telling her that it was ok, that the kerits had gone and they were safe.

“Calm down Caer, you stupid Manticore, it’s just Cassian,” Frawley snapped, but a huge moving body of light tan fur jostled the female to the side. Frawley growled in irritation but Nesta barely heard it, she was too busy staring at the beast that had emerged in the doorway.

It was massive. At first, Nesta thought it was a huge lion with a long shaggy mane made of burnt orange, but as it prowled towards her, she could see large, leathery wings on its back and its tail, which was flicking at the tip, was not made up of a tuft of hair but of long spikes like that of a porcupine. The beast’s large paws thudded on the earth and its eyes were molten gold. It was beautiful and deadly and if Nesta had it in her to be afraid she would have already been running.

She took a step backwards, bumping into Cassian’s hard chest.

“Don’t mind Caerleon,” Frawley called quickly to Nesta. She had obviously seen the blood drain from her face. She pronounced the name kaa-lee-uhn, the mystical name rolling off her tongue effortlessly. “He looks terrifying but he’s essentially a big teddy bear when he’s at home.”

Nesta remained stock still as the animal came to a stop a few feet in front of her. It stared at her, its head low and its tail flicking, as if it were measuring her up.

Then Caerleon’s eyes slid to Cassian.

The manticore’s body straightened and his tail shot straight up, curling into a question mark, the needles of his tuft relaxed and soft like the spines of a thistle.

To Nesta’s amazement, the animal trotted over to Cassian with a low whine that sounded like a greeting.

“Hello you beautiful beast,” Cassian said with a low laugh.

Caerleon knocked his head hard into Cassian’s upper torso, rubbing his face against the leather like a cat branding its owner. Dropping his hand from Nesta, Cassian buried his fingers deep into the animal’s mane and ruffled the fur. Caerleon’s purr rumbled so deep that Nesta felt it in her chest but she was reeling from the loss of contact.

It was startling and Nesta felt cold.

She began to slip.

Frawley tutted. “Cassian is the only Fae Caer has ever met who is large enough not be knocked back when he does that. Now, you come with me, Nesta. You look dead on your feet.”

Nesta allowed herself to be led through the hallway, straight into a wide, open kitchen. Frawley sat Nesta down at a large, worn pine table opposite the huge hearth. As promised, the fire was silent, the flames dancing gently as they licked their way up the chimney as if the quiet had brought them calm. The knowledge that there would be no cracking bones eased the tight set of Nesta’s shoulders, even if she did feel like she was hovering above her body, looking down at herself.

She looked very ill, that much she knew, but she couldn’t speak or will her expression into something better. Even her neck felt heavy, the thought of turning to look for Cassian too much, so she stared at the silent fire until she became entranced.

In the distance, Nesta heard clattering — someone moving about the kitchen — and then a warm mug was pressed into her ice-cold hands.

“Drink this,” a stern voice told her. “It’s not too hot, so drink it right up.”

Nesta did as she was told. It tasted of chamomile and honey and... something she couldn’t put her finger on. She didn’t care to ask. With each sip, Nesta felt her body hum and tingle until her body realigned and she was just Nesta sitting in a stranger’s kitchen.

Frawley must have sensed a change in her because she took Nesta’s mug. With a swish of her charcoal skirts she walked over to a steaming cast iron pot on the stove and ladled some more liquid into it.

“Better?” Frawley asked as she handed it back to Nesta. “Best drink another cup. You expelled an awful lot of power in one go.”

Nesta frowned, thinking back to how her power had leapt to the clearing between the boulders.

“I couldn’t stop it,” she told Frawley. “I tried to sever the connection.”

Read the rest of the chapter here.

#acosf #acotar #cassian #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nessianfic #nestaarcheron #nesta

[citizen-l]

02. Window

Chanyeol never thought he'd be under someone's flat throwing tiny rocks at their window. Never in a million years did he imagine himself to be in this position. Sure he did some crazy things in life, but never something as cringe-inducing as this. In broad daylight too. Jesus. 

"Hey!" someone called him and Chanyeol looked back to find Officer Joey looking at him with narrow eyes and creased brows. "You're the kid from last night, aren't you?"

"Hi, yeah," Chanyeol said awkwardly. 

"Why are you throwing stones?"

"No one's answering the buzzer?"

"Ever heard of calling?"

Yeah well, Joey, I would, but I have their phone with me. And while we're talking, Joey, fuck you. God, Chanyeol wanted to scream at the ridiculousness of it. 

Chanyeol never would have forgotten to return Baekhyun's phone that he pocketed in case of an emergency just that morning before taking him to get stitches. Never would have under normal circumstances. But getting a too sweet goodbye strawberry kiss was not a normal circumstance. Chanyeol could feel his ears getting warm and red, and Joey was still there staring at him. 

"I have something that I desperately need to give Baekhyun," Chanyeol said. Judging by the familiar way Baekhyun had talked to Joey before, maybe Joey would leave him alone if he realized Chanyeol wasn't a threat to Baekhyun. "Calling didn't help, and I'm pretty sure Baekhyun really needs this. So, yeah…"

Honestly, Chanyeol would have just found Sehun and given the phone to him and been done with it. But Sehun was MIA with Junmyeon. And Chanyeol hadn't had a chance until this late in the afternoon to come by and hand over the phone. But he'd be lying if he said he kinda maybe didn't want to check if Baekhyun was alright. Oh God, what if he's lying unconscious on the floor again? 

"At this hour, he's probably at some rehearsal, hop in," Joey gestured towards the passenger side. 

Chanyeol was having a hard time digesting what was happening. How did he end up riding shotgun in a police vehicle? How did Joey know so much about Baekhyun's schedule when even Sehun was of no help? What the hell was going on with Chanyeol's life, good lord?

Joey dropped at one of the smaller auditoriums east side of the campus. Chanyeol had never ventured this way, never had any cause to. 

"Tell him I said hi," Joey smirked before leaving Chanyeol there. He probably got off on how shook Chanyeol was. 

The huge double doors opened up to a lobby. The signs said dressing rooms were to the left, and to the right were the rows of identical doors leading to the actual auditorium. For audiences. Chanyeol decided it was best to check there first since he could hear voices and music coming from one of the half opened doors. 

The only auditorium Chanyeol had ever been to on campus was on the north end, the one where the big seminars are usually held. This one was different, definitely not for academic or corporate lectures. The lights, the stage, even the seating was different. This was made for performing musicals like the one a dozen or so people were rehearsing. 

"Oh woe, to be trapped in this age…" a woman wailed dramatically while lying flat on the stage. 

"Oh, what is this I see! Some faerie-like creature come for me?"

Someone sang, another voice joined with a deep baritone that sounded somewhat like Baekhyun, but Chanyeol had never heard him sing before. 

"Hello hello, fair man," someone said. 

"Ah! My prince has come to save me, joy be!" shouted a guy as large as Chanyeol but lankier.

That was when he realized they were all talking about him. A bunch of theatre kids finding a new person interrupting their rehearsal, of course they would be dramatic about it. What did Chanyeol expect? 

"How can I help you, sir?" a brunette girl asked with a fake British accent. 

Someone started singing about waiting for him all her life as he went down the stairs towards the stage where he could spot a guy with a bandaged hand and hoped it was Baekhyun. He was wearing a hat so Chanyeol couldn't clearly see the cotton candy fluff on his head. 

A guy in suspenders and lipstick stopped him by starting to dance suggestively and singing a Burlesque song. God this bunch was loud. Two others came around him, the brunette and another woman with red and white streaks in her black hair and the three started a whole number with impressive impromptu harmonies and suggestive body rolls. 

