#if i had seen this a year ago when i first chose this name id be so giddy rn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within.

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over.

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight.

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed. It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on.

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code.

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time.

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water.

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine.

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.” The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious.

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new.

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed.

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone.

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one.

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they?

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.”

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper.

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go.

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked.

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least).

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for.

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good.

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone.

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way.

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God.

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things.

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.”

Ah.

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.”

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new.

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased.

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs.

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples.

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice.

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off.

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs.

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?”

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight.

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality.

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own.

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #taehyung x reader #bts #taehyung x you #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #android taehyung #robot taehyung #look you know the drill by now: I don't know how to tag effectively #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #dbh is so good guys. I love connor. like. an alarming amount.

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likeahorribledream · 3 years ago

Text

On The Run

Request: ''I had a bad dream'' with Steve Rogers. - @fangirllife98

Summary: After the incidents from Civil War, you and Steve are on the run together.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader / Nomad!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning: Nothing triggering, I think? I suck at warnings. There isn't any physical description for the reader.

Notes at the end.

+ This is not proofread, I apologize in advance for all the mistakes you're about to see.

Steve Rogers had been your friend since he had come out of the ice. You used to work for SHIELD but you were neither an agent or an Avenger, you worked in the medical field and you had been hired to monitor Steve’s health until he woke up and after. You spent a lot of time with him and quickly became close friends. You both have very similar personalities and it made it very easy to get along. He could spend hours talking to you about his life from before and he could listen to you for hours as you tried to explain to him everything that was new and different.

He loved that you weren’t an agent or an Avenger, it allowed him to have his own little escape from that part of his life whenever it got to be too much. You were, and still are, one of his best friends and he trusts you with his life.

When he decided to go look for Bucky, he wanted you to come with him. In case Bucky needed medical help, you were the only person he’d trust around his childhood best friend. Of course, you went with him. You had listened to Steve tell you hundreds of stories about the trouble he’d get into with his friend, Bucky was too important for him to refuse to go look for him with Steve.

You hadn’t expected to become fugitives of the law, yet here you are a year later; running and hiding with Captain America.

Steve brought Bucky to Wakanda so that he could heal and understand what exactly happened to him, when he came back the feud between him and Tony was far from being over and since he went against the Sokovia Accords, he found himself on the other side of the law and since you had helped him, you were considered an accomplice and were on the ‘’wanted’’ list next to Steve’s name. Tony could have gotten them out of it but when Steve chose Bucky over him, he decided to let him fend for himself. Steve had given you a choice; he could get you a place to live in another country where you’d be safe from the authorities or you could stay with him but that meant you would have to constantly be on the move.

You’d much rather be constantly on the move with your friend, than staying in one place in a country you didn’t know without being able to see him for who knows how long, the choice had been very simple and easy for you.

After a year, the heat had died down and it allowed you to stay in one place for longer periods of time. Steve had grown a beard and let his hair get longer, it made it harder for people to recognize him. Not a lot of people knew what you look like, but you decided to dye your hair from time to time just in case someone might recognize you.

A few days ago, you and Steve went back to New York. It’s Steve’s safe place and it’s so crowded, it makes it hard for anyone to recognize either of you. Steve had found a shady motel in a shady part of town that accepted to be paid in cash, no IDs required and no questions asked. You each had a room, a door connected them and you always left it opened just to keep an eye on each other.

It’s hard to sleep. You haven’t had a single good night of sleep since you left with Steve, you were scared that if you fell into too deep of a sleep, you wouldn’t hear if someone came for you.

Tonight is your third night in a row at this motel, you were tired of eating food from the vending machines so you decided to go get some takeouts for dinner. Steve doesn’t like when you go out on your own but it was too risky for him to go with you, that’s why you mainly ate food from vending machines. After dinner, you took showers in your respective rooms. After your shower, you put on a pair of sweats and a tank top and sat on your bed, waiting for Steve to join you to watch a movie.

‘’Come on, old man.’’ You called out towards his room.

He was taking his time and you were anxious to get the movie started.

His head poked out from his bathroom door, his hair completely drenched.

‘’That nickname wasn’t funny years ago when you used it for the first time, and it’s not funny now.’’

You laughed and pointed at your smile. ‘’Speak for yourself, I personally think it’s funny.’’

He rolled his eyes.

‘’Come on, Stevie. I’m tired.’’

Steve squinted as he looked at the alarm clock on your nightstand. ‘’It’s barely 8:30. How am I the old man here?’’

‘’You were born at the beginning of the 1900s, I was born at the end of the 1900s thus making you old.’’

‘’Well, give me 5 minutes and I’ll be right there. You can start the movie, I’ll still be able to hear it from here.’’ He told you, going back into the bathroom but leaving the door slightly opened.

You did as he said, you pressed play on the movie you had chosen earlier and sat with your back against the headboard, pillows behind you to make it more comfortable.

Five minutes later, Steve emerged from the bathroom and sat down next to you. He lifted his arm to let you snuggle up against his body and then laid it on your back, his hand resting on your hip.

Movie night always meant cuddle time.

Though you loved Steve with all of your heart and he loved you with all of his, the last few months had started to get rough for the both of you. You had never realized how much you were fond of hugs and human touch until you couldn’t do either. You came to a mutual understanding that, to keep your sanity, you would have cuddle time and it had sincerely helped better both of your moods.

Once the movie was over Steve turned off the TV, gave you a kiss on your forehead and went back to his room for the night. As soon as the lights were off, you fell asleep.

You were woken up a few hours later by something touching your foot above your covers. You quickly opened your eyes and relaxed when you saw Steve standing at the foot of your bed.

‘’What’s wrong?’’ Your voice was barely audible as you were still half asleep.

‘’I- I had a bad dream. Really bad. Can I stay with you?’’ He whispered.

You could hear how anxious he was and that woke you up. You grabbed the covers that were around your shoulders and lifted them up. Steve quickly walked around the bed and joined you, settling under the sheets. You waited until he was completely laid down and lowered the covers on top of both of your bodies.

‘’Are you ok?’’ You whispered.

You were laying on your side, facing him while he was laying on his back, looking at the ceiling. He turned his head and looked at you. His eyes were looking at every detail of your face, trying to burn this image of you into his brain so he’d never forget how beautiful you looked in this exact moment.

Steve’s had a crush on you since the first day he met you. At first he didn’t think too much of it, thinking it was just because you were the first woman he’d seen in over 70 years. Then, you two became really close friends and his feelings only got stronger throughout the years but he was going through a lot and he didn’t think it was fair of him to drag you into his problems so he decided to wait before telling you how he felt. He was finally gathering up the courage around the time Bucky resurfaced and before he knew it the two of you were on the run and he was terrified to confess his feelings to you and that you’d reject him. You two literally only had each other, he couldn’t risk ruining your friendship. Not when it was the only thing keeping the both of you completely sane.

You were both so oblivious, it was almost painful. Steve thought he’d ruin your friendship by telling you how he felt and you were keeping your very similar feelings to yourself because you didn’t think you were good enough for Steve Rogers, America’s Golden Boy. Though you tried not to let it show, you were a very insecure person and you barely felt like you were good enough to be friends with him, there’s no way he’d ever see you as girlfriend material.

‘’I don’t think I am.’’ He finally answered, whispering too.

He laid on his side to face you. It was pitch black in your room, but street lamps outside still managed to peak out from between the blinds, allowing you to see Steve’s face a little better. Whereas with his enhanced everything, Steve could see you very clearly.

‘’What do you need?’’ You asked softly.

‘’You.’’ He answered without hesitation.

You had one hand tucked under your head and you reached out to the other one, brushing your fingers against his jawline soothingly.

‘’I’m right here.’’

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the gentle touch on his jaw. When he opened his eyes again, he reached out over to you to wrap his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to his chest. You were so close to him that you had to tilt your head back to be able to look at him while he had to look down. You moved your hand to the back of his head and played with his hair that was still a little damp from his shower earlier.

‘’Do you want to talk about your dream?’’ You offered knowing that sometimes talking about it helped him.

He shook his head no, his eyes on you and never looking away.

‘’I don’t want to talk.’’

His hand that rested at the small of your back was now moving up to cup the side of your face, using his thumb to gently stroke your cheek.

Somehow, Steve’s face felt closer than it had a few seconds ago. Your heart started racing and you were sure he could hear it. His thumb moved down, the pad of his finger brushed over your lower lip a few times. It sent shivers down your spine. Steve leaned down a little more, his thumb going back to rest on your cheek. His eyes kept flickering between your lips and your eyes. He was ready to stop at any sign of you being uncomfortable. He gently brushed his nose against yours and when you didn’t pull away, he finally kissed you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you felt your cheeks heat up. Steve didn’t leave you enough time to kiss him back, as he pulled away quickly. Your eyes opened, scared to see the regret on his face but instead all you could see was how nervous he was.

‘’Is this ok?’’

You nodded as an answer, not trusting your voice to function properly. He quickly closed the gap between the two of you, this time giving you a chance to kiss him back. Both your eyes were closed, his thumb started moving on your cheek again and your hand that was in his hair slowly slid down his neck, then his chest to finally move under his arm and rest on his back. The kiss was slow, as if Steve was afraid to hurt you, but you both could feel all the emotions and feelings that you hadn’t had the courage to confess being put into this kiss. He pulled back, just enough to give you a chance to breathe. Both the kiss and how loved you felt leaving you a little breathless.

He looked at you and waited until you opened your eyes. The look in his eyes made your breath hitched in your throat. He had so much love in his eyes that you thought your heart was going to melt in your chest. He rested his forehead against yours, kissing the tip of your nose.

‘’You.’’ He echoed his thoughts from earlier. His voice was barely audible but he was so close that you could hear him perfectly. ‘’I just need you.’’

I am a big sucker for Nomad!Steve, look at that glorious beard!

I hope this wasn't too cringey. This was my FIRST TIME writing a kissing scene, so please be kind. I know it was probably really bad, I'm sorry!

Thank you to my dear @fangirllife98 for requesting this. I hope you liked it and that it fed your little Steve hunger for the day.

[Taglist: @n3ssm0nique | @lover-of-bucky | @beingagodsucks ]

If you want to be added to a taglist; Bucky taglist, Steve taglist, Missing Piece taglist, Blood Moon taglist or just the general taglist just let me know in the comments or DM me.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

Text

Misread Details: Robert

CW: Dehumanizing language, BBU blanket warning, serial killer/death talk, descriptions of death/abduction/murder, blood, whumper death, some real vague implied noncon references, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Dark Discovery in Robert Weber’s Basement: Box Boy Killer, Part 3

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

3 days ago

After Part One, where we learned about the mysterious, but possibly entirely natural, death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, and Part Two, where we saw Henry “Brute” Hanlon’s double life lead to his untimely gruesome murder, you see the single thread that connects these two men who otherwise never met, interacted, or even shared a single person in common… a nameless Box Boy, present at the death of Nanda even if he isn’t responsible for it, and the proven killer of Brute.

It’s my theory that this Box Boy may have accidentally killed his legal owner, Nanda, and then picked up a taste for the act and moved on to taking shelter with those he turns into his victims.

With Brute, he simply didn’t know the man had a wife and children and entire other life, and may have assumed no one would come looking for him or recognize his death. With our third individual, Robert Weber, it seems like our Box Boy Serial Killer got in over his head.

I give you… the Accidental Vigilante death of Robert Weber.

You decide if our unknown killer is simply the unluckiest guy in the world or a killer who even now may be somewhere living with - and earning the trust of - his next victim.

One bright and sunny day in the quaint, old-fashioned California town of Rancher’s Rest, Robert Weber was late for work.

Weber worked in a vehicle repair business owned by lifelong “RR” resident Randy Niles, who had known Weber since his childhood and had been his boss since Weber was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school.

Niles, who is now nearly seventy-five and still spends his days in the shop with an Australian Shepherd named Cody and a blind pit bull named Sue keeping him company everywhere he goes, stated that Weber had no living family he knew of beyond his sister in Vermont, and he was just about the closest thing Weber had to a relative just from having known him so long.

“He didn’t have too much to do with his sister,” Randy said in an interview with Unsolved Mysteries. (You can see the interview on the new Netflix reboot of the show! It’s a really good episode, definitely recommend. It’s how I got into this case in the first place.) “Or nobody, really. Just us at work, the guys at the bar, that kinda thing. He was quiet, kept to himself really. You’d never just strike up a chat around town or anything. But he got on just fine with the boys here in the shop. He was a bit of an egghead, too, always going on about this thing or that he’d seen on the news. Little… odd. Little bit off, you might say. But really, who isn’t? In any case, you know, I’d known him since he was a little boy, so he was just Bobby Weber to me.”

Then, of course, one day Robert Weber didn’t show up to work. Randy Niles immediately felt that something was very wrong.

“When nine, nine-thirty came and went and he wasn’t there,” Niles said, “I knew someone needed to go check on him. Bobby showed up for work right on time or ten minutes early, rain or shine, for twenty years. My first thought was maybe he’d had an accident at home, or some kind of, you know, health thing. Almost never called in sick, took one vacation a year, that kinda thing. So I drove right on over there. This would’ve been, oh, probably ten or ten-fifteen when I got to the house. Had my dogs with me, and they never did like Bobby much, but as soon as I opened my door and got out of my truck they just lost their damn minds. Barking, growling, Cody’s hackles were up like you wouldn’t believe. I know it sounds damn crazy, but I’m sure those dogs could smell that evil had been done in that house.”

On camera, Niles goes quiet, here, his gaze slipping away from the interviewer as he scratches at the side of his nose. When he looks back, the hint of good humor that seems to be an eternal part of his expression is gone.

“I didn’t know what Bobby had been up to all this time. None of us knew. I’ve known Bobby Weber his whole life, and I… I had no idea.”

Randy Niles was unable to convince his two dogs to exit the truck, and eventually rolled down the windows to give them some air and a way out if they chose (he is insistent on this point in the Unsolved Mysteries episode - “don’t you dare say I left my dogs locked up in a truck on a sunny day, I sure didn’t - Cody even knows how to pull a door handle if it’s the right kind”) and got out to knock on Robert Weber’s front door.

No one answered.

Niles knocked again. Still no response.

The front door was locked, but Niles was able to locate an unlocked back door into the garage, where he found Weber’s car neatly parked and nothing out of place. However, once he used an interior door in the garage to enter Weber’s home, what he found was so shocking he still struggles to describe it today.

“The, uh. The first thing I saw,” Niles says in the Unsolved Mysteries episode, wiping at his mouth with a handkerchief, “was a cage. Big old cage in the living room. Like a kennel for a big dog, Great Dane or something, except… except, you know, kennels’re usually mostly wire, not that heavy. You can fold ‘em up, put ‘em away. This was… geez. This was pure metal. Bunch of blankets all piled at the bottom, too. Here’s the-... you know, my mind just didn’t want to even make the thought, but I just, I looked at it and-”

In the episode, Niles has to take another moment, here. His eyes grow wet, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “People cage. Bobby had a damn man-sized cage in his living room. That’s when my stomach just fell out. Even then, though, I couldn’t-... I just thought, oh, well, what people get up to in their own homes is their business. But still, I just. I just decided, find Bobby, figure the rest out later. So I kept walking around looking for him.”

Randy Niles continued to call out, hoping to hear Weber’s response, but received none… at first. The radio in the kitchen was playing a local public radio station (“Bobby always hated the country western and classic rock we played at work, he was a big news man, big into classical, jazz, you know.”)

Niles noticed, he says, that the cage next to the couch had a wooden top, as though it were meant to act as a side table, and on that table was a small woven basket. Inside the basket appeared to be several State IDs and Driver’s licenses. Niles took note of this but his first assumption was maybe that Robert Weber had stolen some IDs or something.

Which was technically true, just… not quite the way he thought.

The kitchen, hallway, and all three bedrooms were equally empty of life. Every room was clean, everything neatly in place. Empty bottles of Jameson whiskey, Weber’s favorite brand, were lined up like décor along the mantel, and one half-full bottle was next to two clean, empty glasses on the kitchen table.

Even the beds were perfectly made.

The only thing missing was any sign of Robert Weber himself.

The question of Weber’s whereabouts was answered when Randy Niles heard a sound coming from the open door to Weber’s unfinished dirt basement.

“Like a ghost,” Niles said in his interview. “Just this low moaning sound. Hardly even thought of it as human, you know. But I just-... I called out, ‘Bobby? That you?’ and the moaning got a little louder, like whoever it was was tryin’ to answer. I could still hear my girls in the truck just going nuts, probably worried about me knowing what they maybe could smell even out there. I figured… I figured I’d best call the cops and get them out here. Seemed like a plan. So I picked up my phone and dialed, and then I headed down those basement steps.”

What Randy Niles discovered in Robert Weber’s basement was a dying man, battered and stabbed eight times, lying in a half-dug grave.

Robert Weber had been beaten with the very shovel that had done the digging. The shovel lay off to the side, caked in dirt and blood. Police would find some of Robert Weber’s hair on it, too. Then, the individual who had beaten him had gone back upstairs - blood smears were found on the railing to the stairs - and taken a kitchen knife out of the knife block on the countertop. A bloody fingerprint was found on the side of the knife block. They had then returned to the basement where Weber was stabbed, almost entirely through the stomach and chest, twenty-six times, until the cheap knife simply broke from the force.

Randy Niles admitted in his interview that he became very ill at this time. “From the shock,” He elaborated. “I haven’t been able to smell much since I was in a car wreck when I was young, so I didn’t smell what-... what my girls prob’ly smelled from outside, and what the cops smelled. To me, it was just… just a little off, is all. It was the sight of it that got to me, not the smell. The sight of the-... the hand.”

Behind Robert Weber’s body, the hand of another person was sticking up out of the loose dirt, as though someone was trying to dig their way out.

“I remember… I remember her nail polish was pink. That’s when I got sick, actually, was when I saw that hand with the painted nails. That’s when it just hit me all at once what Bobby had done.”

Randy Niles went back up the stairs and waited for the cops to arrive. Rancher’s Rest is a small town where everybody knows just about everybody else, and Niles was on a first-name basis with every single police officer he spoke to that day and in the days after. He would learn alongside the investigation that Robert Weber was not simply the quiet, intellectual car mechanic he had always seemed.

Instead, Robert Weber was a serial killer whose potential final victim had managed a miraculous, deadly escape.

Robert Weber never answered a single question about his own murder - he never fully regained consciousness and died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. His injuries were simply too severe. His autopsy showed that the cause of death was a stab wound that went deep into his chest and that he was first stabbed only after the beating with the shovel had taken place. Like Brute, most of his stab wounds were applied post-mortem in a rage rather than as part of the killing itself.

Medical examiners also found scratches on Weber’s face and arms, indicating that he had attempted to defend himself - or someone else had attempted to defend themself from him.

So why was Robert Weber killed, and why was there already a body in his basement? Investigators would piece together the story over the following days and weeks from a crime scene that only seemed to become darker and more baffling as time went on.

Excavating the basement was originally thought to be something that would be brief, but after the first body was removed, another one was found beneath it. Then another off to the side of that. And another, although this was simply bones.

Every time the forensics team thought they’d found the last human bone, they dug a little deeper or in a new spot and found more.

Eventually, the remains of twenty-two individuals would be removed from the basement of Robert Weber’s home, not including Weber himself. The oldest located victim was identified as Melinda Traxson, an Iowa woman reported missing by her family after she ran away in March of 1996… more than two decades before Robert Weber didn’t come to work one day.

Investigators are still working to match up every body with a missing persons’ case. For nearly all of them, the cause of death could not be easily ascertained due to the deterioration of the remains, but some showed signs of skull fractures. Identified individuals so far include:

Melinda Traxson, 19, from Iowa, ran away from home in 1996.

Billie Mortimer, 21, disappeared from a day out with friends at Lake Tahoe one year later in the summer of 1997. Her friends went to get lunch from the car after a swim and when they returned, she was gone.

Matthew Ranger, 22, went missing during a road trip to Yellowstone National Park in 1997 (only five months after Billie). His car was found abandoned by the side of the road with a flat tire.

Karl Janssen, 24, a tourist from the Netherlands who was also visiting Yellowstone, disappeared a month after Matthew. Last seen by an employee of the park who witnessed him speaking with another young man and getting into the man’s car. The employee said that the two seemed to be friendly with one another and did not seem like strangers.

Hannah Pointer, 26. She was reported missing in 1999 by her mother after failing to return home from work in Reno, Nevada. This disappearance occurred more than a year after Karl Janssen’s. Investigators would later discover that during this time period, Robert Weber dated a young woman from his hometown and he may not have wanted to risk her finding out what he was doing.

Isaac Jackson, 26, a Rancher’s Rest resident who disappeared after going out to a local bar to see his friend’s band play in 2000. His car was found submerged in a small pond two years later. This is the first time Weber apparently killed anyone close to home. He was actually briefly suspected in Jackson’s death, as he was the last person noted to see Jackson alive, but was cleared of suspicion at the time.

Dustin Swill, 21, who was driving from Colorado to California to visit his sister who had moved to Berras to work for WRU in 2001. He was last seen in a gas station near Yellowstone, where employees noted he spoke to a man who was smoking outside, who gave him a cigarette. When Swill left, employees saw the man put out his cigarette and leave shortly after. They did not find this unusual or noteworthy at the time.

Maria Vargas, 25, a Rancher’s Rest resident who was reported missing in 2002. Her family is intensely private and have shared few details about her, but it is known that her boyfriend at the time suspected Weber, who had attempted to convince her to leave the boyfriend for him and had apparently threatened her. He remained a suspect but there was never enough evidence to charge him.

Jennifer Striker, 28, from who never arrived for an appointment with a realtor in 2011. The long pause between Maria Vargas’s murder and Jennifer’s appeared to be due to Weber keeping a man named Finn Schneider within his home for more than a year after abducting him, as well as Weber serving five years in prison for a violent assault on a man he believed had sold him a defective vehicle. (Schneider was no longer in the home before the assault and prison time.)

Riley Nievelt, 25, was staying at the Big Meadow Campground with six friends during a weeklong vacation in 2012. She vanished while on a trip to purchase supplies. Her cell phone was found on the ground in the parking lot of the Food Lion in Rancher’s Rest, a short and easy drive away. At this time, with multiple individuals vanishing after being seen in Rancher’s Rest or being residents of the town, police begin to suspect and start hunting for a possible serial killer.

