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peachywise · 5 years

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nullify part 2

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader

- part ii: the broken alarm clock || ⋆ part i ⋆ part iii ⋆ part iv ⋆ part v ⋆ part vi ⋆ more parts to be released

- synopsis: You've heard of people having rude awakenings before, but you'd never actually experienced one yourself. That was until Klaus Hargreeves broke into your apartment, banging pots and breaking your clocks. This idiot just can't seem to go away.

- notes: wow, okay thanks for all the love so far on this guys!! I hope you enjoy part two. originally this had a lot more but it got a bit too long, so I cut it in half. part three will be up pretty soon. let me know if you want on the tag list. tw in this one for swearing, fire, and mild violence.

link on ao3

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Dreams have a funny way of making unconscious fears rear their god-forsaken heads in all too terrifying ways.

You’d been plagued by a particular nightmare for years, ever since you were a kid. It used to occur every night when things had been particularly bad, making your already so cruel waking days extend longer with sleep that should have been a type of escape. Now it only happened when you felt exhausted or anxious. Sometimes both. Okay, mostly both. You should have taken some comfort in the familiarity of the dream given the particular instability of your life, but alas, it was what it was.

And it was complete and utter horse shit.

It always started the same. You woke up in your childhood bedroom cluttered with crayon drawings and clothes scattered about, everything caught on fire like juvenile kindling. Your flannel pajama pants—the ones with the ugly looking green bunnies you thought were hilarious— had just caught a bit of the flame, burning away the fabric and charring and licking the skin of your leg, bubbling and making an awful smell. You barely managed to smack it out with your pillow before forcing your too adolescent and unstable force field up.

This was when the dream would begin to differ. Sometimes different things or people trailed into the room, watching you as you watched them, the house crumbling down to burning decay and ash while you sat crying in your little bubble, sweating and straining to keep it up and full. Sometimes they talked. Other times they didn’t. As you got older, anger tended to mix in with the panic and desperation you’d felt in the situation, aimed at whatever or whoever you believed had caused the flames.

Tonight, this dream's starring opponent stood all too close to you while you struggled and wailed. Reginald Hargreeves towered over your cowered figure, but your gaze wasn’t on him. No, your eyes fixated on the uniform-clad Five and the Cheshire grinning, kohl-lined eyed Klaus behind him who greeted you with an irritatingly ironic, “hey, hot stuff.”

Odd. You’d never felt both terrified and annoyed in these dreams before.

“It’s time for you to wake up.”

Well, that was new too.

“W-what?” You sputtered out, slightly loosening the death grip tight around your legs, eyes searching Klaus as his voice ringed louder and clearer than the haze and blaze of the fire.

“Come on, wake up!” Klaus yelled again, pushing Reginald away as he stepped up closer to your bubble, close enough to burst it.

And then your eyes cracked open, and your nightmare followed you into consciousness as one of your larger pots was placed so close to your face that you nearly smacked into it on time to the wooden spoon Klaus was already rhythmically slapping it with, hollering repeatedly as he did, “wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!”

No one could blame you for your knee jerk reaction. Any sane person would have reached over for their alarm clock and hit the person who broke into their apartment over the head like you just did now. No one would also blame you for screaming. Your brain hadn’t even registered yet that it was Klaus who loomed over you. It was a fucking jarring way to wake up, for Christ’s sake.

Klaus immediately dropped the pot and spoon to grab his head, yelling out an overdramatic, “ow!” Too bad the pot landed with a hard thud on your stomach, causing the air to rush out of you and a groggy groan to leave your still panicked body in unharmonized synchronization with his howl of pain.

The now broken alarm clock which stopped ticking in your hand probably would have let out a cry of pain too if it could. But it was dead. Klaus was going to be too in a moment.

“Look what you did!” You shouted, throwing the sheets off your body as you scrambled off your mattress, nearly tripping on your feet as you did. Shoving the clock in his face, you continued with, “you broke my clock!” using your other hand to subtly clear the sleep out of your eyes.

“I broke your clock? You broke my head!” Klaus bellowed back, gripping his forehead in a way you thought was just a little too theatrical.

Shoving his arm, your face furrowed in an aggravated frown as you grumbled out an exasperated, “and you broke into my apartment. I win. What’s next, want to break my sink as well? Go ahead, you’d be doing me a favour. It’s the only way the landlords going to come look at my shitty plumbing.”

“Oh, of course, pleasure to be of service,” sarcasm dripped from his tone, similarly to how the blood dripped on your clean carpet from the cut in his head when he removed his hand to give an equally as sardonic curtsey your way.

Great.

Turning to grab a handful of the Kleenex from your bedside table, you hurriedly reached up and pressed it to his head to stop any further damage befalling your security deposit. “stop bleeding on my stuff,” you swore. “Come on, let’s go to my bathroom.”

“First you hit me, and then want a morning triste in the bathroom?” Klaus tisked. “My my. You’re a little wildcat, aren’t you? I like it.”

You tried to ignore the fact he just followed up that comment with a growling noise like he was one of those creepy men in old 70’s movies, but you couldn’t. Instead, you decided not to take the moral high ground and flicked his cut over where you still had the Kleenex pressed. A pathetic exclamation of “hey!” brought a smug smile to your face.

“Come on, sit down. Let me see if I have anything to clean that up with,” you muttered, ushering him to sit on the lid of your closed toilet seat, grabbing his hand and putting it on the Kleenex-gauzed wound before bending down to rummage through the cabinet under the sink. “Want to tell me how you got in and why you’re here in the first place?” Sudden dread coursed through you as images of what else he could have broken flashed in your mind. Turning back around with wide eyes, you implored, “please tell me my front door isn’t hanging off its hinges.”

“Well you certainly think highly of me,” he uttered back, sniffling loudly as he slouched forward, eyes momentarily flashing behind you before quickly glancing your way again. “Your door is perfectly intact. But you really should lock the window on your fire escape. There are some nasty creatures out there. If you don’t watch out the boogeyman might get ya.”

Of course, he fucking climbed through the window. You bet he didn’t even try the door first, knocking or breaking in. His first instinct was to just climb up and—

Wait.

“I keep that unlocked because the ladder up to the fire escape is broken and I’m on the third floor. Did you bring your own ladder just to get in here? Forget the boogeyman, I’ve got a real life psycho sitting on my toilet. Did you happen to bring a knife too? Let me just get in the shower really fast and you can fulfill your Norman Bates fantasy. ”

“I mean, if you’re offering to get in the shower,” Klaus started, but before you could whack him on his wound again, it seemed like an invisible force slapped him upside the head, jerking him forward as he gave what was now his third cry of pain in under ten minutes. You were so shocked that you fell back on your butt, eyes frantically searching for whatever had made your thoughts turn into action. This wasn’t your power, right? You couldn’t do that. You didn’t want that. You would have a panic attack if—

“Christ on a cracker, Ben! It was only a joke! Death has made you so sensitive.”

Oh thank God, it was just a ghost.

Klaus sneered as his eyes glanced up at what was seemingly air in front of him as he had a conversation with his… invisible? Yeah, sure. Let’s go with his ‘invisible’ brother. “I am just being my perfectly charming self.” He paused, face reacting to whatever Ben must have said as he made the most melodramatic eye roll you had ever laid witness too. It was a little impressive, actually. Not that’d you mention it. No, you just watched the sideshow in front of you play on in jarred, mildly entertained, fascinated silence.

“I am not scaring ‘em off—” another pause, another exasperated shake of his head. “You don’t think I know that? I know we need them. If I go back there alone, our baby assassins going to shoot my balls off!”

Baby assassin? What, is like the new tickle me Elmo? If he was trying to ease Ben’s concerns, he was doing a terrible job of increasing yours while he did it.

As Klaus continued yelling, rambling on certain obscenities in the direction of your wallpaper peeled wall, you sat back up and turned back to your cabinet, pushing various bottle beside until you found the peroxide and cotton pads. Standing back up, you walked over to Klaus and swatted your hand in front of him, hoping to diffuse whatever argument had since gotten boring and headache inducing in your mind.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this episode of Caspar the slap-happy ghost versus his dipshit brother, can you guys shut up long enough for me to clean this cut and get you the hell out of my apartment?”