"Chanyeol?" he heard Baekhyun's surprised voice from the stage. 

There he was, hat in hand, pink hair almost glowing under the harsh light of the stage, eyes squinting to see Chanyeol awkwardly standing as three people sang some jazz song and moved their pelvis in a way that Chanyeol would rather not witness at the moment. 

"Hey, hi," he used Baekhyun's interruption as his getaway card and moved around the dancing trio. "Sorry for barging in like this, just wanted to return this."

Baekhyun jumped straight down from the stage seeing his phone. Chanyeol was momentarily shocked, and the worry he felt in that instant thinking something bad might happen to Baekhyun jumping down from so high nearly rendered him speechless. 

"Oh my God, thank you! I've been looking everywhere for it. I really thought I lost it during my steakout yesterday."

Stakeout?

"Nah I took it with me when I took you to the pharmacy, forgot about it afterwards."

"Well, thank you for bringing it back all the way here."

And then Baekhyun was hugging him, arms around Chanyeol's shoulders, hot breath on the side of his neck, Baekhyun stood on tiptoes and Chanyeol didn't know what to do with his own hands. 

"Why can't I get a man like that?" a girl sighed from one side. 

"Wait, is that the guy? He really carried Baek… I mean I can see he's got…"

"Holy shit, he's real?!"

"Of course he's real, Minseok," Baekhyun said and he let go of Chanyeol. 

"Uh, I should go…" Chanyeol said awkwardly. 

"What? Wait, I haven't done anything to thank you," Baekhyun said. 

But you did, Chanyeol thought. You kissed me. That was a thank you, no? What was the kiss about? Why the fuck did Baekhyun kiss him? God, Chanyeol was going out of his mind trying to figure it out. 

"That's okay, you don't have to…"

"Nonsense, let me just get changed and then I'll treat you to something delicious."

"Hopefully not something too delicious," someone said. 

"Don't forget about the party tonight," someone else said. 

But Chanyeol couldn't focus on all the things everyone was saying. He was finally focused on Baekhyun's outfit. Suspenders, a dirty-white pirate shirt tucked haphazardly into leather pants.

"Be a little more discreet ogling his ass, will you?" The guy with pretty eyes, Minseok whispered near and Chanyeol nearly choked on his spit. 

"Oh leave him be," Another guy, the one who was singing with Baekhyun said, he had a cat-like smile. "He's too whipped anyway, let him enjoy."

Jesus. Chanyeol wanted out of here. It wasn't that these guys were half bad. Quite the opposite, Chanyeol found them sort of endearing with the way they passionately rehearsed their lines, danced and sang even without an instructor guiding them, on a Saturday. But taking jabs at Chanyeol and laughing at his "whipped" nature was unsettling him. He was not whipped for Baekhyun, he was just still stuck on a stupid kiss. 

Chanyeol sighed, he couldn't blame anyone. Not these guys, they were just having fun. If anyone, Chanyeol should blame Sehun. Now that guy was whipped, for Junmyeon. A little too much. If it wasn't for Sehun, Chanyeol wouldn't have been temporarily homeless and had to spend the night at Baekhyun's. 

"Stop teasing him, people. See you later," Baekhyun sang as he came back dressed in a baggy sweater and loose camo pants tucked into his boots. He tugged Chanyeol's shirt sleeve to follow him out. 

"Don't forget to bring dessert," someone shouted. 

"Bring Prince Charming as well, while you're at it!"

"Sorry about that, they tend to be a little rowdy during the weekend," Baekhyun said. 

They sat facing each other in a booth at a quaint little café/bakery just outside of their main campus. Chanyeol had never even noticed it, but Baekhyun said they have the best baked goods he ever had. 

"You don't hate sweets, do you?" Baekhyun asked, a little alarmed. 

Chanyeol looked at him like he was crazy, thinking back on how he was seconds away from sucking the taste of freaking strawberry milk from Baekhyun's tongue. Chanyeol coughed and shook his head. He was fine with sweets. Their coffee and chocolate covered donuts came soon after. Chanyeol had to admit they were good, had the potential to ruin his body and all his hard work, but he could indulge on occasion. 

"How did you find me anyway?" Baekhyun asked while licking chocolate off his fingers. 

"Joey," Chanyeol said and tried not to stare. "I was actually at your apartment, he found me and said you'd be at rehearsal. He even gave me a ride. He said hi."

"Ah, makes sense."

"How are you so close to the officer, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh he used to date my mom, didn't work out though. But I like him, we occasionally meet up because he has two dogs and I'm desperately trying to convince him to let me adopt them."

The way he said it made Chanyeol laugh. And that was surprising because Chanyeol doesn't usually feel this comfortable with people so quickly. Well, maybe it had something to do with last night's fiasco. And the kiss. Fuck.

Chanyeol wanted to ask about it, so bad. But it felt weird. And awkward. And Chanyeol wasn't sure he could ask with a straight face. It bothered him. Not in a negative way. More like, he couldn't figure it out and it was irritating. It was like not knowing what that sound was at the back of a well-produced song and obsessing over it for days and even weeks until finally it was clear. 

"What are you doing tonight?" Baekhyun asked. 

"Uh, nothing much, I guess," Chanyeol sipped his coffee. 

"How do you feel about a social gathering? Dinner will be on me."

"The party your friends were talking about?"

"It's not much of a party, really. Just some friends hanging out together."

"Well, I don't think I'd fit in, and I don't wanna be a bother among friends," Chanyeol said. 

"Well, as humble as that sounds, I insist. And you heard Jongin, they want you there. They wouldn't have asked so directly in front of you if they didn't."

Was it worth it? Should Chanyeol give up another night at his apartment to spend time with Baekhyun and his eccentric friends? 

"Wear something white," Baekhyun said. 

"Wait, I haven't decided whether I'd go."

"I've decided for you, it'll be fun. I'll pick you up at 8."

"How's your hand?" Chanyeol decided to change the topic. Maybe he can get away with the party thing later with a better excuse. 

"Hurts a little, but good otherwise. Nearly got plastered under a ladder while rehearsing, but narrowly escaped."

"Does that often happen?" Chanyeol was more alarmed than he probably should have been. 

"Nah, I just got distracted. But anyway, I gotta go make a cake. Oh hey, I should have your number."

Half an hour later, Chanyeol was shifting through his wardrobe looking for white clothes. He had none. He regretted ever agreeing to go to the party, which, by the way, he never explicitly agreed to. 

His phone buzzed with a text from "Kyoong", Baekhyun had insisted, with an impromptu photo of his doing a finger heart, that that be his nickname on Chanyeol's phone. God knows why Chanyeol agreed. 

"Be there in ten." The text read. Great. No way to back out now. 

"I kind of have an issue." Chanyeol texted back. It felt like a weak excuse to get out of going to the party, even though this was a genuine issue. 

And then Baekhyun was calling him and Chanyeol nearly dropped his phone. He finally saw the pout Baekhyun sneakily did which wasn't noticeable with the small icon. Jesus. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, sorry, started driving so I couldn't text back. Don't worry, Bluetooth, and I'm almost at your place. What's the issue?"

"I'm going to hang up and we can talk when you get here."

"Wai-" 

Chanyeol did as he said and waited until Baekhyun was knocking at his door. 

"Okay, glad that you're concerned about me dying on the road but never hang up on me, bothers the hell out of me. So, now, what's the issue?"

"I don't have anything white," Chanyeol said.

"Your roommate? Borrow something of his."

"I don't know if you met Junmyeon or not, but we're sort of not the same size."

"Well, I don't think Sehun owns anything remotely classy either."