Alexander Peterson, 29, was a long-haul driver who vanished while working. He was last seen at a rest stop in 2014 on the California/Nevada state line, and would likely have passed right through Rancher’s Rest on his journey. He was reported missing by his ex-wife in South Dakota when he did not return as scheduled for a custodial visit.

The most recent victim, and owner of the hand that Randy Niles saw sticking up out of the dirt, was Yolanda Pierce, 26. She was a Rancher’s Rest resident with a troubled relationship with her husband, who had stormed out after an argument and was never seen again. She is believed to have died the same day as Robert Weber.

More remains exist but have not yet been identified. If you or anyone you know has a friend or family member who went missing during this time period in or near Rancher’s Rest, Yellowstone National Park, or Death Valley, it may be worth looking into, as those appear to be Robert Weber’s “hunting grounds”.

Disappearances in Yellowstone and Death Valley almost always matched up with Robert taking one of his rare weeklong vacations from work.

When investigators located three large diaries hidden inside a locked box in Weber’s closet, the first two fully filled up and the third nearly two-thirds finished, they found an exhaustively detailed record of Robert Weber’s crimes.

In these records, they discovered Weber’s first three victims were killed within 24 hours of abduction, with the rest being kept alive for longer and longer time periods. It is believed all of them met their end in Robert Weber’s basement.

Diary entries included records of two victims who were not a part of the bodies buried in Weber’s basement, both of whom may still be alive:

Finn Schneider, 19, a German tourist who disappeared in 2003 during a visit to Death Valley. Until Weber’s journals were found, it was believed he had perished in the park and had simply never been found. Robert Weber also visited Death Valley during this time. No one linked the two together. Evidence found in Weber’s home after his death, including the aforementioned diary entries and photographs, shows that Schneider was alive in Weber’s home for nearly sixteen months. It is believed Weber purchased the “human cage” that Randy Niles noticed around this time. The last diary entry that mentions Schneider states that he was “traded” on June 16th, 2005, to an individual only referred to as “Mouse.” What Weber received in exchange is unclear, but he was seen driving a new, custom-painted truck around this time, which he said he bought “from a personal ad” when asked by Niles about it. Schneider has never been found. However, his mother did receive a phone call in 2013 from an individual she believes to be her son, telling her that “Finn” was okay and to stop looking for him.

Our Box Boy, 334235, purchased by Nathaniel Benson years prior, whose whereabouts had been unknown since he murdered Brute Hanlon. Weber believed the Box Boy to be in his early twenties, according to his diary entries, and mentioned that he had picked the Boxie up hitchhiking and had intended to kill him before seeing the barcode on the inside of his left wrist and changing his mind. His diary suggests the Box Boy remained in his possession for roughly a fourteen months prior to Weber’s murder. Police have not released the details of what the Boxie was subjected to during this time, stating only that it is not the public’s interest for this information to be known, and they would like to locate the missing Boxie and interview him about certain details.

Four murders occurred during the time the Boxie was kept by Robert Weber. Weber noted that “the dog helped” with either murder or burial, suggesting that he may have worked as Weber’s accomplice in his terrible crimes.

Is it possible that they bonded over a shared urge to kill? Did the Boxie start a captive and become a companion?

Weber’s diary contained other disturbing facts, as well:

Weber also noted three failed abduction attempts in detail, in 1998, 2004, and 2017. In each he described with incredible precision of memory the appearances and descriptions of each person he failed to capture. He also appeared to do intensive research using their license plates and other information to find out where they lived and who they were. The names of these individuals have been kept quiet for privacy reasons.

Other failed abductions were noted, about one per year, without much detail. Or at least not enough for police officers to know who they were. Nearly all these failures were in one of three locations: Yellowstone National Park, Stanislaus National Forest and nearby campgrounds, and in or near Death Valley.

The last entry in Robert Weber’s diary was penned the day of his death.

NOTE: Weber referred to the Boxie as “the dog” in nearly all his journal entries. His last entry went:

May 6th, 20XX: The dog is pissed about something again. He’s always pissed about something. I think the thing in the basement probably kept him up all night with her caterwauling. He never gets used to the noises they make. God knows I can’t sleep either, at least not well. I’ll handle her tonight, have a drink with the dog after, see if that shuts up his nonsense for a while. Note: missed NPR interview with Senator Carlotta Grant on new leg. about the bb prohibition act. Find that on website later.

Found in Weber’s home, in boxes under his bed, were a series of restraints made of leather, high-quality items that appear to be custom-ordered to specific measurements. These included “gloves” intended to keep someone from being able to claw or scratch in their own defense, five sets of cuffs, a body harness, a leather half-face-mask that police referred to as a “muzzle”, several gags, some of which were deemed to be “designed to cause injury to the inside of the mouth”, and “other assorted items for use in torture and torment”.

You can find some leaked police docs online that go into more detail, but suffice to say they pretty much match the kinds of “toys” found in Nathaniel Benson and Brute Hanlon’s homes, too. And apparently, if you really know where to look, you can find some blurry low-quality photos Weber took, too.

While the items are a bit salacious, they aren’t entirely uncommon in consensual relationships, too, so it’s really not clear if they’re evidence of the Boxie being held against his will or not.

The investigation of the crime scene suggests that at some point after writing his final diary entry, Robert Weber made himself a pizza, which he ate half of and put the rest away in the fridge. His shaving cream and razor were found out on his sink, and Weber’s body was clean-shaven, suggesting he shaved shortly before his death.

He then watched three episodes of Law & Order: SVU. We know this because he texted during this time with his only living relative, the sister in Vermont. Little is known about Weber’s family and childhood, beyond his sister’s recounting of a quiet, strained home life with an overbearing mother and her mention that Robert endured several head injuries as a child and adolescent, including one that hospitalized him for days.

After he finished watching TV, Weber entered the basement and murdered Yolanda Pierce. It is believed he took the Box Boy downstairs with him, either as accomplice or witness. At some point while he was disposing of Yolanda Pierce’s remains, the Boxie became enraged for one reason or another, beat him with a shovel, got the kitchen knife from upstairs and stabbed him to death, and then left the house.

A neighbor remembers hearing odd noises around 3:30 AM and looking out their window to see a shadowy figure walking quickly down the road, but they weren’t able to see well enough to say whether or not the individual matches the description and WRU-provided photos of the Boxie. It does seem reasonable, though, to assume that the neighbor witnessed the Boxie fleeing the scene of the crime.

The Box Boy has never been seen again.

Police are pretty mum about the active investigation into the Box Boy’s whereabouts. I was able to get ahold of one source closely related to a member of the investigative team who said that there’s just not a lot of urgency. “Weber killed nearly two dozen people, just that we know of,” The source said. “The cops are a little bit ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ about the situation. Unless the Boxie comes back to RR, they’re just inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.”

The sense of “let it be someone else’s problem” would be understandable… if this Box Boy weren’t responsible for one other direct murder, possibly two.

Police believe the Boxie has not left California, and is likely to be continuing to survive by engaging in prostitution or perhaps panhandling or some other hidden way of making money. Unconfirmed sightings have been located in three cities in central California, but all of these are unverified and should be taken with a grain of salt.

It’s also possible he hooked up with a pet liberation movement group, in which case he may be hiding out in a safehouse, protected from the consequences of his actions by the pet lib movement’s understandable insistence on total secrecy and anonymity for the Boxies they take in.

If he’s an innocent victim of circumstance, that’s fair.

If he’s a burgeoning serial killer with three victims under his belt and a taste for inflicting terrible violence on those who take him in… well… anyone who gives him shelter may be next.

Is our Boxie a purposeful killer or just supremely, almost incomprehensibly unlucky? Will he kill again? Was he Robert Weber’s accomplice or his victim?

Will he strike again?

Should there be an audit of WRU’s psychological testing on potential sign-ups to see if, perhaps, a Box Boy-wannabe with an urge to kill slipped through the cracks?

What do you think?

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary

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clouditae · 4 years ago

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First Love | 17

Word: 2.9k

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

“I still can’t believe this is our last year,” Ari says, heaving her final luggage out of her trunk. “Finally,” she mutters, closing the trunk and pulling out the handle from its secure place. She looks to you and grins. “Let’s unpack.” The two of you make your way towards the building where your new room awaits.

You haven’t seen Ari since she finished her finals earlier than you. Helping her pack her belongings and putting it in her car, she left for the summer. Through calls and texts she told you she spent half her summer with her family and the other half with Hoseok. Now that you finally get to see her again, you immediately notice how short her hair is. Her hair was past her shoulders when she left just a few months ago, and now it’s barely touching her shoulders. Someone as beautiful as Ari can pull anything off it seems.

As the two of you make your way towards the dorm building, you head up the same set of stairs that you’ve been taking since you moved into the dorms three years ago. This time, thankfully, Ari let you pick where to live, and you chose the second floor closer to the exit door where you can easily leave if you’re in a hurry. And you’re nowhere near Yoongi. He’s always stayed on the third floor, so you took that chance to pick the second floor and the side wing where you will never see him unless you’re forced to.

When you reach the second floor, Ari presses her ID to the scanner, hearing a click and pulls the door open for you. As you enter the building, a group of people are chatting at the far end of the hallway, several bags of what looks to be trash on the floor. Your guess is they finished packing. You wish you were them right now instead of going up and down the stairs. Sadly it’s not and as you pass the first five doors, you reach your room.

Since you were last here, everyone had to use their key to get inside their dorm, but over the summer the dorms were updated and now you use your IDs to get inside your rooms. Pressing your ID to the scanner, you wait for the door to slowly unlock before you enter your messy room. Boxes and luggage everywhere.

“Home sweet home,” Ari sighs, entering the room after you and heading for her bed to toss her suitcase along with the rest of the pile. Just like the last dorm, everything is basically the same. One bed next to the door, a desk at the end of the bed with another bed on the other side of the desk, and the second desk between said furniture and the sink. The only difference is while your bed was to your right in your old room, the bed is now to your left with the mirror closets and bathroom to the right. “I wonder what room Hoseok is in. Maybe the same as last semester?” Ari questions, beginning her long journey of unpacking.

“He hasn’t told you yet?” you ask her, placing your items on your bed to start your unpacking.

“Just like you, Hoseok never picks the room,” Ari laughs, creating a pile of her shirts and pants on the bed as she pulls out a light pink top, folding it neatly and puts it at the top of her stack.

You hum in response, spending the rest of the time unpacking and helping Ari decorate the room a bit. By the time the two of you finished, Ari’s phone chimes, her music fading and screen lighting up for a brief second. You watch as she hangs the final strand of hanging lights to the hook on the wall before jumping off her bed and grabbing her phone off her desk. She reads the message.

“Seems like Hoseok is done packing and wants to see our room,” she tells you, typing away on her phone. “I’ll have him meet me by the stairs on this floor.” She locks her screen and looks to you. “See you in a bit.” You follow her towards the door, watching her open it as the door across from yours opens as well. As the door opens fully you can see two figures exiting their room. One figure you wish to never see again, but the world won’t give you that. “Hoseok?” Ari says in complete shock.

He looks up to lock eyes with his girlfriend. “Hey,” he laughs. “What a coincidence.”

“Yeah. It’s really weird,” Ari chuckles, but you can feel the discomfort in her tone as she continues her talk with Hoseok.

Their conversation dies out as your eyes stick to him like glue. You haven’t seen him in months, but you can see the little details on what’s changed with him. He has an undercut, his hair brushing along the tips of his ears and brows. His face looks more fuller and on his neck, just sticking out from under his black t-shirt is ink. He has a new tattoo–you wonder if it’s a part of his sleeve. Your eyes travel back up and you see that he’s staring at you. You’re the first to look away.

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Hoseok, voice gruff as you hear his footsteps disappear.

You’ve missed him. You hate the fact that you’ve missed him, but you do. So much that you constantly had to distract yourself over the summer because if you were alone with your thoughts for even one second, your thoughts would travel to him. From his dark eyes, down to the feeling of his hand when he touched you. You hate yourself.

“So this is your room?” Hoseok asks, bringing you out of your thoughts. You look towards him, watching as he steps closer to Ari, wrapping his arms around her to hug her, but to mainly see inside your room.

You chuckle, “Would you like to come in?”

He grins, glancing your way as he releases Ari and opens his arms for you to walk into. He wraps his arms around you as he hugs you tightly. “I’ve missed you, my second best friend.”

Rubbing his back, you giggle, “Me too.” Releasing your grip from one another, you step aside for Hoseok to enter your room and for Ari to close the door behind the three of you. “How was your vacation?”

“Amazing. Spent a lot of time with my love and my family. We went to Disneyland.” His focus is on the lights draped against the wall. “I should do this, but I don’t think Yoongi would like it,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“You went to Disneyland? Was it fun?” you ask him as he takes a seat on Ari’s bed.

“Hell yeah!” He snaps his fingers in realization. “That reminds me–I got you something while we were there.” Hopping off the bed, Hoseok jogs towards the door. “Be right back,” he calls, opening the door and exiting the room.

“Are you okay?” Ari asks.

You look to her and smile the best you can. “What luck.”

“I didn’t know they would be across from us,” she explains, looking at you with a worried look.

You shake your head. “I know,” you mumble and let out a sigh. “At least we won’t be hearing him when he’s alone with a girl,” you chuckle, but you only feel a sting in your chest.

Why couldn’t you be far away from him? Why is he always right there but never within your reach?

A knock comes at the door. Ari walks over to it and opens the door to reveal Hoseok standing on the other side with a sheepish smile on his face. “I left my ID and my phone inside.”

You laugh loudly, remembering the first day you met him a year ago.

Ari and Hoseok left about an hour ago, the two deciding to go out for dinner. You are currently waiting for Hanbin to come pick you up for your own dinner date he has planned for the two of you. As you double check to make sure your attempt at doing makeup looks good enough, your phone rings, vibrating loudly on your desk.

Walking over to it from your little make up station at the sink, you see an unfamiliar number. You frown, picking up the phone and pressing the answer button, bringing it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hello,” the disembodied voice begins, her tone light and customer service like, “I’m looking for Y/N. Is she available?”

You take a seat at your desk. “This is her,” you say, glancing at the clock on your desk. Hanbin should be here in twenty minutes.

“Hello, Y/N, my name is Allison from Sun’s Crossing. I’m calling to let you know you’ve been selected to join the summer internship program next year,” she informs you. She continues to talk, but you can’t hear anything besides the rapid beating of your heart. You got accepted. You’re going to be an intern for Sun’s Crossing in New York.

At the beginning of summer, you confessed to Hanbin about wanting to apply to be an intern but you felt as if you didn’t have enough to catch any company’s attention. Hanbin saw otherwise and pestered you for days to apply for a few internships “because you’re going to get into several and you gotta be prepared to pick the best one” as he put it. You were reluctant to apply because that would mean a year of not being with him–being separated, but that didn’t stop him from telling you to apply. He planned on taking an internship as well, but in California. The two of you will still be together and after it’s all over you two will be working your dream jobs and living in a nice little apartment. It gave you hope, and now that hope is coming true.

“Hello? Y/N?”

“I-I’m here,” you tell her, shaking your head of all thoughts of the dream coming true. “Can you repeat that?”

The woman chuckles on the other end. “We will be sending you more information on the internship and what is to be expected through email in the upcoming months. Congratulations again.”

“Thank you so much–goodbye,” you rush, hanging up the phone. You immediately start looking for Hanbin’s number when a knock interrupts your search. Placing your phone on the desk, you get up from your seat and make your way towards the door. When you turn the handle and pull, Hanbin stands on the other side panting. “Hanbin–”

“I got in,” he interrupts. He smiles widely as he repeats, “I got in, Y/N.”

You smile back. “I got in, too. We did it.” You watch as his eyes go wide before he rushes towards you, lifting you into the air as you giggle and the door closes.

When the door closes, everything happens rather quickly. A simple congratulations kiss ends up being more than that. Now your nails are digging into Hanbin’s bare back as he thrusts into you, him holding your complete weight as your back hits the door every now and then. You choke back a moan as he hits the right spot, your head hitting the door rather loudly as you feel your orgasm get closer.

“I’m close,” you rush in a whisper. You’ll never understand Hanbin’s strength, but he picks up his speed and thrusts into you faster and harder. He sends you over the edge before you could even cry a word. You moan lowly into his shoulder as he rides you out, his own euphoria coming soon after.

He holds you as the two of you pant heavily. “So much for a nice dinner,” he chuckles, the both of you leaning back to lock eyes. “You in the mood to just grab a burger? I’m guessing the restaurants are closing now.”

You let out an exhausted laugh. “Yeah.” He sets you down slowly, holding onto your waist as you get the feeling back in your legs before the two of you clean up, get dressed and head out for a very late dinner.

“Ugh,” Ari groans, running a hand through her short hair in frustration. “I’m done with school.”

“It’s barely the first day,” Hoseok states, taking a fry and popping it into his mouth. “You can’t be done when all we’ve had are introductions and go over the syllabus.”

“Because just listening to them talk about the syllabus and hearing all these assignments that are coming up too fast is already stressing me out. I just want to graduate already and be a forensic linguist!” She tosses her hands up in the air in defeat.

You shake your head. “We’re almost done. This is our last school year and then we’re off doing what we do best.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees, placing his hand on his girlfriend’s back and rubbing it soothingly. “You’ll be yelling ”objection“ and I’ll be dancing in court to prove your point.” Ari laughs at his statement, earning a small relief from Hoseok as he takes another bite. It’s amazing how he knows her like the back of his own hand.

“We’re almost done,” she repeats, sitting up straight and finally digging into her plate of Chinese food.

After a few minutes go by of random conversations, Ari looks to you with curious eyes. She smirks. “Have you two said the three words yet?”

You almost choke on your chicken as you roughly swallow the chewed pieces. “Three words?”

“I love you,” Hoseok chimes, twisting the cap to your water bottle off and handing it to you.

You gratefully take the bottle and chug the water to wash down whatever got caught in your throat. “I haven’t,” you confess, twisting the cap back on.

“Do you feel like you’re ready for it?” Ari questions, taking another bite out of her food acting as if you weren’t just choking on your food because of her. “Has he said it?”

You shake your head. “No he hasn’t said it yet.”

“But do you feel like you’re ready?” It’s Hoseok’s turn to ask, obviously interested in your unknown love life.

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking. Are you ready to say those words? You do have feelings for him, and it is something you’ve never felt before. So, are you ready to be the first one to say it? Are you ready to say those three words that can change someone’s life?

It’s scary–it really is, but–

“Yeah, I think I am ready,” you tell them, feeling your heart race.

The day goes on, the professors you meet today do the bare minimum. No one is ready to start the new semester with a lecture or homework just yet. So, as your final class of the day ends, you pack up your belongings and put them in your backpack. Several students are already saying goodbye to one another after having known each other for a while or just meeting now.

With everything put away, you slip on your backpack and make your way out of the room, meeting the warm, night sky. You follow a group of people making their way towards the bus stop. A few other classes have just finished as groups of people leave different rooms, all making their way in different directions. As you make your way across campus, there are a few students still scattered across the grounds, several students sitting at the tables close to the food court. Instead of following the group up towards the first bus stop close to the library, you head down towards the second bus stop closer to the Student Union building.

By the time you get to the second stop, you notice the shuttle’s back lights turning on. You speed walk towards the vehicle, just making it in time as the driver closes the doors. Showing your ID, you make your way towards an empty spot in the middle, taking the window seat. Pulling out your earphones from your backpack, you plug it into your phone and place the buds in your ears. As a song plays, you take in a deep breath. The conversation you had earlier with Ari and Hoseok comes to mind.

You’ll see him tomorrow during your small break between classes, and during that break you’ll tell him. Sure it’s not romantic or anything, but if you feel it, you’re supposed to just go for it right? You smack your palms against your warming cheeks. You’re nervous, but you can do it.

I can do it.

The following day you go through the usual introductions to the class, go over the syllabus, and leave for the day. As time gets closer and closer to you meeting Hanbin for lunch, your heart races and your nerves are on edge. When your professor says his goodbyes, you put your notebook and pencil away, and follow the group out the room. Checking your phone to make sure there were no other texts sent from him, you make your way towards the meeting spot where Hanbin should be waiting with your order from the Greek stand.

When you reach the outdoor seating area, your eyes scan the umbrella area, looking for a familiar face. Before you can unlock your phone and begin searching for your boyfriend’s contact name, you can hear him calling for you. You look around again and find him standing at the far back next to his reserved table. He waves when he notices your eyes are on him. You smile and make your way down the steps and towards him.

You’re going to do it.

This is it.

Tell him.

“Hey,” he says, beaming before leaning down and planting a kiss on your lips.

Tell him.

“I–” the words catch in your throat.

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quirklessidiot · 4 years ago

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Title: coward :: brat Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: you finally see Miya Atsumu after six years, meanwhile, he feels pain when he realizes that you settled down with someone else that wasn’t him. notes: i um want to thank yall for supporting this story im- crying T-T I’m happy to inform everyone that i’ll be updating this twice a week every monday and saturday! yay!!! i was able to finish editing and im writing the last two chapters now. stay safe and big love to each and everyone of you <3

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“...Uh, Youta-Kun, Yuuto-kun, I thought you guys weren’t allowed to go.” Sugawara laughed nervously, knowing all too well where this would lead. He’s familiar with over-enthusiastic boys, in fact, one of those over-enthusiastic balls of sunshine was here right now entertaining them.

“K-Kaasan says it’s alright.” Yuuto lies but Sugawara quirked his brow, it was so obvious that he was lying.

“Yep, she did!” Youta grins, trying to help his twin but like him, he’s failing drastically.

“Then you won’t mind if I call your okaasa-”

“No!” Youta and Yuuto yell in unison. This made other people turn their way, Miya Atsumu watched the pair in amusement from afar. He noticed that they were late and that Sugawara had caught on to their scheme of joining in even without the parental consent, “We won’t join!” Youta proclaims, “Right, yu? W-We’ll pick up balls!”

Hinata feels his eyes glimmer at those words and decides to help them convince Sugawara but in the end, the twins were forced to be benched while the grey-haired teacher had to go back to the faculty to call you.

“It’s alright,” Hinata ruffles both their hairs, “We’ll try to come back next time and I’ll be sure to help convince your ‘kaasan.”