Klaus immediately closed his mouth as both eyebrows shot up. Glancing over your shoulder one last time, he stage whispered to ghost boy, “they’re so touchy.”

Reaching over, you took the Kleenex from his hand to toss it in the trash, noting how the cut had stopped bleeding. Grabbing his chin, you wordlessly tilted his face up, angling it slightly towards the bathroom’s fluorescent light, leaning in closer to inspect it.

“Looks superficial. It’s fine” you stated, letting go of his face as you twisted the cap off the peroxide bottle, tilting it to soak one of the cotton pads.

“Well which is it, am I superficial or am I fine?” He quipped back, a lazy smile curving his lips.

Deadpanning, you replied, “you’re a pain,” before unceremoniously pressing the cotton pad to the cut maybe a bit too hard. Klaus once again winced in pain as he inhaled a sharp intake of breath, jerking his head away.

Well, make that four cries of pain now in under ten minutes. If it happened one more time, you wondered if you’d get a prize.

“Such cute pajamas for someone so utterly devilish,” he jibed, reaching out a hand to absently pluck the sleeve of your brightly blue coloured flannel. You slapped his hand away and he pouted like a child scorned. Oh, boo hoo.

Pressing the cotton pad back to his forehead, a little softer this time, Klaus visibly relaxed as you cleaned the wound. “You never answered my questions. Seriously, how did you get up that fire escape?”

“Well, if you haven’t figured it out yet, my darling brother has recently acquired the art of physical touch. I climbed on to his shoulders.”

Pausing, your eyes bugged out a bit as you turned your gaze to his. You never thought about that being possible. You’d always just been worried about one robber. Fuckin’ idiot. “I should really lock that window, huh?” Klaus snorted in affirmation.

As you finished clearing the blood from his pale skin, you leaned slightly back to inspect that it looked fine. “I don’t have a Band-Aid, but I think you’ll survive.”

Klaus held up a finger, an amused look flashing in his eyes as he used his other hand to dig through too-tight leather pants pocket. Standing up as he pulled a band-aid wrapper out, you watched as he made his way over to the mirror above your sink, ripping it open and putting on a very pink, and very floral, Hello Kitty Band-Aid.

Twirling back around, he raised both hands up and motioned towards his new accessory, asking, “what do you think?”

You were quiet for a moment, then you nodded. “I think that makes sense.” Klaus grinned.

As both of you made your way back out of your bathroom and into your shoe box sized slightly messy bedroom, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back against the wall. Klaus made himself feel at home as he poked around the various knick knacks. “Seriously, why are you here Klaus?”

“Have you suffered a bout of amnesia since last night?” He questioned, turning a sideways glance your way before he continued on his little expedition of your things. “I’m here to bring you to meet the rest of our happy family. Five thought you would be more willing to come with me than him.”

“And here I was thinking he had some semblance of intelligence,” you muttered, pushing yourself off your wall to go nudge him out of the way when he moved to go open one of your drawers. Why would Five think you’d be more willing to go with homeless Mick Jagger? You’d only met him once. You’d only met both of them once, in fact.

“Well you’re not exactly kicking and screaming to get me out of your apartment now, are you?” Klaus almost purred, brushing a hand across your shoulder as he swirled behind you, beginning his snooping once again. “In fact, it seems like someone was all too willing to play nurse to a cut I easily could have cleaned myself.” Picking up a picture frame from your bedside table, an odd look crossed his face before you snatched it from his hands, setting it face down. Now you were getting irritated. Whether it was with him, or yourself given the unnerving truth of his statement, you didn’t exactly want to delve into it at the moment.

“You bled on my carpet. I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t bleed on the rest of my things before you managed to do a shitty patch job,” you replied easily back, averting your gaze from his as you took a few steps away.

Klaus made an elusive ‘hmm’ noise in the back of his throat. And then he flopped on to your bed, leaning back against the headboard as he grabbed your fuzzy white blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders and throwing it over his head like a cloak, curling into it as he contentedly smiled, “cozy.”

You picked up your pillow and tossed it at his face.

“Look, you guys can’t just barge into my life and expect me to go along with whatever this is. I’ve spent a good part of my life trying to stay out your way praying I never meet your dear old dad. Now if you’ll excuse me, today’s my day off and I intend to spend it quietly alone in my empty apartment.”

“Our dad? This had nothing to do with him,” he said, sitting up straighter as he dropped the blanket off his head, studying your face with a slight tilt to his head. Looking at him in silence, you rolled your hand in a ‘come on’ to signify for him to continue and stop being so freaking elusive.

“We need your help to stop the end of the world.” Then he threw his arms up with jazz hands, excitedly saying, “isn’t that so much fun?

Huh.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you gave a curt nod before twisting around, picking your phone off your receiver as you began dialing a number.

“Who are you calling?”

“The cops.”

Boy, was he also the Flash? You had never seen someone move so fast in your life. Ripping the phone from your hand, he slammed it back down on the base then gripped both your shoulders, pushing you away from it as he completely crowded himself in your personal space. Slight alarm skittering across his eyes. “Come on, is that really necessary? I’m not playing around.”

“Why should I believe you? Trust you?” you shot back, shrugging off his grip as you folded your arms around yourself. “As fun as you are to banter with, this is fucking crazy! You guys knew what I could do. You guys knew where I worked, where I live, what my name is! Now you say you need my help saving the world? Calling the cops seems like the natural progression of how this interaction should go on my side.” Jesus, where you hyperventilating? Where was that phone? You had to get that phone.

Klaus crouched lower to your height, arms stretched out like he was trying to calm a wild deer. Bitch. “Okay sweetheart, you need to calm down for just a second,” he soothed, and you couldn’t help but exhale a short, unamused laugh. “You know us, you know what we do. Or at least what we did. The Umbrella Academy isn’t some mastermind organization, we were just a group of kids brought together by a man with a god complex who so desperately tried to mold us into those bullshit cliché, good Samaritan superheroes. We’re fucked up, but we wouldn’t just come after an innocent like you for no reason. You have free will in this, okay? All I’m doing is asking, not telling you to come. Just let me take you to everyone. Five can explain this all better than I can.” He took your continued silence as an opportunity to continue his point, adding in, “you can even bring your clock as a weapon if it makes you feel more comfortable. You’re a real danger with that thing.”

As much as you hated to admit it, he was pretty convincing. If they had wanted to hurt you, if they had wanted to use you, you had no doubt they would have forced it upon you by now. From what you had learned, it seemed nearly all of them had been estranged from their dad for a while now. Vanya’s book had been pretty enlightening on the horrors that had occurred in that house, at least from her view point. So if Reginald was the one pulling their strings, then he was pulling their strings unbeknownst to them.

It also didn’t help that your curiosity was piqued. You always loved a good mystery.

“Alright,” you conceded, letting your arms fall back down to your sides. Klaus let out a long breath of air and happily grasped his hands in front of him, jokingly singing as he did, “Darling, you’ve made me the happiest man in the world!”

“Under one condition.”

“Oh, I was so close,” he sulked immediately under his breath, dropping his hands.

“You have to promise me that I can leave. Like no strings attached, I can drop off mid-conversation and slam the door on my way out, type of leave. I’m only there to hear what he has to say, ask some questions, and that’s it. I haven’t decided to help you guys.”

Raising his hand out, he gave you a knowing smile as he extended his pinky finger. “I promise,” he droned. Heaving a sigh, you lifted your hand to wrap your pinky around his in a child-like binding promise. He was lucky he had such sincere eyes.

Letting go, you took a tiny step back as you cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable with the odd tension you now wanted so desperately to melt. “Well, get out. You and Ben. Let me change and then you can take me to your master, or whatever.”

“My master?” Klaus gasped, as you herded him over the threshold of your door. “Five is a child. I am clearly more superior.”

Giving a tight smile, you quirked your eyebrow up. “You sure about that? I got the impression yesterday that you’re more like his fun loving, but pitifully dim witted henchmen,” you replied, then swung the door shut in his face before he could have the last word.