That's when Chanyeol finally registered what Baekhyun was wearing. A high collared Victorian shirt with ruffles on the sleeves and neck, a few streaks of shimmering thread on his chest and shoulders. A corset. Loose breeches tucked into knee-high boots. All white. 

"You look beautiful," Chanyeol said before he could stop himself. 

"Why, thank you, dear sir. I spent hours trying to fit this just right. Et voila."

"You made this?"

"Tweaked. I'm no seamstress. But I can use a needle."

Right. Of course. Chanyeol should stop staring at Baekhyun's shiny cheeks that matched the color of his cotton candy pink hair. Get a grip. 

"You said classy outfit, right? I have all-black fits, recital clothes."

"Ah, that would create quite the buzz, but I like the idea. Show me," Baekhyun said. And then he neatly sat down on Chanyeol's bed and crossed his legs, waiting for Chanyeol to appear in his black attire. 

Right. Well, Chanyeol wasn't ready to strip in front of this Victorian ghost boy yet. Yet? Jesus Christ, his mind was well on its way to the gutter. 

"I'll be right back," Chanyeol took the shirt and pants from his drawers and went to the bathroom to change. 

He came back to soft music playing on his speakers. His music. 

"Sorry, I was snooping around and found your disks. You really composed these?"

"Uh, yeah, last term."

"I need to get this on my phone. Later. Well, you look pretty."

Chanyeol felt his ears go red. 

"Are you wearing contacts?"

"Yeah."

"You weren't wearing them last night, you wore your glasses. That's why I couldn't recognize you right away. Well. Mind switching now? It'll fit better."

It was ridiculous how Chanyeol just switched from contacts to glasses without protests. 

"And I love this collar," Baekhyun walked up to him and undid the first two buttons from his half-collar. "Hmm, better. You have any accessories?"

"Uh…"

"My friends are very serious about weekend parties, you'll be surprised by the amount of effort they put in. They'll appreciate it if you showed you cared too. But no pressure, I mean, don't make yourself uncomfortable or anything. You already look really good so I don't think you need to worry, plus I'm sure everyone would just appreciate you being there…"

Baekhyun was babbling and it was so adorable, Chanyeol was shamelessly just staring without being the least bit discreet about it. 

He ended up wearing the silver necklace his sister got him last year on his birthday. Half a heart, the other half was on Yuna's wrist. 

They arrived at Chen's apartment in town. It was… not what Chanyeol expected, at all. Chen, the one with the catlike smile, wore a Peter Pan outfit, all white, with white antlers on his head instead of the hat. He padded barefoot as he welcomed Baekhyun and Chanyeol inside. Some of the others were familiar faces Chanyeol had seen earlier at the auditorium. A Medusa with white dreadlocks and a white snakeskin-like dress contrasting her brilliant ebony skin. A Lucifer in a white suit and tarred feet. Two Victorian ghosts much like Baekhyun but very differently dressed. A guy dressed as honest-to-God Edgar Allan Poe with a fake moustache, looking ready to attend his own wedding in a three piece embroidered suit. The woman on his side dressed as a bride, probably the cousin. And then there was Minseok serving wine wearing a white fur coat and the crown of a king. 

Well. This was. Something. 

"I should kick you out for not wearing even a thread of white," Minseok said. "But you look good, and you're carrying the cake, so I'll overlook this time."

"Don't mind him, you look perfect," Chen laughed with genuine delight. Everyone else agreed. 

"Help me with the cake," Baekhyun gestured towards the kitchen with his head and Chanyeol followed. 

Baekhyun had made two cakes but decorating them and bringing them over would have been a disaster. So he put everything in containers, the cakes, the fondant, buttercream, chocolate and other decorations, and strapped them to the back seat of his car. This party was no joke. 

Chanyeol set down the containers on the kitchen counter, which was already full of dishes being prepared and ready to be set on the table. 

"I feel like I should have brought something," Chanyeol said to Baekhyun. 

"Well, at least you brought your wits," the tall lanky actor dressed like the ghost of Monte Christo said as he handed a glass of white wine to Chanyeol. 

"You having flashbacks of your initiation, Jongin?" Chen laughed as he stirred some kind of soup in a pot. 

"Jesus, don't remind me," Jongin shuddered and went back to sit with the others. 

Baekhyun layered and put cream on the cake. Then fondant. Then carefully crafted cream flowers, roses and white chocolate feathers. Chanyeol stood there in awe, occasionally handing over whatever Baekhyun asked for and watched the cakes turn into works of art. How? One man. How? 

One man who can sing and act and probably dance too, can bake and decorate cakes, sew and fit his own medieval style clothes, and kiss. 

This party was a bad idea. Chanyeol was glad he didn't miss it. Getting to know Baekhyun's friends and how Baekhyun acted around them was a serious thing. Chanyeol paid attention to every conversation and voiceless interaction. He really should be a bit more careful. He couldn't help looking at Baekhyun every chance he got. 

The internal conflict Chanyeol was having was driving him crazy. 

What was happening? 

#fanfic #exo #baekhyun #chanyeol #kpop #university au #part two #my writing #ao3 writer #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #chanbaek

[inkribbon796]

Luck of the Draw

Summary: Anti’s up to his old tricks, it’s up to the Septics to stop him.

A/N: Saint Paddy’s Day is my excuse to have all the Septics in one story. Enjoy.

KA-THUD!

Anti awoke to the sound of a lightning bolt ringing in his ears. He had just reformed after running into Dark. In his defense, if he’d known Dark was more red than blue he would have kept a 40-foot pole in-between them.

There was a thunderstorm out now. Something that both thrilled and unnerved him. Thrilled because he partially fed off of electricity since he was a glitch demon, but it also unnerved because he . . . he had . . . he was . . .

It was probably unimportant anyways. If it was important he would have remembered it.

He buried the uncomfortable churning in his soul by tracking down Henrik. He always felt better after pissing off Henrik.

By the time he found them there was a lull in the storm and Henrik was with the other Septics. All six of them were seated around an outside café table. A couple of them had sandwiches, but everyone had various types of coffee.

Anti was moving before he was even sure what he was going to do to piss off Henrik. But he saw that Henrik was right under the edge of the mental awning of the café. There was still some water.

Marvin got the warning that Anti was nearby right before Henrik got a bucket’s worth of water right on top of him.

There was a glitchy cackle and Anti was leaning over the edge. Henrik wiped the water out of his face, turning in absolute fury to Anti and starting to shout at him in a mix of English, but mostly German.

Chase and Marvin looked a bit worried and upset, mostly because they’d been also hit by the water, but J.J and Séan were just watching them with different levels of amusement. J.J in particular calmly sipping on his tea in his chair. Unlike Marvin who got some water on him, J.J was in a perfectly shielded spot, which Séan could only stare in suspicion at since J.J had been very eager to go for that seat first. Robbie was just looking between everyone, clearly looking for some social cue. Usually he was good at it, but today he’d been having some problems and the two drastically different reactions from his teammates were not helping.

Anti was just cackling, grinning at Henrik as he leaned on the edge of the awning.

Then . . . something struck him in the side of the head. It was a high caliber round but it struck Anti in the head and neck and if he’d been possessing a body the shot would have killed it. Since he wasn’t, his aura just devoured the bullet and Anti’s whole body glitched.

Immediately he froze and started looking around for the assailant. Someone had pissed on his fun and he wasn’t going to let that slide.

Eventually his eyes landed on a shooter standing in black and Anti recognized him instantly, “Brody, yer kid’s gettin’ a new face.”[1]

The glitch demon shot off towards the rooftop and Paddy, Chase’s eldest son, dropped his rifle for a handgun and once Anti was close enough shot him point-blank in the chest.