“Hey don’t plant false ideas in their head, Shoyou.” Atsumu grins, lazily jogging to their side. He directs his gaze to the twins that seem to oddly remind him of him and ‘samu when they were younger. The boy's gaze lingered a bit too long on him,unlike other kids who stared at him in awe, these ones were seething, “What are ya lookin’ at, kid?”

“Wow,you’re as mean as your brother.” Yuuto notes, eyeing him up and down.

“Yeah.” Youta echoes.

Atsumu quirks a brow, this was quite the new reaction. Never in his life had a kid told him that he was mean as ‘Samu also how did they even know his twin brother?

“Now, now, don’t you think you should cut me some slack?” Atsumu tried to jokebut the twins remained unamused by the blonde’s antics, somehow Atsumu felt a sense of familiarity from their monotonous reactions.

“No thanks.” Yuuto crossed his arms, “The fake Atsumu made ‘kaasan cry and since you look like him, you might make ‘kaasan cry too.”

“What he said!” Youta agreed loudly, copying his older brother’s action.

Atsumu was just plain confused now, he admitted that Osamu had an attitude sometimes when he was annoyed but letting a mom cry in front of her kids? That’s definitely new and not-so ‘samu like (after all, he was apparently the nicer one between them)

“What’s the name of your okaasan-”

“Youta-Kun, Yuuto-kun, Your mom will be picking you up at the gate! Please go there now.” Sugawara cuts him off, Youta and Yuuto stand up and eye him for a bit.

“We’ll defeat you and your brother! Just wait and see, we’ll be as big as you and that other jiji!” Yuuto exclaims and before Atsumu could retaliate, they’re running off to the opposite direction. Hinata was laughing beside him, clutching his sides because apparently he was too petty while Sugawara looked at him with an apologetic expression.

“I wonder why L/N-san didn’t allow them to go, she’s usually very supportive of their hobbies, especially volleyball.” Sugawara frowns, suddenly voicing out his thoughts. Atsumu felt his shoulders stiffen at the sound of that familiar name.

Osamu revealed he saw you last week then these kids suddenly confessed that his twin made their okaasan cry, he’s never seen you cry throughout your relationship (save for that night when you first me but you guys weren't together yet so that didn’t count). Maybe he was mistaken? it might be your relative or a common name.

After all, you were clear about not wanting a family.

“You know their mom well?” Hinata inquired, Atsumu seems to be listening closely now, wanting to confirm if the person that Sugawara was talking about is you.

“Oh yeah, we're around the same age so I’m much closer to her than the other moms.” Sugawara blinks, “Those boys have to listen to their okaasan more. She’s raising them on her own since their dad died before he even got to know that L/N-san was pregnant. She seemed to be longing for him whenever he’s mentioned.”

A crease appeared on the blonde's forehead as he was suddenly in deep thought. It couldn’t be, right?

“Uh, Sugawara-san, may I know the name of the mom? Her last name sounds kind of familiar.” he questions, pretending to be nonchalant but inside, he feels like he had his heart on his throat.

If it was you, he’d feel those things that he desperately tried to hide behind his confident jokes and laughs.

The pain.

The pain that you chose someone else and was open enough to the idea of starting a family. If that guy probably hadn’t died, you’d be together, happily raising those boys he had just met a while ago. Happily married, something that Atsumu tried to mention one fleeting moment while you were together back in college but you immediately shut the idea down and left him a month later.

The pain that you fell in love in a span of moments unlike Atsumu who relentlessly tried to gain your favour and follow you around like a lost puppy.

“Oh, her name’s Y/N L/N.”

Thankfully nothing unexpected happened after what the twins did, they ended up having to pick if they wanted their video game rights removed for a week or cancel their plans with their favorite ojisan who was coming by a few weeks from now, they chose the first one on that.

They had even mentioned that they met the real Miya Atsumu and although you felt like your heart lurched out of your chest and your shoulders stiffen at the mention of that man --- their father--- they simply had called him a rude jiji like his brother much to your relief.

“L/N-san, we seem to have a problem.” Aiko frowned, handing the papers to you, “The director of the advertisement department wants a bigger budget, do you mind running it through him again? You have to go to the studio though, I heard they’re doing some photo shoot now.”

You nodded in reply, taking the papers from your co-worker. The studio was a bit far so you ended up having to commute to get there, “What a nuisance.” You muttered, you needed to buy a second-hand car soon when you had enough money. It would definitely be easier for both you and the boys, “Uh excuse me? Is Nakamura-san here?” you asked the secretary on the front desk.

“And who are you?” the secretary snapped back, still typing away on her computer.

“Y/N L/N from the finance department, I have to run through the new budget liquidation with him.”

The secretary one-eyes you and the ID on your neck for a split second, “You better be quick, the boss wants only five minutes per guest since he’s personally handling the shoot today.” was all she replied, handing you the pass. You muttered a quick thank you and made your way up to the studio, whoever the model was today, they must’ve been big for Nakamura to handle them personally.

“Oh-ho, is that who I think it is?” a very, very familiar voice calls out.

“Inunaki-san.” You greeted, trying to maintain yourself, were these the big clients that Nakamura was handling? The black jackals? good fucking gracious, god must hate you.

“Wow,” he shakes his head, feigning amusement, “You’re still so calm and cool.”

You narrowed your eyes at the insult but you waved it off, “And you’re playing for a national team, congratulations.” you replied in a blank tone, your senior probably knew what happened between you and his fellow member. You wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he reacted the same way as Osamu did.

“We’re actually doing a shoot now, would you like me to call Atsu-”

“No.” your usual calm tone switched to a colder one, “I’m working now and so is Miya-san, please don’t bother yourself.”

“Gee,” he raised his hands, signalling defeat, “Just say you don’t want to see him. You don’t need to be so cold to me, my dear little kohai.”

“I have to go back to my job, I’m on the clock here.” You ignored his previous statement, “It was nice seeing you again Inunaki-san.”

Before you could give him a chance to reply, you headed towards the studio. You took a deep breath and mentally calculated to three.

one.

It’s been six years, Miya Atsumu would ignore you. He wouldn’t care about the girl who left him out to dry in college. He’s got a girlfriend now, a model who has legs for days and looks ten times better than you and acts more like a girlfriend than you ever did.

two.

Yes, that’s right, he wouldn’t care.

three.

You entered the studio, you could feel the air tighten around you as soon as you heard that laughter. The one you used to hear everyday and never get tired of. For all the laughs you couldn’t do, he’d do it for you and boy, was he patient around you since you didn’t smile a lot back then (who were you kidding? until now you still had the same problem except when the kids were around)

You want to stop and stare, you want to admire him and his glory that you were very much proud of.

Yet your legs continue to carry you to your boss, the laughter seems to have ceased and you could hear someone asking him what was wrong.

“Oh, L/N-san?” Nakamura greeted you, “You’re here for the renewal of the budget?”

You nodded feverishly, your legs seem to be turning into jelly because you want to collapse from the nervousness and thank god that you wore some make-up before arriving here, otherwise, they would’ve noticed how pale you looked, “Everything seems to be in order,” He nods, scanning the sheets and handing them back to you, “Are you busy right now?”

You glanced at the wall clock, checking the time to see if you could extend your stay and Nakamura is quick to pick up on it, “Ah right, you’ve got kids to pick up. It’ll be quick, just help set up the blocks there and you’re free to leave.” he orders.

You nodded obediently and slowly turned to the side only to catch the very familiar chocolate brown eyes of the blonde. You feel your heart hammering in your chest and your feet turn cold, it had been six years since you last saw Miya Atsumu and he was still as winsome and exhilarating as he was back then.

You may have seen him a lot on television but seeing him, right here, a few feet away from you was different. Taking in a big gulp of air, you started working on the set-up as quickly as you could yet you could still feel his burning gaze remaining on you, “Tsum-tsum, lay off her will you.” came Inunaki Shion’s loud voice snaps him out of his daze.

Great, that little twat had to make an appearance.

“Y/N-san you should really say hi,” Inunaki teased as soon as you finish your set-up.

“Oh? You’re Y/N L/N?” the orange one gushed, quickly up on his feet, you recall him as Hinata Shoyou, Youta’s favorite orange-haired ninja, “Sugawara-san’s friend?”

You hesitantly nodded, “Oh, you know her Sho-kun?” Shion asked, seemingly amused by it all.

“What are you all crowding here for, Hinata?” Another asked, peering in them closely. This one must’ve been Bokuto, another favorite of Yuuto.

“Sugawara-san’s friend! she’s the mother of those two boys in the training camp who had to go home early!” he suddenly turns to you and then grins, “Ne, ne, the boys really seem to want to attend one of those. Why don’t you allow them to join us-”

“Forget it, Hinata.” Atsumu suddenly speaks out, that warm voice that you were accustomed to seemed cold and menacing now, “She won’t allow it.”

Shion notices the tension between you two and when he’s about to usher the energetic duo away back to the dressing room along with the other members, you let out a quiet sigh and spoke out, “I was on my way to leave, please don’t bother yourselves.” You simply replied, you didn’t waver and stared at him dead in the eye, this could be the moment to end it all and cut ties with him officially, “I apologize for what I did back then, Miya-san. I should’ve told it to you in person. I offer my sincere congratulations to you for making it this far.”

The blonde clenched his jaw, it seemed like he wanted to say something to you yet when he realizes the usual calm and collected demeanor you're putting up, he decides against it and leaves you alone by storming away first.

Hinata and the guy named Bokuto looked at you --- completely puzzled and lost like a deer in the headlights --- before following the blonde, “You truly are in a whole ‘nuther level, Y/N.” Shion whistles, “Heard you’ve got two boys now though. Congrats, where's the poor bastard?”

You continue to watch the back of Atsumu Miya. Finally, it seemed like he’d left you alone and probably for good this time, “Gone, off to a better place.” was all you replied.

Inunaki notices the longing in your voice, a completely unfamiliar emotion he had never seen back then even when you and Atsumu were together. It seemed like you and Atsumu were both the poor bastards in the end.

Miya Atsumu sleeps alone that night.

He doesn’t call his girlfriend back despite the several missed calls, he doesn’t reply to the unanswered text of his brother and his teammates. All he feels is pain tonight, pain because of your very dry apology, pain because of your bland expression. Pain because you didn’t seem to care like that time six years ago.

He shuts his eyes tight and he feels as if he’s back in college, back to that winter night where he received that dreaded phone call from you after you disappeared from him. He remembered those days clearly, your apartment had been cleaned out and paid for, you weren’t answering him on social media, your phone line was also unresponsive and he couldn’t even call your family since you never mentioned anything about them at all.

You both may have been intimate for the past two years but when you disappeared, he had the frightening realization that he didn’t know you at all.

He didn’t want to push you out of your comfort zone, he wanted you to lead the relationship but right at that moment, he wished he pried just a bit since he was worried about you.

Then in the midst of his anxiety, it came, that phone call.

“Atsumu.” your usual calm voice filled his ears and he suddenly feels the weight of the world is removed from his shoulders, thank god you were okay.

“Y/N? Baby? Where are you?”

“Out.”

“Where outside exactly?” Miya Atsumu dryly asks, “It’s cold, you shouldn’t be out now and wandering about. Would you like me to pick you up-”

“I can’t do this anymore.” you suddenly cut him off and the line goes quiet. The blonde feels the world around him quiet down too when he hears those words that he wished he heard wrong.

“What’s, what’s wrong? Y/N, are you alright?”

“I don’t know,” You mutter, “I’m just tired.”

“Tired of what exactly?”

“Of you, of us…”

“Y/N, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes.” Your voice remained dead calm as if you just hadn’t broken his heart in a million pieces that moment, “Let’s stop this here now, Atsumu. Let’s break-up.”

“That’s…” He tries to keep the mood light, praying that this is one of your dark jokes, “That’s not funny, Y/N.”

“It’s not supposed to be since it’s not a joke.”

Your response was curt as usual and he doesn’t know whats worse, the fact that you’re breaking up over the phone or the fact that your tone remains stable and the same.

“Y/N, don’t do this...Baby don’t do this over the phone.” His tone seemed desperate at this point, “I’m not stopping this until you tell me what's wrong between us, you have to give me something to work with Y/N. Is it something I did?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ya don’t know?” Atsumu started to raise his tone when he notices how unaffected you seem at the other line.Frustration slowly started to bubble in him, the accent turning thicker as he got angrier, “Y/N ya can’t just disappear out of the blue and call me one day and tell me you want to break up! Do you think I’m some sort of fling? Some one-night stand or fuck buddies? We’ve been together for two years, Y/N. Two whole fucking years, What’s wrong? Do you not love me anymore?”

“Yes.”

The line went dead silent again and he hates it, he doesn’t know what to say as his face contorts in sadness and confusion.

“I don’t…” He starts to feel a lump grow on his throat when he hears how easy it was for you to say, he knew he was in love with you more than you were with him. Many had pointed out how dangerous and how painful it would be on his side in the end, he couldn’t believe it would hurt him this much, “ I don’t fucking believe you, say it right at my face. Where the hell are ya? Let’s talk this one out in person.”

“Don’t bother, I just don’t want to see you again.”

“Y/N you can’t just-”

“I can and I will.” You cut him off, your voice was growing more and more detached and he feels like he’s back to that moment two years ago where you didn’t spare him a glance and treated him like a scrub, he hears a hefty sigh on your side and the next few words is another bullet to his heart, “I’m sorry it had to end this way, Atsumu.”

“You…” he shakily replied, trying to mask his grief with a painful chuckle. He wants to be mad at you, he wants to yell at you but for some odd reason, he couldn’t bring himself to, “Jesus christ, you really are something, Y/N. You just broke my heart over the the fucking phone and all you could do is say sorry?”

“Sorry.” you say, like a broken-record on repeat and he hates it. He hates how he feels like this was nothing for you.

“Don’t you dare say that again when you don’t mean it-” He spat and before he could finish what he had to say, the phone line went dead. He tried to call again but it seemed like you had used a payphone. Out of complete vexation, he hurls his phone right across the room towards the blue photo frame with the both of you in it.

The sound of broken glass shards and ragged breathing is the only thing heard in the quiet apartment.

It’s not even the peak of winter that night yet he feels so numb and cold.

taglist [closed]

@fortheloveofiwaizumi ; @svtbitch ; @ryaaaax ; @kiyoomile ; @lovedanii @juno-multifandom ; @gyubit17 ; @saeranoppa ; @nixxona ; @kyomihann @shorttstackk ; @itsmattsunshinehere ; @missingmystogan ; @Etherynaw ; @volleybloop ; @imcravingyou ;

#haikyu!! fanfics #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine #atsumu imagines #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #coward series

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years ago

Text

Some People Wrap Their Lies Around a Cocktail Glass | Damian Wayne

And You Sit Wondering Where You’re Going to Turn

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 3.3k

✦ fake dating AU

✦ summary — you need to cover up the fact that your boyfriend broke up with you a week before your step-father’s Christmas party, and Damian needs a date for his father’s New Year’s ball. Both of you are experts at pretending, what could go wrong?

✦ warnings — some angst, mentions of food, Damian and reader are neighbors, a little bit of awkwardness, sprinkles of fluff.

✦ mini series masterlist

════════════════════════

Every time your phone buzzed, you hoped it was him. Such a naive and sick logic, one of a teenager waiting for her crush to text back, was nothing compared with the sobering truth.

Your ex-boyfriend was your ex for a reason. And you would have to face the music on your own.

Your mother was going to be disappointed. Not more than you were. Travis had been a good boyfriend, goofy and nice. He hadn’t been the gentlest person in the world, but you learned to accept that he wasn’t perfect.

You could have fallen for him if he had given you enough time.

Your cellphone rang and the fact that it hadn’t buzzed startled you. A handful of people called you instead of texting you, yet you didn’t have to look at the caller ID to know who it was.

That was your luck. What a horrible week. And it was only Monday noon.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded to yourself and swiped your finger against the screen to take the call. “How is everything going?” you softly greeted your mother.

She sighed. “I will be relieved when the planning is over.” She changed the subject, “Did your boyfriend clear his schedule?”

You breathed out a small laugh. “He did,” you lied. Not even sure if Travis had truly wanted to attend, you lied some more, “He’s excited to meet you.”

“We are excited too. Your uncle said he won’t believe it until he sees it.”

You and him both. As she told you about every guest she was skeptical about showing up, you mentally went through your list of feeble romantic relationships.

Jordan was in town, you had heard about them a few days ago. But asking them to be your date out of nowhere would be embarrassing when the last thing they knew about you was that you were happy in a new relationship.

Liam’s bright blue eyes came to your mind, and you almost had the answer. You hooked up a couple of times after breaking up, and you were friendly enough for you to feel comfortable telling him the truth. The problem was that your mother hated Liam.

The list continued getting shorter and shorter, your anxiety levels higher and higher. You shouldn’t have lied to your mother, but pride was a marvelous and twisted thing and you shared such a stupid little thing with her.

“Have you spoken to your father?” she asked, unbeknownst to her only adding to the pile of regrets and worries.

“Brianna said he’s out of town.”

Your mother grunted. It was clear that both of you knew Brianna had lied. “Well, you’ll see him for New Year’s.”

“I suppose, yes.”

She said your name sternly. “He’s your father.”

He didn’t act like he was. “He hasn’t called in weeks,” you explained. “I am not sure he wants to see me.”

”Your father is a busy man,” she told you. It was like a reflex to her, excusing him even though she had divorced him when you were eight.

Adults and their busy lives, wrapped in their lies and inane promises. You had really tried to be different, but caving in was too easy. What a mess.

“I have to leave you,” she lamented. You could hear that she meant it by the emotion that seeped into her voice. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Have a nice day,” you wished her, voice trembling as anxiety fully kicked in.

The moment the line clicked, you dropped your cellphone onto the sofa. Sniffing, you walked into your bedroom in search of a hair tie.

You needed to keep your hands busy so you could come up with something to say. Or somebody to date.

════════════════════════

Damian’s scrutinizing gaze greeted you as he opened the door. You analyzed his stance and attire, trying to assess whether you had interrupted anything or not.

He stepped back without taking his eyes off you, hand still on the door handle. His hair was damp, and he looked extremely comfortable, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He would also have looked approachable if his eyes weren’t so sharp.

“Are you coming in or not?”

You reacted, extending your arms to offer a container to him. “I made cookies earlier.”

He looked down at the container in your grasp, then back up at your face. “Get inside.”

You stepped into Damian’s apartment, used to the minimalistic style that you secretly wished you had chosen for your own place.

At the same time, you liked your apartment. Your mother helped you decorate, and she had impeccable taste.

He placed the cookies onto the coffee table, motioning for you to sit.

Sitting down, you watched him do the same just in front of you. His gaze was still sharp, but he waited for you to speak.

When you didn’t, he said, “I know you bake when you’re stressed.”

“It calms me.”

“You baked a pie two days ago. In the middle of the night.”

“And it was good,” you said immediately. “Right?”

He nodded. “Delicious,” he assured you. “Yet I can’t help but worry.”

You gripped your hair, exhaling harshly. “Holiday stuff.”

“Did you finally come to terms with the fact that all those ornaments look awful?”

“They do not,” you said, quite offended. You had spent an entire weekend decorating the living room. Sighing at the memory of choosing Christmas decorations and ornaments with your now ex-boyfriend, you explained your problem, “Travis broke up with me this past Saturday, and I don’t know how to tell my mother.”

Confusion was clear in Damian’s features. You had expected a comment about how you could find someone better, but not this.

“He was going to attend Leonard’s Christmas party with me.”

Leonard was your step-father. Your mother married him when you were a pre-teen and since then you had never skipped one of his parties or events.

He was the only reason why your mother and you were rich, and your biological father hated you for choosing him.

Money hadn’t been the reason why you took a liking to Leonard, although having everything you wanted and needed was nice, but your father wouldn’t have understood even if he tried.

Damian lifted an eyebrow. You could tell he wished you were joking.

“Too soon, I know.”

“I’m just shocked you planned to take him from all people to such event.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You met him on a dating app and your first date was at a bar,” he reminded you as though that explained everything. Your semblance must’ve shown skepticism because he added, “You are not supposed to take somebody like him to your family’s house unless you hate your family.”

“A lot of people do that and their relationships succeed.”

Damian inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Does Travis even own a suit?”

“I was going to buy him appropriate clothes, a matching tie, get him a haircut... He hates formal attire.”

“I thought you liked your step-father.”

“I do. That’s why I was finally going to take somebody with me so people wouldn’t ask him why I’m always single and make him uncomfortable.”

He hummed, nodding slowly. “So you wanted him to try and explain why his step-daughter was dating a bad boy caricature. Very reasonable.”

“First of all, some bad guys are attractive. Have you seen The Phantom of The Opera?”

“You didn’t just insult Erik’s skills like that,” he said, offended.

“I’m not comparing him to Travis. It was an example.”

“A poor one at that unless Travis smells as bad as Erik.”

You shook your head. Damian was exaggerating when he said Travis was a bad boy caricature — apart from the fact that he loved wearing leather and sometimes took part in street races, he was a normal guy.

“Besides,” he continued, always eager to be right, “a bad boy and a bad guy aren’t the same thing. I thought you were literate in media.”

It seemed like he would never let go of the fact that you had switched careers when film school got unbearable.

“The point is,” you tried to go back to the topic at hand, “that it could have worked.”

“If you say so,” he said sarcastically. “You didn’t tell me what is it that Leonard usually says when people ask about your love life.”

“That I’m focused on my career or that I like to keep my private life separate from big events.”

Leonard had always been nice to you. He never planned to have children of his own, yet he never complained about you. From the day you met, he tried to befriend you, and eventually, he started to treat you as a daughter. He never made you call him dad unlike your father’s third wife who cried when you refused to call her mom — he never forced you to do anything.

Damian offered you a cookie, but you shook your head and he motioned for you to continue speaking as he took a cookie for himself.

“I lied to my mother earlier and I don’t know what I’m going to do or say, but I would rather eat my own foot than tell her my boyfriend chose to break up with me a week before the day he was supposed to meet her.”

Damian bit into the cookie, and you waited for a comment about how good or bad it was. He stared at you, brow twitching, before he once again made a movement with his hand so you would continue talking.

He knew you too well for your own good. And he also seemed to know that leaving you alone with your mind wasn’t such a good idea when you were in distress.

“I considered calling up an escort and have them pretend to be my partner, but I’m nervous,” you admitted, dropping your hands onto your lap for a second before moving them to rest on the couch, one at each of your sides. “What if that ruins it even more? Such a waste of money. And the embarrassment…”

He silently chewed, eyes focused on you. As he swallowed, he pinched his nose with his free hand. “I’ll do it.”

