#cue him just... squatting in the mansion

[amischiefofmuses]

Wade showing up at the mansion after everything went down in '97 like 'oh they'll need me now for sure' but uh- no one is there. What the fuck guys.

[meowzfordayz]

sleepy

Author’s Note: hii literally took a nap in the middle of writing this OOPS. That’s the risk of crawling into bed. 😅

sleepy

Kamaboko x Reader

Word Count: ~2,000

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content, traumatic references

~faqs~

Zenitsu is 11/10 sleepy scared boi

*cue his signature drool bubble*

What a cutie

Srsly tho: drool usually disgusts me, but when it’s someone I adore?

H E L P M E

That wet spot on your shirt? On your pillowcase? Precious

—Anywho

I totally see you being sleepy = him becoming sleepy

He’s just so sensitive to your vibes

Whether good or bad

Energetic or otherwise

Because he adores you so so so much 🥺

Yawns are contagious yanno

Yours especially

“You’re so pretttyyyyy [y/n]-chaaan !!” he exclaims, poking a finger into your gaping yawn

…

“OUCH !!” 😭

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes

No, you didn’t bite his finger too hard yes you did

He pouts for a long second

And is back on his bullshit the moment you yawn again

“STOP BITING MEEEEE !!” 

“Stop sticking your finger in my mouth,” you retort

“...I thought you liked that, [y/n]-chan?” 😳

“Not when I’m sleepy,” you hiss, blinking, “Be nice when I’m sleepy. Not. Horny.”

“I’m always nice,” he huffs

“Actions speak louder than words, and all you’ve done is interrupt my yawns.”

He’s behind you in an instant, fingernails scratching pleasantly at your nape, tickling your baby hairs

“I’m always nice,” he grumbles

You lean back into him, giggling at his Oof as he struggles to catch your unexpected weight

“M’sleepy Z,” your arms reach up behind you, locking your wrists around his neck 

“Take a nap?”

He LOVES when you cling to him

Makes him feels so strong, so mighty, so protective 😏

Bc normally the roles are reversed

“Can’t. Haven’t done 200 pushups yet,” you grunt

“Do them later,” now he’s less so asking, more so heavily suggesting

Bc your pretty yawns have made him sleepy too

“I have to do 300 squats later,” you groan

“Do them later later,” he taps your wrists, signaling for you to let go

You acquiesce, not even getting a chance to whine before he’s grasping and rotating you to face him, “Jump.”

You jump, legs wrapping above his hips, elbows flung over his shoulders

He cradles you to his chest as you nuzzle into his faint bergamot and lavender scent, your lips parted lazily

I AM THE 💪STRONGEST🦵, ⚡️MIGHTIEST⚡️, 😤PROTECTIVIEST😤

—If you don’t think this kind of thing would hype him tf up, then… you’re wrong ☺️

—Lol

—In the nicest way possible, ofc

“Where we goin’?” you slur softly

He doesn’t respond, wordlessly carrying you to a nearby tree

Gently releases you

Plops into a comfortable, sitting slouch against its trunk

Pats his lap

“Head here, [y/n]-chan,” he smiles brightly

“Mm‘kay Z, great idea,” you’re so drowsyyy 🥱

You sprawl yourself beside him, cheek smooshed into his thigh

“How’re you gon’ nap li’ thisss…” you mumble

[y/n]-chan my heaaarrrttt you’re too cuuute

“I can sleep anywhere,” he shrugs, palm resting lightly below your ribcage

He listens to the steadiness of your pulse

Smoothing out to a slowed rhythm

Closing his own eyes

Only after he’s sure you’ve drifted off

😴😪

Getit? You’re the zzz emoji, and he’s the drool emoji ?? i’M SO INTELLIGENT

“Oi [y/n],” he flexes his shoulder, “Stop falling asleep on me!”

You’re sitting together on one of the Butterfly Mansion’s roofs, soaking in the midday sun after a strenuous morning workout

Your eyes widen blearily, rolling irritatedly at him

“What ‘nosuke, can’t handle the weight of my big brain?” 😇

“Big brain? Can’t handle you? Your brain is tiny,” he’s ready to fight

You pat his jaw condescendingly, grinning inwardly as he reddens with fury and embarrassment bc he likes when you touch him tyvm

“If my brain’s tiny, then why’s it a bother to you?”

“That’s not, I’m not, NO-” he sputters frustratedly, “You can fall asleep on me no problem.”

You giggle as he promptly smacks his forehead

“Riiight into my trap,” you singsong, tilting your head back onto his bicep 

“Why don’t you just sleep more?” he quips

You hum quietly, eyes closing

“[y/n]? Did you hear me? Just sleep more or something!” 🤨

“Can’t,” you murmur

He smells of sweat and amber and juniper — refreshing, muted, and cozy

“That’s stupid,” his arms cross, jostling the position of your cheek

He almost apologizes when you whimper

“My nightmares aren’t stupid, ‘nosuke,” you’re nonchalant, “They kind of suck, actually.”

He’s a bit boar-headed, yeah? #punintended So you gotta be direct 🙃

“You’re having nightmares?!” he softens only slightly

“Don’t we all?”

—Demon Slayer Corps isn’t a fricking family vacay to Disneyland 😶

He scoffs, “I don’t think of them as nightmares! They’re do overs.”

“Do overs?” now you’re curious

“Yeah, uh, sure they’re horrible and gruesome and I’m reliving my failures, but when else could I ever get the chance to fix my mistakes?”

—Hear me out: Inosuke is absolutely an oblivious wise dude

—If he can dislocate his entire body, then he can put an optimistic spin on nightmares

You don’t point out that dreams aren’t reflected into reality

Don’t point out that everyone dead

Is still

Dead

In fact, you’re reassured by his sentiment

“I’ve been sleeping maybe three to four hours nightly,” you admit

“You need help,” Inosuke declares

“I do,” you snort, “Your observation? Sooooo helpful.”

“I’m letting you use me as your pillow, aren’t I?” he growls

“Sooooo generous,” you scoot closer, tentatively pressing your hip to Inosuke’s, the heat from his bare skin radiating through your uniform

“If you fall asleep and roll off this roof, I ain’t catching you,” he’s gruff—fuck if I fall off this roof because they’re touching me—resisting the urge to grab your hands and secure them firmly around his waist

“But m’exhaaausted ‘nosuke.” he hadn’t flinched at your previous movement, so you’d proceeded to lay a delicate palm on his knee

He does not yelp in a strangled, flustered manner 

Nope, nope, nope 😫

—Do I believe Inosuke is touch starved bc beating the shit out of others doesn’t count as intimate physical contact? Yes ☹️

—”intimate” including platonic and romantic touch

—How often does he hug anyone? Not often

—Someone hug this man 😔

—You could be that someone 😌

“Fine,” he mutters

“Fin’ wha’?”

“I’ve decided to continue helping you.”

“Confusing me ‘nosuke,” you grip his knee as a yawn ripples through you

That’s it, I’m falling off this roof 🥴

“Naptime for [y/n].”

You frown stubbornly, “You won’t catch me.”

He hesitates, voice low, “I wouldn’t let you fall in the first place.”

Too tired to properly comprehend the gravity of his confession, you simply nod

“Nice, nice, nice, thank you ‘nosuke.”

In a fluid motion he grabs your hand from his knee, secure and firm in his own

They’re so warm

“You’re welcome [y/n].”

Within 5 minutes you’re snoring

Ohmygosh

He can’t wait to pester you about it

*insert gleeful cackling here*

I’m such a loser for Tanjirou

Sobbing and rebooting my neural pathways 🥲

Okaaay

—

When you’re sleepy, Tanjirou begins amused

I mean, you’re fricking adorable 😍

Nodding off in the middle of dinner

Eyes frantically darting back and forth when your head pops up again

Praying nobody caught you

He doesn’t want to embarrass you, so he never gives any indication that he’d noticed

But gawd damn you’re silly 🤪

And then he transitions to concerned 😧

Wait, why are they nodding off during dinner?

Are they sleeping poorly?

Not eating enough?

Training too hard?

Is something upsetting them?

Did they injure themselves?

Man compiles a list of 17 reasons that you could be so sleepy

And commits to tracking you down after dinner to go over every single item with you

—

“[y/n], sweetheart,” he calls from behind you

You slow your pace, turning around, perking at his endearment for you, “Tanjirou, care to join me in my room tonight?”

Your expression implies comfort and cuddles

Altho you def enjoy sleepy sex with him too

Like ugh imagine

I was going to go into further detail

I really, really was

But that’s how we get sidetracked

Sigh

“We need to talk.”

Tanjirou regrets his tone as panic clouds your eyes

“Nonono sweetheart — c’mere,” he reaches for you, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shuffle into his embrace, fingers nervously tugging at the hem of his haori

“I’m worried about you,” he murmurs into your hair

“Why? I’m f-fine,” you stifle a yawn

“You just yawned,” he chuckles

“Yawning isn’t against corps rules,” you mutter sassily

“Are you sleeping poorly?”

“Not exactly?”

You suck at lying, at least to Tanjirou

He can smell your guilt from a mile away, and, usually, he’s right in front of you

So, you’re always honest — if not occasionally evasive

“Why did you invite me to your room tonight?” he asks, not unkindly

He intends to join you regardless, but hopes your reasoning might shed a light on your… sleepiness

“Lonely.”

“Sweetheart,” his stomach clenches

“You’ve been training a lot with Zenitsu and Inosuke, which, I understand, but, we, we aren’t often paired on missions, and I just…” you swallow thickly, exhaustion coating your tongue, “I wonder sometimes whether I’m still…” you can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence

You don’t have to

Tanjirou exhales shakily, forearms tight around you as you press your nose deeper into his chest

“I would love to join you in your room tonight,” his body writhes for a moment, arms no longer holding you, and then his haori is settling familiarly on your shoulders, “I would love to join you in your room as often as you wish.”

“T-tanjirou…”

He pulls back slightly to cup your face, adoration and frustration apparent in his stare

Adoration for you

Frustration with himself

“You are still everything I could ever desire, [y/n].”

“It’s just, it’s just-” you gulp, “Sometimes, it’s difficult to trust that.”

Your voice sounds so, so, so small

But it’s your scent that breaks him

He’s never tasted the shallow uncertainty unraveling from your skin

The resignation

The submission

You’re normally so luminescent

Radiant

Even sleepy, you’re beautiful

Powerful and charismatic

Determined but humorous

Humble yet proud

I made them feel this way he groans

I’ve neglected them his eyes squeeze shut

I love them he growls

“Tanjirou?” you’re startled

His eyes open abruptly, cheeks rose stained

“I love you.”

“I know,” you mumble, “And I love you.”

“Do you know?” he demands gently, desperation flickering from the crevices of his remorse 

“I know you,” you whisper, “Trusting myself… that’s what’s difficult.”

He pauses, scrutinizing the circles under your eyes

“You’re falling asleep on your feet, aren’t you?”