This round however wasn’t a bullet, it was an EMP dart that jolted through Anti’s body and he was out. The round wasn’t enough to discorporate the demon, only stun him.

Paddy looked inordinately pleased with himself and was about to stomp on the demon’s face when a dart hit him in the arm and he froze, confused. His arm was already feeling numb.

The confusion caught the young sniper off guard at exactly the wrong moment when gas was shot in his face and dropped him. A magical barrier drawn around Anti and shielding him from magical or human eyes.

Paddy woke up while he was being dangled off the edge of a building, Anti holding him by the collar of his shirt, magic keeping him from dropping . . . for now.

The young teen let out a farther undignified, terrified squeak.

“Yeh[2] awake?” Anti cackled. “Good. This’ll teach yah ta mess with me.”[3]

“Give him here Anti!” Marvin flew over, magic at his fingertips. Jackie zipping up behind the demon, J.J and Chase following behind the speedster. Robbie and Henrik who were at the foot of the building braced to catch Paddy or intercept Anti.

“Give me back my kid!” Chase ordered.

“He shot me in the face!” Anti spat.

“Why do yeh care? Yeh can’t get any fookin’ uglier.”[4] Marvin dared.

Anti hissed at Marvin.

Chase took a step closer and Anti threw Paddy over at the sharpshooter. “I fookin’ see him again, an’ he’s dead.”[5]

“Yah[2] okay?” Chase asked his son as Anti disappeared in a flash of pixels.

Paddy pushed himself away in anger, “I had him!”

“Why were yeh goin’ after him?” Chase demanded as Paddy collected his things and started putting them away. J.J was standing off to the side of the roof, close to the corner and just watched the group as everyone left the roof and Paddy stomped off to get away from Chase.

Back up at the roof the Septics had been on Anti was still lying where he’d been dropped. It didn’t take him long to get back up but by then the storm was rolling back into the area.

Anti was pissed, he was going to find that kid and take his fingers.

When he got up, there was someone on the roof with him. It was dark but Anti could still see and he was out for blood.

He moved forward and suddenly the other person was right in front of him and punched Anti in the face.

The glitch demon hissed at his assailant. The figure stood against him, rain falling off the sleek black suit, a silvery-brass spade symbol on the front.

Anti couldn’t detect a scent, he couldn’t see an aura, but something in him absolutely hated this individual. The glitch demon was letting out a low growl, accented by the lightning around them.

There was a stray bolt of lightning that crashed down dangerously close and when the blinding light cleared there were four almost identical people standing against Anti. The only difference between the suits was that a different card suit sat on their chests. Spade, Hearts, Diamond, and . . .

“Hello Anti,” Clubs greeted, the distorted voice covering up anything that could be used to identify the individual.

Anti summoned his knife, “I want fook all ta do with yeh so back off.”[6]

“No one needs to get hurt today,” Clubs reminded. He motioned to Spade. “My friend here is an expert on both tech and glitch demons. We could have killed you at any time.”

“I don’t like yeh[2] freaks,” Anti snarled. “An’ I don’t like bein’ told what ta do.”[7]

Spade pressed something on his arm panel and something in Anti’s form felt like it was being twisted. He screamed and his form started floating.

Clubs magically shuffled the deck, cards floating in the air until the whole deck disappeared to six cards. The aces of spade and diamond, the jacks of clubs and heart, and two jokers. Each had faces on them. Each face in order was Logan, J.J, Chase, and Ethan. With Marvin and Nate on the jokers. “All we need is for you to keep your eyes on them and tell us where they are. If you want to fight them or ignore them otherwise, we don’t care.”

“I think yah all should just go fook yerselves,”[8] Anti dared.

“You either assist us or this is the last conversation we have,” Spade threatened.

Anti let out another violent hiss, glitching even more than before in his anger.

“Now, now,” Diamond chuckled, the tone a little lighter than the other two, a slight grainy tone to the distortion. “There’s no need for threats.”

“You know there is,” Spade retorted. “He will answer to nothing else.”

“Why don’t yah go an’ fook a band ‘a needles, then?”[9] Anti flipped him off.

Spade took a step, his hands turning into long spikes. “You’re all bluster and no substance.”

“Spade,” Diamond warned.

“Yeah Spade,” Anti baited, “why don’t yah listen ta the bastard holdin’ yer leash?”[10]

That electrical jolt passed through Anti’s form, feeling like it was trying to rearrange his insides. Anti collapsed to the ground, trying to fight the screams and Spade walked over to slam one of his spikes into Anti’s shoulder, the pain ripping through the glitch’s soul, making him scream.

Right before the pain could discorporate Anti’s form, Spade backed off and it stopped, the aftershocks rippling through the glitch demon.

Something was thrown in front of Anti’s face and spade commented, “Well leave you some time to think on it.”

When Anti picked his head up the four figures were gone. The object was Henrik’s hospital ID and something in Anti absolutely boiled with fury.

Threatening him was one thing he couldn’t tolerate.

Threatening Henrik was another. Henrik had nothing to do with them.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do to make them pay but he did know that it wasn’t going to be quick. Anti was going to make them bleed.

And he certainly wasn’t going to help them find anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. Brody, your kid’s getting a new face.

2. You

3. Good. This will teach you to mess with me.

4. Why do you care? You can’t get any fooking uglier.

5. I fucking see him again, and he’s dead.

6. I want fuck all to do with you so back off.

7. And I don’t like being told what to do

8. I think you all should just go fuck yourselves

9. Why don’t you go and fook a band of needles, then?

10. why don’t you listen to the bastard holding your leash?

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Jacksepticeye #Antisepticeye #Chase Brody #J.J #Jameson Jackson #Marvin the Magnificent #Henrik von Schneeplestein #The Spade #♠️ #The Clubs #♣️ #The Diamond #♦️ #The Hearts #♥️ #Antistein #magic #threats #Spade being Spade #Anti being Anti #Anti needs to sort out his feelings

[meabd]

Tricks of the Trade

Chapter 3: Casting the Net

New Directive;

Recruit Codename Lily at all cost. Hold on Qixing Bang & Burn until further notice.

Funds available, find her Nugget. If needed Raven Operative available for backup.

Do not reply.

Childe crumpled the note up before tossing it into the roaring fire. He bristled at the mention of bringing in a Raven. Sure, he knew it was mostly to spare someone of his ranking from the normally distasteful task… but he really didn’t find it that distasteful in this instance.

[Y/n] was obviously a covert operative of some kind. He was relatively sure of your allegiances, and of your reasons, but nothing was ever certain in the cloak and dagger world of espionage. Childe had minimal contact with the Intelligence division of the Fatui. The Harbingers, as a rule, did not work in the shadows. Their title, their prestige was just as much a weapon as the ones they carried in their hands.

That being said, he’d be an idiot to let an opportunity like this one pass him by. You were obviously in over your head if that laughable excuse for a cover you used the night the two of you had met was anything to go by. He felt bad for you; he knew what it was like to have family held against you. Which, he was loathed to admit, really kind of left a sour taste in his mouth if he thought on his deception for too long.

He’d promised you asylum, but knew that he couldn’t guarantee your safety. He assured you that the Fatui could help, but knew they’d only grant amnesty if you turned (which would more likely than not put you in even more danger than you were already in). He couldn’t shake the image of your hysterics from the night before. The way you had crumpled in front of your friend, how you’d nearly gotten yourself killed when you reached for the body. Zhongli had confirmed the poison; it was all over the girl’s hands, smudged on her stomach and thighs, anywhere she’d touched the frame was covered in the deadly poison.