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zeciex · 5 years

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Obsidian & Angelite Chapter 16 Part II

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, smut, penetrative sex, creampie

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya had returned to the library the moment Gallant had finished his interview. As soon as he stepped in he was bombarded with endless questions to which he all explained the basic rules for the interview and some of the questions. Apparently, Michael had struck quite a nerve, Gallant seemed positively distort, unsure what to do with himself until he found the way to mask his exposed soul with what he did best. He began speaking of the sexual tension, how Michael had made a hit on his… ‘gay-dar’ or whatever he called it, to where Coco began to prompt that he couldn’t possibly be gay if anything he was bi.

By then Oya had lost interest in the direct conversation and instead seethered in her own sexual frustration and blatant jealousy. In this expiration she walked with intent through the halls, her purple skirts basking around her as she stormed up the steps, only to halt when she saw two hunched over shadows tip through the hall.

The anger evaporated and turned into curiosity. She stepped behind a pillar, hidden from the two teenagers clearly lurking eyes. They snuck into what she expected to be Michael's room, closing the door after them. So they were spying on him… It was laughable with the knowledge she held. If they found anything it wasn’t my mistake, it was with full intent.

He’d been here for a day and there was already anarchy in the air. Oya made a face between impressed and glee before continuing on her way, a little less angry than before. This was going to be fun.

The teens weren’t the only ones that had been up to mischief or so it would seem when the day after Oya watched Gallant be dragged away in his undies with a bothered expression upon his face that was slightly concerning given the severity of the action. Whatever he had done he looked pleased with himself and Oya could only imagine what’d he’d been up to. Which she did with a frown on her face.

Alas, she breathed out to calm herself and rolled her neck again before passing through the hall to her room.

It wasn’t before Oya was sitting in the library ignoring the stupid conversation between what Coco labelled the other team as the old people and her own team of ‘youths’ over who had it the hardest, that she was to see Gallant again. This time there was something unhinged in the way he held himself, eyes distant and still there with obscure anger. She leaned forward and sipped at the water waiting to watch the show unfold.

If she weren’t the goddess of the underworld she’d be the goddess of chaos, strife and mischief.

Evie stopped fanning herself, eyes widening at the sight of her grandson. The air shifted to one more tense and severe, with everyone but her holding their breaths waiting for what was to come. Gallant picked up a glass of sparkling water with a childish pout on his lips.

He breathed out harshly before speaking. “Surprised to see me breathing, Nana?” Now his eyes were set ablaze, his anger unquenchable. “They usually shoot people for fucking...or,” He made a face at his ‘Nana’ looking mildly manic. “Did you not remember that when you turned me in?”

Evie smiled at her grandson, though there was no love there, indifferently shaking her head. “No hard feelings, darling. I wanna live and the only way to achieve that is to get rid of these 10 little Indians who stand between me and the golden ticket out of here.”

“Umm, we’re sitting right here,” Coco intervened offended.

“I knew you were a bitch but I underestimated how big of a bitch you were…” Oya commented earning an agreeable ‘Yeah!’ from Coco and Dinah. In all honesty, she didn’t know whether to be impressed or not by how cunning Evie really was. She set her own grandson up, watched as he’d fall and find his death to be entirely justifiable. If it weren't for how much Oya hated Evie she’d think there’d be a slight chance of her joining the Sanctuary.

“It is not my fault you can’t control carnal urges,” Evie threw at her flesh and blood, trying to justify her behaviour. This was the signal, it was kill or be killed. This was battle royal, what would you do to survive?

“YOU have LIVED!” Gallant shouted pointing violently at his grandmother. “I haven't.”

“Oh yes, you have! You have crammed 10 lifetimes of failures and screw-ups into your 30 years!” Evie rose to challenge Gallant with her own raised voice. Call it a byproduct of having been locked up with them for a year but Oya felt a pang of sympathy for the man who was standing up to his bitch of a grandmother. She wondered if he’d smash the glass on the table and jab it into her wrinkly neck. Gallant wasn’t bad, he was lost and had always been.

Where Michael might have been cruel or indifferent, Oya could be much softer, it all depended on the person.

“Am I the only one who makes mistakes?” Gallant blatantly asked to the room, holding his hands up. “Hmm?”

“No, but I’m always the one that has to clean up after you. Let me see 3 expensive rehabs on my dime, fancy lawyers to keep you out of prison. When your grandfather rejected you because of your perverted lifestyle-,”

“Gay’s have been around much longer than you’re propaganda history books tell you so shove that ‘perverted lifestyle’ up your cobweb cunt,” Oya defended with deep annoyance. She always did hate how humans disenfranchised everything they didn’t perceive as natural and made it so it was permanent, especially when it came to sexuality when it is so clearly fluid and more nuanced than black and white. They did the same with cultures and skin colours, and she had seen it all with her own eyes.

“As I was saying,” Evie dismissed Oya’s comment with a scoff. “ your ‘perverted lifestyle’ I took you in! And what did I get back?” Gallant turned away from her attack, swallowing the water with clear discomfort. “Yes, you went and you bankrupted 2 salons and then you snorted the third one up your nose.”

Evie turned to the room not a hint of regret on her face. “I deserve to live. I am the bridge between the past and the future. I mean when those poor survivors arrive what do they know about culture and music, and art? And I will be there to tell them all about it.”

“You’re a rich old white hag 99% of your ‘culture’ is stolen,” Oya mumbled under her breath catching an approving glimpse of Dinah.

“One lifetime of me is worth 50 of yours! Humanity may be in a sorry state,” she stared Gallant up and down with a diminishing look. “It deserves better than you.”

With a shaky breath, Gallant drew in a breath before speaking. “I should have put you in that motion picture home years ago. The only thing I ever wanted from you was for you to love me and accept me. Why couldn’t you just give me that?”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just not in my nature,” she spoke without regret. It was like watching a painting fading, the colours drained out of Gallant with his last hope of love. Evie patted her grandson on the cheek before leaving, knowing she had devastated him.

What she didn’t think were that with every last hope of love stripped away, with the betrayal and disappointment she had caused her grandson, she had also made an adequate enemy. Gallant was now a hairpin trigger and she had a target on her back. It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge and knowing Michael, he’d see to that it’d happen.

Disappointment and betrayal make the perfect enemy. In Evie's desperation for survival, she may very well have caused her own downfall.

“Well it's a good thing you convinced me to bring your nana,” Coco commented with no feel for the tension in the room. Either that or she didn’t care. Gallant ended up falling to the cushions between Oya and Coco who so rudely rose up biting that he should sit on the other couch. He sank until his head rested against the back of the couch, eyes empty and breath still.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Coco spoke loudly and looked at Oya.

“I’m not,” she shrugged. “Sexuality is fluid. I’m not gay or straight, I’m just…” Oya made a hand gesture that was meant to mean ‘something’. A headache was forming just behind her eyes making her pinch the bridge of her nose frowning.

“That’s a shame,” Coco blabbers.

“Why?”

“Because that means you’d be willing to fuck your way into the Sanctuary.”

She isn't wrong on that one. Oya doubted that if it stood between fucking for survival and death that anyone would choose to fuck regardless of their preferences. It was just funny how Coco thought she’d stand a chance when Michael so clearly wasn’t interested in anything more than playing cat and mouse.

But the statement brought back the nib of jealousy and possessiveness both of which were irrational and if Michael were to know of it there’d be endless teasing.

“We can count Gallant out, he already tried it.”

“He’s right there and he still breathes,” Dinah commented at the distasteful words. “I’d say he’s ahead of all of us.”

“He’s the only one who’s been interviewed,” Coco barked in her usual tone of voice. “It’ll all change when the rest of us is called in. Gallant can’t be the only one Langdon chooses and he most definitely will not be on the radar if I get my chance.”

“We don’t know if it was Langdon he fucked,” Oya injected. Coco waved her hand dismissively before striking up a less intelligent conversation with Mallory. In sympathy, Oya patted Gallant on the head before leaving.

Whomever Gallant fucked remained a mystery, though Oya had her suspicions, much clearer than her co-inhabitants, but Gallant proved not to be the only one who let the desire run wild.

Through Mallory, she found out that Timothy and Emily had both been dragged away by Venables henchmen followed by the ruler herself. Their salvation came in the form of Michael who shaved them from the bullets that were going to be planted in between their eyes. Why Michael choose to save them remained a mystery but she had the suspicion that he was setting up something bigger and if anything he was just toying with them.

Soon others were called into Michael’s appointed office Oya awaited her call in the library sitting among the other residents awaiting the news of each person's interview.