“You want to pay for the escort?”

Unamused, he clarified, “I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend.”

“I can’t ask that from you, Damian. You have your own events to attend! You said you would spend the holidays at your father’s house.”

He stayed silent, not taking his eyes off you. He then licked his bottom lip and said, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll be your sweet and loving boyfriend in front of your family and Leonard’s acquaintances, and you’ll be my mysterious and charming girlfriend in front of my family and my father’s acquaintances.”

His offer was reasonable. Pretending was easy for you, meaningless. Leonard and your mother were always clear when they asked you to dress in certain ways or attend boring events — they weren’t expecting you to change, just to fool other people into thinking you were different.

They did the same, and that was enough for you.

Leonard’s smile was fake and tight in public when the only thing you could think about the smiles he gave you around the house was how warm they were.

Your mother was the opposite. You had seen her the happiest with Leonard, but she had always been rather cold as a person. In public, she was a lovely woman, always smiling and laughing.

“We can’t be in two places at once.”

“Father doesn’t celebrate Christmas publicly,” he explained blandly. “You just need to buy a new gown and cancel your plans for New Year’s.”

“For your father’s annual ball?”

“Exactly.”

“I can do that,” you assured him. Or yourself.

That night, as you stepped back into your apartment, you couldn’t help but make a face of disgust.

The ornaments were truly awful. You had gone overboard with everything — at the moment it had felt so good, laughing and drinking with Travis as you filled the living room with colors.

But that wasn’t your style. You didn’t even like colored Christmas lights.

════════════════════════

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t keep yourself from being nervous. The last time you took somebody to one of Leonard’s big parties had been awkward and uncomfortable, a high school boyfriend who was too eager to impress your family.

Everybody understood because teen relationships usually are awkward and over-the-top. Now you wouldn’t have an excuse, you were an adult with a job and so-called social skills.

The first one was spot on. You had a job, you loved your job — and you didn’t need a job so you never felt pressured.

Your social skills, however, worried you. It was the anxiety playing tricks with your confidence, you knew, yet you couldn’t do anything but indulge it.

A part of you wondered if you would be this nervous if Travis was the one accompanying you. Perhaps you would be in a worse estate, or perhaps he wouldn’t have allowed you to worry.

But you didn’t have time to think about the what if’s. The party would take place the next day.

Time had flown by, you had been busy buying gifts and attempting to wrap them while balancing work and your friends’ own Christmas celebrations.

As though he knew you were a ball of nerves, curled up on the couch with a blanket over your shoulders and hands around your fourth —or was it the fifth?— cup of coffee that evening, Damian knocked upon your door.

You weren’t surprised to see him. He had said you would need to go through a few details before Leonard’s party.

You had barely interacted with Damian throughout the week, but he had assured you he was ready. He even sent you a picture of the tie he bought for the party, wanting to make sure the color was the right one.

His eyes scanned the living room as he made himself comfortable. He didn’t make a comment about the new ornamentation, but the fact that he hadn’t scowled was a good sign.

“I assumed you would be baking in preparation.”

“I’m not that stressed.” You folded the blanket and rested it onto the arm of the couch. “Can I offer you something to drink? Water, coffee, tea, alcohol...”

He shook his head. “Thank you. So, you don’t bake for your family?”

“Oh! I do, but on other occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries...” You sighed, shrugging. “Private things.”

A few times your mother had encouraged you to bake your father a birthday cake, but he rarely spent his birthday in town so that was even rarer.

“Have you already made our story up?”

“I suppose we should stick to the truth for the most part. Neighbors, then friends, and then...”

“Are you going to awkwardly tell your mother you’re dating me or are you just messing with me?”

”it’s hard for me to lie to my mother,” you explained, abashed. “It’s even worse if I have her in front of me.”

Damian stood up and opened an arm. “Come here.”

“I don’t need you to comfort me.”

He scoffed. “I’m not trying to comfort you. Come.”

You stood in front of him, looking down at his hand. “You want me to take it?”

“No. Well, perhaps...” He pensively looked at your form. “We have never been close physically.”

It had escaped you that you would need to touch him in order for your relationship to be believable. “So we’re going to practice.”

He hummed. “I’ll have my arm around you for most of the night,” he emphasized.

You stood beside him, expecting him to rest his arm behind your neck. Damian placed his palm on your upper back first, tentative.

His hand slowly slid up, tracing your shoulder blade. As he wrapped his arm around both your shoulders, he grunted.

Turning to look at him, you asked, “What?”

“It’s rather awkward to walk around in this position.”

“Okay,” you breathed out. “So?”

He slanted his head to face you. “Waist or hip?”

You considered the question, thinking about the way your dress would fall down your body. “Which one do you think would look better?”

“I have no clue.”

At least he was honest. Moving his hand off your shoulder, you lightly took it in your grasp. “Let’s stand in front of the mirror.”

Damian didn’t withdraw his hand from yours as you guided him into your bedroom. He curiously stared at the walls, quickly glancing at everything his eyes could fall onto.

He knew so much yet so little about you... you were friends, yes, and he trusted you with things he had never even imagined he would say out loud. At the same time, he was still getting used to his new life.

It wasn’t drastically different, but it was freeing in ways he never expected. With his new life came you, and he was astonished over the fact that you hadn’t met before when you had been forced to frequent the same places. Your presence was refreshing — welcomed from the very beginning.

Damian blinked rapidly. Getting reflective over being at a friend’s bedroom for the first time was new, too.

Standing in front of the mirror, you let go of his hand. Damian surrounded your body with his arm, delicately resting his hand on your waist.

“Is that okay?” he asked, watching you through the mirror as you shifted.

“Yeah. You can lower your hand if you want.”

He did so, pressing his palm against your hip.

“I think,” you mumbled, “your hand on my hip accentuates my stomach a little too much.”

He slowly trailed his hand upward, stopping at your waist once again. “Like that?” he asked in a whisper.

“Like that,” you agreed.

The two of you stood there for a long moment, facing your reflections. You moved first, and regretted it as the temperature changed over your form.

You hadn’t realized Damian’s body was that warm.

Sitting down on your bed, you followed his movements with your eyes as he sat on your vanity’s chair.

“Speak your mind,” he commanded.

“What if Leonard doesn’t believe... us?”

“I believe he has attended a few of my father’s celebrations.” He was stiff as he spoke. “But,” he added, “I have never crossed paths with him.”

“At least he doesn’t hate you.”

“Has he hated people you’ve taken to his parties?”

“Mmmmh...” You tilted your head as you made yourself comfortable by crisscrossing your legs. “Not to one of his parties per se, but he hated the boyfriend I had in college. They had met before.”

Damian’s eyebrows shot up. “You only had one boyfriend in college?”

“No,” you laughed as you confessed, “but my family only met one.”

“I’m more worried about your mother.” He tried to be nonchalant as he said it, but it sounded like a confession too.

But you weren’t. Damian was easy to like. You would have worried if he had to meet your father — he always seemed to think the opposite your mother did. Your father would have told you not to date somebody more attractive than you, or mocked you for supposedly dating a rich guy too.

“Don’t mention her age and everything will go smoothly.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

You shrugged. “Just to be safe, assume I am not.”

He huffed a laugh, mouth twinging before he sighed.

As he stood up, you did too. Damian looked at the time just to be sure that he had to leave already and said, “I should let you get some sleep and get some rest of my own.”

Agreeing, you silently walked him towards the door. You wanted to thank him for doing this, ask if he was sure he was willing to not only do this for you but trust you with returning the favor.

Words didn’t come out of you. They did from him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Yeah, you would see him in the morning for what would probably be one of the longest days of your life.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x plus size reader #damian wayne

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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago

Text

Stargazing

Ethan Winters x Mia Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Summary: A year after the events that took place at the Bakers’ residence and the three years of Mia being missing, the Winters spouses have finally been healed enough to start getting back into a regular lively rhythm, nevertheless haunted by the nightmare they lived through.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Sorry you’ve had to wait so long for your request but here it finally is! They deserved so much better and I’ll never stop saying that! Sorry for the brief rant, still, hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Holding Ethan’s hand tightly, Mia follows his instructions to keep her gaze down at the ground and avoid looking up as much as possible. She’s been having a hard time containing the smile on her face, biting her bottom lip a lot to prevent it from showing. Same as she’s had a hard time keeping quiet with her guessing games of where Ethan’s taking her. The man’s unbreakable though, never once was he tempted to let her in on what he’s planned.

It’s been a year since the Baker incident and all the couple has done is switch from one coping mechanism to another. They got stuck in a sort of therapy-work-therapy cycle where they threw themselves in their work and periodically went to their psychiatric appointments, never daring to nudge the topic at home amongst themselves. It was enough that the whole night has remained as a dark cloud hanging over their heads, addressing it has simply been to painful so they’ve steered clear of the topic the best they could.

However, an important thing to note about this coping cycle they created is that it drove all the other mechanics in their lives and their relationship to become routinely and mechanic as well. There was little to no feeling in all they did - not that they ever did much together except have dinner and sometimes breakfast, both of them fully indulged in their work the rest of the day. Work became their therapy eventually, leaving little time for one another and for fixing what’s been broken between them. This conclusion bothered them both to no end but neither wanted to address it out of fear of disturbing the other.

Luckily, Ethan didn’t feel the need to bring it up before taking action.

“Here we are!“ He announces eventually, causing Mia to snap her head upwards without a second to spare, curious eyes doing the best they can to take in the dark surroundings.

Surprisingly enough, she doesn’t have any problem with the dark. What happened back in Louisiana didn’t give her a phobia of the dark or of ships as her therapist initially thought she’d develop. However, she’s got a huge fear of bugs and insects now - especially mosquitos. Count on her husband carrying anti bug spray wherever they go - now is no exception.

As her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of their surroundings, it doesn’t take her a while to realize they’re in an open yet secluded field. She’s not the slightest bit surprised by where he’s taken her, in fact, she recognizes it immediately. It’s the spot of their first official date.

“Who knew going to that dorm party would be the best thing I’d do in my life.“ He mumbles under his breath, admiring the sparkles in her eyes as she takes in the beautiful field bit by bit, letting the reel of memories play back, taking her all the way back to that first year of college, that fateful night when they met, followed by the night they came to this field.

“Who knew overcoming my fear of heights at an early age would’ve helped me find the man I’d eventually marry.“ She replies, turning to look at him, their gazes locking in place, both of them no reminiscing on those events they hadn’t recalled in a very long time.

2006

The humidity doesn’t suggest that the summer months have already ended. In fact, the air is still as unbreathable as it was in July and August, making the students who have to return to their studies super conflicted, longing for those beach days with little to no responsibilities. Given that no one is ready for the school year to start, the professors included, the first few weeks of college have been rather stress-free for Ethan. Well, that is if you don’t include the agony of moving into college as a freshman from an entirely different state.

Why he chose to go to college in Texas is a question he still doesn’t have a proper answer to. It was an impulsive, basically overnight decision, one that rattled his parents to no end when he announced it. However, having his own income and savings for college purposes, they couldn’t really do much in stopping him but they didn’t support him either. They kept trying to change his mind until the very last day but alas he stood his ground and now here he is, in his college dorm, trying to read a book while there’s a raging party going on just two floors above. The music is so loud though that is sounds more like it’s taking place in his closet instead.

His roommate went up to help set the party up, only putting mild effort into getting his Cali-boy roommate to tag along and join the shenanigans which Ethan appreciated. Parties have never really been his scene so he knew he would’ve kept refusing no matter how much he tried getting him up there.

Finding the read hopeless due to the distractions, Ethan ditches the book and lays back on his bed staring at the ceiling, feeling like a fish out of water, ready to suffocate any minute. The AC in the dorm is faulty so it’s not serving its purpose properly, leaving the air at the same temperature as it would be had the device not been turned on at all. He’s stranded on things to do, feeling awfully caged in this new environment without any proper entertainment, going even as far as to second-guess if his parents were maybe right all along.

Fortunately for him, just then, his roommate bursts in, humming along to the song that’s currently being played at the party, never missing a tune even in his clearly intoxicated state.

“Hey Winters, aren’t you Californians supposed to know of a good time? You’re disappointing me right now.“ Jared slurs, laughing a bit as he leans against the wall to keep himself to his feet.

Ethan can’t help but scoff, “Thought I’d be a party animal? Sorry for the letdown.”

Jared laughs, shaking his head, “Come on, Cali. You have two semesters to be sulking around, it’s too early to start. Listen, one beer and thirty minutes, that’s all I’m asking you for. If you like it you can stick around. If not, feel free to leave. Just please give it a shot. How else are you supposed to make friends?”

Ethan stops to contemplate for a second, weighing his options. Jared takes this as a hopeful sign, seeing as how his offer wasn’t immediately turned down as it was the first time. Finally, the blond sighs in defeat: “Ok, but thirty minutes only.“ He says as he slides off the bed, briefly looking at himself in the mirror and deeming his appearance decent enough for a dorm party. As a very new student, he’d like to make a good first impression on his classmates but given that they’re all probably wasted, he’s not stressing too much over his looks at the moment.

Following Jared up to the floor of the party, he’s immediately handed a beer which he accepts with little hesitation. His roommate goes around introducing him to a few people before he disappears with some girl he claims has been his on-again-off-again girlfriend since sophomore year of high school - Sarah. Ethan, of course, doesn’t stop him despite hating the ide of finding himself stuck alone in a crowd of people he’s seeing for the first time in his life. Still, he sticks to the deal: thirty minutes and a beer...ok, two beers, but they’ve done nothing to make him enjoy this party.

So, off he goes to search for Jared to tell him he’s leaving. Thinking he saw the dark haired girl he went off with going up the stairs to the roof, he quickly follows.

Little does he know, that’s not the dark haired girl he’s looking for. That’s Mia

Mia, the rowdy, outgoing Texas tomboy who, unlike Ethan, thoroughly enjoys going to parties and having a good time with her friends and a few drinks. However, even a party animal such as herself sometimes needs to take a breather especially when people are smoking cigarettes as though they’re inhaling air and she’s never tried a cigarette in her life and is actually quite against the idea. She found this rooftop to be her prefect hideaway whenever she felt like her surroundings would suffocate her. Students were strictly instructed that climbing up there would earn them a penalty but that didn’t bother her in the slightest - She’s been frequenting the roof already and it’s been barely a week of her fresh start in college. Luckily, she got over her fear of heights at the tender age of twelve so this journey to quite a high point doesn’t pose as much stress as it would’ve about a decade ago.

As she lies on the floor, looking up at the starry night sky above, she nearly jumps out of her skin when another voice calls out to her presumably though it’s not using the correct name.

“Hey, um, S-Sarah? Have you seen Jared?“

Mia turns her head as she sits up, one eyebrow raised as she takes a good look at the silhouette which this voice belongs to. It’s pretty dark so even if she knew him, she wouldn’t be able to recognize him but judging by the voice, this is not someone she’s familiar with. And judging by the accent, this guy is not from around here.

“I’m not Sarah, but if you’re looking for Jared Letterwood, I can guarantee he’s in Sarah’s dorm.“ Mia chuckles, “I’d know. Sarah’s my roommate.“

Ethan cringes at the thought, “Yikes, you’ve got it rough. I mean, Jared’s my roommate but so far I haven’t had to leave the dorm for him to...you know. Hope I never have to.” Suddenly, an idea strikes him, “Wait, where are you gonna sleep tonight?”

She laughs, lying back down with her arms folded behind her head, “Right here.” She drags out the words as she adjusts her position a little, eyes fluttering closed. “Stargazing helps me fall asleep. The whole ambience up here is just...perfect, you know. Jared and Sarah are really doing me a favor.”

Ethan can’t help but scoff, “Call me crazy, but I’ve never stargazed in my life. I don’t know, never really saw the whole appeal. Sure, it’s cool to see in a movie or whatever, but it’s got no real purpose in real life. Not that I’m trying to bash your hobby or anything...”

Before the clueless blond could finish his statement, Mia’s already snapped up in a sitting position, giving him a narrow-eyed glare he can’t really see in the darkness. Her hand taps the spot next to her, “Don’t knock until you try it, Cali boy. Come’ere, see what you’re missing out on.”

Though reluctant, Ethan takes a few steps forward, stopping for a second to ask: “Wait, how’d you know I’m Californian?” Regardless of his confusion, he sits his ass down as he was told, awkwardly laying down so that there’s half a foot or less between their bodies so he doesn’t accidentally touch her and run the risk of freaking her out.

“I know a lot of things, Cali. Unfortunately, your name isn’t one of them. That being said, either you tell me it, or I’ll have to keep calling you Cali.“ She says teasingly.

“Ethan. My name’s Ethan.“ He says through a sigh, unable to contain the smile that spreads across his face.

A smile mimicking his appears on her face as well, “Nice to meet you, Ethan. The name’s Mia.“

Needless to say, the following morning Ethan woke up still on the roof, and surprisingly and terrifyingly enough, with the girl he barely met the night prior in his arms. Under the light of the newly rising day he could examine her features better, taking in her absolute beauty, her pale features contrasting her dark as the night hair. She’s still asleep so he can’t see her eyes but he has no doubt they are as beautiful as she is. Everything about her looks so delicate yet sharp simultaneously. And he’s simply in awe.

To avoid any awkwardness in case she wakes up, he falls back asleep, not even trying to remove his arms from around her body, silently hoping she won’t kick his ass for it. The next time he wakes up, an undecided amount of time later, he’s alone on the rooftop. Alone with a note that says: ‘Did you like it? If yes, I got a better stargazing spot to show ya. You know where to find me

~ M‘

“And boy, was I missing out on something.“ Ethan whispers, gently running his fingers through his wife’s hair as they lay in that same field she was referring to in her note to him, gazing up at the stars, limbs intertwined, bodies completely collided.

“Told ya. Stargazing is incredible, ain’t it?“ Mia replies, snuggling closer though that’s simply impossible.

Her husband chuckles, his chest rumbling with the noise, “That’s not really what I meant.”

Her brows furrow but she doesn’t look at him, “Oh? Then what did you mean?”

With a content sigh, he replies, “I was missing out on having you in my arms, falling asleep and waking up by your side.“ He says, his lips planting a gentle kiss at the top of her head that has her melting in his embrace.

Mia’s not the romantic nor cheesy half of this relationship, quite the opposite, but she feels emotions to a way deeper level than Ethan would imagine her feeling. So, thankful to the darkness, Mia allows her eyes to gloss over with emotional tears as she rises up to collide her lips with his in a soft and tender kiss.

“I missed you so much, Mia.“ Ethan whispers when they pull away, foreheads resting against each other.

“I promise to never make you miss me again, baby.“ She replies in a tone as hushed as his. As though they are both afraid someone would overhear this vow of theirs and try to force them to break it.

“That’s impossible.“ He says with a soft chuckle, “I always miss you at least a little.“

Mia hums in response, “Well, right now, you don’t have to miss me at all. I’m all yours. You’re the only thing on my mind, Mr. Winters.“

Even in the dark, she sees the grin that lights up his face, “As you are the only thing on mine, Mrs. Winters.” With that, their lips reestablish their contact, this time maintaining it longer, making it more passionate than before.

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starlitwhispers · 3 years ago

Text

saccharine. soulsilvershipping - 2400 words A flavorless au by yours truly. happy quarter century birthday to my boo @silverbuttercups

Heat. Pounding heat. Warmth beating into his cheeks like the summer sun, except it was her instead. He can’t get it to work, he just can’t. The paints keep meshing and clumping; it’s like his sweat is mixing with the acrylics. And it’s all her fault, because she won’t get off his mind. The idea of her sits atop his head, weighing him down — it’s like he can’t breathe. The air, it’s thinning, he’s panting, the taste of her skin is flashing back into his mind — he’s panting, remembering the feeling of her panting back onto him. His mind races, his heart races, time seems like it’s elapsing faster than the speed of light —

He breaks out of his trance. The drops of sweat trickle down his scrawny biceps and a wet stain darkens the front of his dirty, yellow and faded wife-beater. He’s alone. It’s just him as he glances around his disgusting, cluttered studio. Musty, dusty, he peers at the ivory, canvas curtains by the window, and watches the specks of dirt and grime waft through the air in the beams of light peeking through the cracks. He sits in silence, redirecting his eyes to his easel once more. Trash, he thinks at first, looking at the mess of paints and lines, how there’s no depth and no character. The brown he chose doesn’t match… it’s not the right shade. Absolute trash.

Blinking, he thinks again. He does not know what day it is, or month even. Now that he no longer works in that dingy office, contact with the rest of the world has vanished. He makes his way out of the studio, trudges down the hallway and walks right past the master bedroom. The master bedroom that has been tightly shut for more than a year. All the blinds, everywhere, in every window, they are closed. Ready to-microwave meal boxes pile in the trash bin and even fleck across his kitchen floor and countertops. Not a dish in sight, except for used scotch glasses with empty bottles not too far behind. His bed, the couch, has multiple blankets sprawled across it and a coffee table in front full of trash. His eyes focus on the trash, or more specifically, the crumpled up balls of his sketch pad paper. The balls of paper could be found as far as the corners of the kitchen floor, behind the counter and by the fridge.

He has quite the arm, although he appears thin. His strength multiplies with his frustration and anger. He sits himself in a rather indented spot on the couch, less cushioned than the rest of the sofa from months of his weight pressed in this one area. His hand reaches for the remote and turns on the television, afterwards he fixes himself a glass of scotch in a used glass nearby and his fingers shimmy their way into his back pocket. From within, his index and middle fingers pull out a cigarette box. He shoves a smoke between his dry lips and lights it. Between the alcohol and the nicotine, it’s just enough.

Just enough to get the taste of her out of his mouth. For now.

He sits back as he watches the afternoon news. He stares at the journalist’s lips, sees how they curve into coy smiles as she laughs at the corny jokes the daily anchorman voices over into her ear. Just another normal girl, reporting normal things, in her normal life, he observes. Disgusting, he reflects, a normal life is disgusting.