He recalled vividly the way your fingers trembled as you moved to take the girl’s hand. How very, very close you were to the same fate. If he were being honest seeing your reaction in that moment is what had confirmed your innocence to him. You’d looked utterly broken , and he was more than a little impressed with how you pulled yourself together. Childe had pulled aside several of the dancers to ask about your relationship with the dead girl.

“Ming was like a sister to her. She’s only been with the company for a year but… well she didn’t have any family,” one girl said to him. “[Y/n] looks out for all of us, but she’s especially protective of us if we have no one else,” she’d continued, and Childe could tell from her inflection she was in a similar position.

“And [y/n] was with the dancers the entire time?” Childe pressed the girl, who’s look of sadness morphed quickly into one of anger.

“The whole time,” she confirmed with a hard glare.

All the other dancers had similar opinions; [y/n] was kind, a hard worker, you gave more of yourself to the dance company than anyone ever expected. More than that, you was a friend to each and every one of them. Childe wanted to be suspicious of your intentions—friendliness is essential to information gathering—but then he’d recall the feel of your slim shoulders shuddering violently under his hands as sobs wracked your body. You weren’t a good enough actress to fake that.

Childe was on his way to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to speak to Zhongli. He was hoping to find out more about the poison that had done the poor thing in. On his arrival he found not Zhongli tending to the body, but you . All his suspicions came rushing back.

“What are you doing?” Childe’s voice startled you so badly you dropped the rag in your hand. You whipped around to face him and—oh you looked like shit . You were still wearing the formal gown from the night before, your hair was a limp mess and there were dark circles under your red-rimmed eyes. It was very obvious you hadn’t slept at all.

“She doesn’t have anyone else,” you sighed, bending over to retrieve the rag you’d dropped. Childe noticed then that your hands were gloved (thank Archons).

“I… don’t understand. Why are you here?” He wasn’t familiar with Liyue funeral customs, but was fairly certain you shouldn’t be the one preparing her body.

“Someone had to wash and dress her,” you returned to your task and Childe approached cautiously, gaze lingering on the face of the dead girl. “And… I’m the—I… I need to do it. That’s all,” you stumbled over your words, voice thick with unshed tears.

"You seriously didn't even change clothes? [y/n] I didn't drop you off at your front door for nothing. It's dangerous for you to be out by yourself." Childe tried to reign in his frustration, but was doing a poor job of it.

"I was her friend. Whoever she really was doesn't matter. I owe her this," your voice was solid, but the Harbinger saw the tremor in your hands.

“It’s not your fault,” Childe reached out to touch your arm, but thought better of the contact when he saw how you flinched away from him.

“Not my fault?” You laughed, and it was a terrible, hollow sound. “I think you and I both know that to be false,” you paused to dip the cloth in a nearby bowl of sweetly scented oil. Childe frowned but did not refute your statement.

“Then what was she doing in that room? Why was she removing the painting? [Y/n], she was an Agent,” his voice was soothing, but the facts were undeniable. He’d yet to uncover the girl’s true identity or the Country she worked for, but the scene was incriminating enough on its own.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” you snarled. Childe took a step back, hands up to show he meant no harm.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss and I’m sorry for that girl but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re looking at yourself. Your future, if you continue with this.” The eyes that met his were full of grief. He regretted saying anything.

“Please just leave me alone,” you implored. Childe shook his head.

“You know I can’t do that, [y/n].”

“Then leave me alone for now. Let me ease my friend’s crossing. Just give me that much,” Childe’s gaze was drawn back to the corpse on the table. Her hair had been brushed back and her face was peaceful enough that she could have been sleeping. He wondered for a moment if it was Zhongli or you who had sewn her eyes shut with such finesse.

“Okay,” he agreed, taking a business card from his coat pocket. “My address is here. I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay by yourself,” Childe dropped the card on the table by the door as he made his exit, hoping you’d take his words to heart. On the way out, he saw a flash of gold rounding the corner of the street.

“Zhongli!” Childe yelled, rushing to catch up to the elusive Consultant. He turned the corner a little too quickly and nearly ran into the older man.

“Childe,” he looked only mildly surprised. “What are you doing here?” The Harbinger shrugged, not having a great answer that did not involve you. “Would you like to come back to the Parlor with me for some tea? [Y/n] has been holding vigil, I am sure she would appreciate the company.”

“No thank you. I have other business to attend to,” Zhongli nodded in understanding. “Actually, I was looking for you—do you know what the poison was exactly?” Golden eyes narrowed and Childe could not tell if he was annoyed or confused.

“It was Archon’s Trumpet oil,” he finally answered, his expression carefully neutral. “Childe, I have nothing but respect for you, but you must understand my professional and personal position in this matter; please refrain from involving yourself.” Childe frowned, he’d never heard Zhongli use such a stern voice before.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said, trying to nudge a clarification out of the man.

“Professionally it is highly unorthodox for a foreigner to involve himself in the sacred rites of burial—” Zhongli lifted on hand to stall Childe’s protestation, “ personally I care a great deal for [y/n]. I have no issue with you pursuing her but this is a difficult time, your discretion would be appreciated.” Childe felt like he’d just been scolded by a schoolmaster. He nodded.

“My apologies, Master Zhongli,” Childe used the honorific he’d long since abandoned.

“Think nothing of it,” the Consultant smiled at him. “Now if you would excuse me, I have some flowers to source.” The two men said their goodbyes and went their separate ways: Zhongli to the market and Childe to his townhome. Normally he would offer to accompany the man (considering his penchant for forgetting his wallet) but he had far too much to think on that afternoon to be out in public and distracted.  

It was late that evening when Childe heard a knock at the door. He wondered—briefly—who it could be, though he could make an educated guess.

“Hello?” Your muffled voice called out.

“Coming, coming,” he yelled in reply, tugging on a soft pair of drawstring pants. He opened the door for you, lips pursed as he took in your appearance. He didn’t know it was possible, but you somehow looked worse than you had that morning; you still had not changed clothes, and though your face was scrubbed clean of your smeared makeup it only highlighted the hollowness of your cheeks and dark circles under your eyes.

“...Well are you going to let me in?” Childe stepped out of your way, gesturing towards the living area.

“I didn’t—”

“Think I would come? Yeah I’ve heard that one before,” you sighed, leaning against the wall of the entryway to steady yourself as you removed your heels. “I wasn’t planning on it, honestly, but someone tripped the wire in my apartment,” he raised one brow in askance.

“You rigged a bomb in your apartment?”

“No, like literally tripped a wire; it’s really more like a thin string across the threshold of my front door. If it’s there, I’m safe, if it’s not, time to run,” you explained. Maybe Childe had underestimated you.

“...um, okay,” he started, trailing after you into the living room.

“Do you mind if I use your shower? And maybe borrow some clothes? I’m sure you haven’t noticed but I’m a little worse for wear.” There was the barest hint of humor in your tone; the Harbinger could recognize an olive branch when it was offered and he readily agreed.

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the left. I’ll leave some clothes by the door,” you nodded once before heading in the direction he’d pointed. Childe watched you go, ears at attention in case you decided to go wandering.

But that was stupid, you had to be desperate if you were actually here and there was no way you’d be ballsy enough to try something in the home of a Harbinger of all people. Shaking himself from his thoughts, Childe made his way to the bedroom and began to rifle through his clothes. There was nothing that would fit you, so he wouldn’t even try; the best he could hope for was something that wouldn’t be actively falling off.

His fingers closed around a cotton sleep shirt, long enough that it would probably be a dress on you. Regardless, he also fished out the smallest drawstring pants he could find; he felt it would be a little presumptuous to give you something so provocative to wear, especially considering how uncomfortable you probably already were.