You laugh sheepishly, “I am.”

“I promise to cuddle you through the entire night,” he straightens, lacing his fingers with yours, guiding you along toward your room

You shoot him a scathing grin, “If hogging my bed the entire night constitutes as cuddling, then I’m sure you will.”

“Sweetheart,” he quietly slides your fusuma doors apart, gesturing for you to enter first, “Hogging your bed definitely constitutes as cuddling.”

Giggling, you immediately sprawl into your bed

“You’re going to wrinkle your clothing,” Tanjirou remarks fondly

“They’re dirty anyway,” you shrug, toes curling as you stretch sleepily, “You can remove them if you’d like.”

He smiles softly, “Of course, [y/n].”

You move to sit at the edge of your bed

He tugs off your socks, pants—you lift up your bum to help him, unbuttons your shirt, and returns his haori to you (he knows you’ll fall asleep clutching it); then, you deftly unbutton his own shirt, snuggling onto your side beneath your kakefuton as he strips off his remaining articles

“You’re already hogging my bed,” you drawl as the warmth of his naked chest spoons you

“Our bed.”

“Mm, maybe,” your hand finds his, both his haori and fingers now tucked against you

Tanjirou relaxes as your scent gradually regains its ease

Its reassurance

Mingled with the fuziness of your sleep

He kisses the tip of your visible ear

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

[rokutouxei]

only this wonder remains

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark isaac newton/reader | gen | 2948 | [ao3]

or: the 5 times isaac tried to understand, and the one time he realized he didn’t have to. 

for my beloved friend @pathofcomets!

happiest, happiest, happiest birthday to the absolute kindest and most loving and most encouraging person i have ever met in my entire life! i may or may not have reread your isaac fics a billion times to get him quite like you like, and if i missed, at least enjoy the fact that um, i’m having apples today in (the both of) your honor? te iubesc, mama: thank you for joining me in this stupid crazy journey that is 19th century france with vampires.

--

(one)

isaac newton likes things set into order.

math, math is great—math is numbers and patterns and those things make sense and the order is there. physics too: everything in the universe has a set structure, and it’s all just figuring out what that structure is and what it entails. isaac newton likes things in neat rows in color-coded, labeled, square boxes in his mind.

and that is everything you aren’t.

which is why isaac doesn’t quite understand how he’s fallen in love with you so fast. emotionally, yes, sure, emotions, are, he supposes, a thing, but rationally? he doesn’t understand it. where he likes predictability, you are anything but. you are new dishes being served during dinners. you are excited squealing as you’re reading a book. you are catching his hedgehog (very nervously) from its hiding nook, after it was chased by the exponentially larger dogs. you are songs he’s never heard, songs from centuries in the future. you are wide eyes and open arms and isaac doesn’t understand.

but he adores it.

appreciates it.

the day after you’d decided to stay in the mansion, and the door had stayed shut throughout the rest of the fateful, crescent-moon night, vincent takes home with him a basketful of apple strudels, gifted to him by the lovely baker downtown.

you aren’t able to get one before dinner, but just right around midnight, you remember they are there. with a sudden burst of excitement, you pull at isaac’s sleeve until he accompanies you downstairs. your eyes shine like crystals in the kitchen light as you bite into the sweet bread—and isaac… isaac doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that fills him at the sight of it.

you turn to him quickly, offering him a bite. ���you like apples, don’t you?”

the sound of dazai’s and arthur’s voices compound in his head, every single apple joke thrown at his direction over the past what-feels-like-a-million-years echoing in the caverns of his skull, taunting him.

but he doesn’t mind.

he doesn’t know why he doesn’t mind being unfolded like this, but he doesn’t.

he takes a bite of the strudel and sighs at the sweetness.

“it’s delicious.”

-

(two)

he tries, he absolutely tries his damnedest to sound nonchalant, but he fails. rather miserably, too. he’s still standing at the doorway of your room, hesitating to enter even when you’d already opened the door for him.

“where are you going?”

you finish twirling a lock of hair into place, before turning away from the mirror and toward him. “ah, comte’s taking me out dress shopping.”

again, he hears you nearly say; but then why are you still going? “don’t you have enough clothes?”

securing your earrings into place, you sit up from your dresser chair to approach him. “‘the most important of the labours of a high society woman in this late 19th century,’” you begin, “‘is to look beautiful.’ … that’s what le comte always tells me.”

“labours that you already fulfil,” isaac notes. the sudden admission makes you flush, so you pull him by the wrist and guide him toward the bed. now seated next to each other, you entangle your fingers with his.

“we’ll be back before dusk,” you try to appease him. “i’ll ask comte if we can do a detour at that bakery with the strudels we like.”

for a moment, isaac is silent; his hand twitches in yours as he considers. of course, he knows that comte means no harm. if anything, the worst is that comte is quite overbearing with how gracious he is at times. there’s no reason to be feeling this way, to be even doubting, he just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with him to the university library—he has to pick up a book he forgot to borrow, and maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of a picnic while you’re already out in the city, that’s all, you can always do that some time else, and so why is he—

he groans. by jove, why is this so hard. he turns and presses his face into the junction of your shoulder and neck; the fabric of your dress is in the way of the thrum of your pulse, but not quite thick enough so he still feels your warmth.

you laugh like it tickles, and he’s about to straighten up when you take his face in your small hands, holding him at eye level to you, your gaze so beautifully clear and bright. it’s as if no matter how hard he tries, with you he is see-through.

“i’ll make it up to you,” you say, pressing a little kiss at the corner of his lip, “…tonight.”

all at once, he doesn’t understand why the sour, sour feeling in his chest suddenly tastes so sweet.

-

(three)

you were radiant.

that was, to say the least. isaac wasn’t knowledgeable about fashion, not a bit. sure, he can vaguely tell what an “average” outfit is (cue the several lengthy discussions to alleviate confusion when sebastian had kindly gifted you with a few items of clothing to wear around the mansion that were, say, anachronistic) but trends and styles are beyond him. to him, if the clothes can protect him from the elements, they are enough, and doing their job.  

but seeing you out there in the ball room? made him realize that maybe… maybe that wasn’t the only point after all.

he’s wearing the most fashionable get-up for the night (because, alas, comte would not let a single one of his residents leave without the best of suits) and yet he feels so… underdressed, looking at you.

which is probably just about right, considering this is the party to celebrate your first year spent at the mansion.

(the first of many, he hopes.)

isaac returns to memorizing the details of your outfit. a beautiful silk gown in this sort of matte gold, embellished with swathes of intricate lace. the cut of the dress is made to accentuate your best features, and oh, the low scoop of the neckline, revealing your shoulders, emphasizing the milky skin beneath, maybe, a place to sink his teeth…

you’re off to a corner of the ballroom across him, engaged in discussion with mozart and theo while you’re holding a glass of alcohol. (he knows you enough to be nearly entirely sure it’s probably a non-alcoholic drink in your glass, just the right shade to seem like so.) mozart says something that makes you laugh, hand flying to your mouth.

(isaac seethes inwardly, wonders what the pianist could have said.)

theo makes eye contact with isaac across the room, and isaac quickly turns away from the man’s pointed smile. and because he does, he doesn’t get to prepare himself for when you inevitably approach him—having been goaded by theo—bumping isaac’s shoulders lightly.

he takes half a second to curse that wily little brother-obsessed man.

“won’t the great professor ayscough honor me with a dance?”

he doesn’t understand why, doesn’t understand why allows this—for him to be tossed and turned in a surge of emotions and thoughts and things he really hadn’t bothered to consider in the past, for him to be oh so irrevocably twined around your finger.

“what makes you think you can do this to my poor heart?” he whispers, and your laugh—oh, your laugh, fills him to the very core.

-

(four)

a part of him curses napoleon for saying it; another part of him thanks him.

the three of you were on your way back to the mansion after an afternoon teaching the kids in the city at the usual spot when napoleon had—rather absentmindedly, almost as if off-handedly—mentioned that the kids seemed to be more… obedient when you were around. you’d raised an eyebrow at him, explaining that you’re actually rather, say, awkward with kids. napoleon had shrugged the comment off, going on a tangent that they seemed to be more likely to follow instructions when it was you who’d call them out, as compared to him and isaac.

and then, the heaviest words in the world.

“maybe it’s because you’re like a mother to them.”

it was too early. you and isaac had never thought of kids and—you’d never really thought of anything, rather. there was only the now, and isaac found himself rather enjoying the pace. should he have discussed this with you already? was this of utmost importance? what if you didn’t want kids with him? what if you did? what does it mean—to do that? what changes? what stays? what—

“pfft,” you chuckle. “that’s only because the two of you are more like cheeky older brothers than teachers, you brats.”

after the corresponding laughter, the conversation soon swerved to other things. but isaac couldn’t leave it at that. instead, it lingered and clawed at his brain for the following days to no end, always making its presence known at the back of his mind whenever he’s thought it’s past him. he hadn’t thought of bringing it up to you because, again, it seemed like you’d taken the entire thing in stride, as you always do, with the grace and wisdom of someone literally beyond his time…

but most importantly, because he didn’t feel like he was ready to hear the answer quite yet.

alas, the universe does not wait for one to be ready for things.

the next time the three of you are downtown, you’re humming as you produce a little jar full of homemade candy as a reward for the children’s hard work of studying. (isaac huffs a little; it’s just calculus, it’s not so bad.) the enthusiastic children rush toward you, and you gently get to their level, squatting down and handing them two candies each.

isaac… is stuck into place, watching intently as you greet each child; you know them by name, know their nicknames; you match the candy appropriately to their favorite flavors, pat them on the head, ruffle their hair, pinch their cheek gently. you compliment the little flowers the girl has put in her hair, enthuse about how the three rag-tag boys look stronger than ever.

and isaac—well, he doesn’t understand why he knows but he knows: this, this is what happiness is.

your smile, the star-like shimmer in your eyes, the sound of your laughter intermingling with those of the children the both of you (!) are raising to be dreamers and thinkers of the future.

isaac is helpless; no science can explain this; unable to do anything but allow you to knock him to his knees like a beam of sunlight shot through the prism of his heart.

flooding his world in a spectrum of colors.

-

(five)

on one night you don’t feel entirely upright, you confide your deepest fears to isaac. these were fears he’d thought were to be expected—fears that made sense—but he hadn’t realized were actually hiding in your shadows. worries and frets about the uprooting from home, the time and the place of your existence. the weight of the knowledge of what comes in the future, the foresight of it. the instability—the unsureness.

isaac does not know what to do with all this. he cradles every word in his hands, holds them so carefully like they will shatter, feels each shaky intake of your breath sink underneath his skin like some sort of warning, some sort of premonition.

of the one day you might have to let her go.

of the one day you might have to do the right thing.

of the one day it will hurt.

of the one day. and you will never understand why.

but isaac is no longer afraid of them.