He huffs the cigarette smoke towards the living room ceiling, shutting his eyes. Reminiscing the day he first moved into the home, how bright, clean, and airy it felt then. It’s almost as if everything else in the house is a shell of its former self… including him. A couple envelopes shoot through the golden lips of his front door — today’s mail has arrived — he thinks about the stacks of mail piling by his front door. He makes a faint guess she has not changed her mailing address on some things yet, which gives him false hope on good days or this burning misery that perhaps she has moved on in more ways than one. Changed her name? Married? Then again, she never came back for any of her other belongings. Maybe she already had a back up plan set in motion.

But the truth is, he never saw it coming. Perhaps that is what makes the stinging pain after all this time feel so fresh. What was that, she said a long time ago? That she loved him? He sniggers at himself, at his stupidity, at his unfulfilling life that he tirelessly plays out everyday. At the end of his frumpy sofa, his cellphone rings. Or, at least, he feels the vibrations.

In foolish—hopeless—optimism, he shoves his fist into the edge of the couch digging around for the device. Frantically, he drudges it up from the crevice, along with stray hairs and crumbs, and his eyes yearningly glance over the caller ID. His heart falls beneath the pits of his stomach. It’s just his PR agent. Disappointed, he declines the call and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. He stares at it, somewhat in disbelief and somewhat dismayed with himself for even hoping for it. For her.

By the moment the sun sets, he fiddles with his phone, his finger hovering over the dial button on her number… Of course, he does not call her. He shoves the device into his back pocket. Of course, by the moment the sun sets, he has finished another bottle and another pack. And he has passed out on the living room sofa, again. In a drunken stupor, he awakens, angry, and storms the hallway to his studio. Throwing a blank canvas to the easel, he begins his work once again until dawn. And in this instance, he allows the idea of her to drown him, flood his lungs like the oils and acrylics starting to spatter his body, until all he breathes is the image of her. An exposé of his love, his hatred, his loneliness. They have banned nudity everywhere except the museums.

Wasn’t that their first date? A museum? He stops mid-stroke and clutches his brush a little tighter. He tries to remember, when was the last time he was in a museum?

…Just like the day before, the sun begins to peak through his blinds, but this time, the work before him satisfies. His paint covered fingers nestle their way into his pocket, he presses the dial key and lifts the phone to his ear. The recipient of his call picks up.

The voice on the other end starts, “Hey, dude, I’ve been trying to reach you—”

“I’ve got something good,” the artists interrupts.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?! I’ll be over later to check it out.”

----

“And, that’s all the time we have for today, love,” her producer tells her from the side as the cameraman lowers the device from his shoulder.

She sighs, scratches the back of her ear, and smiles in unison with a nod. A small drop of sweat trickles from her temple, why does she have to be the on-scene reporter today? She saunters to the news channel’s van and with its open side door, she scoops a cold water bottle from the mini cooler. The sun continues to beat down on her rose-tinted cheeks. The buzzing of cicadas whiz through her ears and into her thoughts… some guy from work had asked her out for drinks later tonight, but suddenly she’s feeling a raincheck about to be typed on her phone.

She’s not ready yet. How can she be? Her right hand absentmindedly finds its way to her other hand, brushing over her now naked ring finger. A shame, really, that it didn’t work out. She really wishes it would have.

“You can head home now, of course,” her producer begins. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, thank you,” she respectfully declines. “I think I’ll walk home.”

The staff executive eyes her in confusion, as she clearly does not enjoy the summer heat. He shrugs his shoulders in defeat, “Whatever floats your boat, honey.”

The young brunette collects her bag from the van and stuffs her hand into it, rummaging for make-up remover wipes. She takes out her compact and begins cleansing her face. If she plans to walk home, she would rather not be recognized. However unfortunate people may see it, her occupation does come with some less than desired fans. To top off her “disguise,” she removes the hair clip, lets her hair down and places a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.

On her way home, she stops by a local café for refreshment and a boost of energy. Sitting for a moment in the air conditioned shop, she takes frequent sips of her hazelnut iced coffee.

“Have you seen the new exhibition at the museum yet?” She overhears two young students chat with each other. “It’s honestly incredible.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to check it out later today. Who’s it by?” The other voice asks.

She finally takes the last sip through the straw, and the liquid slurps from the leftover ice.

“Oh, uh… I forget his name… He was really popular a few years ago, though,” the first voice falters.

The young reporter stands up, slugs her bag strap over her shoulder, and heads for the door.

“Uh, Silver, something?” The first voice remembers. “He’s actually supposed to be at the exhibition today, doing an expository with some press over his inspiration and meaning.”

As the bell rings with her opening the door, she throws her empty cup into the trash followed by an exuberant “thank you for coming!” from the barista behind the counter.

She did not hear the last part from the student in the café.

In her trek home, she stops in front of the museum. In the pit of her stomach, she feels bubbling. Her intestines become upset from anxiety and emotions she wished to never feel again flash back into her senses. That feeling, of dread somehow turned into addictive ecstasy, floods into her veins, and her feet compel her to enter against her better judgment.

As she passes through all the marble walls, the scent of the canvases and oil paintings make her heart race and palms sweat. She anticipates something bad will happen, as something bad always happened when they were together.

All his rough yelling, all their petty disagreements over the things she wanted and the things he did not want, all the noise of hatred bred from what she promised to be forever with him. Stopping to admire a piece, she realizes that has become far from reality. Forever with him… part of her wishes she could go back and part of her desires ever so strongly to never see him again.

In the depth of these paint strokes, she observes and ruminates. What if she were to return and to feel his cracked, warm lips against hers? The sweat of his red hairs behind his neck as they pressed their bodies together, hearing his grunts.

She swallows. She’s warm at the thought of someone she hasn’t touched in almost three years. Being his wife isn’t the worst thing she has done when she thinks about the things they have done together in bed… Her tongue wets the bottom lip and she bites down. This is wrong, she thinks to herself, she left him for a reason. A good reason.

All the miserable nights, the crying, the loneliness. She cannot see him again. If she sees him again, it might sway her. She may want him back. She cannot see him again.

She wants him back.

—--

Here he stands, a month after the original piece he produced in a drunk, inspired stupor, with a brand new exhibition. His agent clinks a glass of champagne to the drink in his own hand, a smile plastered all over his consultant’s face. Of course there is a smile all over his face, the work he has promoted to the city has doubled the money in his pockets. Although the actual artist himself could care less for the revenue. He glances around the section of the gallery that has been sectioned off for exclusively his exhibition and the expository conference.

In his mind, the worst part of this event has ended. The few cameras and interviewers have left and now only art dealers, consultants, and critics remain. The moment he realizes he can slip away to breathe on his own, without being bombarded by awful, intrusive questions he can’t be bothered to answer, he does so. The other areas of the museum are far quieter and the company of the crowd makes his scotch taste bad. As he takes small, frequent sips with each step, he would much rather be drunk at home away from all these people.

He has finally done something he promised himself he wouldn’t ever do again: create art inspired by her. That alone makes him want to become blackout wasted. Or so he thought. He stops in his tracks as he downs the last drop of his drink. I should have just grabbed the damn bottle.

Standing a couple feet from him, peering into a painting, the nightmare from hell that dragged him down under and left him there. Dropping the glass in his hand, he doesn’t think much before his body moves towards her—all the anger manifested inside of him—she quickly becomes aware of his on-coming presence, surprised by the sound of broken glass and his person, and he grabs her by the shoulders.

Forcing her against the wall, she still stares wide-eyed in shock and he does not to hesitate to press his mouth against hers with ferocity. Her eyes still agape, he slips his tongue in quickly and gruffly releases her from his grip. He stares down into her eyes with disdain and she stares back with confusion.

“Silver, I—“ she begins, her voice somewhat hoarse from surprise.

But his expression silences her. He brutishly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns away from her. He starts walking away.

In that swift instance, he realizes.

He does not want her back.

#soulsilvershipping #soulsilver #hgss #rival silver #Trainer Kotone #trainer lyra #pokemon

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moon-goddess-posts · 4 years ago

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Hello everyone! This is my first fanfiction and I decided to write kaeya first because I just love him sm 😭😭😭😭 anyway hope you guys enjoy! Zhongli is up next. I'm also new to Tumblr so idk how this works LMFAO

Kaeya x Gn reader

Fluff, kaeya is weird but its ok cause he warms up to you, didn't proof read this cause it was 1am

You were walking around the streets of mondstadt, you always loved the night and decided to come out for some fresh air. Lost in thought, you were reflecting on your first moments here and how the handsome calvary captain gave you a tour of the city. You were an adventurer from Fontaine seeking to do research on all the 7 regions. Mondstadt was the first region on your list. You've heard most of it from stories on barbatos and how he saved mondstadt, but you'd love to meet the people and all the certain flowers that were around. You finally arrived at the front gate and the guards gave you a warm welcome. The city air was fresh and everything had a carefree warm feel to it. "This truly is the city of freedom" you thought to yourself and smiled. Having everything written down on your notebook, you decided to try out the foods that were common here. "What can I get for you today?" The women spoke as you came up to the counter. You took out your notebook and chose a dish. "I'll take one chicken mushroom skewer please, ah would I also ask for your name if you don't mind?" You gave a friendly smile. "My name is Sara, worker at Good Hunter! Your food will be right up. I see you arent around here." "Nice to meet you Sara, im actually traveling the 7 regions for my art pieces and mondstadt just happened to be my first one. I would love to know some tourist attractions around here, would you happen to know a guide?" It was nice to see a conversation going well especially since you were never really the best at conversations. But you wanted to hurry up because your social battery was draining fast. "Id love to be your guide" and unfamiliar voice came to the right and you shot your head to that direction. His appearance was definitely different from the rest of the citizens but looked really attractive either way. He was leaning against the booth almost giving off an intimidating nature underneath the layers of charming. "Really? That would be great, thank you so much! And uhm your name is...?" Depsite the oddness you got from him, you did your best to continue the conversation as normally as possible. "Kaeya, Knights of Favionus, happy to be your guide dear" his sudden pet name made you flitch but you pushed it off "So where are we going first dear calvary captain" you gave him a teasing remark as you smirked. He chuckled "well obviously I wouldn't be a good tour guide if I didn't show you the Barbatos statute first." "Ah of course haha" you gave him a nervous chuckle. "Is there any other reason you decided to come here other than to just "explore"" You thought he ease dropped on your conversation, and even so he still didn't find you that trust worthy. "Well I'm a pretty well known artist where I'm from, but besides just coming here to make art I also decided to write a few poems for each region. If you'd want I can show you my works" you smiled happily and his cold attitude started to fade just a bit. "You can show me once we get to the next place, feel free to draw me then too ♡" it wasn't the best first impression but at least he didn't feel as hostile anymore. You and Kaeya finally made it to the statue and it was more beautiful in person than your thoughts could ever imagine. Ideas started to flow through your brain on how to paint it. "Wow its so...." you were at a lost for words. "Breathtaking isn't it?" Kaeya finished your sentence and you flahsed him a small smile and nod. "Yeah it is, ill be sure to mark it down as the first place to paint. Maybe if you'd like, you can give it to the Acting Grandmaster as a token of my thanks for having me here" "Such a kind hearted soul arent you? I'll be sure to inform her." Kaeya patted your head and walked off, assuming he was leading you to the second destination, you started to follow him. "You should stop by the tavern Cats Tail sometime tonight, I can tell you more about this place and if you'd like, more about me," You saw this as an opportunity for more research on the area, and maybe get to know Kaeya a bit more, he truly was an interesting person, so you

accepted. "I'll be sure to make it around 18:00 or 19:00!" The next destination included a beautiful tree, lake, and another small statue of barbatos. You thought it was truly magnificent, especially how the sun hit the leaves all so perfectly giving it a warm glow. "This place is Windrise. Its often associated with love and is one of the most well know spot for dates." He winked at you and you looked away, not really sure what to do. "Is that so? I can see why. Its very beautiful." You did your best not to stutter from how flirty he was being. "This statue here is for offerings. You find anemoculous and you offer them to the statues. In return, you get a gift from the God." "Oh! We have on of those where I'm from as well, but its a different person." You weren't really sure why you wouldn't tell him where you were from, maybe it was because he was super analytical, or the whole predator with its prey vibe he got going on. "There are 7 types of statues that represent the 7 archons, would it be ok if you'd tell me where you're from? I'm just so interested in you." He gave a flirty smirk and you couldn't help but blush a little bit. "Uhm I'm from Fontaine, if you couldn't tell by the clothes. Its quite similar to Mondstadt, but I find it here to be more peaceful and calming than there." "Fontaine huh? I've heard people live the luxury over there. Very formal." He laughed a bit, part of him was right but it wasn't all that good as he was making it sound. "Hmm I guess you could say that, my parents were pretty well off but I can't say much about the rest." Your gaze drifted off to the forming sunset and you wondered if you should head back soon. "Ill head back, ill tell you more about the attractions tomorrow. Don't forget our date tonight deary..." He waved goodbye and walked off. "Deary.." you said to yourself, he flattered you very much but all of it seemed off in a way. You didn't think to much about it and decided to head back too. Your memories of your first interaction with Kaeya was over once you heard someone call your name. A familiar voice that was. "Y/n!" Kaeya called out. Automatically knowing who it was, you turned around to be greeted by a fine tall man dressed in blue tones "Hi Kaeya!" "I dont think its a good idea for a pretty lady like you to be walking out so late at night." He sounded amused but you were over it. "Oh cut it out captain, I know you were just swooning some girls a couple minutes ago." "Haha so what, you jealous?" "Dont flatter yourself, why would I be jealous anyway? Feelings like those are just a waste of time" you hated to admit that you were just a tiny bit jealous. You weren't sure how your crush on the calvary captain formed but it did and it didn't seem to be going away any time soon. Part of you thought maybe he already knew and he was just toying with you. Or maybe he was oblivious to it, thinking no one could love such a person like him. Either way, you still kept these feelings inside. "There's no shame in bearing emotion, love, its just our nature. And for a while I think you've been feeling pretty intense emotions about a certain someone..." His hand tilted your chin so you could face up to him. Shoot did he know? How was that possible? Was I that obvious? You thought to yourself, you weren't sure how you were going to get out of this situation. "I...I-its nothing that concerns of you" you broke eye contact but you knew kaeya wasn't letting up. "A lie to a lier is no stranger, but if you wish to keep your secrets then who am I to cross such a boundary." He back off from you and you started to breathe again. You wanted to tell him so bad. How much you loved and cared for him, how much you so desperately wanted to be there for him no matter what situation. You were willing to take risks for him if it meant that one day you would forever be together. But maybe you thought the image you had of him was wrong. You knew well enough his flirty nature was never sincere, and how he was hiding something much darker then you ever wanted to imagine. Even so, you still wanted your

thoughts of him to become right. So before he walked off again you mustered up the courage. "Kaeya wait! I, I do actually want to tell you something." He looked surprised now but intrigued. "Ever since we met, there was always something different about you. It always left me wanting to know more and over the years I did learn more about you. But then I started feeling these weird emotions and having thse weird thoughts like thinking maybe one day we could be together...or knowing the real you even. I know you say less than you lead on but I felt like I'd be willing to take extreme risks to know who you actually are. I feel so safe around you and I always smile at those good memories we have. I dont know if this is called love, I dont know fully what love is but you're special enough for me to be having these feelings." Thats it, you let everything out. Awaiting for rejection, you began to panic when the silence held for what seemed like an eternity, until you heard him walking toward you. He held your chin again and gave you a look you've never seen before. A mix of admiration, and happiness. He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip and you tensed up. "Kaeya...." Before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a kiss. A new feeling started to arise and your whole body began to feel hot. Euphoria was coursing through your veins and you felt like you were going to fall without Kaeyas support. He was so warm, so intoxicating. You couldn't even feel where you were or he was, it all just became a bundle of sensations and happiness. You couldn't tell how long you both had kissed for but you were the first one to pull away as your breath began to shorten. "As much as a flirt as I am, I dont do well communicating my actual emotions. So id prefer to show them through my actions. I cant say it right now, but I hope that helped you realize what my answer is." He pulled you into a hug and you buried his face into his fur jacket. Already knowing his answer, you breathed a sigh of relief

#genshin impact kaeya #kaeya x reader #kaeya fluff #i love kaeya #kaeya x gn reader #kaeya genshin impact #kaey

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kayluh1915 · 4 years ago

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Beautiful People

Paring(s): Pedro Pascal/Female Reader

Words: 5,378

Warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Medication Discussions, Insecurities, and Panic Attacks.

You and Pedro have been secretly dating for a few months now after a chance meeting. You both agreed that it was time to reveal your relationship to the public and chose to do so by accompanying him at The Oscars, but your anxiety does a great job of making you think that you don't deserve it.

DISCLAIMER!

This story is based on the song Beautiful People by Ed Sheeran & Khalid, but this IS NOT a songfic. It just gave me this vibe of Pedro walking down the red carpet with someone who doesn't quite feel like they belong and he comforts her by saying he doesn't really belong either and proceeds to list why they're better off because of it. I dunno, It just sounded sweet.

As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged.

You can also follow me on Twitter if you'd like. My life is boring, but I might be able to make you laugh if I’m lucky.

Enjoy!

(PS: Pepe is a real person. He was my Spanish teacher my first semester of college... and yes, he really went to Cincinnati every Friday to gamble)

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

The frigid February air was like icicles on your skin, sending a full-blown shiver down your spine as you hurried out of the Science building and towards the dining hall. It was nearly noon and you’ve had only had a banana and a bottle of water this morning, so lunch sounded pretty great right about now… maybe a cup of hot cocoa as well.

The dining hall was about a three-minute walk from the Science building, more than enough time for the cold to seep through the layers of your coat and deep into your bones. The possibility of a cup of cocoa turned into an inevitability, you running for the hot beverage machine as soon as your student ID was swiped.

You sat at your usual spot, hanging your backpack on the back of the chair before taking a greedy sip of the hot drink. The warmth was a godsend, the sugary beverage warming your icy hands with a pleasant hum tumbling from your lips.

“You make noises like that in bed?” Someone asked, snapping you out of your warming daze. It was your roommate and closest friend, Lauren. You snorted at her remark, almost spitting out a sip of your drink.

“I thought you had Spanish class at noon?”

“Nah. It’s Friday, remember?”

“Oh yeah, gambling day.” Like you, Lauren was a music student. It was how you had met nearly four years ago. Like most music students, you both used the extra humanities credits you had earned in high school to bail you out of the required foreign language credit until university. You were doing fairly well so far, but it was because you had a decent teacher. She wasn’t the best, but she was alright.

Lauren’s was just… something else.

On the first day of class, he told his students to call him “Pepe” because he didn’t do the “formal shit.” He also said that there would never be a class on Friday’s because he goes up to Cincinnati to gamble with his buddies. Why he didn’t just put down that his classes were only on Monday and Wednesday were beyond you.

“Yeah. Whatever, though right?” Lauren continued. “I’m not complaining about one less day of class.” You smirked mischievously.

“No, but your Spanish is…” Lauren scoffed, only causing you to laugh harder into your cup.

“Bitch, you shut the fuck up. You can’t speak the damn language either.” You shrugged.

“You’re not wrong, but at least I’m learning more than you are with Pepe.” Lauren groaned.

“Fuck you. Come on, let’s grab some grub.” You stood up and grabbed your backpack, throwing away your empty drink cup to grab something to eat. You settled on your usual favorite and sat back down with Lauren who had somehow already made it halfway through her plate.

“God, slow down.” You teased as you hung your backpack back on the chair.

“I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. Cut a bitch a break.” You shook your head, digging into your own plate, but at a much slower pace. You both sat in comfortable silence, enjoying your meals as the indecent chatter of the surrounding students and meme music playing from the jukebox continued on.

“So,” Lauren said, breaking the silence as she sat down her drink. “What are you doing this weekend?” You froze at her question but played it off the best you could. Any hint of hesitation would send her into a frenzy of questions that you weren’t prepared to answer.

“I’m going in to see Mom. Maybe stop by my Mamaw’s too.” Lauren’s shoulders slumped.

“Damn, that’s too bad. Devon invited us over to his Oscar watch party tomorrow night. Figured you might want to come along since you’re into that sort of thing.”

You swallowed hard at the mention of The Oscars. Just play it cool… don’t. fucking. panic.

“Normally I would, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen Mom. You know how she gets when I don’t come to visit for a while.” Lauren nodded her head in understanding, knowing full well of how your Mom was after living with you for two years.

Little did she know that you had just seen your mother last weekend.

“I understand, boo. I’ll let him know you can’t make it. When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I’m done here. I packed my stuff this morning so I could just go. Trying to beat the traffic as much as possible.” She nodded in understanding.

“Well, I hope you have a good time with your Mom. Say hi to her for me, will you?” You internally sighed a breath in relief. How your big mouth managed to keep him a secret all this time let alone this was beyond you, but you managed to pull it off somehow.

“Yeah, sure.”

After you finished eating, you hugged Lauren goodbye and went back to your dorm long enough to drop off the books you didn’t need and pick up your suitcase. You went through your mental checklist one last time and locked your door behind you as you left.

You unlocked your car and threw your stuff into the backseat, making your way towards the interstate as soon as you left the college.

Home was about a two or three-hour drive down south, but where you were really going was about a 40-minute drive north. You put on some music as you cruise down the interstate, your nervousness slowly increasing the closer you got to your destination.

Your hands shook on the steering wheel, you bounced your left knee furiously, and you were biting your lip… pretty hard. You thought about reaching into your purse for the “take as needed” anxiety medication your psychiatrist prescribed you but decided to hold off on it a little longer. Maybe it’d taper off when you got to the airport.

It didn’t.

You had flown before, but that had been years ago when your micro home town had some kind of festival thing and gave free airplane rides. This commercial airline stuff was something entirely new to you which was already nerve wreaking, but the unexpected bustle of such a smaller airport made it worse.

Weeks before when you first booked the flight to Los Angles, you did as much research as possible to make sure that you knew the “norms” and guidelines of all the airports you were going to since there were no direct flights available. You were as prepared as anyone could be, but you were still extremely nervous and all the foot traffic only made it worse.

You went through security without any qualms and took a seat to wait for your flight to begin boarding. You pulled out your phone and texted your Mom and Lauren before someone walked up to you in your peripheral.

“Excuse, miss?” You looked up from your phone to come face to face with an older gentleman. He looked to be in his early 50’s with salt and peppered hair and a kind smile. He asked you your name and you confirmed with a nod.

“Sorry to disturb you, but your private flight is prepared to depart whenever you’re ready, Miss.”

...Excuse you, what?

“P-Private flight? But I-... I paid for an American Airlines flight.” The man nodded.