Folding the garments carefully he left them on the floor outside the bathroom door. He headed towards the kitchen, intending to rustle up some food, but sighed when he was confronted with an empty pantry. He’d forgotten to go to the market.

With a groan he shrugged on a light jacket and headed out the door. There, at the end of the hall, was a Fatui agent. He motioned for the boy to approach.

“Ah, y-yes, Tartaglia, uh, sir!” He stammered and Child bit back a laugh.

“Go to Wanmin Restaurant and get two orders of Jueyun Chili Chicken. Tell them to put it on my tab.” The boy nodded once before turning towards the stair (nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste). Satisfied to have arranged a dinner, Childe returned to his quarters where he poured himself a drink and picked up a book to wait. Or, well, arranged himself on the couch to appear as if he wasn’t waiting was more like it.  

It was nearly 45 minutes before he finally heard the telltale sign of the bathroom door creaking open as you grabbed the clothes from the hallway. The food had arrived some time ago and Childe was beginning to worry it would be cold by the time you’d finally emerged. He’d grown up with sisters, so he was acquainted with the female proclivity towards bathroom hogging—but he also had many sisters, so the hogging was usually kept to a minimum.

“That smells good,” you spoke, startling the Harbinger from his thoughts. Archons you were a quiet little thing.

“Leave any water for the fish?” He ribbed, not looking over as you made your way around the couch.

“Oh, no, was I supposed to?” You volleyed back, sinking into the cushion next to him with a sigh. You practically swam in his clothing. With your wet hair dripping down the fabric of his shirt and the pant cuffs rolled up the way they were you looked painfully innocent. Childe thought he preferred this look, as lovely as you were in the gown.

“So, dinner—” The Harbinger rose from his seat just as you sat down, eliciting a raised eyebrow from you. Had to nip that line of thought in the bud, after all. He snagged two plates and another glass and set the table, depositing the wine bottle in the center.

“Don’t you have any chopsticks?” You asked as you watched him dig through his cutlery.

“Of course not, you’ve seen me try and eat with the damned things. I’d starve to death!” He joked, smiling at the quiet chuckle that was his reward.

“You’re going to tell your superiors that I’m here, aren’t you?” The pivot in topic was sudden and Childe found all he could do was shrug.

“You know how this works,” he answered, filling your glass. “You don’t have to worry about the Fatui here. I’m the highest ranked field agent in Liyue, no one will lay a hand on you,” he assured. You did not look comforted.

“Unless you had anything to do with Ming’s death I don’t think it’s the Fatui I have to worry about,” you sipped at your wine.

“It wasn’t us,” he propped his chin up, one elbow on the table. “And if it wasn’t us and it wasn’t you , then that leaves the Guoanbu, the DGSE, the Knights of Favonius and the Kōanchōsa-chō as the most likely suspects,” he rattled of the intelligence agencies of Liyue, Fontaine, Mondstadt and Inazuma respectively.

“Do you know who she was working for?” You asked, Childe shook his head.

“Currently under investigation. It would help us narrow down the list, that’s for sure, but no—I’m as much in the dark as you are,” you looked disappointed at that answer.

“I don’t think it was the DGSE. I would know if there was another Agent operating out of the Harbor,” you mused, unintentionally confirming your association with Fontaine. Your poor training was honestly starting to concern him, how had you even stayed alive this long?

“Then that leaves the Guoanbu, the Knights and Kōanchōsa-chō,” he mused, spearing a hunk of chicken with his fork.

“I only know of three Inazuman Agents here, but that might have changed… Regardless, I think it was the Guoanbu.”

“And what makes you say that?” Childe inquired, trying to suss out or line of thinking. You shrugged.

“Instinct, really. I just have a feeling. I’ve learned to rely on instinct these past few years, it’s usually the only thing between me and an early grave,” Childe wanted to beat your Handler within an inch of their life.

“That… I’m pretty sure that’s not how espionage is supposed to work,” he deadpanned.

“Oh come off it, Bagman.” Childe choked on his chicken.

“Firstly, fuck you very much; secondly, I’ll have you know I don’t just bribe people.” The amused smile that formed on your lips was the most sincere expression of happiness he’d seen since the banquet.

“Then how would you describe your line of work?” You leaned across the table to nab the bottle of wine.

“I’m—uh-uh, nope, I’m not the amateur here, you won’t get me that easily,” he shot back, pushing his own glass forward for a refill as well.

The two of you shared a laugh, one that perhaps veered a little too close to hysterics, but a laugh nonetheless. As the chuckles died out a serious look came upon your face.

“This is kinda fucked up, huh?” Your remark was quiet, subdued.

“I don’t follow,” Childe replied.

“This—us—it’s not normal. I’m not eating dinner with you because you like me, I’m eating dinner with you because someone high up in your government wants to turn me traitor,” your smile had turned melancholic.

“That’s not entirely true,” he corrected. “You are here because I like you. If I didn’t you’d already be on a boat to a Snezhnyan Gulag.” That… wasn’t technically the truth. He may have suggested trying to turn you, but it’s not as if he had to fight hard for it. You blanched.

“Thank you, that’s very comforting,” the snark in your voice did nothing to cover the fear in your eyes.

“It wasn’t meant to be. Have you given any thought to my offer?” Childe stacked your empty plates before depositing them in the sink.

“Haven’t had much time to,” you replied honestly. He grabbed the half empty bottle and made his way to the living area. No need for difficult conversations to take place on uncomfortable chairs after all.

“You know I’ll need an answer eventually, right?” He sank into the couch. You shrugged, not following him.

“What happens if I say no?” Standing there, glass in hand, eyes locked on his, swimming in those borrowed clothes… Childe wanted to lie, but could not bear to.

“Nothing good,” the silence between you was heavy. You gave a single, short nod of understanding before sitting sideways on the couch, your legs thrown over Childe’s own. He was surprised, but hid it well.

“Then do I really have a choice?” You pondered aloud. The Harbinger didn’t think you were looking for an answer, but gave one anyway.

“You always have a choice. They’re just not always equal choices,” he traced the vein on the inside of your wrist with a featherlight touch, pretending not to notice the way it made you shiver.  

Report;

Agent Pisces believes me to be DGSE. Please supply corresponding Pocket Litter to Ferryman drop.

Boarding with Pieces, cease all direct drop contact immediately. Brush Passes in the flowers still clean, will debrief after Opera.

Swallow

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe x reader #flirty childe #childe #tartaglia #my fics #my writinng #tricks of the trade #chapter three #series #WIP #genshin impact

[themusicplayedherlife]

Unrequited (Part 6)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader characters: bucky barnes (texts), reader, steve rogers (mention), natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, pietro maximoff, sharon carter (mention)  word count: 3k+ warnings: uhhh, none? i thiink??? correct me if im wrong, probably many mistakes, forgive me summary: things are changing and its startng to get hard to keep up a/n: so, i lied, this chapter isn’t as long, but because i cut the chapters in half, working on the next part still, but thought this one ended at the right moment, and trust me, it did. i can’t wait to truly introduce sam and really stir the pot with wanda :3

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Wanda doesn’t look at you, keeping her eyes on the mug full of tea in front of her. She hasn’t taken a single sip of it since you set it down in front of her and if someone was staring at you the way you’re staring at her, you wouldn’t either. But you can’t help it! She’s a stranger in your home! 

Sure, a stranger who happens to be Pietro’s twin and who you offered to stay with you, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s not only someone you don’t know personally, but she’s someone you don’t know personally and showed up unexpectedly in your apartment!