There was an unease creeping under her skin, her heart beating faster each time a resident entered the room. Each had a different reaction to the interview, Mallory being the one that seemed the most jarred, while others came back sexually frustrated.

“Oya Jeon,” the voice travelled from behind the slide doors, sending a shiver down her spine and straining her heart. She drew in a deep breath and entered the room with her back held straight and head held high, hands calmly connected in front of her.

He was sitting behind the desk, eyes studying papers that couldn’t possibly be hers with disinterested eyes and waved his hand as he spoke to motion her towards the chairs. “Please take a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” Oya spoke cooly, feeling the wave of emotion collide with her body. The anger was the most prominent feeling and the one easiest explained. When it burned hot it burned blinding hot and at this moment she settled for anger and pushed any other feeling away.

Michael looked up through his lashes, blue eyes catching the orange flicker and darkening. Oya listened to the doors being closed behind her. The trap snapped shot. She masked herself perfectly with a cool expression one to rival his own. Then a Cheshire smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes swallowed up by his pupils. Slowly he stood, body stretching out before her and suddenly it was as if she was seeing him for the first time in… well, a year. The hair had grown well past his collar, all the way down to his collarbone, with soft waves that fell down around his face. He looked older somehow, his features sharper and eyes more calculating. With a predatory stalk, he walked nonchalantly towards her.

“Stop.” Her voice was firm. She glanced towards the door with a lingering question.

“No,” Michael spoke with a charming drawl. “They can’t hear us.”

Her eyes turned towards him once more, eyes burning holes in him. The only thing that could be heard was the crackling fire, the orange flames licking at the air and sending waves of warmth out into the otherwise cold room. There wasn’t a way to be sure if the room would have frozen over or been set ablaze had it not been for her powers being locked away.

Michael raised a brow at her.

“You lied to me,” she broke the silence, voice stern and unflinching. “You left me here with these people! Do you have any clue as to how fucking excruciating it’s been? And for what? For spying on them?” Her voice began to waver and it broke towards the end when Michael took a single elaborate step towards her. She held her hand up and stepped back. “Stop.”

Michael’s head fell to the side, eyes eating up every micro-expression she made and caught on to when her voice wavered with emotion. He remained silent and she wasn’t really sure as to why.

“That old hag Evie is quite possibly the most insufferable person I’ve ever met, Coco is impossibly shallow and superficial and I’m not sure if the obnoxiousness is to hide something else. Then there’s Gallant whom I’m pretty sure you’ve got all figured out by now. Dinah is elusive but quite possibly the one candidate to put a bet on. Mallory is the only interesting grey solely because her whole character seems to make herself impossibly small all the while glimpses of something else shines through. Dinah’s son is just whiny and annoying. Then there’s your choice to lead this outpost!” Her voice grew louder as she was allowed to revel in the fire of her anger, letting it all out in angry sneers and elaborate arm movements ending in aggressive pointing. Michael allowed all of it. He didn’t stop her, never attempted to. “Mrs. Venable… Why do I continue? You already know all of this, you already made up your mind about them.”

Oya was breathing heavy, eyes wild and bitter. She could feel the confining embrace of the corset straining at her ribs and thereby her lungs. With each breath she took the shadows dug into the skin of her shoulders, edging out her collarbones that had become more prominent at the lack of proper food. The fire dimmed, if only a little, quenched by the feeling of hurt.

“You abandoned me here with them,” she expressed and swung her palm through the air, the sound of it smacking against skin ricocheting through the room before the stinging set in. There was a flicker of something wicked in his eyes, an entertained tug to the corner of his lips before he brushed it away with a swipe of his thumb. His cheek burned red and so did her hand. He pressed forward and Oya took another step back swinging the other hand only for it to get caught in a firm grip. Weakly she tried to pull it to her but Michael refused to let go, his grip as iron and yet without the promise of a nasty bruise. Oya spoke again with a wavering voice trying to retain the flicker of rage that had started to slip away. “I-I thought something had happened. I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Michael countered, eyes never leaving hers, ever-changing. At this she was speechless, gaping at him with wide eyes. No? What does he mean ‘no’?

“No? No?!” She pulled her arm to her and almost stumbled when he let go.

Her eyes caught the sight of his tongue darting out to wetten his lips before he spoke again. “If I were dead you’d know.” He began stalking towards her. With each step he took, she took one backwards.

She would have thrown poison at him, spoken with violence that maybe it would have been better if he were dead because then he had an excuse to abandon her here. Instead opened and closed her hand, palm still stinging from her attack but also with a need to be swung once more. With clenched jaws and a pointed glare she spoke. “Tell me, Michael, did you fuck him?”

His lips parted to draw in a breath, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards in the most wicked way all the while his eyes drowned in mischief. His head tilted a little before he purred. “Would it bother you if I did?”

The question hummed inside her mind, tickled and grew. With another step backwards she felt the wall stop any attempt of retreat, efficiently trapping her between it and him. Michael only stopped when the tip of his pointed boots touched the skirt of her dress, all too close for her liking and not close enough. Oya realised something when she searched his eyes, read his face, almost leaned into his presence and the warmth he radiated. He was like a playful cat but far more dangerous.

The realisation was quick, the humming inside her mind stilled and soothed the sliver of jealousy that had set root within her by the lusting humans that wanted nothing more than to sink their teeth into him. It should be them that was afraid if Michael were to sink his fangs into them. But it wouldn’t of one very simple reason, it’d give them exactly what they want and there’d be no satisfaction in that. He wouldn’t just let anyone touch him. Even though Michael were the embodiment of sensuality he found no interest in sex, not with anyone but her. Sensuality was a weapon turned towards everyone else.

“No,” she drawled just like he so often did. He pursed his lips tilting his head to the other side. “You could fuck him -you could fuck any of them if you so desire.” Michael blinked at her intrigued. “But you won’t… and even if you did, I know I’m the only one you’d ever find ease with.”

“Have you thought about it a lot?” His voice was a low rumbling thunder that sends electricity throughout her system. Then she felt it, a tug at her skirt that ever so slowly hitched higher. Never did his eyes leave hers.

Her heart drummed against her fragile ribs, adrenaline spiking her system and enhancing her senses. His scent engulfed her, the familiar spice pricking at at her tongue that made her mouth water. Her red lips were parted, soft breaths filling her lungs. More than ever before were the restraints of the corset present, she felt that with each breath she filled out the confined only to feel it loosen when it left her again. She was wet, she’d lie if she said she wasn’t wet the moment she stepped into the room but now the ache became more prominent.

It had been 18 months since she was last touched, her body ached and longed for his touch, it would revel in it. For 18 months she had tried to subdue the growing want for him.

“Tell me, Love,” he purred, hitching her skirt up higher. Even though the Victorian knickers she felt the heat of his fingers burning through the fabric. The first touch was light as air, trailing up her thigh ever so slowly.

“I-I’ve been here for 18 months, of course, I’ve thought about it,” she stammered wrapping her fingers around his scorching wrist forcing him to stop. It was getting increasingly harder to think, to keep up all the pent up rage she had been building. The castle of anger she had built around herself came tumbling down with one blow from the big bad wolf.

“All those long nights,” he continued voice lowering. His hand began to move again and she felt herself weaken her grip. “Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she breathed licking her lips while his eyes darted to his.

“Did you think of me?”

“Yes.” Her knees felt weak as if they could give in any moment. Fire burned on her skin, his fingers leaving a trail up her thigh, slowly inching towards where she needed him the most. He was playing with her but unlike the other inhabitants, she was the only one to taste victory. He could leave her, just stop all of it and it would be entirely within his character, it’d be cruel and merciless, but it would also make for great sex later on.

But the thing was, she wasn’t the only one who had gone without the touch of someone else. She wasn’t the only one who felt the desire burn through her veins. And by far she wasn’t the only one affected by the presence of the other.

Michael’s pupils were dilated, blown out of proportions and swallowing up the blue of his gaze. Even though his breathing was normal he felt the air strain in his lungs. When she let him go completely he let his fingers travel to her mount and watched as her head fell back against the wall, lips parted in a silent breath and eyes fluttering. He marvelled at the sight of her, the shimmer of her lips, the flush colour building under her skin, her black eyes reflecting the fire. Under his touch she pushed her hips forward greedy for more, it made a chuckle form in the back of his throat.