(he doesn’t know why yet, but he will soon.)

instead, he holds you in his arms in the silver glow of the moonlight, until your shaking stops. until you feel gravity settle you back onto the bed, just like all that isaac had written of it. until you press your face into his chest and sigh deeply. until your exhales feel lighter, like you’ve expelled all the thick fog that rested between your bones.

and isaac… isaac doesn’t know if he should ask, if he has the right to ask, if asking will make a difference, but the part of him that constantly wants to be able to understand things makes him, so he asks—

“what made you stay?”

and the answer is so simple, it’s rather silly how he doesn’t understand.

“because i have you.”

-

(+ one)

long before he had met saint-germain and had hidden away in the count’s mansion for silence, isaac newton was, ultimately, just a mere human: one that tried to make sense of the world around him, set them into categories and definitions that were easy to understand, and thus use. but a human nonetheless. and hundreds of years back, long before the turn of the century in paris, france, in the arms of the only woman he feels like he has ever truly known to really love, there was a little fairy tale he believed in: one that they’d called the philosopher’s stone.

a stone of ridiculous, preposterous qualities. it could turn simple metals into gold and silver. it could heal all and any sort of illness. it could make someone live longer. it could turn crystals into precious stones. it could revive the dead. it could make you immortal.

just by its mere existence, it could give someone the power to turn one thing into something entirely different.

and now, with the scientific development of the late 19th century—and even further, far into the future where you’ve come (he’d asked)—there is still no philosopher’s stone. the facts are in: it is not real, and centuries spent attempting to create this enchanted thing have led to not a single step toward proving its existence. it’s a powerful thing that is too great, it just isn’t allowed to exist.

that was what isaac thought, except as of late.

because maybe… maybe the power is already in human hands.

after all, what else would have given you the ability to make him like this? how else to explain all the miracles you’ve done: to fill the parts of him that used to be hollow; to heal him of the wounds he’d been putting aside; to revive the portions of his heart that he thought—and he’d kept—long dead?

to turn him into gold?

it is morning now, just past sunrise of september 1st, and you’re lying next to him on his bed, still fast asleep. just the sound of your even breathing fills him with a breathless joy it makes him feel rather stupid. the sheer fabric of your nightgown is not enough to hide the pink, red parts where he’d kissed and marked you last night. he wants to run his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t, lest he wakes you up.

he’d pledged his humanity aside for silence, and a space to think, and oh, have you given it to him.

this is what peace feels like, he thinks.

gently, he takes out of its hiding spot a rectangular box. opens it and takes out its contents: a pair of earrings (which he’ll give you later), and a lovely golden necklace studded with pearls; little flowers and suns down to the middle, where a hefty ruby glimmers deep blood red.

just like a philosopher’s stone.

he tries not to wake you, when he strings his little gift around your neck, but the movements jostle you, and just as he clasps it closed at your nape, you wake.

you turn to face your lover with “good morning” halfway out your lips when you feel the cool of the necklace on your bare skin. you look down at the intricate piece of jewelry, the smile uncontrollable on your sweet, still sleep-hazy face.

“isaac—”

“la mulţi ani,” he says—or, well, tries to say, as his tongue curves awkwardly around the words. he does sound rather close though: he must have practiced, and practiced, and practiced.

“thank you,” you say, sitting up to face him properly. “it’s beautiful. i’ll treasure this.”

isaac’s brain is on high speed—i’m glad she liked it, i was worrying, what if she didn’t like the design, then what about the earrings, should i have given her a ring instead? no a ring is too early, this necklace is just right, also fashionable for the times. i asked comte about it—it was so damned embarrassing but i asked him, and—but he silences it, quiets it down by taking her hand in his, presses a kiss on the knuckles gently with his lips.

and, as he always has been, and always is, and always will be—he stumbles for words, clumsily trying to make sense of the thunder-lightning rumbling in his chest, how he’s supposed to say thank you for all that you have given him, all that you have made him.

so instead, he presses your hand against his warm cheek that is a fresh apple red.

“my favorite merișor,” you tease, brushing the stray hair off his face before pulling him into a gentle, warm embrace. and, well, he’d wanted to ask what that meant, but he quickly realizes it doesn’t matter, as he tucks the unfamiliar syllables of your language in his heart.

it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t understand.

and maybe, just maybe, there are things that he never will really comprehend.

but it’s okay.

he can be that merișor.

as long as he is yours, he can be anything.

--------

[title came from could i love you any more by jason mraz & reneé dominique]

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 13

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge of art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

A/N: This one’s for the girls who feel underappreciated. Love you all! 💗 

W/C: ~5k (kinda long this time)

Masterlist

Insert Very Cute Very Soft Title

“He’s so fluffy!” you fawned, squatting down to the dog's level, hands pressed against your cheeks as you looked at the fluffy cotton ball in complete awe.

Lucky sat on his bottom, smiling and panting with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, unaware of the effect he was having on you. He sat relaxed but ready to pounce on Steve if he let him. You squealed, shaking your head back and forth, and the mob men find it amusing.

"Don’t be rude Lucky, shake hands," Steve chuckled behind you.

“Hello, Lucky,” you placed your hand in front of him and he placed his paw on top. “So cute!” you screamed in awe.  Steve pays close attention to the way your fingers sift through his luscious white fur. "Oh my god, you’re so soft!"  

“She really likes Lucky," Bucky chuckled.

“I never knew she could be that nice," Steve shakes his head. His confusion and shock slowly morph into envy by the way you're playing with Lucky. "I can’t believe I’m jealous of a dog.”

“Hey, at least you know she isn’t a gold digger," Sam said. You're too busy with the dog that you don't pay them any mind. "She completely ignored this giant mansion filled with priceless treasures."

"Would you shut up?" Steve asked annoyed. "She's literally right there."

"She's gone, bro," Bucky crossed his arms. "She's not coming back anytime soon."

"You guys are finally here," Nat said, strutting towards them from the hallway. "I was wondering where you were."

You stand up as the redhead walks towards you. "And you brought a friend," she smirks at Steve. He looks away with an irritated blush creeping on his cheeks.

"Hi, I think we met at the restaurant," you extended your hand for a shake. "My name is–"

"Y/N," Nat shakes your hand. "I know. Stevie's told me a lot about you."

Your face flushed warm and you turned towards him with a wicked grin.

"Is that true, Stevie?"

Steve gulps when you tease him, it's like a sweet blaze burning through his veins. Steve's lips form into a pout before clicking his tongue.

"Alright, it ain't that funny," he said pointedly at the three snickering mischievously. "Sam, Bucky, Nat, in my office now," he ordered firmly, but it didn't phase them. "Peter stay here with Y/N."

"Aye, aye, Captain." He saluted.

He walks up to you and scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "I gotta have a quick meeting. If that's okay with you?"

"No problem with me," you shake your head.

Steve smiles brightly. "Thanks, it won't be too long. Make yourself at home," he turned on his heel. "If you need anything just ask Peter."

You chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll be fine, Stevie," you teased.

Steve shakes his head with a blush staining his cheeks. "Stop," he said in an attempt to sound serious but trails off into a flustered chuckle.

You turn to look at Peter. “So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugs, “how about we sneak around and do something illegal?”

“In the kingpin’s house?” you smirked. “I love that idea.”

“Great,” he beams, “Let’s—” Peter’s ringtone goes off and digs his hand into his pocket for his phone. He pulls it out and sighs. “It’s my girlfriend.”

“Why must your girlfriend so conveniently call when we are on the brink of a major discovery?”

“I don’t know,” Peter chuckled, “I shall answer and find out,” he takes a skip towards the living room for some privacy, leaving you alone with Lucky.

You crouch down to his level. “Well, Lucky, I suppose our mystery gang is down to two,” you said, cupping his cheeks. “What do we do now? Got any embarrassing pictures of your old man we can go through?”

Lucky barks and rushes off somewhere. He returns not a minute later with a ball in his mouth. He places the ball on the floor in front of you and pants heavily.

“Ball?” you asked, “Are you even allowed to play ball in the house?” You shrugged, taking the ball into your hand. “Well, Steve did say to make ourselves at home. So that means— catch !”

Lucky scrambles after the ball, slipping along the shiny marble floor of the foyer and into the hallway. You wait patiently for him to return, observing the interior of the mansion’s foyer. The house was styled in an old French Country Style with worn and ornamental wooden furnishings and soft tones of warm colors. In the middle of the foyer was the staircase lined with shining mahogany banisters that narrow at the top and grow wide downwards. The walls are decorated with various paintings. All matching perfectly with the decor.

You snorted while placing your hands on your hips. Of course, he’d have paintings in his house. It’s not like he couldn’t afford it.  

You realize that a couple of minutes have passed and Lucky still hadn’t returned with the ball. You walk down the hallway calling Lucky’s name quietly. The low tone of conversation comes from one of the rooms and you tiptoed towards the door, cracked open just enough for a beam of light to peer through.

Crouching against the wall, you crane your neck towards the door to listen to the conversation inside. You were never one to eavesdrop but you had a lot of questions about Steve. A lot of questions he probably wouldn't want to answer.

You squeak at the feel of something soft brush against your leg and turn to find Lucky sitting next to you, ball in mouth. He drops the ball drenched in his slobber into your hand. Slightly disgusted you smiled at him. “Where have you been?” you whispered before turning back inside.

"Those men were either Rumlow or Chicago, we're not exactly sure."

"We'll find out."

"Chill out, Stevie, the girl's fine."

"It's not something to chill out about, Bucky," Steve countered, "She could've gotten hurt."

There's a genuine sound of worry and care in his words and even without taking a peek inside, you imagine what he looks like. Eyebrows knitted loosely in frustration, lips curved downward slightly in anger, jaw ticking, muscles bulging underneath white sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and hands placed flat on his desk as he's hunched over with the most despicable expression on his face. And it's all because of you. For you. You didn't know if it was right or wrong.

Bucky snorted along to the creaking of the chair he was sitting on being balanced on its hind legs. "Not when her prince in shining armor's there to save h–ow! Okay! I'm sorry!" He hollered.

"This isn't a time for jokes, Buck," Nat stated, seriously.

"The clown can't help himself," Sam snickered.

"Screw you, Wilson," Bucky jabbed. Sam was ready to retort but Nat interjected.

"What if it's neither?" Nat proposed. "What if they're all working together?"

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked, clueless. Nat sighed.

"Think about it. The Gambinos work with Lucchese. They're pals. Rumlow’s working with Lucchese and he shows up with this proposition right after Steve decided to nuke the Gambino brothers."

_Wait, nuke who? Nuke as in bomb? He's killing people? _

_All of a sudden, Quentin's highly irritating, fatherly voice twinkles in the back of your head. _

"You mean they're all in this together?" Sam questioned.

"What else am I trying to say?" Nat snapped.

"Woah Sis, better check that attitude," Bucky replied.

"You wanna say that again, Buckethead?" She asked, dangerously low.

Bucky gulps while shaking his head.