“Yes, but Mr. Pascal has sent a private jet to retrieve you. He was fairly insistent to make sure that you boarded.” You sighed heavily. You told him that a two-stop economy flight that you paid for was more than fine, but the thought of you doing anything like a normal person seemed to bother him for some reason.

“Okay. I-I guess I’m ready to go then.” The man smiled.

“Of course, Miss. May I take your bags for you?” You hesitated.

You had never been waited on like this before and you weren’t quite sure how to feel or respond to it. You were perfectly capable of carrying your own stuff and this guy probably wasn’t getting paid enough to carry some lucky college student’s stuff, but was it rude to say no even if you did so in a polite manner? So, you just agreed and handed him over your suitcase and backpack.

You followed him outside and over to a small commercial jet, a woman who looked to be around her mid 30’s standing right by the entrance of the aircraft.

“Welcome aboard, Miss. I’m Kendall Bishop and I’m your captain for today. If you’ll go ahead and take a seat and buckle your seat belt, we’ll depart shortly. I do ask, however, that you remain seated and keep your seat belt fastened until Mr. Clements informs you that it is safe to move about the cabin. Do you have any questions for me before we begin our descent?”

You smiled politely at her and shook your head.

Upon entering the cabin, you were at a complete loss for words. It was easily the fanciest thing you’d ever seen. Leather seats, stocked alcohol shelves, an endless assortment of snacks, a TV, even a fucking bed of all things. The man, Mr. Clements you assumed, gestured towards the seat closest to you. You sat down and buckled your seat belt like you were told to do.

Mr. Clements then reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, gesturing for you to take it.

“Mr. Pascal requested I hand this to you as soon as you board.” You took the envelope out of his hands, looking down at it with a curious gaze. On the back of it had your name scribbled onto it in familiar handwriting. You’d know it anywhere after reading so many letters from him.

“Please enjoy your flight and let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” You thanked him with another nod, turning the envelope around and tearing it open. The plane prepared to take off as you read.

Mi Abeja,

I know you wanted and paid for a normal flight, but the academy offered to fly you to me privately last second. I was going to ask you if you were okay with it, but you were in class and your phone was off and I had to let them know something before my table read this morning. You work and study so hard and deserve to be pampered so I told them yes. They reimbursed what you paid for your ticket and I’ll give that to you once you get here.

I hope the unexpected change didn’t spike your anxiety too much. I know you’re nervous about this whole thing to begin with and I probably just made it worse. I’m sorry if I did.

I’ll be there to pick you up as soon as you land at LAX.

Love you,

Pedro. <3 <3

Your heart soared at his words, leaning back in your seat and looking out of the nearby window just in time to watch the plane lift up from the runway.

________________________

Four hours later, Mr. Clements informed you that you would be landing shortly. Your heart leaped up in your chest as you put your phone back into your backpack and fastened your seat belt.

It had been a few weeks since you’d last seen him and you were nearly vibrating with excitement by the time the wheels touched down on the runway. Mr. Clements offered to take your things again. You still weren’t sure if it was rude to turn him down or not and you didn’t want to ask and risk looking like a moron, so you agreed and handed over your backpack.

The captain opened up the door and exchanged pleasantries with you as you stepped off the plane, but you barely heard her over the pounding of your own heart. As soon as you looked up from the ramp, you saw him. He was there just like he promised he’d be, standing by his car and wearing his favorite pair of sunglasses all while smiling at you with that blinding smile.

Your sneakers barely touched the tarmac before you were sprinting for him. He held out his arms for you and made a small sound when you collided with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and laying your head on his chest. One of his hands caressed the back of your head, holding you to him tightly as the other one held on to your waist.

“I’ve missed you so much, Abeja.” He muttered against the crown of your head. You let go of him long enough to reach up and kiss him, tangling your hand into his dark curls. “Did you have a good flight?” He asked after you pulled away.

“I did. I was a little nervous at first, but I’m okay now.” Pedro gave you a saddened look.

“I’m sorry. I know it was unexpected and didn’t mean to hike you up, I just figured yo-” You put your hand over his mouth.

“It wasn’t your fault, Pedro. I’m just… not used to this… any of it.” He placed a gentle kiss to your fingers, taking your wrist into his hand and gently taking it off of his mouth.

“Please tell me you at least ate something.“ You nodded.

“I ate with Lauren before I left for the airport. She actually invited me to an Oscar watch party this guy named Devon is hosting. I played it cool just like we practiced, but it took everything in me not to freak out.” Pedro giggled, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Isn’t she in for a surprise?” You barely smiled, nodding gently. You’ve been trying not to think about it, but the idea of you being on display to the entire world made your stomach churn and your knees weak. You were just a first-generation college student from the middle of nowhere, yet here you are in the arms of Pedro Pascal about to walk down the runway of the most prestigious award show in less than 24 hours.

“... Yeah.” You eventually answered. Pedro noticed the change in your demeanor and frowned, placing a kiss on the wrist he was still holding and caressing it gently with his thumb.

“We don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, you know? We can always go with plan B.” You shook your head vigorously.

“No, no, no! I-I want people to know… I just… all so new.” Pedro smiled at you sympathetically, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.

“Just promise you’ll let me know if it ever becomes too much for you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” You look up into his mocha gaze, the butterflies in your stomach making you forget about your self-doubt if only for a few seconds.

“I promise.”

________________________

That evening you were curled up with Pedro in the hotel bed, empty take-out containers discarded onto the nearby nightstand as you watched The Shining together. He was fully engrossed in the movie, his fingers idly playing with your hair. You had tried to focus on the movie. You really did, but you’ve seen the damn thing a million times. Laughing at memes on Reddit sounded more appealing so that’s what you were doing.

“You know, I really miss you when you’re not with me.” Pedro said after a while. You looked up from your phone and up at his face.

“I miss you too. Music school sucks and I can’t cuddle Lauren… well, I can but it would be awkward.” Pedro laughed, caressing your cheek with his knuckle.

“Tomorrow, our stylists will be here around noon. I know you’re going to be nervous all day and will probably avoid eating, so I’m going to make sure you get up with me and eat a proper breakfast.” You groaned quietly.

“You won’t let me sleep in? Even on a Saturday?” You fake-pouted. Pedro tapped your nose gently with his finger.

“Not when tomorrow is such an important day. I don’t want you nervous on an empty stomach.” You both went back to what you were doing for a minute.

“You did bring your medication, didn’t you?” You hesitated before nodding.

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll have something in case it gets too intense. Getting you to take it will be another story, though.” You didn’t say anything, favoring instead to raise up from your reclined position to swing your leg over his waist to straddle him. His hands instantly went to your hips, gently caressing them with his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, Abeja.” He said after a while of looking you over and running his hands over your body. You smiled at him and leaned down to give him a kiss. It was pretty standard as far as kisses go, but when you pulled away you were both looking at one another with a fiery intent and slowly went back in for another. This one searing and far more passionate.

Pedro groaned deep in his throat as your tongues collide, the kiss deepening far beyond your original intent.

You weren’t complaining.

________________________

Pedro’s alarm going off scared the living hell out of you. You had been awake since 4 am, trying your best to go back to sleep, but it just never happened. When you finally gave up around 6:30, you grabbed your backpack and sat at the desk the hotel provided and did your weekend homework. You hadn’t realized that you were that engrossed in it until his alarm buzzed you out of it.

He groaned quietly and reached over to silence it, rolling back over and reaching out to the other side of the bed looking for you. When he noticed that you were gone, he raised up from the sheets and looked around the room. His hair was an absolute nightmare, sticking up in various directions as he stretched out his back and yawned loudly.

“Thought you wanted to sleep in.” He teased after he found you at the desk.

“You said you were going to wake me up early. Figured I might get some work done.” Concern then donned on his brow.

“Honey, how long have you been up?”

“Not long,” you lie. “I wanted to get some work done so I just got up at my usual time.” Pedro got out of bed and padded over to you, rubbing your shoulders and placing a kiss atop your head.

“You work too hard. You should take a break while you can.” You lolled your head back, Pedro’s hands rubbing your shoulders feeling absolutely amazing.

“I’ll do whatever you say as long as you keep doing that.” He laughed, kissing your cheek and heading to the bathroom.

________________________

You didn’t want to question the professional, you really didn’t. But after the third layer of concealer, you just had to.

“That’s a lot of concealer.” The makeup artist laughed.

“I know, I’m sorry. Use some cream for those bags next time and I promise you won’t need as much.”

You didn’t speak after that, allowing the hair and makeup artist to finish you up while they gossiped back and forth with each other. They made other side comments like that to you here and there. They weren’t necessarily rude so you couldn’t really say anything, but they did little for your already rock-bottom self-esteem.

The artist put a dark shade of lipstick on your lips, making a triumphant noise when she finished.

“Didn’t have the best canvas, but you look fabulous sweetheart! Smile with your mouth closed and you’ll be a knockout!” The makeup artist and hairstylist gathered up their things, leaving you sitting there in your robe staring at the floor and hoping they leave fast.

When they finally left, you got up from the bed and walked over to the full-bodied mirror. You showed your teeth and started looking over them. You never thought they looked too bad. Sure, they were crooked and had some spacing, but they were okay. Braces were expensive and playing a brass instrument with braces is a death sentence for lips.

What if you were wrong about them looking okay all this time? Maybe you should have taken out that loan and a semester off to fix your teeth…

Your stylist came in shortly after. He was quieter than the others had been and much nicer which you were thankful for as you changed into the white dress they had picked for you. When you came out, the stylist smiled and hooped.

“You look gorgeous!” You finished off your look with matching jewelry and a clutch purse, sitting down on the bed to put on your heels.

“It took me forever to find a pair of acceptable wedges for you, sweetheart. I don’t know why you didn’t just tough it out for one night, but hey. I get it. Country girls don’t like heels and that’s okay! It worked out.”

Again, not necessarily rude… but damn.

________________________

You were waiting in the lobby for Pedro to come out, bouncing your leg nervously and trying to remember not to touch your eyes or bite your lip because of the makeup. When you saw him step off the elevator, your breath caught in your throat. His hair was slicked back and his facial hair neatly trimmed, the black velvet suit hugging his broad shoulders perfectly.

“Wow…” He muttered, looking you up and down. “You look absolutely stunning, Abeja.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You replied, playing with his bow tie.

“Hey, hey, no. Don’t touch it. I don’t know how to tie it back if it comes loose.” You laughed and shook your head.

“Fine… I’ll unwrap my present later.” Pedro’s own breath caught as you winked up at him. He cleared his throat and composed himself, offering you his arm.

“Ready?” You swallowed and nodded, taking his arm for him to escort you.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

________________________

You were in line for the red carpet, the flashing cameras of the paparazzi already blinding and you were still pretty far back. Your stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising up but nothing happening. Pedro took your shaking hand into his and squeezed it gently.

“You okay?” He asked, noticing how tense you were and only grew worse the closer you got.

“... fine.”

“Plan B’s still an option if you need it, Abeja. You have your medicine you can take too.” You shook your head, looking back at him to flash him a smile.

“I’m good.” You could tell that he didn’t buy your bullshit. Not even for a moment. He didn’t say anything, though, opting only to lift your hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“I’ll be right there beside you the entire time, honey. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or need to leave, you let me know.” You nodded at him, accepting a kiss from him before looking back out the window of the limo.

Your turn came up way sooner than you would have liked, the greeter opening up the limo door as soon as the car stopped and allowing Pedro to step out into the public eye. The photographers went nuts, the flashing lights and screams from fans intimidating you more than you thought they would.

What the fuck were you thinking? You’re just some tired ass music student. You don’t belong here with all these people.

You almost chickened out and stayed in the car but when Pedro turned towards you and offered his hand you took it anyway even though your mind was screaming for you not to. Just the gentle touch of his calloused hand on yours grounded you enough to carefully step out of the limo, making sure that nothing happens to your dress.

You could hear the sounds of the crowd die down for a moment as they all started muttering to themselves. Your hand was shaking in Pedro’s larger one, the photographers gasping as soon as they saw your face. They started taking pictures faster than they ever had. The bombardment of flashing lights blinded you for a moment, but you adjusted to them quickly.

Pedro let go of your hand and put it on your back, gently leading you where you’re supposed to go.

“Okay?” He asked as he wrapped his arm around you and brought you close. You nodded. You weren’t comfortable in the slightest, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever. While both of you posed for pictures, people from the group of photographers said a lot of things to both of you. Some were kind, others were funny and got a good laugh out of you. There were also a few who were very rude, but they had been pushed aside by the others.

Overall, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you were expecting… but you were glad it was over.

________________________

You were standing aside checking your phone while Pedro did an interview with some of the press. He had offered you to be with him, but the red carpet had been more than enough fame for you. Your phone was on “do not disturb” mode, but you could still see all the notifications coming in. Your Mom, Dad, Lauren, and other friends bombarding you with messages basically asking what the fuck. You didn’t have the time to reply, so you didn’t open any of them.

Once Pedro was done with his interviews, he escorted you into the main hall where he introduced you to some of his friends and colleagues along the way. You considered it an honor to meet the people most only ever dreamed of, but you knew you didn’t deserve it. Someone else should be here, not you.

When you found your seats, Pedro offered you his hand. You took it and allowed him to seat you before he took his next to you and wrapped his arm around the back of the seat. The show started shortly after.

________________________

“And the Oscar goes to…” You held onto Pedro’s hand tightly as they opened up the envelope, your shaking hands encased in his. He had told you when he had been nominated that he didn’t expect to win it, but you could tell he had some hope as he tensely watched them read the card.

“Pedro Pascal.” You jumped up with Pedro, hugging him tightly as the audience broke out in cheers.

“You deserve it!” You told him, breaking away to give him a quick kiss. You watched him run up stage and accept the golden statue, walking up to the microphone with a few chuckles as he looked over the award.

“Wow, this is uhhh… this is incredible. Truly amazing.” He started. “I’d like to thank the Academy for this honor, my Mom and Dad who worked hard to raise me right and who supported me. My brother and two sisters for being there for me, mi Abeja for loving me unconditionally, and just… so many others. There are so many people in my life who have helped me get to this milestone and if I were to thank all of you, we’d be here all night. I love you all so very much and this truly… a dream come true. Thank you.

The crowd stands up and cheers loudly. You wanted to, but you were too busy trying to make sure your makeup doesn’t run down your face with a tissue from your clutch. Eventually, you give up trying and decide to go to the bathroom just to make sure everything still looks fine.

Your makeup looked just as flawless as it had before. You wish you would have known that the artist had used waterproof makeup so you could’ve properly celebrated Pedro’s achievement, but oh well. While you were there, you decided to use the bathroom. You didn’t have to go that bad, but might as well take care of it while you’re here.

While you were relieving yourself, you heard two other women come in.

“-ld for her. He needs to settle down with someone like us and around his age. Not some college student.” You froze solid when they realized that they were talking about you.

“I know. She isn’t even that pretty. Did you see her teeth? Do they not have braces where she comes from?”

“For real. Her body’s not that great either. Looks like she comes straight from the shack or something.”

“Wonder if that’s where he found her?” They both giggle.

“Either way, she doesn’t belong here.” You knew they were right, but you just couldn’t bare to listen anymore, pulling your underwear back up and fixing your dress after you flush the toilet.

You then run out of the bathroom, not even looking to see who the women were. It didn’t matter, though. They were right. You should have never came here and you couldn’t stay any longer.

You walked back to your seat and gently tugged on Pedro’s sleeve.

“C-Can we go… Please?” You ask, your voice shaking just as much as your hands. Pedro got up instantly when he saw the look on your face, grabbing his trophy, coat and your clutch. He didn’t ask questions as he placed his hand to the small of your back and began to escort you out of the theater.

By the time you got back into the limo you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The voices around you sounding like water as your vision became black around the edges. Oh God, is this what feels lie to die? You couldn’t die. Not now! You had so much to do, so much t-

Something extremely cold suddenly touched your face, the blackness around your vision fading slightly as you looked up to whoever had put something so damn cold on you.

You were instantly met with the warm eyes of your boyfriend, concern laced on his brow as he gently dabbed a cold washcloth over your face. You could see his mouth moving, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying over the pounding of your heart, but it eventually calmed down enough to where you could begin to hear him.

“There we go, bee… that’s it sweetheart. Nice and easy.” Your breathing slowly calmed down, Pedro cradling you in his arms as your panic attack faded.

“I should have never come here…” You muttered. “I don’t belong here. All these fancy dresses, the flashing cameras, nice cars… I don’t deserve any of this.” Pedro placed a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t say things like that, Abeja. You deserve this just as much as anyone. And as far as not belonging, trust me when I say I don’t either. And, frankly, I’m fine with that. All of these designer clothes, the mindless gossip, the broken homes, being surrounded by so many but still alone? That’s not really a life worth living. The world of Beautiful People is a lonely life, one that I would rather not live.”

You wasn’t sure what to say, so you just didn’t say anything, curling up as close as you could to him.

He made you take a dose of your anxiety medication when you got back to the hotel, taking it with a swig of water before laying down and curling up close to him. You laid your head on his shoulder, the sounds of his breathing and the gentle feeling of his hand caressing your own shoulder lulling you.

Right before you doze off, you heard him say:

“No matter what any of them has said, you’re perfect the way you are and deserve everything.”

________________________

You wake up the next morning still wrapped up in his arms. You lay there for a while just talking and enjoying one another’s company before he finally got up to use the bathroom.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, turning off “do not disturb” mode for the first time since yesterday afternoon.

Your phone was overloaded. Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, everywhere was flooded. You didn’t even know where to begin.

Eventually, you just give up trying to put a dent into anything and returned Lauren’s list of missed calls. She answered on the second ring.

“You tell me every little detail, you sneaky bitch. And I mean everything!”

#kayla's ramblings #pedro pascal #reader insert #my fanfiction #beautiful people

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www-neverlandsweirdo · 4 years ago

Text

Sunny And Newt

So i’ve decided to start writing a Newt X Reader series because shut up.Let me know if you’d like to be added to the series taglist. :)

Warnings:This series will talk about eating disorders, depression and sex.

The day was quite bland.It was a bit warmer than usual but nothing unbearable.Everybody was still a bit tired seeing as though it was very early in the day and no one had eaten breakfast yet.

At the time everyone was getting dressed in their normal attire of stained shirts and worn down shoes.The cooks were busy in the kitchen,hurrying to put food on plates and put them on tables.

The menu was the same as every other day,bacon and eggs.Newt pulled on his tank top and hoodie tiredly,walking slowly down the hall of the homestead and down the hall.He was always the first to the kitchen,after the runners of course.

The runners always left before anyone even got to breakfast.He opened the kitchen door,dragging his feet as he took a plate and sat at a table.Time always went by slowly so he wasn’t quite sure when you walked in.

It could have been anywhere between two minutes and twenty minutes.You opened the door as quietly as possible,closing it behind you as you hoped your presence would go unnoticed.You succeeded,Frypan and Gabe not even noticing you had walked in.

Youwalked slowly,carefully placing each foot in front of her before approaching one of the plates of food.Newt watched you,confused from the back of the kitchen.

You took a single piece of bacon,slipping it into the pocket of you hoodie.You looked back over to make sure the cooks didn’t see as you took one more piece of bacon from a separate plate before picking up the original plate.Your hands were covered by your long green sleeves as you tiptoed to a table in the far left corner.

You slowly placed the plate on the table,trying as hard as you could not to make a sound.You then picked up the chair,moving it before carefully putting it down.You then sat in the chair,taking the bacon from your pocket and putting them on your plate.

You let out a small,quiet huff.Newt was still looking at you.You had just stolen bacon and gone unnoticed,that was a job that deserved a medal.Your tired eyes glanced over at his corner before locking on him.

Your eyes went wide for a second.You placed a finger over your lips.He squinted,shaking his head.You rolled your eyes,looking over at the cooks one more time before picking up a piece of bacon and tiptoeing over to his table.

You held the bacon out to him,trying to bribe him into silence.He took it with a small nod,trying not to grin.You then carefully went back to your seat,eating your bacon.By now boys were filling the kitchen,sitting down and taking their plates.

It went as it normally did,Chuck sitting with you while the others chose seats randomly.Alby sat with Newt,The Builders sat together at one table while the medjacks sat with Newt and Alby.

They were all talking but Newt wasn’t listening,still focusing on his interaction with you.He had only talked to you twice at most since you had arrived three weeks before.

He didn’t know much about you,no one did except for Chuck.No one even knew you real name,Chuck just started calling you Sunny one day and it stuck.He had given you that name because of your ‘vibe’ which made Newt wonder if you ever remembered your real name.

you had come up in the box very differently than everyone else,wearing clothes that were probably five times too large for you and socks with rainbows on them.He watched from across the kitchen as you flipped your eggs onto Chucks plate,saying something to him in the process.

you then got up,walking out of the kitchen.No one else noticed,no one watched you leave except for him and Chuck.How was it that you were the only girl and the boys didn’t look at you all the time?Now that he thought about it,you were quite pretty.

Your eyes had a twinkle to them and the way you’d bite your lip and scrunch your nose when you were confused was something he always found adorable.You really were something special.

“I think I’m going to go start my work early,see you guys later.”Newt said quietly,picking up his plate and placing it in the sink.He headed out the door,seeing you make your way to the med hut.

Now he didn’t know what to do.How was he supposed to talk to a girl he’d barely ever spoken too?you turned around,looking over at him.He stiffened,not knowing what to do.you turned back around,continuing to walk until you disappeared into the med hut.He remembered the day three weeks ago when you was found in the box,asleep.

Gally had been the one to carry your unconscious body to the med hut,accidentally dropping you onto a bed.you hadnt waken up for three days.But when you did wake up with Newt and Alby in the room you had just sat up,scratched the back of your head and declared that you really had too pee.

Once you had used the bathroom,Chuck gave you the tour and it was decided that you should sleep in the homestead and not in a sleeping bag or a hammock like the others.It was kind of weird but you ended up sleeping on a bundle of blankets inside of Minho’s closet.

Minho said that you could sleep in the bed with him but you were fine in the closet.Newt sighed as he started to pull out the weeds he had missed the day prior.One was particularly difficult,when he tried to pull it he ended up scratching the entire side of his arm on a rock.

He got the weed out,cursing as he looked at his arm.He had seen plenty of boys get scratches and bruises on purpose,just to be able to have you take care of them.He groaned as he stood up,dropping his small shovel.