“Did you miss me?” The question was light but it was like having thrown a bucket of water over you. Oya stilled, body tense and heart galloping all the while skipping beats. It felt as if she would surrender her anger to him, forfeit the grudge that had been building up in her, to give him her bitterness of being lied to and left for what felt like an eternity. Honestly, she’d have taken her little plot of land in Korea over this outpost any day.

“I can’t forgive you,” she began quietly. She reached for him, cubing his cheek and felt that he leaned into her touch just a little. “And I will make you pay for it.” She licked her lips before continuing, eyes softening with affection. “But I did miss you.”

“I’m sure you’ll make me pay in all sort of ways,” he rumbled pressing into her.

Their lips met briefly, her lips chasing his only to part in a low moan as his fingers circled her clit. The fabric stuck to her uncomfortably, cool everywhere but where his fingers touched. The ache pulsated between her legs, begging for her to just spread them right then and there so he could get between them.

“You’ve been playing a lot of games,” she purred, fingers hooking into the smooth fabric of his jacket, pulling him to her. “It’s been very entertaining to watch unfold.”

“There’s more to come,” he said, lips brushing over her jaw, nibbling at the skin of her neck. His fingers travelled downwards, pushing shallowly into her. She could have unravelled right then and there, it had been long since she came finding it difficult to bring herself to the edge and over.

Michael removed his hand, the skirt falling to the floor now that nothing was blocking it. Oya almost broke out in protest, no not protest more like sobs. A whine managed to escape her quickly shut lips. Michael merely grins at her, taking her hand and guided her through the room. With one tug she swung around, hands harshly placed on the wooden desk in an attempt not to fall straight on her face. Her nails scrapped over the wood when she balled her hands into fists, biting her lips as the skirts were thrown up over her ass, his hands gripping at her hips.

Michael knocked at her heels in a silent order, making her spread her legs more. Then she felt it, his large hand going from her hip to run down her ass, gripping it tightly. She held back a moan, melting further into the stance. Once, twice, thrice he ran his hand up and down her ass feeling her up before his fingers brushed against the wet cloth.

“Have you thought of me?” She found herself asking before she could stop the words from spilling out through her lips. With her back turned to him she didn’t see how his head fell back, bottom lip caught viciously between his teeth, but she did hear the ragged breath he took before answering.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

“No,” he answered. Confusion made its way onto her face, fisted hands turning into flat palms. She didn’t know whether to take offence or not. Or maybe she should be impressed by his restraint. She herself couldn’t exhibit the same level of it. He did have a lot to do after the end of the world, maybe the time wasn't there. But by god the vision of Michael’s firm and slender fingers wrapped around his cock with the look of desire plastered all over his face, with his perfect lips parted in soft gasps, eyes sultry and half-lidded.

“Oh?”

“I would much rather wait,” he drawled. The air hit her hot wet core as soon as the fabric was tugged down. In the candlelight, she must be glistening. He ran his palm over her mount, fingers wrapping around her swollen clit and pinched. A feeble weak sound escaped her throat, knees buckling a little. Michael dipped a finger into her and curled it, her walls beckoned him further, convulsing around him trying to get more stimulation. Then he added another finger and began to scissor them, each brush drawing out hitched breaths from her, arms beginning to tremble.

The other hand that remained placed on her hip pulled her backwards all the while bending her further over the table. If anyone walked in there would be no doubt as to what was going on with Oya lying bend over the desk, legs parted and ass bare to the world. When he moved his thumb to her clit she let out a moan, feeling just how slick she really was.

With little shame she pushed herself back onto his fingers, efficiently fucking herself. The feeling almost brought tears to her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathed.

For a moment Michael admired the view, the sight of his finger slipping in and out of her pussy with a frivolous need. He swallowed at the sight before adding a third finger, stretching her out further. “It’s almost pathetic your need to be fucked, it’s so human.”

“And you made me this way,” she bit back at him, eyes fluttering when he twisted his fingers while pushed at her clit almost too hard. “Fuck, Michael. Please, I’m ready.”

His fingers left her, her walls clenching around the emptiness. She imagined he’d use her juices to cover himself, pumping his fist a few times before gliding the head of his cock up and down her folds. The feeling was enough to make her mewl. In one upstroke, he caught on her opening and shallowly dipped in making both of them hitch their breaths in unison.

She couldn’t take the anticipation any longer and caved. “Please, Jagi-ya .”

Michael pressed into in one slow fluid motion. His fingers dug into her hips with steel and iron, without a doubt leaving bruises there for later inspection. Oya couldn’t withhold the moan that tore through her throat, nails digging into the wood as Michael pulled out and re-entered with a harder thrust. She could hear it, the low grumble from deep within his chest making its way up through his throat.

“If it wasn’t because you have to remain in the shadows, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk,” he grunted speeding up. With each thrust came a wave of pleasure. The feeling brought tears to her eyes, the delicious stretch and the full feeling better than she had imagined for months now. His words almost made her cum right then and there.

“I’m su-sure,” she agreed. For a moment she was afraid that cumming once would be enough after having repressed the aching need for weeks now. Not even when she was bound in Korea would there have gone as much time by before she had to satisfy herself. Then a savage smirk formed on her lips and she clenched around him as much as she possibly could, almost breaking her trail of thought. “But when all this is over it -it is you who won’t be able to walk. I’ll turn your b-bones into that gross jelly they feed us here. S-see what world you’d build when you’re bound to the f-ucking bed, Jagi-ya .” The last word was said in an extra sweet tone.

Michaels strong hand wrapped tightly around her throat, forcing her backwards to him. Her back was arched. The grip was tight enough to make her feel her own pulse but not tight enough to do any form of damage. His breath was in her ear, lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I could make you go out there with cum leaking out of you.” He snapped his hips to her making her eyes roll back in pleasure. “Or maybe have your breath smell of cum.” His grip tightened as he snapped his hips to hers, the lewd sound of flesh hitting flesh filling her ears with a low hum of her own pulse. “But I can be nice.” Now his voice was dripping with sweet sweet poison. “So very nice.” She could feel herself clench around him, the wave of hot white pleasure washing over her with vengeance. One hand found its way from the desk to Michael’s fine jacket, clutching the fabric violently as her breath was caught in her lungs. “I’ll let you choose.”

“C-come inside me,” she croaked out, voice dampened by his tight fingers. She heard him take a strained deep breath, she could almost feel him bite his lip and he tried to concentrate.

“How lascivious of you, Love,” Michael moaned thrusting into her one last time, burying himself deep before spreading his seed. The warmth was familiar, it was strangely obscene, but it felt… missed. She didn’t know whether it was him buried deep within her or the feeling of his seed she missed, most likely the former. Michael released his grip on her, Oya falling forward with a relieved breath, hands firmly planted on the desk’s cool surface. She felt him withdrawal, felt the movement of his seed.

Oya swallowed before letting out a breath, slowly beginning to redress herself, putting on the Victorian knickers that she’d have to wash herself to remove the cum stains guaranteed to happen. Cum stains she could handle, what she couldn’t handle was her breath smelling of it when she was to face the other inhabitants.

“You’re enjoying the humiliation of me going out there, asshole,” she said lightly with a faint smile on her face. Of course, he did, he enjoyed toying with people and she was no different, though with his way of toying with her were only between the two of them. The embarrassment came from both of them knowing.

Michael tugged up his pants, fixing the slick fabric to a point where it looked utterly perfect, while she fought with the barbaric ruffles of her dress to make it sit properly. He had the devil on his shoulder, that’s how he managed to look completely perfect while she lacked her own little devil. He was cheating . With a huff, she pulled of the purple fabric and swore that whenever she got out of here she’d never wear purple ever again. Fuck purple and fuck Venable for making them wear it.

Michal sank into the chair behind the desk, palms flat on the surface like hers had been. He watched her as she prepared to fall into the role of Oya Jeon once more. She brushed her tied up hair back in place, the loose strands fastened by tying them into the elaborate hairdo Gallant had managed to give her. Of course, Coco never allowed him to let Oya outshine herself.

Now that everything was in place, she let their eyes meet. “So, do I meet the requirements of the sanctuary?”