“So,” you start slowly, “how exactly did you get in?” It comes out more aggressive and accusing than you meant it to sound like. You practically wince at the end of your question.

Her face morphs, uncomfortably neutral expression changing into one of alarm. “Pietro. He gave me a key—he said it would be all right and that you had allowed me to stay with you until I find my own place.”

“We did, but we weren’t expecting you tonight or to even have a key,” you admit, trying not to repeat your earlier mistake. She’s already feeling uncomfortable, no need to make it worse. “But it’s fine.” Wow. That was not convincing enough. That sounded completely half assed and maybe just a tiny bit passive aggressive! Get it together!

“I’m sorry—“ Her hasty apology is cut off by the front door being thrown open by an angry Natasha, emerald eyes sharp and sweeping the room until they land on you and Wanda.

“I promise I was going to tell you both—“ Pietro’s voice flows into the apartment from behind her and she whips her glare in his direction as she walks into the apartment. “Natasha—“

“Don’t,” she warns him, raising her hand to cut him off. “She’s already here, can’t do anything about that.”

Wanda scrambles to her feet, plaster on a sweet smile. “Hello, you must be Natasha, I’m—“

“I know who you are.” There really isn’t an edge to her voice when she talks to Wanda, maybe a hardness in her eyes from being taken aback by her presence, but no anger. “Welcome, Wanda. Please excuse me, I’m going to change out of my clothes and then we can have a proper talk.” She makes her way deeper into the apartment, dropping in front of her bedroom door and looks over at Pietro before disappearing into her room. 

While you’re not entirely happy at having been blindsided, you can’t help but reach out to Pietro. A warm hand on his shoulder and gently patting it like one would with their pet, not that Pietro is a pet, but sometimes he could act like one. “You okay?”

He sighs. “She gave me the silent treatment the whole way here.”

“In the uber?” She could’ve been distracted texting Clint like she was earlier with you.

Except, Pietro shakes his head, understanding what you were trying to insinuate. “No, Steve dropped us off. Lots of chatter, but she was blatantly ignoring me.”

Your mouth parts at his confession—Steve did? Does that mean he didn’t leave with Sharon? Is there hope for you yet?

“What about you? You okay?”

You snap your head in his direction, pausing in your petting to find him directing the question at you and not his sister who is standing awkwardly by the dining table. “Peachy,” you promise, even though you’re not entirely sure of that yourself. “Wanda? Would you like me to reheat your tea?”

She glances away from you and nods. “Yes, please, that’d be great.”

Taking her cup of lukewarm, almost cold tea, you dump it back into the small pot you had heated the water in, and turn on the burner.

Natasha’s bedroom door opens and she steps out dressed in comfy pajamas before veering a sharp right and entering the bathroom.

“Would it be best if I find a hotel to stay at tonight?” Wanda offers quietly and Pietro rushes to her side, ready to convince her otherwise, but it’s you that ends up speaking up.

“Ah, no, no, don’t worry. Natasha is just—processing,” you eventually settle on, not entirely convinced at your choice of word. But it’s basically what she’s doing, taking in all the information and trying to figure out how best to handle it. A trait she learned from her dad. Or, she’s bustling in anger and trying to hold back from exploding. A trait she also learned from her dad. “Don’t worry, she’s not mad.” You think. 

Sometimes you can’t tell. 

It seems to be enough for Wanda, probably trusting you to know her best. “Thank you.”

Pietro and Wanda sit down at the dining table, her hand in his as they speak in hushed tones, a foreign language—Sakovian—being traded back and forth. You give them their time, their own moment to process this—whatever this is or turns out to be.

With a sigh, you reach into your phone just as it vibrates in your hand—a new message from Bucky. As the water boils, you turn off the heat and carefully refill the mug with Wanda’s tea, all the while reading the prior messages he sent in order.

James Bucky: How's the party?

James Bucky: Please tell me you found Steve.

James Bucky: The only reasonable and acceptable answer to why you’re not responding is that you found Steve and are flirting with him

James Bucky: I’m bored, so I started watching the Lion King and Lion King 2

James Bucky: I am definitely not Zazu

James Bucky: Kovu was done dirty

James Bucky: I’m not Simba either

James Bucky: I’m Kovu

James Bucky: He’s my kindred spirit

James Bucky: Hey, Steve and Sam just got home and told me you disappeared during the party? You okay?

Placing the empty pot back over the turned off burner, the smile that had been on your face falls when you read his newest message.

You: I’d have preferred to be watching those movies than be at the party

You’re about to lock your screen when the speech bubbles appear, and a second later his messages roll through.

James Bucky: Why?

James Bucky: What happened?

James Bucky: You okay?

James Bucky: Need me to kick someone’s ass? Because I can kick Steve’s ass.

You purse your lips and hover over the keyboard, wondering if you should tell him or be vague. “That’s the whole point of this, right? Getting their attention?” Exhaling softly, you throw your head back—are you two friends or not? You can’t fucking tell when Bucky says things like that and then things like this. Why won’t he make up his damn mind? 

You: A lot happened 

You: I’ll let you know tomorrow or another day.

You watch the text bubbles as they appear and disappear repeatedly, until finally, he sends: 

James Bucky: Right. 

James Bucky: Sounds good. 

James Bucky: Have a good night.

You stare at his messages and reread them over and over before sighing and typing out one last message.

You: you too, Bucky.

Turning back to the twins with Wanda’s cup of tea, you gently place it down in front of her. She and Pietro pause their conversation, both of them sending you grateful smiles. And you can’t help but notice how similar their smiles are. Most pictures you’ve seen of Wanda have her smiling tightlipped—forced almost, while Pietro’s are wide and toothy. But this time, they’re both mostly identical, grateful and small.

The bathroom door opens and Natasha steps out with a pale face—little hairs around her face clinging to her forehead and eyes a little bloodshot. She’s patting her face with a small, cotton towel. “Sorry, I needed to get more comfortable to have this talk.”

“I completely understand.”

“Why tonight?” Natasha doesn’t beat around the bush, immediately questioning the twins. “We thought you weren't in for another few weeks? Or so we were told.”

Wanda winces, and Pietro does too, the two resembling a Cocker Spaniel and a Labrador Retriever being reprimanded by their owner.

“I—it’s completely my fault I had to change my flight to earlier and—“

“No, I made her change her flight earlier just in case—“

They’re both talking over each other, making it hard to hear what either of them are saying, but with a simple clearing of her throat, Natasha is able to quiet them down.

She sighs, leaning back into her seat. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now, but I just wish you would’ve told us so we could’ve been ready,” she directs the last bit to Pietro. “We haven’t bought the air mattress we were thinking of getting—“

“Or made space for your things,” you finish for Natasha.

Wanda straightens in her seat and shakes her head. “It’s okay, really. I can’t thank you both enough for even thinking of allowing me to stay. I can sleep on the couch and my things can stay in my bag.” She says it with so much eagerness and gratefulness that it takes you by surprise. “It’s not a big deal.”

You and Natasha both share a look of uncertainty and you can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing as you.

“It’s only until I can get a place of my own.”

Your eyes slide to Pietro, who looks away from you three, lips set in a frown. His hands on the table are balled, nails probably digging into the soft flesh of his palm. Does he feel guilty? Or is there more to this?

“Take your time,” Natasha assures her as Pietro meets your gaze. The hardness around his eyes soften and his hands slowly come undone when you lift an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m sorry we can’t offer you something more permanent, but…”

“No, I understand. Thank you,” Wanda says, gaining your attention as she flashes you both a small smile, “both of you.”