He made his way over tot he med shack.He didnt want you to think he was one of those boys that got hurt on purpose.He walked in,seeing you laying on your back on one of the beds as you stared at the ceiling.

Your arms were behind your head.He stood to admire you for a few minutes,you looked so calm.Your head turned to look at him,raising an eyebrow. “DUde,how did you get hurt already?”you laughed quietly.He smiled and shrugged,holding out his arm.you sighed,sitting up.

“Get on the bed.”you spoke quietly as you stood up,getting some bandages and peroxcide as well as a small towel.He sat down on the bed,looking at the floor.you moved the stool over so you sat in front of him. “How the hell did you do that?”you smiled.He laughed quietly,looking away from you.

“You see,there was this rock.And it decided to bloody attack me.”He said softly.you poured some of the peroxcide on the towel,wiping his arm. “DId you get revenge?”you asked.The peroxcide made the scrape bubble,it was kind of nasty.He nodded.

“Yeah,I totally did.”He answered.He became kind of nervous,your face was so close to him.you unrolled the banadges,wrapping up his forearm. “Hey,can I ask you a question?”He asked.you nodded,focusing on the bandages. “DId you ever remember your real name?”He asked.

you sighed,a smirk growing on your face. “You’re named after a lizard and you think the name Sunny is weird?”you smiled as you tucked in the end of the bandages. “So Sunny is your real name?”He asked.

you shook your head,putting the peroxcide and bandages back in their spot. “Nope,Chuck just came up with it.Why?”you asked.He shrugged. “I guess its kind of just unfair that we call you something other than your name….Do you just not like it?Your name,I mean.”He huffed.you shrugged.

“Its just boring.You still have twenty minutes until work actually starts.Do you want to take a nap?”you asked.He shrugged.He had just woken up not to long ago,he didnt need a nap yet. “Id rather talk to you.”He said bravely.you rolled your eyes,sitting back on your stool.

“Okay,but why do you want to talk to me now?”you asked.you had a point,he hadnt ever tried to talk to you before.He didnt know how or why he had a sudden fascination with you. “WHy not?”He asked.Her eyes narrowed and you smiled a bit. “Alright then.What do you want to talk about?”you asked.

He thought about it for a minute. “I dont know.Wanna play 20 questions?”He asked.you nodded. “Um...how tall are you?”He asked.Your entire face heated up and you shook your head. “Come on,you have to play the game.”He laughed.you just shook your head.

“You can ask anything else except my height,Okay?”you asked.He nodded. “Can I ask you a question now?”you asked.He nodded,smiling. “Um...whats the stupidest thing youve ever done?”you asked,resting your elbows on your knees.

He thought about it.In two years he had done a lot of stupid things. “I went into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwhich and Fry caught me.”He answered.you bit on your lip,holding back a laugh.

“What about you?Whats the stupidest thing youve ever done?I mean it cant be that bad,youve only been here for a few weeks.”He said,lying on his stomach and putting his arms under the pillow as he looked up at you.

This bed was a lot more comfortable when you was in there.you smiled awkwardly. “Itriedtosummonpeterpan.”you said quickly,he couldnt even understand you.you talked really fast,like really really fast.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion,looking up at your face.you covered your face with your green sleeves. “You did what?”He asked.you looked up at him,the red of your face contrasting against your eyes. “I tried to summon Peter Pan.”you repeated slowly.He smiled from ear to ear,laughing.

“Well thats one way to get out of here.”He laughed.you scrunched up your nose for a second.Now that he was really close to you he realized that you had one single freckle on the bridge of your nose. “Shut the hell your face.”you grumbled.With a sudden wave of confidence he spoke his next words. “Is that where you came from?”He asked with a smile.Her eyes widened.

“Yep!And thats where youre going too.”you answered sarcastically.He blushed. “Whats your favorite animal?”He asked. “Me.”you answered almost immediately.He squinted.

“Okay,youre my favorite animal then.”He answered.The questions went on for a while before you checked your watch and frowned. “You gotta go to work.”you told him.He sighed,sitting up. “Alright,i’ll talk to you later.”He answered,a wave of sadness going through his body.

“Ok,dont drown.”you said in a serious tone.He looked over at you. “Ok.”Was all he answered before waving from the door as he left.Once you was sure he was gone,you flopped onto the bed and buried your face in the pillow.

you had just talked to Newt for more than 30 seconds.you had just talked to someone for thirty minutes straight.Not only that,but he heard her when you talked.That hardly ever happened.Well damn,now you felt awkward.Maybe it wouldnt be the best to talk to him like that again,you didnt want to catch any feelings.

#newt #newt maze runner #newt tmr #newt x reader #newt x y/n #thomas #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster x reader #thomas x you #the maze runner #the scorch trials #the death cure #The Kill Order #tmr #newt smut #newt fluff #newt series

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haikyuu-drabble · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! Of you are taking requests may I have a #2 or #26 for miya atsumu please.

hi! so like u this ended up being 22 pages lol.... i just really have a huge crush on atsumu so god help ME!!! **MANGA SPOILERS IF YOUVE NOT READ UNTIL CHAP 378***

THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!

--------------------------------

atsumu x reader | change

26. i think i’ve been holding myself from falling in love with you all over again

word count: 8607

“Aren’t you going to head to the meeting soon?” your coworker called out to you.

“Ennoshita!” You were gathering some things off of your desk, “I was just headed there, right now.”

“What was the meeting going to be about again?” he asked you.

“The company that hired us to write the script for that commercial wants us to meet the person they chose to sponsor.” you explained.

“Right! That ramen company.” he clapped, “They’ve finally chosen who would really suit the image for it. I’m glad you were picked to write for this project!”

“Thanks.” you laughed, “I’ll see you later. I’m heading over!”

“Tell me who we ended up choosing once you find out!” Ennoshita called out.

You gave him a thumbs up in response and headed out on your way.

Your boss had finally given you a chance to prove yourself, and there was no way you were going to let this opportunity pass you by.

In the beginning of the meeting, your boss went over the normal procedures. However, he added, “Our clients want you to get to know the athlete better and edit the project to fit him more.”

You easily agreed to that. You felt that there was nothing that your boss could have said that might have stopped you. That was until they introduced who was going to be starring in all the ads that you’d be designing.

The person who walked in was none other than Miyu Atsumu. His shocked expression when he saw you must have mirrored yours because he was the last person you were ever expecting to see in this room.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you muttered to yourself.

Your boss looked in your direction and asked, “What was that?”

You feigned a smile and said, “Great choice for this project!”

Once the meeting was concluded, your boss looked at you, “Can you exchange numbers with Miya? That way it’ll be easier to get into contact with each other.”

Atsumu smiled at your boss, “That’s quite alright. I believe we already have each others numbers!”

Atsumu looked at you and smirked, and you looked at your boss, “We’ve been acquainted for some time actually. I don’t know if getting to know him a bit better would actually be necessary.”

“Sorry, no can do. It’s the clients request, and I’m not going to be the one to tell them no.” he responded.

You nodded at your boss, and he exited the conference room, leaving you and Atsumu alone. You rubbed your temples, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Atsumu grinned, “Who would have believed that I’d be working with my ex for my first commercial?”

“I could literally say the same thing.” you sighed, “Look. Can’t we just tell my boss that we meet up and stuff? Then, I’ll edit the script a little bit, and we all win in the end. You don’t have to see me, and I don’t have to see you, but everyone thinks we did.”

A devious smile grew on his face, “You know, I’m feeling like it’s time I straighten myself out.”

“What?” you deadpanned at him, very confused.

Atsumu continued, “I really think that I’ve got to stop lying. ‘Samu’s always on me about that, and I just think today is the day that I change that. We should really listen to your boss and hang out for that script of yours.”

Your shoulders dropped, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen me. I could’ve changed here or there.” he smiled.

“I doubt it. It seems like you like to rile me up the same way as before.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to tell your boss that you aren’t doing what he says.” he smirked, “Hopefully, they’ll still accept you as the writer for the commercial.”

“Fine! Fine!” you gave in and pulled out your phone, “What’s your number?”

Atsumu raised a brow, “Seriously?”

“I deleted your number when we broke up. I never expected I’d be needing it ever again.” you admitted.

He begrudgingly grabbed your phone out of your hand and entered his number, “I hope to be hearing from you soon!”

“Don’t wait too long.” you sighed.

That night was a work department dinner, and you ended up at an izakaya. After a couple of drinks, everyone was starting to get a little chattier and louder. Ennoshita exclaimed, “Wait! You dated The Miya Atsumu?”

“Not so loud!” you covered his mouth with your hand, “It’s really not that cool.”

He pulled your hand off him and whispered, “You’re kidding, right? He literally has a fan club dedicated to him and just had an article written about how he’s one of the top sports bachelors.”

“Him? Really?” you snorted, “Wait, how do you even know that?”

“I hear stuff!” he shrugged, “But still, I can’t believe you! How did you two even meet?!”

“We met through common friends, and it just kind of happened.” you took a sip of your beer.

Your friend rested his chin on his hand, “So then, how long did you two date?”

“Almost four years.” you answered.

“Four years?!” Ennoshita exclaimed.

“Can you relax!” You looked to see if anyone overhead and stared at the foam in your glass, “It was a long time ago.”

He asked, “So, how is working with Miya Atsumu?”

“It’s interesting,” you veered.

“Intersting?” he chuckled, “What do you mean by that? Are things awkward?”

“Not really.” you shook your head, “Atsumu isn’t the type to let things like this really affect him.”

“What about you?” your friend asked, “Are you comfortable working with him?”

You rolled your eyes a bit, “Sadly, that doesn’t matter. I feel like if I really want to be respected as a scriptwriter, I have to deal with all the punches I’m dealt. If I don’t, no one will take me seriously.”

The next day, you were at your desk looking over some paperwork when you got a text from Atsumu. He was telling you to eat dinner with him. You replied, “No way! This is so last minute. I have things to do.”

You sent the text and put your phone face down on your desk. While you were dating, maybe planning things last minute was fine, but you didn’t owe him anything anymore.

You went back to reviewing some of your work and had gone uninterrupted for a good fifteen minutes. That was when your phone started ringing. You peeked at the caller ID and saw Atsumu’s name.

You grabbed your phone and headed into the hallway. You answered the phone, “Atsumu, are you being serious right now?”

“Yes.” he replied, “Let’s get sushi tonight. I’m craving fatty tuna.”

“I told you that I can’t. I have work to do tonight.”

“Well, I could just go to you, and tell your boss that you’ve been too busy to go on dates with me.”

“Dates?” you repeated, “We are not going on dates.”

“Dates or spending time… same thing isn’t it? I mean, I can talk to your boss about it the whole thing later when I stop by.”

“No! Don’t do that.” you looked at your pile of work on your desk and gave in, “What time?”

“Great!” he cheered, “I’ll send you the address, and let’s meet at seven.”

“Okay.” you sighed.

“See you then!” you could hear his grin through the phone.

You hung up your phone and tossed it to the edge of your desk. If you were going to get anywhere close to finishing all your work you had to get rid of all distractions.

You found yourself speed walking to the restaurant that Atsumu sent you. You managed to finish all your work, but you did have to stay just a tad bit longer at work than you expected. When you got to the restaurant, you told the hostess Atsumu’s name, and she led you to your table.

At the table was the familiar blond. You sat down and tried to catch your breath. He tilted his head, “Why are you out of breath?”

“Because I know how much you hate waiting, and I am barely capable of dealing with you normally, much less a grumpy version of you.” you answered.

“That may have been true before, but next time don’t rush.” he opened the menu, “I can wait a couple minutes.”

You raised your brow and picked up the menu as well, “Looks like someone has changed a little bit.”

Without looking up from the menu, he chuckled, “I told you that you that I’ve changed since the last time we saw each other.”

When the waitress came to take your drink orders, Atsumu answered, “We’ll have one Asahi and one Sapporo.”

You looked at the waitress and smiled, “Actually, can you make that just two Asahis?”

She wrote down your orders and left. You looked at Atsumu with a smile, “You’re not the only one who has changed a little bit over the years.”

He looked at you and chuckled, “So, what have you been up to now?”

You were looking at the food options on the menu and replied, “Well, I’ve been promoted here and there through the years, and this commercial that I’m writing for is the first one they’re letting me put my hands on alone, finally. So, don’t mess this up for me.”

“I could say the same thing.” he chuckled, “Don’t make me look like a scrub.”

You rolled your eyes and sarcastically answered, “How could I possibly make one of the top pro athlete bachelors look like a scrub?”

Atsumu grinned, “True.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes, “How about your team? How’s the good old Bokuto?”

Astumu showed an irritated expression, “He’s the same as always. Annoying.”

“Glad to see that he hasn’t changed at all!” you laughed.

“That makes literally only one person in the whole world.” Atsumu deadpanned.

“He’s not that bad!” you responded, “You guys just have two very different personalities, so of course things can get volatile. Though, it’s mostly from your end.”

“I resent that.” Atsumu sighed.

When the food came, you couldn’t help but feel the hunger in your stomach. It just dawned on you that you had to forgo lunch because of all of today’s deadlines. You started digging in as soon as the food was set down and Atsumu watched you with a smile, “Let me guess. You skipped out on lunch?”

With a full mouth, you answered, “Well, I had to finish all my work since someone wanted to get dinner last minute.”

Atsumu scoffed, “We both know that’s not true. You’ve always had the terrible habit of skipping meals in general.”

You stuck another piece of salmon sushi in your mouth, “What can I say? Eating comes second to my work.”

“Well, if you had better taste buds, you’d actually enjoy eating more.” Atsumu placed a piece of fatty tuna from his plate onto yours, “Salmon sushi is subpar.”

“Whatever~” you sang as you took another bite.

“As long as you’re eating. You and I both know that without food, you can’t have the fuel needed to perform well. ”

You picked up the sushi he gave you and smiled, “Your athlete is coming out, Atsumu.”

When you both finished eating, Atsumu offered to take you home, “Yoyogi, right?”

“Ah, not anymore.” you shook your head, “I moved to Shibuya.”

“Even better. That’s where I live, too.” he grinned.

On the train ride home, since it was past rush hour, you two were able to find seats. You looked outside of the window and watched the buildings quickly pass by you. At one of the stops, you noticed a mother carrying her baby went onto the train. You stood up and were about to give her the seat, but Atsumu pushed your shoulder down. He stood up himself and smiled at the mother signaling for her to take his seat. Atsumu ended up standing in front of you. He faced you, and you smiled at him. He mouthed, “What?”

You only smiled and shook your head in response.

When you reached your apartment complex, you said, “Even though, this was last minute, and I had to rush all my work, tonight was fun.”

“Of course, it was. You spent it with me.” he smirked.

“That being said, if you ever do this again on a work day, I am going to kill you.” you warned.

“Fine. Fine. Got it.” Atsumu put both his hands up, “Speaking of,” he took something out of his pocket, “Here.”

You looked at what his hands held, and it was a ticket for one of his games. You asked, “Really?”

“It’s for this weekend, and it’s in Tokyo. Since I’ve given you a couple days of warning, there’s no reason for you to not come.” he replied.

“I’ll see if I can make it.” you looked at him, “But seriously, no promises.”

“Whatever.” he chuckled.

He turned his back and started to walk away. You called out, “Have a good night, Atsumu.”

He didn’t turn around and just put a hand up to signal goodbye.

The next morning, you couldn’t stop thinking of the ticket. This time he wasn’t really forcing you to go, so there was no pressure this time. But why did you feel even more inclined to go?

You brought it up later with Ennoshita at lunch. He asked, “I mean, you two are friends, and from the dinner you two had, it doesn’t seem like it was awkward at all.”

“I just don’t know what he wants from me.” you replied.

“Has he hit on you at all?” he questioned.

You shook your head. “See.” he pointed out, “There’s nothing to worry about. Maybe he just wants to repair some burnt bridges. Besides, isn’t it better if things go normally for the commercial?”

“That’s… true.” you admitted.

“Why are you so resistant on mending your guys’ relationship? Did the breakup end badly?”

“Not at all really.” you answered, “The relationship itself was actually pretty easy. He was definitely a brat. He’s definitely still a brat, but we got along well and had fun.”

Your coworker raised a brow, “Then why did you two break up?”

You shrugged, “We just drifted apart. He got busy with travelling for his team, and I--” you hesitated, “I just wanted to focus on my career, too. I guess we just weren’t in sync anymore.”

“Well, it seems like neither of you have any desire to date again, so if you’re really asking for my opinion then I say go. But at the end of the day, if you really don’t want to go, then don’t.”

You pouted, “That doesn’t help at all.”

“I’m not going to force you to go if you don’t want to!” he laughed.

You groaned and put your head on the table. Ennoshita then suggested, “Just go. If you feel like leaving then leave. At least you can say that way you went, and both parties are satisfied.”

“I’ll… think about it.” you replied.

Despite your words that same weekend, you found yourself in the city’s gymnasium. The smell of icy hot created giant waves of nostalgia. Before you got there, you reminded yourself that you could leave at any time you became uncomfortable. The issue was that you felt even more comfortable being there than you expected.

You looked around, and the crowds of people made it harder to get around. You checked the time, and you showed up a little early. You decided you might as well go around and get some food. While looking at the stalls, you saw a familiar face. You approached the man, “Osamu?”

Osamu looked up and gave you a shocked expression, “Hey. I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

You awkwardly laughed, “It has been a long time. I’m glad to see that your onigiri business is doing great still.”

“I’m glad to see it, too.” he replied, “Are you here for ‘Tsumu?”

“Uhh… kind of.” you chuckled.

“You guys dating again?” he asked.

“I-I see you still get to the point quickly.” you tried to laugh, “But, no. We aren’t dating.”

Osamu raised both his brows, “Interesting.”

Osamu passed you two onigiris, and you pulled out your wallet to pay. He held his hand out to stop you, “Don’t worry about it. Just take it as an apology for whatever Atsumu has done to inconvenience you.”

“Well,” you joked, “Two onigiris should do it for now, but we’ll see how much you owe me in a couple of days.”

You walked out to find a seat and tried to avoid the cheer area for Atsumu’s team in fear of running into anyone you knew. While looking over the crowd, you smiled. There were so many more people cheering for Atsumu’s team than before.

When the teams came out, you saw all of Atsumu’s teammates. Some were familiar, some new, but your surrounding incited a sense of excitement in you.

You could see Atsumu looking through the crowd. When he faced your direction, he stopped and smiled. It felt like he was looking straight at you, but you knew it was impossible for him to find you in this sea of people.

While watching the game, it reminded you of how much you used to love coming to support him. He’d taught you all about the sport, and you were glad you still made sense of everything. What was also crazy to see was how much better he’d gotten… you didn’t even know that was possible. You thought of telling him about how much he’s improved, but you know that guy did not any more fuel to add to his ego.

At the end of the match, you could feel yourself getting a bit anxious. You had hoped slightly that he’d text you where you were, but that hope caused fear in you as well. Fear that you wouldn’t get that text and then be filled with disappointment.

You decided to just text him that it was a great game and to thank him for the ticket. Just when you pulled out your phone from your pocket, you felt it vibrate. You checked it, and on your screen was a notification for a text from Atsumu.

You could feel yourself feeling not only relieved… but happy. You tried shoving those feelings as far down as you could. There was no way you were going back there. You couldn’t.

You finally managed to read the text, and it read, “Come and meet me in the back.”

You smiled and typed, “How do you even know I went to your game?”

Within seconds, he responded, “You would never miss a chance to watch me play.”

You closed your screen and scoffed to yourself.

Despite your reaction, you decided to meet him. You were leaning against the wall waiting for him to come out, and you were surprised by someone putting a cap on your head. You looked up and saw Atsumu, who was also wearing a cap. You laughed, “What is this for?”

He put his hand over your head and said, “Just trust me on this.”

He started to lead you to the exit when a familiar voice behind you exclaimed, “Hey! ‘Tsumu is going off with another person!”

You took the cap off and glared at Atsumu, “‘Another person?’”

Atsumu looked up in exasperation, “Now? Of all times?”

“Oh!” the voice announced, “It’s you!”

You looked behind you and smiled, “Hi, Bokuto. Long time no see.”

Atsumu glared at Bokuto, “What do you mean by another person?”

“Well, earlier you went off with the sports doctor for your knee.” Bokuto explained.

You looked at Atsumu with slight panic, “What happened to your knee?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Atsumu put the hat back on your head, “It was a minor injury, and the doctor just wanted to make sure it was totally healed.”

He looked over Bokuto, “And you! Stop saying such misleading sentences!”

Atsumu grabbed your hand and headed towards the exit. Bokuto called out to you, “It was good seeing you!”

You grinned and waved, “You, too!”

Before Atsumu opened the door to leave the building, he looked at you, “I know you’re cute and all, but try not to draw any attention to yourself.”

You could feel your ears go red, “What are you talking about?!”

He smirked at you and led you outside. When you got outside, there were crowds of reporters and paparazzi but they were all waiting at another door. You looked at Atsumu in front of you, “Where are we going?!”

He laughed, “Just shut up and follow me!”

Atsumu led you to a parking structure, and he walked up to a car. He let go of your hand and opened the driver’s side door, “You coming?”

“Y-yeah.” you nodded.

You got inside the other side of the vehicle and buckled your seatbelt, “When did you get a car?”

Atsumu turned on the ignition, “Not too long ago.”

When he started to drive, you said, “You know, you only asked me to go to your game today. I didn’t realize that included plans after.”

Atsumu snorted, “I’m only driving you home, dummy.”

You scratched your head and looked out the window, “You can’t expect me to think that knowing you.”

“I just wanted to see you at least one more time today.” he commented.

“One more time?” you asked, “When was the other time you saw me?”

“I saw you in the crowd.” he laughed, “Didn’t you see me looking right at you?”

“Someone’s back to telling lies.” you sang.

“You were sitting on the back left side of the cheering area.” he refuted.

You pouted, “Lucky guess.”

Atsumu looked at your expression and chuckled.

Once you reached your apartment, you thanked him for the ride home and opened the car door. Before closing it, you laughed, “Life has gotten slightly more interesting since you came back, Atsumu.”

“I think that’s how most people feel about me.” he mused.

“Bye.” you chimed before closing the car door in his face.

The next following days were filled with more work, mostly about Atsumu’s sponsorship with things regarding budget, location, etc… When you finally managed to catch a break, you were resting at your desk. Ennoshita came up to you and placed yet another file on your desk, “So, how’d the game go?”