Michael tried to repress the smile on his lips, forcing it into seriousness. “You will know in time.”

“Did you miss me?” They looked at each other silently for a moment before Michael went to answer in a smooth drawl.

“Yes.” The answer made her heart flutter. The orange flames caught his blue eyes with warmth. Then the warmth seeped out and he fell back into the role of Michael Langdon, the one mean to pick and choose who to save and who to kill. Oya let herself find the mask she had worn, let his presence affect her negatively to a degree as a cover for what really happened. She brushed her hands over the material of her dress, collecting her hands there and waited.

“You may leave now,” Michael said with indifference, waving his hand towards the door and turned his attention to the papers in front of him. Oya rose from her chair, slipping out of the room and was met with curious stares that picked at every seam of her being to see if they could catch something beneath her blank expression. Oya decided to lean up of the others accounts of what questions he asked, how he had acted and made it convincing by the jaded tremor in her voice.

“Did you hear?” Coco asked after the endless questioning. Oya shook her head with a weary frown. The blond woman licked her lips and inched closer, a smile unmistakable smile on her lips. “The old hag died in her sleep! No more listening to her endless stories.”

This surprised Oya. She thought the bitch would never bite the dust… Unknowingly, her eyes travelled to Michael’s closed doors. Nothing happened in the bunker that he wasn't aware off, nothing happened without him pulling a string. For a moment Oya wondered just how intricate a web Michael had spun, just how deep the game was and if she were a mere piece or puppet.

“These past several months have been difficult for all of us. And perhaps in my efforts to keep us safe, punitive measures have been taken too far. I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration. Comradery. Which is why, this weekend, as a gesture of goodwill we will have a Halloween soiree,” Mrs Venable voiced out loud with a smile on her darkened lips. Coco and Gallant looked at each other in excitement, one seemingly shared with most inhabitants, if not with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Oya was the ladder, finding the sudden need to celebrate perplexing, to say the least. For months it had been the same. No holiday celebrated, no birthdays, no celebration of any kind, just the same disgusting jelly, the same vitamin water, the same music over and over. The sudden change was worrying. Not only that but earlier the grounds had once more been breached and no word of what it was had yet been told. It all smelled fishy, or so the Americans tend to say. She couldn’t help but feel strings were being pulled, and she knew exactly who was the puppetmaster. This celebration was not the work of Mrs. Venable, though she might not know it.

“It will be in the style of a Victorian masquerade ball,” Mrs. Venable continued.

“If only my Nana were here to enjoy it with me,” Gallant muttered, the sudden excitement turned into something solemn and dark.

“We’ve all lost track of time a bit. And this festive occasion is the perfect opportunity to remedy this. And I encourage you all to use your imaginations,” Mrs. Venables voice rose with festiveness. “To create what I am sure will be exquisite costumes.” Now her voice fell into the same old track, stern and cold. “Attendance is mandatory.”

With that everyone was allowed to leave, most hurrying to make their costumes. Oya adopted the same vigilance and glee the others held while maintaining the slightest sliver of scepticism. Dinah held the same look in her eyes, the gleam of knowing something the others didn’t, knowing something similar to Oya’s own knowledge. The two women looked at each other, their masks off to reveal both of them being wary, before plastering a polite smile on their lips to maintain the mask once more.

“I know we’ve only just been told of this but do you have any idea what you’ll wear?” Dinah asked, taking Oya’s arm in her own as the two of them headed towards their quarters.

“No,” Oya answered frankly. “I have the six same dresses in my closet that I’ve always had and have no idea how to transform them into something new. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of wardrobe choice nor any excess material to work with.”

“I find it odd that they chose Halloween of all holidays, though I suppose it falls into Mrs. Venables taste,” Dinah shrugged and chuckled at her last sentence.

“Victorian masquerade! Couldn’t she just have called it Masquerade? We’re already in the Victorian,” Oya gestured to the tight garments with puffy skirts. She had lived through the times where victorian was the fashion, she had pale strangers come to her for her abilities, wishing remedies or blessings or curses. She had seen the fashion first hand even without leaving Korea and her plot of land. She had lived through many fashions, many invasions and occupations trying to take the land from the ones living there. Hell, she had seen kingdoms rise and fall, both her own and the in the world around her.

“True,” Dinah agreed. “Admittingly I do look forward to the celebration, we have to take what we can, right? And by the looks of it Mrs. Venable has something in store for us.”

“She sure does,” Oya grumbled, eyes flicking over the firepit in the middle of the room as they passed through the hall and up the stairs. The flames danced with gleeful abandon, the shadows following suit on the walls. Sometimes she had through to put her hand in the flames just to feel the pain but she didn’t.

“Do you think Mr. Langdon will join us?”

“Mr. Langdon?” Oya looked puzzled at Dinah who smiled kindly to her, her dark eyes catching the flames, lips thick and pretty. Dinah was a beauty but she was also that ever so positive talk show host through and through. Sometimes it was too much. Enough to make Oya want to strangle her. But there had always been something else, something hidden, a dark tint.

“Yes, the party would be the perfect time to tell us who’ll join him at the Sanctuary.” Dinah let go of Oya’s arm having reached her door. She brushed her fingers over her purple dress nervously, with hope and something else in her eyes.

“It is a possibility,” Oya commented meekly, not able to agree or disagree. It seemed to be enough for the darker woman, she smiled at Oya as she headed into her room and closed the door behind her. Now Oya was left alone in the hall, the cold creeping along the stone walls, nibbling at any exposed skin. She let out a breath and rolled her neck, heading towards her own room. The door closed and locked behind her with a soft click. Oya trotted to the bed, sinking down onto it with a huff before ripping the leather laces up from her boots, kicking the leather off with a sigh of relief. Those boots might look good but by the gods were they confining and painful. For a little while, she sat and massaged her feet dreaming of planting them on the soft soil, letting her toes dig into the ground as she walked through the garden. She missed it, having something to do, letting things grow and expand. She missed lifeunrestricted but knew it wouldn’t come for many years to come. There was also a bigger part of her that missed her powers, how they flowed through her, how they could twist and curl, how it was mischievous and playful. Michael had them, somewhere.

Oya took of the dress and kicked it across the floor with venom before attacking the corset hidden beneath, that which was thrown through the air and into the wall with just as much venom. “You better have tons of airy clothe in the Sanctuary and much prettier because if I’m forced to wear something like this again, every fucking day, I’ll castrate you.” She threatened the empty room, trotting through it and into the shower. The warm water relaxed the tension in her shoulders while she washed the sex off of her, fingers splashing water between her legs while the dirty imagery of her interview played in her head. He had looked better than ever, more mature and grown somehow, his edges refined and perfect. In the 13 months, she had been nothing but human he had grown to be the master in a lot of things, he had found himself, or rather, he rested in himself. The confidence had always been there but now it was matured. There was still a vulnerability to him but she hadn’t yet seen it fully, just caught glimpses. She supposed it was to keep level headed, being apart so long and with such difference in power and environment would have changed anyone.

But they were still connected, she felt it in that room. Oya had been herself for the first time in months and the relief of that was hard to hide. When she’d get her powers back she could finally breathe again, she knew it.

Oya turned off the water and exited the shower to find a note written on the foggy mirror. Come to my room. She wiped the surface clean, revealing her reflection beneath. Her features were sharper and more edged out due to the lack of food. Although she had always been on the thin side, visible collarbones and ribs, they were now edged into her like a crude statue, showing just how little they got. She couldn’t wait to soften her look, not feel so fragile and delicate. Oya dried her hair and braided it into a long thick braid, then twisting it into a bun held together with what once was a decorative letter opener, forced between the strands. She threw the towel over the side of the tub, one much smaller than what she had grown used to, before entering her room naked and clean. A dress had been neatly placed upon the covers of her bed, it’s look a mix between Victorian and something along the lines of traditional Korean hanbok. The fabric was much softer than the other dresses in her closet, it was without ruffles and strange textures that was nothing more than a terrible fashion choice. No, it was cut cleaner, with lone soft lines, a neck dipping an inch or two lower than what she was used to, with black see-through puffy sleeves.

She drew in a breath and began dressing, the Knicks, the underskirts, the corset and then finally the dress. It fitted her perfectly and she shouldn’t have expected anything less, it was after all Michael who had left the dress there. It was a plum purple that managed not to make her want to throw it in the pyre.