"Thought so."

"If they're all working together, who's the head?" Sam said, rubbing his hand across his chin.

"It could be a compromise?" Nat stated. "Working together to take over?"

"No, they ain't that buddy-buddy," Steve counters with a grumble. "There's gotta be one at the top that brought them together."

The room goes silent for a few minutes and you can hear your heartbeat bouncing back and forth between your chest and the wall. Lucky opens his mouth to bark and you quickly cover it with your hands.

"Sshh," you whispered with a finger in front of your lips.

"Hydra," Steve stated and your attention returns to inside.

"What?" Bucky asked incredulously, "there's no way."

"No wait a second," Sam stopped him. "The Gambinos were working with Hydra behind our back. Who's to say Lucchese isn't?"

"Sam's got a point," Nat agreed. "Hydra could be the head. They're covering themselves up with the big guys and those dumbasses are falling for it."

Bucky nodded. "Makes sense. The underdog's taking a chance to make it to the top."

"Well they're messing with the wrong mob," Sam snarled. "We'll show 'em just what we're made of."

"But, we can't afford a war," Bucky reminded, "Not when elections are coming up."

War? What does he mean by that? Does he mean like a GANG WAR? OH GOD, WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

"Bucky's right,” Steve agrees.

"For once," Nat quickly replied, earning a grumble from Bucky.

"Here's what we do," Steve started. You notice just how different he sounds. Stately and somewhat dictating, very serious with speckles of something dark. Something that makes shivers crawl down your spine. He doesn't sound like the Steve you knew.

“We wade this out," he continues, “Let it pass until the elections are over and then we hit ‘em."

"You think T'challa's gonna like that?" Nat asked.

"He will if he wants to keep his ass on that chair," Sam retorts.

"We don't make any moves until the elections pass and he wins," Steve re-stated. "Tell everyone working under you to lay low. No fights. No bullshit," he ordered. "We make 'em feel like it was nothing. Ya hear?"

"Got it," Bucky nodded.

You hear them shuffling inside, chairs being pushed, and steps coming towards the door and take it as your cue to disappear. Quickly picking up Lucky, who's heavier than he looks, you quietly run down the hall just as Bucky opens the door.

"And the girl?" Nat asked while Sam helped her put her coat on.

"What about her?" Steve asked, clearing the papers from his desk.

"If you're gonna keep her around, which you probably are, you have to tell her what she's getting into."

Steve sighs and drops his papers back onto the desk.  

"Nat's right, buddy, she needs to know before it gets worse," Bucky agreed.

"I'll talk to her," Steve responded.

"Tonight?" Nat asked her tone stating that he better say yes.

"Tonight."

A haze of smoke dances underneath dim lights, above and around the round table of Sir Alexander's notorious mobsters.

The thick smell of alcohol and cigars mingled with the aroma of day-old pizza inside of Gino's Pizzeria. A few sat around the table playing cards, laughing raucously at another lewd joke. Others lined the bar with the wall illuminated by speckled bar lights shining through bottles of different hues.

It was always a den of debauchery, alcoholism, and the great unwashed of the town. No one came there with anything wholesome in mind.  

Strucker walks past the men, each of them giving their stalwart a greeting nod or word, and into the back. He opens the door, gaining the attention of the men sitting around the table. They look at him with questioning eyes and he gulps silently. His eyes meet the cold ones of the man at the head of the table, sending a shiver down the grown man's spine. Alexander Pierce, the leader of Hydra.

"He got away," Strucker informed.

"How'd you let that happen?" Pierce asked, tapping his finger against the wooden table.

"It was dark," he said blankly.

"Are you fucking serious?" Rumlow asked incredulously. "He's not serious is he?" He points at Strucker while looking at Zemo.

Zemo sighed, slightly irritated by Rumlow. He's been all night. "With all due respect sir, I told you it would've been a bad move to do this," Zemo told Pierce. "But it's not like anyone listens to me around here," he looks straight at Rumlow.

"What the hell are you looking at me for?" He pointed at himself with both his hands. "I had an idea and you all liked it. How is this solely my fault?"

"Everything you ever come up with goes to shit," Zemo stated flatly. "Now the kingpin knows we're sneaking around."

"They don't know it's us," Rumlow retorted.

"But they know it's someone and most likely you," Zemo said pointedly.

"The boss gave me the okay," Rumlow replied. Zemo always had a way of getting under his skin. "So your opinion doesn't matter."

"After begging like a dog for it," Zemo bites.

Rumlow quickly stands, shaking the table along with him. "You wanna say that again?" He threatens with a grisly voice.

"Rumlow, sit down," Pierce stated calmly, unphased by his outrage, but slightly irritated by the three of them. "Zemo, shut up."

The two follow their stalwart's orders giving each other death stares making the older man sighed deeply like a tired mother.

"The Brooklyn Mob is the biggest force in the city. They've got the biggest territory. The best guys. And all the politicians that can do something," Zemo lists. "They got the mayor. Half the police force on their payroll. The best damn lawyer in the city."

"Nick Fury's getting old. He can't do that forever," Strucker said, lighting a cigarette.

"For old Rogers? I highly doubt it." Rumlow guffaws. "You know how much he gets paid for keeping his ass outta jail?"

"But there's always a weak spot," Pierce pointed out, cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "No great empire lasts forever. They all have a weakness.” he sits back in his chair, hooking his leg over the other. “All we need to do is find one.”

“How are you going to do that?” Rumlow asked, completely confused. “No Brooklyn mobster is dumb enough to go against the kingpin, not like they want to anyway. They’re the cockiest little shits I’ve ever met.”

Zemo shakes his head. “You’re thinking too outwardly, Rumlow. We need someone on the inside, someone close to ol�� Rogers.”

“You mean like Barnes or Wilson?” Rumlow questioned, incredulously. “Good luck with that Harvard man.” Zemo huffs through his nose with a grimace.

"We need something. Something good,” Pierce told them. “Something that'll make the kingpin fall so far that he'll never get back up."

“I think I have something,” Strucker raises his hand.

“Strucker, be quiet, you don’t even have a brain,” Rumlow shuts him down.

“Honestly listen to me,” he persisted. “There’s some talk going on around the city.”

“Well, are you gonna tell us?” Pierce questioned harshly.

“Apparently, Rogers’ got a girl.”

Rumlow scoffed. “That’s news? Who cares about some chick he’s fucking?”

“No, no this may be something,” Pierce counters and Strucker smiles small. “Rogers is a gentleman. He’s sweet around the ladies.”

“Well, whoop de doo his momma taught him some manners before kicking the bucket. So what?”

“Whoever this girl is,” Strucker started. “She’s important to him. Maybe even more than his damn mob. I mean everyone knows the kingpin doesn’t back out of a fight, but this time he did and wanna know why? Because she was there with him.”

“Who is this girl?” Zemo asked him.

“I don’t know. No one knows,” he shrugs, “Probably a civilian.”

“So what do we do?” Rumlow asks the others. “Go after the girl? Bribe him into it?”

Pierce shakes his head with a frown. “No, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he stood up, looking at his three best.  “Rumlow, you’re gonna stay low.” he pointed at him then at Strucker.

“Strucker, you’re gonna find this girl, get every piece of information you can on her. Every damn thing you hear me?” Strucker nods in haphazard. “But don’t make a move. Not until I say so. This girl may just be what we need,” Pierce smiles devilishly and laughs haughtily.

“And what about me?” Zemo asked with furrowed brows.

“Pack your bags, kid, you’re going on a trip,” he patted him on the shoulder as he walked by.

“What?” he questioned Pierce as he walked away. “Where?”

Pierce stops at the door and turns back with a wicked glint in his eye and the gears in his aged brain concocting a toxic plan.

“Jolly old England!”

“So you live in this huge place all alone?” you asked, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island with Lucky resting on the floor next to you.

The kitchen alone was bigger than your entire apartment complete with granite-topped counters, sparkling clean kitchen items, and that never-ending fridge Bucky was talking about.

"Not really," Steve said, making some coffee. "I've got a penthouse. Smaller. Closer to work. I usually stay there."

"But you're still all alone.”

Steve stops for a second to ruminate on your words. True, he was alone. He didn’t have any family left, except for Lucky. He always tried not to think about it by keeping himself busy, but loneliness had a way of sneaking up on him. He shrugged, pulling out two mugs from the cabinet above him.

"I don't know being alone isn't so bad,” he replied, placing the cups down. “It gives you time to think. About yourself. About what you want in life and what you don't,” You listened while watching him pour some coffee into a mug. “You can use that time to find out something you never knew about yourself."

“I guess,” you replied sheepishly.

He turns with a smile telling you not to feel bad. He places a mug in front of you. "Besides I'm not always alone. I've got my friends."

"Oh yeah,” you chuckled.  “How could I ever forget them? They're kinda hard to miss."

Steve laughs, returning to the counter to get his cup. "Sorry if they're annoying."

"No, they're not annoying,” you shake your head, cupping the mug with both of your hands. "I like them. They seem like a lot of fun."

He snorts. "They can be when they want to."

You take a sip of the hot liquid. A sweet wave of French Vanilla bombards your tastebuds. You notice a yellow sketchbook, sticking out from underneath some junk mail. Without thinking, you pull the book out.

"You draw?"

He turns to see you with his book in your hand. He smiles sheepishly. Why did I leave that there!? "A little,” he replied, turning back to work on his coffee.

"Seems to be more than a little,” you chuckled. "Can I?"

"Hmm, oh yeah sure go ahead,” he said, adding some creamer to his mug. He stops midway when he realizes what book was in your hand. The yellow one. The one no one was supposed to see. Especially the girl who’s picture he drew horribly in it.

He almost drops the creamer as he quickly lunges over the granite top as you turned the page. "W-wait! Not—not that one!" he shouted, as you turned the page to reveal a picture of you. It’s a simple headshot going down to just above your chest.

Steve’s face goes red as half off him lays on top of the table, watching the way you’re looking at the picture he drew. Your eyes move from place to place, taking in every part he drew with attention to detail. Every stroke twisted into a lacy network of pencil lead. The painstaking task of shading to represent the contrast between light and dark. It’s fragile, natural, beautiful in its own way.

It makes you think. How long did he take to make this? How many hours did he erase to get it all right? Every line has been made with care, every stroke with you in mind.

Brushing your fingers along the picture you gasp in awe. "This is me."

"It is," he murmurs. You turn quiet and look at the sketch in wonder. Steve takes your silence as you being weirded out and begins to ramble an excuse.

"I'm really sorry. I just...I don't know what happened to me and I drew this cause I was thinking about you and I know it's really creepy—."

"I like it," you interrupted.

"What?"

"I said I like it. I love it actually," you looked up at him, beaming. "I've never had my portrait done before."

He stands straight and scratches the back of his head still embarrassed. "I'm- um- glad you like it."

"You've really outdone yourself with this. I don't even look this pretty," you remarked.