You opened the files that he placed on your desk, “It-It went.”

“Went?”

“I don’t know!” you cried, “I keep getting these weird mixed signals from him. At times, I think he’s flirting with me, but then it turns out he’s just being nice. Even then, him being nice is a rarity, so I don’t--”

“Relax!” Ennoshita laughed, “Breathe.”

“Right.” you looked around to see if anyone noticed your complaints, “It’s just there are these moments when I just find myself being swept off my feet, and then back into reality by his casualness about it all.”

“Well, you dated him before. You should be more or less familiar with his style.” Ennoshita pointed out.

“That’s the thing.” you sighed, “This Atsumu is someone who I’m not familiar with at all. Before, he was so straightforward with his feelings, so I never really doubted him. If you were to ask me now…”

“How do you want him to feel about you?” Ennoshita examined.

You put you head on your desk, “That seems like the answer we all want to know.”

You sat up and looked at Ennoshita, “Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter how I want him to feel. There’s no way he holds feelings for me anymore, so I’m not going to worry about it. He just wants to be friends.”

One of you coworkers came up to you, “Hey, boss wants to see you in his office.”

You looked at Ennoshita and mumbled, “Not a word to anyone about this!”

Ennoshita saluted at you, “You got it.”

You walked alongside your other coworker and asked, “Did he say what it would be about at all?”

“No clue.” They shook their head, “Good luck, though.”

You got up from your chair and headed to his office. When you knocked, he answered, “Come in.”

You tried to smile, “You asked me to stop by?”

“I just wanted to see if you’ve made any updates on the script yet.”

“Just a little bit here or there.” you lied.

“Great.” he nodded, “Can you finish it by this weekend and have it on my desk by Monday?”

“Monday?” you fearfully repeated.

He raised a brow, “Is there a problem with that?”

You instinctively shook your head, “Nope, Monday sounds great.”

When you left your office, you sighed. You’d normally set up time to edit at your desk, but in each session, you couldn’t manage even one change. How in the world were you going to edit this script?

That weekend you shut yourself in your apartment and didn’t let yourself leave your desk until you managed to finish the script. That being said, grabbing some inspiration from playing on your phone wasn’t forbidden. You were in the middle of checking twitter when you got a text. You were smiling after seeing who it was from.

Rather than texting back, you called them. You heard his voice through the speaker, “Hello.”

You smiled, “Atsumu, what did I say about asking me to hang out last minute?”

“Hmm…” he pretended to think, “I really can’t remember what you’re talking about, though?”

“Regardless of whether you remember or not,” you sighed, “I am not free for dinner tonight. I have to finish the script for your commercial by Monday.”

“That’s too bad.” he quickly responded, “Maybe next time.”

You were shocked by his quick concession, “Yeah. Uh, maybe next time.”

He hung up the phone, and you stared at the screen. You were caught off guard by how quickly he accepted your no. It wasn’t that you were used to people not insisting, but you just weren’t used to Atsumu giving in that quickly.

You put your phone down and stared at your computer screen once again. If you were going to feel any relief this weekend, this script had to be done… that’s what you said, but here you were sitting at your computer… still with no edits.

Your lack of any sense of creativity was interrupted by a knock at your door. You figured it was your neighbor probably passing you your mail that might have ended up in their box again. You opened it, and to your extreme surprise, you said, “Atsumu?”

He looked you up and down and smirked, “You look… comfortable.”

You looked down at your pajamas and fuzzy slippers, you muttered, “What are you doing here?”

Atsumu lifted up his arms that carried a bag of food, “I figured if you were crammed up in your apartment, you definitely weren’t eating.”

He walked past you and into your apartment, “So, shall we take a break and eat?”

You closed your front door and sighed, “Not like I was getting anything done anyways.”

He placed the food on your dining table and pointed at your laptop, “This where you’re editing the script?”

You grabbed the to-go boxes of food, “Yup.”

He pulled the laptop, so he could see the screen. He looked up at you with a disgusted expression, “Slurps Up?”

“It’s the sponsor’s catchphrase. You of all people should know that.” you snorted.

“I’m getting paid to promote the product, not actually consume it.” he replied.

“Well, that’s the one thing I can’t change out of the script, even though, I wish I could.” you joked, “Other than that, I have no idea what to make different.”

Atsumu read through the script again and suggested, “What if I read through everything, and whatever sounds off, you can change.”

“I mean it can’t hurt.” you nodded.

Atsumu started reading through the script, and you were taking notes on different things like his tone and the words he was emphasizing. When he finished, you asked him to read it one more time. Atsumu shook his head, “Finish eating first, and then I’ll go through it one more time.”

“Come on.” you begged, “It’ll only take like three minutes.”

Atsumu closed your laptop and glared at you, “Eat.”

“Fine.” you pouted in response.

You tried eating all the food that Atsumu brought you, so you could you start working again. Now that you knew what you wanted to do, you felt the need to get it done as soon as possible in fear that it would all disappear from your brain. Once you finished, you opened your laptop and pushed it in front of him, “Read through it one more time.”

“I’m not even done eating yet!” Atsumu blurted.

“Just three minutes of your time, and I’ll let you eat in peace!” you insisted.

“Fine.” he wiped his mouth and started reading.

Once he went through it, you grabbed your laptop from him, “Perfect!”

You quickly typed and changed the wording in random spots. When you passed him the laptop to read through it one more time, he deadpanned, “Let me finish eating this time.”

“Right.” you giggled.

You continued to read through the script making sure things flowed well, and when he finally finished eating, he took the laptop from you. He started reading it.

When he finished, you asked, “So, what do you think of it now?”

“I think it flows a lot better, and strangely enough you used words I actually use normally. Hopefully, the filming for this will go easier than normal.” he replied.

“Wow, is that a compliment from The Miya Atsumu?” you laughed.

He patted your head, “Don’t get too carried away.”

You stood up from the table and ran to your kitchen. You pull out a couple of cans, “This calls for a celebration!”

You tossed a can of beer and sat on the couch, “Seriously! I feel really good about this script. I hope my boss accepts it.”

Atsumu moved to the couch to sit next to you, “Well, if you’re that confident, I hope he takes it too.”

You crossed your legs and face him. You held out your beer to cheers with him, and he clinked his can to yours with a side smile.

You took a couple of gulps from your can and released a breath, “There’s seriously nothing better than a cold can of beer.”

Atsumu took a sip of his and set it down on the coffee table, “I’ll agree with you on that.”

You were still facing him and asked, “So, I know we talked about what I did in the past couple of years. How about you, Atsumu?”

“I’ve just been traveling and touring a lot for volleyball games.” he answered, “Same old, same old.”

“You act like being adored by fans and getting paid thousands for sponsors is normal.” you snorted.

“It’s not why I play.” he responded.

“It’s been a while, but trust me when I say I know that much about you.” You took a sip of your beer, “Your nearly insatiable hunger for getting better and winning is the reason.”

Atsumu held his can out for you to cheers it, “That’s correct.”

You hit his can once again and laughed, “Did you know that when you drink, you have a tendency to cheers quite often?”

Atsumu turned red, and you cackled, “I’m guessing you didn’t know!”

You stood up from the couch and asked, “I’m gonna get another one. Do you want one?”

Atsumu’s eyes went wide, “You already finished one?”

“It’s been stressful these past couple of days!” you defended, “Today is probably one of the only days for awhile that I can enjoy drinking, so I’m gonna enjoy every minute of it.”

He grabbed the TV remote with his other hand, “I’ll get one when I’m done with this.”

“Suit yourself.” you walked towards the kitchen.

You sat down on the couch again with your drink and watched Atsumu flip through the channels and asked, “Out of curiosity, have you dated anyone since we broke up?”

Atsumu nearly choked on his drink, “W-What are you talking about?”

“Well, have you?” you asked, “I mean, you can’t be dating anyone right now considering you’re at my place on a Saturday night.”

“Says the person crammed at home by herself on a Saturday night.”

“Hey! I had work to do.”

“Oh?” Atsumu raised a brow, “Are you living a fruitful dating life then?”

You looked back at the TV and leaned your back against the couch, “It’s been a busy time with work.”

Atsumu laughed, “I see.” he started flipping through the channels again, “But not really. I’ve been busy with work too.”

You could feel your stomach starting to knot. There you were again starting to feel hopeful. You wanted to shove those feelings far down. To distract you, you ended up chugging the rest of your can. Atsumu looked at you, “You good over there?”

“Great!” you grinned.

You walked over to the fridge once again, and Atsumu finally stood up and said, “Wait, just a second. Should you really be getting another one?”

“Why?” you snorted, “You worried about me?”

“I mean, yeah.” Atsumu started, “Beer has a lot of calories, and you aren’t as young anymore--”

You slapped him in the stomach, and he flinched. “I am not fat!” you opened the fridge, “I bet that I can finish this beer faster than you.”

When he managed to catch his breath, he said, “You and I both know that’s not true.”

You placed a can in his hand, “Talk is cheap.”

You walked over to the couch and heard the sound of a can being opened. You smiled at yourself for knowing that Atsumu could never step down from a challenge.

After several more drinks and bottles, you felt yourself slump on the couch. Atsumu was leaning back too, his stomach sticking out completely due to all the liquids. He groaned, “Why do you have so much alcohol just for one person?”

“In the workplace, ice wine and champagne is the normal gift to give for birthdays or other celebrations. So, I have several bottles stocked up over the years.” you laughed,.

“And no one to drink with?” Atsumu teased.

“Nope.” you openly admitted.

After that, only the noise of the TV filled the room. Atsumu was first to speak, “Hey, I’ve always wondered. Why did we break up?”

You looked over at him, “Really? You’re going to ask that now?”

“Well, it’s either now or never.” he chuckled.

If either of you were sober, this conversation never would have come up, and you most definitely wouldn’t have answered his question. But you were very far from sober. “You were travelling all over the country, and I was just starting out on my career. You got all these great new opportunities, and yet you were stuck with your significant other who was getting nowhere with their life. You were growing, and I just felt like a thorn at your side.”

“You were never a thorn at my side.” he retorted.

You could sense the tension in his voice, and you tried to calm down the situation, “Well, regardless, we are friends now, and I know that’s what you want. Sometimes, I’m pretty sure I get carried away though because of how easy it is for us to be together. I think I’ve been holding myself from falling in love with you all over again.”

Atsumu asked, “Why hold yourself back?”

You looked at Atsumu expecting to have a smile on his face, but he was completely serious. You couldn’t find the words to reply. He continued, “You were never a hindrance. Why didn’t you just tell me how you felt?”

“I don’t know.” you could feel yourself choking up, “I just couldn’t.”

“I suppose you mean to tell me that you broke up with me for my sake.” he fumed.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes because that was always your excuse: you ended the relationship for him. But you knew that was never the truth. You were terrified that his motivation would one day want something that no longer included you. So, you cut him off before he could ever get the chance.

Atsumu stood up from the couch, “I never wanted you to leave me. You’ve been one of the few people who I genuinely enjoy spending my time with. You loved me for me, and you’ve never asked me to change, despite my horrible personality. Even now.” he turned to face you, “You admitted yourself that being together just feels rights. Now that you’re where you want to be in your career, could you even just consider us again? If I were to ask you to give me another chance, would you?”

You saw the earnestness in Atsumu’s eyes. When you hesitated, the pain that then filled his eyes caused your heart to break. He turned around and headed to the door. When he touched the doorknob, Atsumu faced you one more time, “I know how hard it can be to deal with me, and that’s what I always thought it was. This whole time, I really thought it was me who made you unhappy. But you know, I can tell and show you that I love you as much as I can, and it still won’t be enough. Because your source of unhappiness isn’t me, it’s you.”

When he finally opened the door, you tried to call out to him, but he slammed it behind him without hesitation. You were left alone with only the small sound of the television.

The following Monday, you submitted the new script to your boss. You sat in the breakroom alone, staring at your black coffee. You were surprised by Ennoshita’s voice, “Hey! Did you actually manage to make some edits that make a difference?”

You stirred your coffee, “I guess so.”

Ennoshita sat on the chair across from yours and tried to get a look at your face, “Everything alright?”

You feigned a smile at your friend, “Yeah, just had a long weekend full of work.”

Ennoshita leaned back in his chair, “I don’t know about that. I’ve seen you after a real weekend of work, and you don’t look this miserable.”

“Gee, thanks.” you mused

“You know what I mean.” Ennoshita rolled his eyes, “What happened?”

“Atsumu and I got into a fight this weekend.” you revealed.

“A fight? About what?”

“Why we broke up.”

Ennoshita tilted his head, “Isn’t that conversation literally years overdue?”

“But it’s a conversation we never had.” you sighed, “He told me he still loved me, and asked to try us out one more time basically, but...”

Ennoshita scanned your face and figured how you must have answered Atsumu, “Do you think you made the right decision?”

You rested your chin on your arms on the table, “Not at all.”

“Then, what are you planning on doing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe fall into a hole for the next year of my life.” you groaned.

“Who knows? If the boss hates your new script, you may actually get the chance to do that.” Ennoshita replied.

You looked up and glared at him, but he smiled at you, “Look. We all know that your new script is going to get a pass from the boss. What you should worry about next is how you’re going to deal with Atsumu when he films it.”

“Do I have to go to that?” you whined, “I mean I did my part. I wrote the thing.”

Ennoshita stood up, “Wow, you just officially became a writer, and you’re already turning into a diva.”

You looked at him, and he gave you another smile, “Just feel better.”

You smiled back at him, “Thanks, Ennoshita.”

“Anytime~” He sang, “That reminds me, I actually came here to tell you that the boss approved of your script, and production starts in two weeks.”

You stood up from your seat, “Ennoshita, couldn’t you have opened with that?!”

“I don’t even know why you’ve been so scared to get kicked off the project. You’re one of the top writers at this company.” He turned around and shrugged, “Besides if I brought up the news later, then I wouldn’t have learned what happened over this weekend!”

You instantly grabbed your phone and were about to send a message to Atsumu, but you quickly stopped yourself. You looked out the window and sighed. He was probably the only person in the world who you wanted to share your news with.

The next two weeks were extreme times of work. You were alongside the production company making sure everything was going to plan. It wasn’t necessarily in your job description, but you just had to get something to distract you. If you didn’t, you might have gone crazy from anxiety waiting for the day you were forced to see Atsumu again.

When the day of filming finally was nearing, you nearly begged Ennoshita to join you the day of set. “Please, Ennoshita, I do not want to face him alone. Besides, you’ve always wanted to get to know more about the production side of things, right? Today’s the day!”

Ennoshita cringed, “Fine. Fine. Just stop acting like you’re doing me a favor.”

You grinned, “Thank you!”

“Please, don’t mention it.” he deadpanned.

The daty had finally arrived, and you were there bright and early on set. You were sitting next to the director, and you two were going over the checklist. You checked the time on your phone, and if things were going according to schedule, Atsumu should be in makeup.

You called Ennoshita over who was eating the set food. He jogged over to you, and you asked, “Astumu is getting his makeup done, right?”

“Yup!” he grinned, “Just checked.”

You checked your watch, “Great. Then he’ll be out there in 15 minutes, and I can leave.”

The director interrupted, “I was told you were staying today in order to help us if we have questions about the script.”

You could feel your stomach drop, and for once you were upset that you couldn’t push this onto a co-writer. You smiled at the director, “I’ll stay then.”

You immediately looked over at Ennoshita with slight panic in your eyes, and he pat you on the back, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Right.” you breathed, “Things will be great.”

In a couple of minutes, Atsumu finally came out, and you tried to hide yourself. The director told him to move to the set, and Atsumu immediately locked eyes with you when he did. You expected him to at least acknowledge you, but there was nothing. You knew you didn’t deserve it.

Filming for the most part was going smoothly. When the director called for a break, the director went over the next part of the script with you. Ennoshita asked you, “You want anything from the set food?”

You smiled and shook your head, “That’s alright. I’m not hungry.”

Ennoshita looked at the set in front of him, “Despite you having bad reasons for bringing me here, I’m actually glad you did.”

“And why is that?” you rolled your eyes.

“You were right when you said I have been wanting to get into the production side of things, but it’s great watching you work too.”

“I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing since I can’t ask a co-writer for their opinions.” you scoffed.

“I don’t think you need a co-writer at all. It’s kind of clear to everyone here. If the director thought you weren’t capable, he would not have wanted you on set. You’d just get in the way.” he tapped your shoulder, “Have a little more faith in yourself.”

You looked in Atsumu’s direction and scratched the back of your head, “That seems to always be my issue.”

When the director called for things to start up again, you watched everything roll out once again. However there was a part in one scene that another person just wasn’t getting right. When the director called cut, you asked, “If it’s alright with you, can we roll that again? But have the other person talk just a little louder.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me.” the director nodded.

When the day finally ended, Ennoshita came up to you with a plate of fatty tuna sushi. You took it and laughed, “They had fatty tuna on the set table? That’s fancy.”

“No, actually. Atsumu passed it to me to give to you.” Ennoshita replied, “Even though things are rough between you two, I think you should go talk to him. The whole time today he was looking at you, and when you told the director to redo a scene, he smiled at you. I kind of pity the guy.”

You chuckled, “I don’t know if you’ll be pitying him after seeing the fat paycheck he’s getting from this.”

“At least my relationship isn’t in the rocks.” Ennoshita joked.

“Ennoshita!” you exclaimed, “That relationship involves me!”

“Just talk to him when you get the chance. I think he’ll be willing to listen to you.” he laughed, “Anyways, enjoy your sushi, and have a good night.”

“Night.” you smiled at your friend.

The same evening, you were at your dining table staring at your phone. You had been trying to gain the courage to text Atsumu for the past hour, but you were horrified. What if he didn’t reply and no longer wanted anything to do with you?

You sighed. Frankly, it’s what you deserved. He already gave you a second chance. Did you really deserve a third?

What you did know was that you owed it to yourself to finally try to speak your mind. You hesitantly grabbed your phone from off the table and dialed his number. It rang three times until it stopped, and the call was picked up but no one said anything. You called out, “Atsumu?”

“Nope. You got Osamu.” he answered the phone, “Though, you may want to come over to Atsumu’s soon.”

“What’s wrong? What happened?” you panicked, “Is everything okay?”

Osamu scoffed, “He’s fine. He’s just--”

He stopped, but you could hear in the background Atsumu telling him to shut up. You tried to redirect the conversation, “Is it alright if I speak to Atsumu?”

Osamu continued, “I think you should just stop by. I’ll text you his address.”

“I-- Alright.” you nodded.

You hung up the phone, and soon after got an address. You grabbed your things and headed to his place. It was a quick ten minute walk since he really did live in the same district as you. When you got there, you knocked on the door, and Osamu was the one to open the door. “Is he alright?” you said out of breath.

“Why are you out of breath? Did you run here?” he asked.

“Kind of.” you answered.

“‘Tsumu, see!” Osamu looked behind him, “There’s nothing to worry about. They ran all the way over here.”

“Just go!” Astumu yelled from behind.

Osamu let himself out of the apartment, and you let yourself in, “Atsumu, are you here? Why are all the lights off?”

“Don’t look at me!” he yelled.

“What are you talking about?” you felt the walls for a light switch.

When you finally felt one on the wall, you pressed it. Finally, the apartment’s lights went on, and you could see. You saw what was way too familiar a scene. Atsumu was sat on the couch nearly lifeless. You chuckled, “Why are you so sad?”

He mumbled, “I told ‘Samu not to pick up the phone, and what does he do? He picks up the phone.”

You sat on the couch and said, “Whatever it is, it can’t be that serious.”

“This is totally embarrassing!” he groveled.

“What are you talking about?” you exclaimed.

“I’m talking about at the shoot today. I tried to be cool, and I kept messing up my lines. Why did we have to do the ‘Slurps up!’” line so many times?!” he exclaimed.

You laughed, “That’s what has you all depressed? Really?”

He glared at you, “I didn’t want to look stupid in front of you, and I did just that! I bit my tongue when I first opened my mouth! After everything, I was too embarrassed to even give you the food I prepared for you. I ended up giving it to one of your coworkers!”

You were listening Atsumu vent about his issues, and you could feel yourself calming down. You took a deep breath and started talking about the things you wanted to, “Atsumu, I came over to… tell you that I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth, and you shook your head. You continued, “I love you, and I never stopped. You make things so much more fun, and you always managed to keep me on my toes. Like today, for example. I could feel my heartbeat raise just from looking at you, and I was expecting you to be mad at me--”

He interrupted you, “I am still mad at you. I only got you food because I knew you wouldn’t have eaten otherwise.”

“Right.” You smiled at him, “You also frustrate me to no end, but the way you make me feel is incomparable to anyone else.”

“I’m not as courageous as you.” Tears were starting to fill your eyes, “I’m a coward, and that’s why I ended things before. But I don’t want to be anymore. So, if you’ll take me as the coward I am now, I promise that in due time, you can proudly call me your partner.”

Atsumu wrapped both his arms around you and tucked his head into your shoulder. He whispered, “Coward or not, I’ll always be proud to call you mine.”

You wrapped your arms around him, “I love you, Atsumu.”

He pulled away slightly from your embrace and kissed you softly on the lips, “I love you, too.”

~~~~LATER~~~~

“Atsumu, hurry up!!” you called out from the couch, “The commercial is going to show soon!”

He ran over to his couch and sat next to you. You leaned your head onto his chest, and he asked, “Have you really not watched the commercial yet?”

“No because I wanted to see it with you for the first time.” you smiled, “That, and you would have begged me to show you before we released it officially.”

“I wouldn’t ask you--”

You covered his mouth and shushed him, “Be quiet! It’s starting!”

You watched the whole thirty seconds of it, and for the final scene, Atsumu gave the camera a big grin and exclaimed, “Slurps up!” followed by an overexaggerated wink.

You looked up at your boyfriend, and his face was completely red. You couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. The horror in Atsumu’s face was pure comedy. You could tell he was going to get in one of his moods again, and to prevent that from happening, you said, “There. There. That final scene was great. Everyone knows how cheesy catchphrases are.”

He looked at you with wide eyes, “Do you really think so?”

“Of course.” you pecked him on the lips.

Then you stood up from the couch and winked, “Slurps up.” before jetting away.

Atsumu stood up from the couch and chased after you with a grin, “We’ll see how much longer you’ll be laughing when I catch you!”

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