The door was unlocked, daring anyone to enter, with only a few brave or stupid enough to accept that challenge. Oya entered the room, locking the door behind her. She had made sure the shadows had hidden her form as she moved through the halls, no eyes catching sight of her.

The room was like any other, though it was a bit smaller. It had the same furniture, the same bedsheets, the same dark aesthetic. The candles flickered upon her entry, shadows dancing on the walls. Michael silently entered too, a towel wrapped around his lower body while his hair was tied up loosely to escape the water he had just exited.

Oya clenched her jaw at the sight, eyes following his every movement as he stalked through the room, throwing the damp towel he used to dry his upper body with onto the bed.

“If anyone were to have seen me...” She said calmly walking to the wardrobe to pull out one of his black shirts. By the time she turned around, Michael was hitching up his pants.

“They didn’t, although it would have made quite the tale,” he drawled, zipping up his pants. Oya nuzzled the soft fabric of his shirt between her fingers as she waited for Michael to be ready for it.

“What have you been planing? You’ve been puppeteering, I know you have.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, eyes bright blue with mischief. “Now, it wouldn’t be much fun if I told you.” With her help, he slit his arms into the shirt. Her hands trifled over his shoulders, fingers brushing against him as she came around to face him.

“You’ve made your decisions then?” Oya asked and began to button up his shirt, fingers working nimble.

“Yes, I will be making the final draft during the festivities,” he answered her with a slick smile. Oya pursed her lips at him, brows furrowing together in a frown. There was the slightest touch, a simple brush of his fingers against the fabric of her dress. She paid no mind and looked up at him, buttoning yet another button. “You will not be joining us?”

“As much fun that may entrail I still have work to do and I’m sure Mrs. Venable wouldn’t mind my lack of presence.”

“Paperwork even after the apocalypse,” Oya grumbled discontent with that matter. She was now half way up his chest. With a flash of her displeasure shining through her eyes Michael chuckled. “And the witches? They were the reason why we’re here after all, what of them?”

“A few survived the blast, that I’m sure of.” he breathed with a low voice, fingers dancing through the air to motion ‘somewhere out there’. Oya buttoned the last one, prushing her hands over the fabric and ran her eyes up and down to see if she had missed one or it the shirt was crooked.

“How so?”

Michael smiled entertained and began to fidget with the cufflinks. “Haven’t you felt them?”

“I’ve felt a lot of things, Michael, and most of it were pure and utter rage for you, ” she poked him right in the chest in the most childish manner. What was he expecting? That her hair would stand on the back of her neck? A tingle under her skin? Goosebumps? “I’m human, unless it’s in my face and obvious I won’t notice a thing.”

“Dinah Stevens was the voodoo queen of New Orleans before she became a talk show host and Mallory...Mallory is something ,” Michael informed with vague interest in what he was actually saying. Oya narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms over her chest and made a displeased motion with her mouth. Voodoo queen? Dinah didn’t seem all that powerful and she certainly wasn’t a threat, but it did make sense why the mask of positivity sometimes cracked to reveal someone more clever and cunning underneath. But Mallory, she surprised her in a way Dinah didn’t, mostly because of the way Michael said her name.

“Is she something to be worried about?”

This seemed to draw attention from him, his eyes flashing up at hers. Michael breathed in between his teeth and tilted his head. “No, not that it mattered if she was.”

“Because you’re going to kill them.”

“Actually,” Michael began, a devilish smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not the one to kill them.”

“Venable is,” she finished with an eye roll of his dramatics. There was no reason to get blood on his hands when all he had to do was pull a few strings to watch the whole outpost unravel. And that’s what he wanted, he wanted the humans to be the cause of their own destruction, he simply laid out the tools and waited for them to choose. “I don’t know whether to think it’s going to be a dull party if everyone dies or if its ‘a total banger’ as Gallant would phrase it.”

Oya walked to the closet and picked out a black jacket, helping him in it with ease. Michael released his hair from the small bun, letting it wave down over his shoulders, perfect as always. She was fixing his collar when suddenly he pulled an apple out of thin air, the red fruit catching the light of the candles. Oya paused, eyes growing at the sight of something fresh, it’s sweet smell engulfing her and made her mouth water. Then she looked past it, to the mischievous smirk of her counterpart and withdrew from reach with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion.

“Is it poisoned?” Now she knew of the lure Snow White couldn’t resist, the lure Eve couldn’t resist.

“Not this one no,” Michael answered her, taking her hand and placing the fruit in her palm. He could clearly see the hunger in her, the starvation that had cast shadows over her form and edged out her bones. There were no doubt that he admired her, if she wasn’t so transfixed on whether to believe him and sink her teeth into the apple or to throw it at his head, she’d have seen the abortion shine through the cheeky smirk. He admired her persistence.

“But the rest is,” she concluded and fished out the knife hidden in Michaels jacket. The blade cut through the fruit with incredible ease and she quickly ate the piece eyes fluttering at the taste. “I suppose this is a nod to the forbidden fruit.”

Michael took hold of her jaw lightly, bringing her sweetened lips to his only to find the touch of her fingers on his lips as she withdrew. Oya tsked and shook her head, rivaling his own playfulness. “I spend too long on this makeup for you to ruin before the party.”

“And I, who gave you a most precious gift! You wound me,” he fauxed hurt, hand on his heart as if to underline what he said. Oya chuckled at him, enjoying the playfulness she had missed so much, the ease of his presence.

“What of the rest of the witches?” The seriousness returned.

“They could have died in the blast although I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. They’re like cockroaches,” Michael said with such an ease it filled her with confidence. If it wasn’t for the makeup or the apple currently being enjoyed to the fullest, she’d have kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

When the apple was carved to the core, Michael took it from her thin fingers discarding the remainder in the fire. Oya placed the knife on the mantle before coming up behind Michael, wrapping her arms around him and pressed into his warmth. His scent was intoxicating.

“We’ll find them. One way or another we will find them and then destroy them,” she assured him and tightened her grip to emphasize. Although she couldn’t see him, a rumble tingled through his back and into her. He turned to her, her hands working around his movements and landing on his chest as he came to face her.

“I think it’s time you wear this,” he said and held up a stone black as obsidian framed by silver so that it hangs as a pendant from a chain. It was beautiful. Oya touched the stone and felt a tingle at her fingertips, warmth radiating off what should have been cold. She recognized it instantly.

Michael opened the chain and led the parts around her neck, the black stone standing out against her otherwise pale skin, lacking the touch of the sun and health of nourishment. It almost hummed against her chest. Was it as alive for him as it was for her? Michael’s hands came to rest against her neck, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin while he angled his head towards her. “You will know when it’s time to break it.”

“Thank you,” she breathed softly feeling closer to freedom than what she had felt in a long time.

Everyone had on their finest attire and masks placed upon faces. Oya watched as they were all drawn to the perfect red apples that had been rolled in like fine dining to be placed in the small tub of water. They had all drawn in a breath of the sweet smell, mouths watering. She had watched them with amusement and played her part as well. Gallant was right about the symbolism… Something that’d soon turn to irony.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Mrs. Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt,” Mallory introduced from above in the most expanced way possible clearly tired of Coco’s bullshit. Coco stepped out onto the balcony, lips painted in a heart shape and hair rising so far up from her head it reminded her of the elaborate headpieces back in Korea once upon a time. She stood as Marie Antoinette, or a watered down version anyway. The hair was impressive, even she had to admit that.

“Mhm! Can we clap please, thank you!” Gallant implored for people to clap at his masterpiece, clapping his own hands in the face of others to push their own actions. Oya joined in, eyes following the girl down the stairs.

“You did that?” Mrs. Mead asked in astonishment.

“Without a blow dryer sometimes I even astonish myself,” Gallant beamed with confidence. Clack, clack, clack, the erie sound of Mrs. Venables cain beating against the tiles travelled through the hall and into the library. It was a clear indicator of what came next. The claps slowly died out but Coco didn’t realise the shadow that had fallen upon her, not before Mrs. Venable leaned in beside her ear and said ‘boo’. Coco jumped in chock, the light teasing air within the room now tense with the usual kind of cold that followed Venable everywhere. Intimidation was the perfume she wore.