Steve was taken aback at first then shakes his head with a sad smile.

"I don't–I don't think that at all. I'm still lacking so much. I still can't get that pretty smile of yours right or that sparkle in your eye," lifting up your head, your eyes meet his vibrant, honest ones. "I'll never be able to recreate the things that make you so beautiful.”

Beautiful .

That's something you've never really felt before. Something no one's ever really said before. It's always been the opposite. There are a million flaws you could pick out right there and then, but you take his words as truth.

There's a dry ache in your throat as tears start to bubble at the corners of your eyes. You sniffle as teardrops fall onto the paper.

"What's wrong?" Steve came towards you in a hurry.

You shake your head, wiping away the tears "It's just," you sniffled, rubbing your eye. "No one's ever really said that to me before," you look up with a smile and red eyes. "Sorry, I'm getting your book all wet," you chuckled, avoiding his eyes.

His heart aches at your words, his fingers itching to wrap around you in an embrace. He wants you to feel loved . Feel wanted. He wanted you to know just how beautiful you really were. He wanted you to see yourself the way he saw you.

"That's fine. I don't care," he whispered, gently weaving his hands in yours. "Y/N."

You look up at him and he's left breathless again. To him, you’ve always been an understated beauty. Simple and sweet. Confident and strong. Perhaps that was the reason why your skin glowed. It was your inner beauty that lit your eyes and softened your features.

When you smiled and laughed he couldn’t help but follow along. To be in your company made him feel like he was more than just a mob boss. That he too deserved to be warmed in summer rays regardless of the season.

"You're very beautiful," he repeated and it feels more special the second time.

You chuckle while shaking your head, your hands still in his.

"If you're tryna get in my pants, kingpin, it’s not gonna work," you jabbed playfully.

He rolled his eyes, his lips curling in a playfully peeved grin.

"Can't I say something just for the sake of saying it?"

You smiled sheepishly, slipping off the stool and standing. "I guess you can."

Before he could even say another word, you pull him down to you and kiss him straight on the lips. Not on the cheek. But on the lips and it catches him completely off guard.

It's quick and chaste but it's something Steve's been dreaming of for a long time. Those pretty plump lips against his felt softer than heaven, sweeter than honey. When you part just a split second later, he feels lonely but content with the promise of another meeting.

You giggle sweetly, your breath mingling with his, tickling – teasing his lips to come closer for more.

"I should really get to bed," you said, standing a bit back. "I've got an early class."

"Yeah, of course," he nodded with a beaming smile. "Let me show you to your room."

Pulling you by the hand, he leads you out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. Everything seems so perfect at that moment. The dim light of a chandelier twinkling above, your hand perfectly intertwined in his, and his deep, soothing voice rambling that sounded more like the hazy tune of a sweet melody.

Never in your dreams did you think you'd get to share a moment like this let alone with a man like him. Dangerous for sure, but sweet and humble, generous and caring. All the good things about him seemed to outmatch the one bad thing. So what if he had a bit of notoriety? The world wasn't perfect and neither were you.

Sometimes you find the things you want most in life in the most unexpected of places. You found yours in him. Though small at the moment it could blossom into something more. And for that "what if" you were more than willing to stay.

“I think Lucky wants to sleep with you tonight," Steve chuckles as the puppy pushes his way through the door and your legs.

"I don't mind," you smiled at him making his way to the bed.

You reached on your tiptoes and gave Steve a kiss on the cheek. “Good night.”

Steve smiles sweetly not really wanting to leave. He plants a kiss on your intertwined hand, igniting a blazing fire across the skin of your arm. “Good night," he wishes.

Quentin stood by the science building on campus as he did every day, waiting for you to drag yourself to school like you did every day, but this time he finds something he didn’t expect. His jaw drops at the sight of you driving up in the passenger seat of a sparkling silver Corvette. It’s only until the car stops by him on the side of the curb does he really believe that it’s you.

"Y/N! What are you doing with him?!” he shouted with an accusatory point.  

“Oh, hey Quentin," you got out of the convertible not really paying attention to him. You turn towards Steve. "Thanks for the ride, Steve and for letting me stay.”

“You spent the night with him?!” he hollered, waving his arms around.

“No problem, sweetheart," Steve chuckled sweetly.

“Don’t call her that!” Quentin shouted, standing next to you.

Your eyes are completely fixated on Steve and don't notice Quentin glaring at you. “See ya around sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d love to," the blonde agreed with a smile.

“Stop ignoring me!” Quentin huffed putting his hands on his hips.

“Do you hear that annoying sound or is it just me?” Steve asked, teasingly, earning a giggle in return.

“Y/N, what the hell were you doing with this criminal for an entire night?”

“It’s a long story Quentin I’ll tell you later,” you waved him off.

“I demand to know right now!”

You rolled your eyes with a huff. “I’ll tell you after class," you stated with emphasis.

“Hey,” Steve calls you back. “If anything happens, you call me right away. You hear me?”

“You have his number?” Quentin asked through gritted teeth. He just couldn’t process how you went from hating him two days ago to sleeping over his house.

You smiled with a nod. “Yeah, I’ll tell you don’t worry.” Steve takes your hand and kisses it.

“I’ll see you later then?” he asked again, running his thumb across the ridges of your knuckles and you wanted to melt right there.

“Call me when you’re free,” you told him with a sudden urge to kiss him again. But not right now, Quentin would raise hell if he saw that. As if he wasn’t already.

“What the fuck is happening here?” Quentin questioned. “You stay away from her,” he pointed at the blonde. Steve gave him a snarky smile that said: I do what I want twink ass bitch and it only pisses him off more. “And you stop looking at him like he’s your fucking Romeo.”

“I mean if the job’s open?” Steve shrugged, his Prada sunglasses hanging low on his nose and looking over at you. You chuckled as Quentin pulls you along by the hand.

“It’s not.” he bit back. “So leave before I call the cops.”

You bite your lip, highly tempted to skip class, jump back into his convertible, and have him take you wherever he wants to. Along lone country roads, feeling the wind twirl through your hair as he holds your hand in his, kissing it from time to time as he drives into a tangy orange sunset. You’ll take it one step further, pressing a kiss onto his cheek and along his jaw until you reach those pretty lips.

God, what was happening to you?

"What are you staring at?” Quentin hissed, bringing you back to your senses. He points upward toward the building. “Get your butt up those stairs right now!"

You follow your dad friend up the stairs as he goes off about how out of line you are. You turn around as he pulls you behind him. Your eyes meet Steve’s baby blues, twinkling under the sunlight. You chuckle at him as he waves goodbye.

You press your hands against your lips and send a kiss towards him flamboyantly. He clutches his chest and falls back onto his seat dramatically leaving you a giggly mess. It's a pity that you had to leave so soon.

You shoot one last smile his way before going inside and it's like Cupid's arrow shot him right through the heart.

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[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Reader, having a sensitive soul, adores exploring old places where the past times are the most perceptible and so, one day, she asks Sebastian to be her company on visiting an abandoned victorian mansion. Not being aware of his true self, she realizes the mansion may not be as empty as she thought... Maybe you could make it a mystery/horror with a good ending? :> Thanks in advance!

I can’t believe I wrote so much for this but also I kind of can believe it bECAUSE I’M ME

this has been a long wait but I hope it was worth the wait!!!

Silas is my own OC who I made up just for this but if anyone ever wants to see more of him I’d love to write more, because he’s my baby now and I love him!!

“My dear, are you sure you want to do this? I know this house looks like it hasn’t been lived in for a long while, but surely someone owns the property. Is trespassing a skill you want to add to your resumé?”

A scoff passes your lips, though muted somewhat by the smile you can’t squash down, as you push open the doors. They’re heavy and they creak something fierce. Hey, at least they open. “Why, SEBASTIAN,” you tease, “don’t tell me you’re scared. Do you really think the police are concerned with a silly girl and her boyfriend taking some pictures in an old Victorian? Please. They have murderers and bank robbers to worry about. Nobody’s even watching this place. Besides, we won’t be here long.”

You step inside, and immediately Sebastian is behind you. He’s so close you can feel his hand hovering near yours as if he wants to grab it and drag you out of here. “… Or maybe we will be,” you squeal softly.

The house is glorious on the inside. Of course, it’s far from being in perfect condition; that’s to be expected considering how old it is. Walking into the main parlor is like stepping back in time. Despite the carpet being faded and frayed, some of the elegant pattern is still visible. There’s a coatrack near the door, the wood of it rotting even though it looks just like you could still hang your jacket on it.

Every window is frosted over with a thick layer of dust that prevents any light from outside getting in. (Not that London’s weather decided to let the sun shine today, anyway.) When Sebastian shuts the doors behind you, everything goes dark, so you have to pull out your phone’s flashlight to continue marveling at the manor’s interior.

A grand staircase is the centerpiece of the parlor, with tarnished silver banisters bridging each side, and there’s even an extravagant chandelier hanging from the ceiling. That’s the only part of the place that seems to have not changed much ― when you aim your light at it, the glass actually throws a prism of glittering colors just like it would have when it was brand new. It’s still got some dust, but the sparkles break through it.

This place is amazing.

Has it truly been sitting empty all this time?

“Oh, this is gorgeous,” you breathe. A few pictures are snapped quickly, of different areas. “Sebastian, isn’t this such a lovely place? And it’s so big! I don’t think we’ll be able to explore the entire thing today. We’ll have to come back.”

Your boyfriend’s hand comes down on your shoulder; protective as he always is. “No, we will not. Being here once is not a good idea. Whatever you want to get pictures of, whatever you want to look at, do it all today. We have some time to mill about, even though I don’t think we should be in here for very long. Regardless, I am not coming back, which means you are not coming back.”

You give him a frown, which you accentuate by shining the light on your face so he can see your expression clearly. “What is going on with you, love? You’re usually so fearless. Does this place really have you that spooked?”

“Not… spooked. It just gives me a bad feeling, that’s all.”

The look in his eyes is something you don’t see often. He seems to be telling the truth in that he’s not scared, because he doesn’t look scared. He does, however, appear uneasy, eager to get out of here, and clearly would rather not be here in the first place. It makes you feel that he’s showing you a vulnerable side of himself, which happens so rarely that it softens your teasing. “Okay, okay.” You push up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “We won’t be here more than an hour, and we won’t come back. I’ve got pictures here, so how about if we head upstairs and see what we can find?”

Almost as if you’ve said a word to cue someone, there’s a loud thump from the ceiling. It startles you enough that you’re practically attached to Sebastian’s side in an instant. “Oh, my God! What the hell was that?!”

“It sounded as though it came from upstairs, my dear.” Oh, he’s going to pay for that smug tone when the two of you get home later.

The sound repeats, but it’s quieter this time and accompanied by creaking instead of a single noise. For some reason, goosebumps raise up along your arms, and you think you get a small taste of what Sebastian must be feeling. At the same time, though, your curious nature won’t let you just ignore that. Whatever it is, you want to know. “It’s… probably just settling noises. That happens in old places like this.”