Natasha nods and pushes herself away from the table as she stands. “Why don’t you take my room for tonight? I’m sure you’re tired after a, what ten hour flight?”

“Twelve,” Pietro interjects softly.

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly—“

“It’s fine.” Natasha wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I’ll just stay with this one for the night.”

You nudge her side and she chuckles.

Wanda excuses herself to get ready for bed, leaving you, Natasha, and Pietro in the living room to dwell in silence for a second before Natasha breaks it. 

“Is your sister okay?” she asks, her arm around your shoulders dropping to her side.

Pietro stills, eyes darting between you two. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just tired.”

You frown, worry growing from the way Pietro’s eyes take shifty glances at the closed bathroom. “That’s not what we—“ A hand settles on your thigh, squeezing gently—a warning.

She shakes her head when you send her a questioning glance.

“Okay,” she says. “Why don’t you take the couch for the night? I’m sure Wanda will feel more comfortable with you here.”

He pauses, maybe thinks about his unresolved mess with Crystal, but then he nods with a small smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

Natasha is already in bed by the time you’re done using the restroom, but she’s not asleep, she’s sitting up and resting against the wall, scrolling through her phone with a smile on her face just like earlier this evening. 

You slip in next to her and she locks her phone, placing it on the high, thin dresser next to her, before sliding down with you.

“When’s the last time we shared a bed?” she asks and you shrug in response.

“Probably senior year?”

“A long time.” She turns to face you. “We should do this more often, then. Give Wanda an actual bed once in a while.”

You laugh, agreeing as you nuzzle into your pillow, but as you think back on the conversation that happened only moments ago, your smile falls. “You felt something was off, too, right?”

Her own smile falls. “Yes,” she answers with a little trepidation, eyes glazing over as she mulls over her thoughts. “I don’t think it’s any of our business. If it were just Pietro, then I’d push for answers, but…”

“I know.” You have to respect Wanda’s privacy. You hardly know the girl anyway, and even if you did, you can’t exactly force a person to unload all their problems onto you, especially not one that you semi accused of breaking into your apartment. Besides, it’s not your place.

“Enough about that.” She bites her lip, green eyes twinkling with mirth. “I saw you talking to Steve.” You groan, lifting the blanket to cover your face and she laughs, the sound tinkering loudly in your room even if she tries to keep the volume down. “I think that was the first time I didn’t see you flailing about.”

“Please stop,” you whine, fighting off the heat beginning to crawl under your skin.

She tries yanking away the duvet, but you resist by holding on tight. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you disappeared when Sharon showed up,” she says this much more softer, worried. “When I couldn’t see you anymore, Pietro and I grew worried. And when I saw Sharon…”

That makes you pause, allowing Natasha to harshly tug the duvet and she practically jerks away from you, having not expected you to not put up a fight. She blinks at you after a moment and her eyes soften when you ask, “Did he notice?”

“No.” A pang in your chest, and a sigh escapes your lips as you roll onto your back. “He did notice that you left—” when though? Soon after? An hour after? “—but didn’t connect your disappearance to Sharon.”

What were you expecting? He notices you’re gone and realizes it was because he left you for Sharon? Why would he notice? When all of his attention has always been for the blonde and her sweet smiles. So what if he called you cute? That doesn’t mean anything. Especially not compared to his ex.

“Of course, he didn’t,” you murmur, but you don’t want to talk or think about Steve, or Sharon, or have your heart broken more than once tonight. Instead, you push away your self doubt and insecurities to a more playful tone, “So, Clint, huh?”

Her worried expression gives way to something brighter, warmer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him sooner.”

“More surprised and maybe a little disappointed,” you say with a half shrug, mostly out of jest and she chuckles. But you are curious and she knows you are. You haven’t been hounding her for answers, giving her her space and you’re really hoping she’s ready to spill.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew there was something, you know? He’s a good guy and we’ve really clicked these past few weeks.” She sighs, but it’s more frustrated than dreamy, and it takes you by surprise. “He—he actually found me while I was arguing with my mom on the phone after one of my classes.”

Natasha and her mother arguing isn’t a new occurrence. They had a strange relationship, always biting and hostile, full of witty remarks and sarcasm that would sometimes make you feel very uncomfortable. Every argument always revolves around Natasha’s so called rebellious attitude.

Unlike her dad, who allowed Natasha to follow whatever dreams she had, her mother placed heavy expectations on her. She’s the reason Natasha does ballet, but it’s also the reason why Natasha never pursued a more ambitious dancing career. She would make Natasha train late into the night before a recital, had her on harsh, strict diets, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She hated it.

Her majoring in History and Communications and attending the same college as you, was her trying to get away from whatever plans her mom cooked up for her future. And her father was more than happy to help her with her plans if it meant making her happy and causing grief to her mother.

You’re making her sound worse than she is. She’s not a complete monster; she loves and cares a lot about Natasha, wants only the best for her only daughter. However, there’s no denying she’s overbearing and blinded by the things she could not accomplish and wishes her daughter would in her place.

“Dad finally served her the divorce papers.” You know that sounds harsh, but for years now Natasha has been wishing her parents would just divorce instead of making each other miserable, and by extension, her. But they needed each other, whether it was for appearances or money. Keeping the image of a happy, united couple did them well, especially when it came to her grandparents. However, behind closed doors, when it was only them three and maybe the help, the pent up anger and tension would always come undone. “She’s angry since she signed a prenup.” Her fingers tap harshly over her stomach. “She’s trying to get me to do something about it.”

“And what exactly does she think you can do? Convince your dad to give her more of his assets?” 

“Basically.” She lets out a stuttering breath. “I do think mom deserves more than what dad’s offering, she practically built his whole career, but even if he listens to me about other things, he’s not going to listen to me about this.”

Before you could even think about the question, it slips from your tongue, “Why didn’t you tell me?” And you regret it immediately—how could you be making this about you, right now? But you can’t help it, she usually tells you everything right away, it’s you that takes longer to confess and vent. 

“You’ve been distracted lately.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you want to disagree, tell her “no, you’ve been the distracted one,” but you bite your tongue this time around as she turns to face you, settling on her side.

“I thought it was because of Bucky.”

Your reaction is involuntary, the scrunching of your nose and the harsh shake of your head. “Bucky?”

She flashes you a small smile. “You’ve been hanging out with Bucky a lot.”

Oh my god. “He’s tutoring me!” Which isn’t the whole truth, but at least it’s partly true.

She chuckles at your quiet outburst. “I know. For your scholarship,” she says with a teasing lilt and gently shove her. “But after earlier today, I realized it might have to do with Steve, instead.”

You don’t say anything in response staring at her, and she stares back, green eyes watching you carefully before sighing.

“You’ll let me know when you’re ready, right?”

“What?”

“Whatever’s going on with you and Steve?”

There’s literally nothing going on with Steve, only hopeful dreams, and yet, instead of telling her this, you find yourself saying: “Of course,” like the biggest liar on Earth. She smiles and you wrap your arms around her, nuzzling into her arm. I’m so sorry, Natasha. She sighs gently, turning into you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you while this was happening. You must’ve been frustrated.” 

She laughs humorlessly and you squeeze her just a little tighter. “That’s an understatement, but I’m okay now. Clint’s been an angel, listening to me unload about my parents, making me laugh. He’s a really good guy.” She squeezes you back. 

You smile and she nuzzles her nose into your hair like a cat seeking warmth and comfort. “I’m glad he’s been there for you.”

“Yeah.” This time, she sighs dreamily. “Me too.”

And although you’re happy for Natasha, your heart drops to your stomach as you think of Bucky and your piling half truths.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel imagine