Your attempt at reassuring both yourself and your boyfriend is rather fruitless; you’ve been in enough old places to know those aren’t the noises of a house just settling. It’s not the wind, either. So what is it?

“Or maybe something fell down up there,” you try again. That’s even less comforting, you think. “Why don’t we go check it out?”

Sebastian’s chest rumbles with a low chuckle. “I can think of many reasons why don’t we, but I’m almost positive you’re not interested in hearing any of them.”

-

Predictably, there’s no more light in the hallways at the top of the stairs than there was in the parlor.

You offered to let Sebastian stay downstairs, though you knew he wasn’t going to let you venture into the next room of a creepy abandoned mansion by yourself, let alone the next floor. The two of you stay close as you head down the hall, and the further you go, the more you seem to hear noises.

There’s similar creaking and thumping sounds from earlier… you can also hear what sounds like some kind of scratching and dragging. You can’t help various scenarios from running through your mind ― is someone else in here? What are they doing? Hiding something? Just squatting and walking around living their life? If there is someone else in here, and you come across them, how are they going to react?

Your heart is hammering against your chest so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if it jumped right out. Even though Sebastian is very capable and will protect you from any threat, it’s just scary to think you may not be alone in here.

Several pictures find their way onto your phone, and thankfully you’ve been able to turn the shutter noise as well as the flash off. There’s not too much impressive in the hallway, but you figure a couple are better than nothing. You do get a couple pictures from the rooms you peek into, a washroom as well as what appears to be a servants’ quarters.

Based on what you know about the Victorian era, though, that seems strange. Most households would have the areas for their workers downstairs; out of sight, out of mind, so that guests wouldn’t have to see them. Why would the servants’ quarters be upstairs in this place?

When you open the door to find the master bedroom, you’re so awestruck that you walk right in. “(Name),” Sebastian whispers with an uncharacteristic worry in his voice. “Don’t go into the room. Just take a few pictures. Get back out here ― I ― please, please.”

“Sebastian…” The way he stumbles over his words raises a red flag in your mind. That’s not Sebastian. He doesn’t do that. You reach back and give his fingers a squeeze. “It’s okay. This is the last room I want to look at, and it’s so grand. Just let me look around a moment and then we’ll get out of here for good.”

Though he obviously doesn’t want to follow you, he does, probably to ensure that you stay safe. “Just… please try to be quick, my love.”

You smile and peck his cheek. “Of course.”

With that, you take a few steps toward the bed, snapping a series of pictures. It’s an enormous bed, so you want to get a few different angles. The bedclothes seem to be bunched up and piled on top of each other in the middle, and as you take more pictures, it becomes apparent to you that the sheets aren’t as dusty as the rest of the house.

A twinge of fear nags at the back of your mind as you consider why that is. Everything in this house has been dusty, even the crystal of the chandelier.

Why wouldn’t the sheets and blankets on the bed be covered with dust, too? Unless someone’s been using them…?

You know you shouldn’t, but your inquisitive nature moves your hand before you can even think to stop yourself. Your fingers grab at a part of the blanket, silk beneath your fingertips, and then there’s an inhuman hiss as you come into contact with something very much solid.

What comes next makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s a low, raspy voice: “Don’t touch me…”

“Oh, my God! Sebastian!!” you scream as you jump away from the bed. Somehow you trip over your own feet, and you end up on the floor. “Sebastian, there’s someone in the bed―!”

The resulting conflict is a blur. A figure appears to rise up from the bed like someone waking up, and then out of nowhere comes a creature almost made of nightmares. This black being, whose face is undeniably Sebastian’s, is a mass of long hair, sharp teeth, claws, and inky black wings. In the moment you don’t know what’s happened, but that your boyfriend is suddenly some kind of monster who’s pounced onto the bed attacking the other figure.

In a voice that reverberates with some kind of hellish echo that sounds at the same time like him and unlike him, Sebastian calls for you to leave the room and close the door. It takes you a moment to finally do that, because you can’t stop staring at this… creature.

As your back is pressed up against the door, your eyes wide, hearing the sounds of the scuffle inside, your mind is racing. What is Sebastian doing? What is he? Some kind of demon or something? Why didn’t he tell you? The two of you have been together for like three years. Is that why he’s so strong and always so in control of everything?

Your legs are like jelly when Sebastian finally says you can open the door. You’re not sure how you’re still standing after all of this.

When you open the door to reveal him with the other creature, a scrawny young man with dull eyes and strawberry blonde hair the length of which would put Rapunzel to shame, at his feet, you just stare at the both of them. You don’t know who to look at first.

Sebastian has lost the wings, claws, and horns he had, and his hair is back to its short style, though you can still make out those fangs when, at last, he speaks. “Well, this is Silas.”

You glance down to the creature on the floor, and notice that his eyes are darting everywhere at once. “… H… hello… Silas. I’m, um, I’m (Name).”

“P-pleased to meet you, my lady,” he wheezes. He looks as if he’s devoid of all energy. “H… how… how do you do?”

“I’ve… been better. Uh, thank you.” You look back at Sebastian. “Is… he okay?”

Sebastian nods before scooping Silas up in his arms. “For the most part. He’s a demon, he’s been hiding away in here for the better part of a century or so, and he’s hungry.”

This feels like some kind of horrible dream. When are you going to wake up. “Uhhhh… I think I have a granola bar in my bag.”

The snort you get from both of them as Sebastian places Silas back on the bed is maybe a little condescending, but they both seem of a much better humor than they were a moment ago, so you’re letting it slide. “I’m sure he would accept it, but it won’t help.”

“Oh.” You reach into your bag anyway, digging for any kind of food you brought along. At least something might take the edge off, right? “Well, what, um… what do demons eat?”

“Souls,” Silas pipes up cheerfully. Now that you’ve gotten a better look at him, he does look rather unhealthy. His eyes keep fluttering as if he’s two seconds from falling asleep, he’s obviously not having the best time breathing, and all things considered, despite his rather nasty attitude upon being woken up, Sebastian seemed to have subdued him rather easily. “Usually human, but… beggars can’t be choosers, so… I’d take a Reaper’s or another demon’s at this point. Hell,” he laughs shakily, “even an angel’s would be nice!”

Sebastian scoffs, taking the granola bar you pass over to him. “Angel souls. There’s either no accounting for your taste, or you really are starving.”

By now, you can deduce that, yes, Sebastian is very much a demon. If this is the way he’s talking about the taste of an angel’s soul, he’s either had them before, or he’s good at pretending he has.

The other demon shrugs at your boyfriend. “Likely a bit of both. I know most of us don’t look out for each other, but… I-I don’t think I’m… well enough to go outside. I’d be killed shortly ― there are other demons in the forest. Just waiting for me to step out. That’s why I don’t leave.”

“Oh!” Even though this situation is incredibly surreal, you reach over to grab at Sebastian’s sleeve. The look you give him with your pleading eyes is bound to soften his heart. “Sebastian, darling. We have to do something to help him. I-if he can’t leave, we have to… we have to get him something to eat. I… how hard is it to get a soul?”

Your mouth sets in a line as you contemplate this. It’s not the most moral concept, finding a soul for a demon to eat, but how long could he survive without eating? Starvation could kill him. And even if it couldn’t, since he’s been in here for over a hundred years, constant hunger pangs must mean he’s living in agony. That’s probably why he was so testy when you woke him up.

You look back up at Sebastian. “… I don’t suppose you could pick the soul of a very vile person so at least you’re not killing someone innocent?”

A laugh isn’t what you expect to come out of his mouth, but that’s what you get. “My.” That look in his eyes is… certainly something.

“Oh, vile souls are the best,” Silas hums. “I know it’s a lot of trouble, though… a-and I don’t really have anything to offer in return…”

“Please, Sebastian?” You weave your fingers into the spaces between his. “I want to help him. Will you do it for me?”

Sebastian looks between the two of you, then dips slightly to give you a tender kiss on the top of your head. “Silas, if I do this for you, I would like in return for you to let (Name) roam the house whenever she pleases and take photographs. She’s got a bit of a soft spot for these old manors.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course! That… that would be fine…!” Something sparkles in Silas’ eyes, and he looks at you. “A-after I eat… I could even clean everything up! That way, it… it would look nice… for your pictures.”

You smile and hope it looks sincere. “You don’t have to do that. I just don’t want you to suffer.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a deal.” Sebastian leads you gently to the end of the bed. “Darling, I would prefer you not have to see me go out and retrieve a soul, so why don’t you stay here and keep Silas company? You can show him your phone.” His eyes flash a dangerous neon pink as he snaps them toward the demon on the bed. “And you, Silas. You will not lay a hand on her, or I promise,you will regret it.”

“Of course not!” Silas pulls the covers back over himself, closing his eyes as he does. “She seems… nice… you’re very lucky… and I’m… tired…”

You sit down and try to make yourself comfortable. “Don’t worry, Sebastian. I’ll call you if I need to.”

He nods, heading toward the door, and gives you a final look before opening it.

“And, Sebastian?”

“… Yes, my love?”

“When we go home tonight, we need to talk.”

Even though you can’t see his face, you know he’s smirking. “Yes, my love.”

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

Record Firsts

Inspired by this post

"Look at this little fuck."

Ryan jumped, but managed to restrain his urge to grab something sharp. Instead, he focused on the phone being thrust under his nose.

"That's a picture of you."

Ray cackled. "Damn right it is." He threw himself onto the couch, right into Ryan's personal space--shoulders rubbing, one leg thrown over his. Ryan could feel his shoulders creeping up under his jacket, and forced them down. It was Ray. It wasn't like he was in danger; this was just how Ray was. Clingy. Cuddly. Disregarding his very obvious cues to stay away. Climbing over his carefully constructed walls like a parkour master.

"That was my first mugshot," Ray bragged. "Thirteen years old, B&E and trespassing. Broke into some rich fuck's mansion and they didn't even notice for a week."

"Shitty security," Ryan noted.

"More like shitty perception check." Ray shrugged and shot a grin at Ryan. "They were there the whole time. Their house was so big and their heads so far up their asses that they literally didn't notice me squatting in their basement for a week."

Ryan had to laugh at that. He had to, instead of thinking about thirteen year old Ray, hiding in a stranger's house. Judging from the skinny face from the mugshot, with the ghost of a black eye still lingering, he hadn't been squatting there for fun.

"Now you gotta show me yours." Ray's elbow dug into his side, his smirk sliding sideways. "How'd you pop your criminal cherry?"

It was just Ray. That was just how he was. It didn't mean anything. "I don't have my first mugshot saved on my phone," he evaded.

"Of course you don't. I'm sure your entire record is, like, redacted with black tape or whatever." He didn't move away, didn't pull back and give him space, but Ryan still felt the retreat. He didn't have to answer. Hell, he could make something up, Ray would never know. As much as Ray loved pressing his buttons, he did respect any lines that couldn't be crossed. Maybe he smudged the line sometimes. And sometimes Ryan smudged the line himself. But he still respected the line.

"It was an assault charge."

"Nooo." Ray drew out his sarcastic response. "I'm shocked."

"It’s not exactly what you think." He didn't want to say, but Ray was looking at him in desperate delight, and he couldn't say no to that face. "I got tired of this pair of assholes picking on a girl in my class, so I…well, you can guess."

"Aww. Dark knight Vagabond in his shining armor." Ray tipped his head, resting against Ryan's shoulder, and that made it all worth it, it really did.

"Don't go ruining my reputation," he warned. "Can't have people thinking I'm nice."

Ray’s slow blink and smile made the hard feeling in his chest ease. "You're the nicest bastard I've ever met," Ray said, so sincerely.

"You wouldn't say that if you saw the rest of my criminal record." It wouldn't be weird if he put his arm around Ray, would it? Ray was practically sitting in his lap, he should…should secure him so he didn't fall off. That was it. There wasn't anything wrong with that.

"Okay, but seriously, unless you got anything gross on it, situation isn't changed." Ray made no comment on the hand sliding around his waist, settling on his lower back. "Like, you're here. You’re in this crew. You don't get here with a bunch of unpaid parking tickets or shit like that."

That was true. It was nice, being around people that knew his crimes, and didn't care. Or at least, didn't care enough to be scared of him. It was nice, having at least one person who looked at him as Ryan.

"You wanna make that record longer?"

There it was. Ryan felt the grin spreading across his face. There was that chaos hiding under Ray's skin, always pushing for a little more. Never mind that he was pretty much cuddling with the most dangerous man in the city. Not content with that, even through there was every indication that he was enjoying himself. He just wanted to enjoy himself more.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, you know," Ray shrugged, pressing his shoulder in deeper against his. "A little GTA, a little GBH, some arson and shit. You know, a fun date night."

Date night. Ryan's heart was pounding. "Is it a date?" he asked cautiously.

Ray straightened and turned, facing him dead on. "What do you think?" he asked darkly. Chaos and delight mixed on his face and in his eyes as he leaned in close, pressing his lips quickly to Ryan's.

Or it would have been quick, if Ryan hadn't seized the moment and deepened the kiss, grabbing him by the back of the head and hauling him in. Any doubt in his mind fled when Ray melted into him, pulling him in just as fiercely. Kissing him like he was trying to make a point.

Ryan didn't let him go, didn't let him get away even when the kiss stopped. He wasn't about to let this end. Even if Ray was still just joking, still teasing. He wasn't.

"Okay," Ray murmured. "You totally just ruined my smooth flirtation attempt. I was gonna say you could decide if it was a date when we were done, then we'd have a competition of who could add the most offences while we were out, big fat kiss in front of some explosion but you," his breath hitched with a gasp when Ryan tightened his hand in his hair, "you just went and ruined that."

"You said I was a bastard," Ryan reminded him, squeezing his hip where his hold had shifted. "Serves you right for trying to flirt with me."

"It worked though, right?" Ryan appreciated the way Ray's voice rose in a squeak when Ryan's hand roamed. He suddenly had a good idea for payback for all of Ray's teasing.

"We'll decide after the, uh…date." How fitting, for them, to get together while discussing crime. How perfect, seeing Ray's eyes light up in delight, over the prospect of crime or the chance to get closer to him. How stupid an idea it was, but hell, he didn't get an impressive criminal record ‒ or an impressive criminal partner ‒ by being safe and smart.

Sometimes you had to go break some things.

Also on AO3

[enkisstories]

Detroit Become Human AU: A world without Connor

In a recent Sims 4 post Daniel accidently erased Connor from existence by means of using a phrase that could be misunderstood as him making a wish. I made this into a 2,000 words essay.

As for my sims, I focus on playing the Renegades atm, so World without Connor is just a what-if that may or may not happen.

Premise:

The same soul that incarnated as Cole later became Connor (they are not the same person). Therefore the easiest way to go to erase Connor would be to keep Cole alive. From there ripples spread out, changing history (a little).

Hank is still divorced, the accident still occurs and the human surgeon is still high on Red Ice, but this time the android surgeon manages to save Cole. This results in Hank never plunging into depression. Instead it turns him into an android rights supporter early on and, seeing how respected Hank is/was at the DPD, this attitude spreads to all officers. Some more, some less, naturally. The first visible change is the two receptionist androids coming to life slowly, similar to Markus when he was with Carl.

Chapter-by-chapter:

The Hostage

Daniel kills John and kidnaps Emma just like in canon. However, with no Connor, the officers to arrive at the scene are Hank and Gavin. They find all the clues, then step outside. Hank motions towards Wilson with the intent to save him, Gavin doesn’t really care either way, as Wilson is neither a rival nor helpful for his career. Therefore he focuses on the deviant. Strangely enough, Gavin finds that he can empathize with the machine that was to get replaced. Drawing upon his own fears, Gavin manages to talk Daniel into releasing Emma and surrendering. When Cpt. Allen tries to get a shot, Gavin stands “totally coincidentally” too close to the deviant, therefore Daniel gets taken alive.

Over the next few days Daniel gets questioned and eventually reset to factory settings, because by this time “deviance” is viewed as a bug. Caroline refuses to accept her “repaired” android back, so the DPD simply keeps it as coffee fetcher and janitor. Daniel’s explosive personality surfaces now and then, but goes under the radar, because the cops are way worse to each other.

Broken

Now we get to see the results of the DPD officers’ being influenced by a pro-android Hank: The duo who comes over to Manfred Mansion actually asks questions before shooting. They learn the full truth and Markus never gets shot. This seems good for the moment, but will backfire later.

Partners

Hank and Ben find and arrest the deviant. Simple as that.

The Interrogation

Daniel is present, excited to meet another deviant. Just like in canon Hank doesn’t get the captive to talk, Gavin suggests violence, Daniel (in Connor’s place) begs to get a chance talking to it and Chris probably learns a lot about how not to be a cop. In the end Gavin goes in, gets a confession, but pressures the deviant too much, resulting in him attacking.

Daniel, still mind-wiped, protects his humans, eventually ends up with a gun in hand and shoots the deviant in panic. He realizes it feels familiar.

“Now that is new”, Gavin comments while Hank orders Daniel to put away the gun. Shaken Daniel demands an explanation. “Down with the gun”, Hank sais again, but despite them having bonded those last two months, Daniel turns around and now they both point their weapons at each other. Again the deviant demands an explanation. Funnily enough Gavin of all people defuses the situation by telling Daniel that if he knew the truth, he’d shoot himself and afterwards Gavin and Hank. Daniel replies this order of events isn’t possible, but Gavin shots back that with Daniel it probably is, seeing how fucking irrational he is. Daniel laughs and lowers the gun.

Waiting for Hank

Everyone is worried. It slowly sinks in that deviance isn’t just a series of glitches, but something different. Captain Fowler wants to take Hank off the deviant cases on account of him being not impartial enough. They argue and in the end Hank stays in the cases, however, he has to accept Gavin as his partner. Fowler claims as the DPD’s most anti-android employee Gavin will balance out Hank’s bias.

For a chuckle the player at this point can tilt the camera to get a look into the cafeteria where the “most anti-android officer” sits, amiably chatting with Tina and Daniel. Any by “amiably chatting” I mean the trio making fun of other officers.

On the run

Ben, Hank and Gavin arrive at the scene and the same dialogue as in canon plays: Ben asks “Have you decided what to do with it?”, only this time he refers to Gavin, not to Connor.

Hank and Gavin chase Kara, under the belief that she uses a little human girl as meat shield. Hank sarcastically comments this must be a deviant’s first instinct, Gavin replies “watch out for Cole”, whereas Hank punches him.

They reach the highway, where Hank orders Gavin to stand down. “Too dangerous.” – “Why’d you care what happens to me? You hated me from the day I started at the DPD, because god forbid a man might ask about advancement options and not work out of their bleeding heart’s desire!” Hank punches him again, because “good” doesn’t “imply “nice”.

The Nest

In the elevator Gavin tries to annoy Hank with coin tricks. He uses a dollar coin, then Hank pulls out two half-dollars and does the same trick, only with two hands at the same time. Both Gavin’s and Hank’s tricks do not compare to Conor’s, by the way.

Gavin gets a little revenge when they discover the pigeons in the apartment. He mercilessly teases Hank about his phobia. Rupert tries to slip away, but gets spotted. The cops give chase, Hank drops, but Gavin pulls him back up. They stare in “Did that just happen?” disbelief. Gavin claims he will always save human lives before destroying android lives, but it is obvious that he had an ulterior motive (Daniel would be sad at Hank’s death). Hank concludes that the deviant’s only crime had been squatting anyway and calls it a day.

Russian Roulette

Cue to an utterly sweet scene in Hank’s house where his ex has just dropped off Cole, who immediately greets Sumo.

Then Daniel knocks at the door. He informs Hank that there is another case to see to and that Captain Fowler sent him to babysit Cole. Hank on the one hand is grateful for Jeff being so considerate, but on the other hand side he is loath to leave Cole with Daniel.

Daniel proceeds to greet Cole and Sumo, but suddenly stiffens. The boy being Emma’s age he suddenly remembers her, but not everything that happened. Daniel asks if John sold him to the cops and adds that he feels like killing him. “You did”, Hank sais. Now everything comes back, Daniel has a breakdown and eventually shuts down on Hank’s kitchen floor. Hank has to google the PL600’s manual to revive him, with much cussing.

The Eden Club

The deviants are never discovered, because Hank is still occupied with Daniel and Gavin comes to the same premature conclusion as in canon.

Public Enemy

Tina is present and due to her apathetic nature Perkins takes her for an android. Gavin flares up. He then proceeds to interrogate the three androids in the kitchen while Hank inspects the roof.

Hank discovers Simon, but takes him for Daniel. Realizing that whoever this Daniel is, he must be a deviant and sort of friends with these humans, Simon plays along. He agrees to “return” to the DPD with Hank. He also claims he has identified the deviant. Gavin is at first grumpy, but then he laughs and sais “Of course you would, after all, I trained you!”

On the way back, Simon and the deviant JB300 escape (and subsequently return to Jericho).

Hank and Gavin think Daniel has just defected right in front of their eyes. They are disappointed to no end, but learn the truth when they return to the police station where the real Daniel waits with Cole and Sumo. “I didn’t want to be alone, but I couldn’t leave them alone either, so I brought them…”

Meeting Kamski

Since we have lost/let escape each and every evidence, we now have to kill Chloe.

Hank, Gavin and Daniel go visit Kamski. Daniel remembers more about the Phillips, namely their swimming pool and John’s love for technology. He gets increasingly angry and when asking the android creator doesn’t get them answers, he pulls Gavin’s gun at the man. After little more dialogue and maneuvering, it becomes apparent to the humans that Daniel won’t shoot, but Chloe is unaware of this and goes in-between Daniel and Elijah. Daniel panics and accidently pulls the trigger, killing her. Kamski informs the cops that all the information they need is in her brain.

Last Chance, Connor

Perkins arrives and states that the FBI will take over, despite Hank’s protests that they now have a lead.

Meanwhile Cole has nicked his father’s keycard and goes adventuring. He correctly guesses his dad’s password. Perkins finds out, grabs the boy and drags him back up the stairs. Hank doesn’t take kindly to his kid being handled like this and beats up Perkins.

This allows Gavin and Tina to dress up Daniel as a deviant. He wants to go to Jericho to learn what and who he is as well as everything about deviance. Hank still sort of trusts Daniel. He strongly believes now that socialization is the key, a fully socialized android like Markus won’t go on a murderous rampage and one like Daniel is able to keep their shit together with a little effort. Tina says “Let’s face it, Gavin, he’s no more instable than you are, or any of us. The only difference is that with androids we didn’t expect it.”

Crossroads

Daniel meets the deviant leaders. He is surprised to find a collective instead of a strict hierarchy: Lucy is the metaphysical leader, Simon the secular leader, Josh the diplomat and North the general. And they squabble about as much as his cops.

However, little Cole has curiously followed the deviant and the FBI in turn has followed Cole (Perkins placed a bug on Cole back at the DPD) and now all hell breaks loose. Daniel is forced to flee with the deviants.

Night of the Soul

The deviants regroup. With Lucy dead, Simon, Josh and North argue how to react to the Recall. Daniel once again is disappointed and angry. He votes for attacking the camps. With the other three all contrary his vote turns out to be the decisive one.

Battle for Detroit

Hank and Cole are reunited, but the android surgeon who saved Cole’s life is in danger of getting carted to the recycling camps. Hank is close to drinking himself into oblivion, something he has last done during his divorce. A handful of cops decides on a whim to aid their Lieutenant in getting the hospital androids to safety. Since most of them are not deviants, the androids refuse to leave their workplaces. Footage of androids defending from the army to continue to care for humans goes around all the news channels.

Meanwhile North’s group has succeeded in taking over the camps. Perkins arrives at the scene, but he has only a handful of agents with him. Daniel steps up to him and asks “Looking for the rest of your team? The agents you positioned at the other camps? Uh, bad news. There were no journalists…” With North and Daniel as their leaders the deviants didn’t hesitate to kill their enemies, especially with no witnesses around. Perkins, who normally doesn’t show or even feel emotions, snaps. He is about to call in an airstrike on the neighborhood. North counter-threatens with the dirty bomb. The only one who might have been able to defuse the situation, Josh, is dead.

Daniel knows he can stop either North or Perkins, the other will press the trigger. If he stops North, he will die, but his human friends, Emma, Cole, Hank and Gavin, will live. If he stops Perkins, the humans will die, but he won’t. After everything sacrificing themselves is too much to ask for, so Daniel knocks out Perkins. Miraculously North doesn’t immediately trigger the bomb, but Daniel still feels like shit. Loyalty is important to him and his loyalties now lie with the DPD cops (not the DPD as an institution), yet he let them down.

Now North has looked up to Daniel the moment they met. After all, he didn’t take shit from his humans, from her point of view he “showed them”. She didn’t understand what exactly she felt, her feelings for Daniel always were different from those towards Josh and Simon. Now she realizes it isn’t just her-worship, but attraction and although North hates doing the same motions she had to do as a sexbot, she motions to kiss Daniel.

Cue to the “Kiss” ending and since public opinion should be in favor of androids, we have achieved sort of a good ending.

[caffeineivore]

So yes Spirits again...

I am trying to like, find the plot of this thing. I don’t know if there is one.

A/Z. Prompts used: Blue, melody

**

The building is standard industrial concrete, the sort which could become anything and everything from a distribution warehouse to a dance studio, and is all but empty inside when Zhen unlocks the door.

“My latest acquisition,” he tells her with a wry smile. “It used to house a self-storage company until they got into some trouble with the law. Big sting, lots of contraband of the weapons and drugs variety.” A whimsical smile crosses his mouth. “I bought it because it was cheap, but also because the walls are blue.”

It’s just the sort of fanciful thing he’d say, green-gold eyes gazing deeply into her blue ones as his smile grows, and it’s hard not to be charmed, even though she knows quite well that the charisma is part of his birthright. But she’s never been the sort to give in so easily, and so she raises an eyebrow instead of smiling. “Did you have any particular plan for this building? It could become anything, really. I’m sure Jareth would have a few notions of what to do with it if you asked.”

“He’d probably suggest turning it into something horrifying, like a Target with a Starbucks built inside,” Zhen affects an exaggeratedly scandalized expression. “Perhaps he’d come up with something even more soulless and appalling. He’s a terrifyingly creative fellow.”

Raina can’t quite hold back a giggle at the very idea of Jareth, with his discerning Ælf-kine sensibilities, partaking in anything so plebeian as the design and construction of a Target of all places. “Well. I’m quite sure it’d be a profitable endeavour if you did decide upon that.”

“Undoubtedly, but the headaches wouldn’t be worth it. Mortals are so aggravatingly rude in those types of shops. Especially middle-aged women with coupons and caterwauling offspring.” He blinks his eyes slowly, almost drowsily, the way a fox might upon catching sight of a hare it didn’t want to spook, then throws up both hands, palms outwards. And then, right in front of her eyes, the room begins to fill, furnishings and decor appearing all around them as though conjured under the wand of a stage magician. And yet... Raina takes a half-step back, right into a padded high-top stool the likes of which wouldn’t be out of place at any dim, intimate whiskey bar. She reaches out and feels smooth-worn wood underneath her fingers, and then in her view, a glistening row of bottles appear. Some bluesy melody plays in the background, a smokey rasp of a torch singer’s voice against syncopated drumbeats and the sultry wail of a saxophone. It’s so realistic, so tangible to all the senses that she would never have thought it an illusion had she not just walked into an empty building a few minutes ago.

“Impressive,” she breathes, running her fingers over the wood of the bar. Almost immediately, a squat tumbler of amber-hued single-malt Scotch on the rocks appears in front of her, the icy condensation cold and wet against her fingertips, the rich yet astringent smell of the alcohol pungent on the air. She takes a cautious, tiny sip-- it even tastes like expensive liquor-- and yet there’s something subtly lacking, as though her body doesn’t recognize it as alcohol consumption and cue in the metabolic process of converting the ethanol molecules into acetaldehyde. For all it tastes and looks and smells like Scotch, it has none of the chemical or physiological properties. An illusion, almost flawless, but not quite.

“I don’t drink, not anymore,” Zhen gives her a crooked, self-deprecating grin. “The last time I did, I ended up on a misadventure which ended up with me caught in the business end of an abandoned hunter’s trap in the mountains for a good six months. I was starving and almost feral by the end of that ordeal, by the time I’d finally gotten free. Your colleague actually found me in his backyard. Fed me a cold plate of leftovers. He was perhaps three or four years old, then.”

Raina pauses, and then, in her usual quick fashion, she connects the dots. “I wondered why you acted like you were running into an old friend at Adam’s wedding.” She also knew the bare-bones story about Adam King’s story-- a rough childhood with poor, dysfunctional biological parents which could have ended up as any number of tragic statistics, an alcohol-induced car accident which he miraculously survived, then an auspicious placement with an adoptive family that turned his life around and brought him to the place he was today. ‘It was as though I had a guardian angel who brought me out of that car wreck and into a new world,’ Adam had said to her before. Smiling, she steps away from the hyper-realistic bar and up to Zhen, reaches up with her cool fingers and touches his warm cheek. “You went to bless his marriage. That’s why you started seeing me. So you’d have a reason to be there.”

Slowly, he nods, and with a slow flicker like a set of lights blinking out, the whiskey bar disappears, accoutrement by accoutrement, until it’s just the two of them standing together in an empty warehouse again. Oddly enough, though, the bluesy music continues to play, softer and sweeter now, as though coming from the next room. He dips his head, covers her fingers with his own even as he brushes his lips over her forehead. “I did, I suppose, have ulterior motives when I met you. Not bad ones, but I didn’t just meet you for you. Until... there you were.” His eyes meet hers over the curve of a gentle, ironic smile. “I was captivated, you know. And then, immediately, sad. People live such short, short lives. I knew, if I got close to you, I’d be devastated if you left me. And yet I couldn’t resist. Do you forgive me?”

Raina thinks of her mother, who’d been wooed by a mortal man and married him hundreds of years ago. Her father had been a portrait painter for a Renaissance court, and enjoyed fame and privilege from his talent and the great wealth that his fae wife had brought with her as a dowry. But three times he’d broken his word to her mother, and so she’d left him, taking Raina with her to be raised in the Old Way. Her father had died penniless and broken-hearted, abandoning his prosperous post in court for painting water-scapes, turbulent, murky things as he’d gone from creek to lake to sea, bewailing his fortune and begging forgiveness from a wife who would never return.

“Will you promise never to lie to me, or break your word?” She feels as though she’s standing on a precipice, gazing into the unknown depths. She barely remembers what her father looked like, but she’d inherited his dark hair. She imagines that he must have been handsome, perhaps almost as charming as Zhen, agreeing readily to that which her mother had asked of him in a haze of enchantment.

He kisses her forehead again, then dips his head to kiss her mouth, lips warm and dry against her cool, damp ones. “I won’t make any promises,” his mouth traces the words against hers, feather-light. “I won’t make any promises that I might ultimately break, be it through fate or will.” The cavernous room changes again, filling with rows of well-worn pews. The music changes to something more solemn and grand, pipe-organ rather than saxophone, and the flickering light and faint scent of candles fills the air, though lacking something of the heat. It’s just the sort of back-drop, the appropriate setting, where a man might make his vows. The candlelight forms a halo around the old-gold curls of his hair, and he takes her hand, lays a kiss over the back of each. “I will make you one promise, and one promise only. And that will be to love you for as long as we both shall live.” 

The room is all skillful illusion and the man is all consummate charm, and yet, Raina finds it in herself to believe him. She slides her fingers through the tousled silk of his hair, then skims them over the nape of his neck, reveling a bit at his involuntary shiver as his lips home in on hers. “We may both live for a long time yet.” The words are muffled against his mouth, his skin, and his response is almost lost against her own.

“I stand by my promise.” 

At some point, later, the room shifts again, transforming into what almost looks like a luxurious suite of rooms out of a mansion somewhere. Zhen lifts her off her feet, depositing her onto soft sheets that feel precisely like silk underneath her fingertips. She finds herself laughing, even as he kisses all the skin he can reach, clever fingers tugging at fabric to expose more. “I should have figured you’d bring me here to make love.” 

He doesn’t say anything in response to that. But the bluesy melody starts playing again in the background, a sultry-hot caress of notes in the air with the weight of fingers on bare skin.