“Tonight is all hallows eve,” Mrs. Venable began after Coco had scuttered away like a small mouse, the longing for the spotlight already showing upon her face. Oya breathed in, quietly moving into the shadows. “-Which marks the beginning of the dark half of the year, when the boundary between this world and the other thins, and lost souls pierce the firmament desperate to find their way home. It is a night to remember the dead and there have been far too many to mourn.” A chilled quiet formed within the room, the losses heavy on their souls. Oya couldn’t count herself a mourner, she had lost far too many and the people that had been alive not long ago, were all mere spectres, mere thoughts.

“But also to celebrate,” Mrs. Venable continued with a smile on her lips. “That we have yet to join them.” The tap of her cain began anwe, Venable passing through the room with the air of superiority surrounding her, shoulders almost razor sharp with the edge she had on them. “We delight in the small things, that were once taken for granted. To eat, to drink, music and dance. Everyone! -and I mean everyone, should savour this night as if it were their last.”

Oya wanted to burst out laughing or quite maybe just yell. Venables whole speech was littered with cues and indications, like any villainous speech. The idea of throwing one of the candles at the redhead crossed her mind, but she remained quiet, the itching in her fingers never subsiding. It was a speech Michael would have liked, just for the fact that he knew exactly what was going on. He’d love the irony, appreciate it even. In this instance, she didn’t.

The music began, a new song and slowly the room began to move, bodies dancing throughout the space. Oya herself began to sway, taking a glass of sparkling water that quite honestly tasted like ass. Timothy and Emily swayed together, eyes connected in loving gaze. It was nice, she had to admit that, regardless of the end in sight.

“It is bewildering is it not?” Mrs. Venable said approaching Oya, whom eyed her over the rim of her glass nothing how revived the woman before her had become by the decision to play god with her own garden of Eden. Venable would present herself as God and the snake lureing starved humans to their own ruin. Poetic. “What little it takes to change everything, something so simple as apples.”

“I believe the promise of hope is what brings this change,” Oya voiced, fingers tapping with the rhythm on the glass. Venables eyebrows rose slightly, dark eyes fiery.

“Hope?”

“Hope is the smallest of things, it’s almost impossible to get rid of and it brings the biggest of change with it. Hope, want, desire, they all set root and grow.”

“And Mr. Langdon brought all of this? Hope? Want? Desire ?” The way she says the word, like it burns her mouth and leaves nothing but ash. Venable had always been opposed to desire, it was so easy to see in the way she gripped at control that desire was the fundamental of which the world was brought to ruin. That desire was the thing that made everyone who possessed it no better than rats. They were beneath her, those who were controlled by it and she was so far above because she was in control.

“Mr. Langdon brought many things, didn’t he?” Oya asked, following Venable through the room. They walked slowly, with sure steps although Oya trailed a few inches behind letting Venable control the pace. There was no need to look at the taller woman, she already knew the look of loathing upon her face mixed with the knowledge that she was soon to be rid of the thing she found so displeasing. “There’s been desire.” Oya said looking out into the room. “There’s been want.” They passed Mrs. Mead by the radio. “There’s been hope…All of this brings chaos of course, and this unabided is what brought the world to its knees, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Venable looked slightly surprised halting. “The old world was built on desire and the constant need to fulfill it. There was no control. People just did whatever they wanted. They were without discipline and those who was supposed to be the authority disregarded rules and mismanaged entire countries.”

“The world was ended because of men like him.” Venable looked over Oya with contemplation the younger girl giving no nod to her own thoughts. She wasn’t sure if Oya was taunting her, if the girl had some sort of knowledge and was now just toying with her or if she revealed for the first time her true thoughts. To her Oya had always been dubious, her intentions had always been unclear, she was a mystery that presented herself as simply another body that inhabited the place and her file had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Then Oya continued. “So why should we follow him?”

“I am not sure what you are saying, Miss Jeon,” Venable said ambiguously. “Do you not believe in the Sanctuary? Or do you not believe you’ll get in?”

“I am as sure as my position as any,” Oya said. “But these days it’s hard to know who to trust.”

“Indeed, which is why it makes me question your intentions. You’ve never been interested in the politics of this place, while the others have thrown their childish fits you’ve remained quiet. Now, however, you’ve decided to voice your views. You say men like him were the cause of the apocalypse and yet you’re willing to put your life in his hands?” Venable shook her head, eyes dark with fiery teeth ready to sink into any weakness presented. It was admirable what she was willing to do to be the queen, paving the way to her kingdom with the corpses of those who got in her way.

“For survival, I’d do anything. Wouldn’t you ?” Oya answered with a tone Michael would have been proud of, the same nonchalant mocking he had mastered so well. Venables eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Oya send Venable a sweet innocent smile before turning around and joining Gallant and Coco on the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Venable return to where Mrs. Mead was, the two clearly sharing a few unknown words. If Michael had been there he would have been proud.

Mrs. Venable was a fox in sheep's clothing but there were other bigger and more dangerous creatures mimicking sheep as well.

A dark tall figure entered and began dancing with Coco. It wasn’t Michael that she was sure of but it could be one of this tricks, Oya simply shrugged and joined Dinah by the fire, chatting together as the mood began to brighten even further. It wasn’t before Coco’s disappearance down dim lit hall that Oya excused herself, disappearing as well. She had done her part, she had shown her face and now was the time to withdraw into the shadows while the attention was elsewhere.

“Let’s begin the bobbing for apples!” Mrs. Mead voiced out loud, turning down the music and gathered with the others around the small body of water. Oya looked over her shoulder one last time before walking to her own room.

Death had been invited in with open arms, a feast was thrown as a welcome and now was the time kiss death on the lips and take his hand for the festivities were for a goodbye and another world awaited.

When the door opened and Mrs. Venable and Mrs. Mead entered, Oya stood by Michael, she had one hand that rested on his shoulder in a familiar touch. Already she could feel the hardened glare of Mrs. Venable, the eyes that cut like glass and pricked at her back. The cane tapped at the floor, one after another until it came to a rest and then the door clicked closed.

“Ladies I’m a little busy right now formulating my selections,” Michael voiced with a nonchalance Oya couldn’t match. She was after all human and her body reacted to the threat of these people by sending a spike of adrenaline through her body even though her mind knew that Michael wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“This won’t take long,” Venable said with a cold venom. Oya turned to face her, mild entertainment showing on her face. Venable’s eyes cracked to her the hostility almost unnerving. Michael shut the laptop gently, turning towards the intruders with the same nonchalance that he had spoken with.

“What’s this?” Michael asked with faux obliviousness, one that tugged at the corners of Oya’s mouth as Venable narrowed her eyes at him. The cane clicked as she came closer, invading the space of the two.

With one last click of her cane Venable answered with a victorious smirk. “We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon.” Her eyes traveled to Oya with sharp accuracy, the anger towards the other woman apparent. “I see you really would do anything for survival, Miss Jeon. I will admit, I am a little disappointed by your choice, you were after all supposed to be the smart one…. But you’ve made your choice.”

“And so have you,” Oya responded in a tone equal to Venables.

Venable drew in an unbothered but still strained breath before speaking, her eyes once more on Michael, who remained in his mask of faux confusion and obviousness. It was so apparent that it was faked. “And I’m afraid neither of you made the cut.”

Oya and Michael looked at each other and burst into chuckles that was neither warm or friendly but rather mocking. It was hard to keep the chuckle in when faced with someone who thought they were the puppeteer when in reality they had as many strings as the ones they thought they controlled. Venables power had been as superficial as Michael’s confusion.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in,” Michael said carelessly. He could be looking down the barrel of a gun and know it’d not be enough to take him down. Venable thought herself superior in the face of a god. That was better entertainment than what she had seen the last year. Still the arrogant smirk remained on her dark lips.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think I’m impressed, Mrs. Venable,” Michael answered. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” Stretching his body to the fullest of his height, Michael stood. He glanced at Oya before returning his eyes towards the enemy. “You passed the test. You’re perfect for the sanctuary.”

The woman behind him made a face of disagreement but remained silent. If Michael wanted her to go with them, then she’d accept it but that didn't mean she’d like it. Maybe he’d forgive her for killing Venable because that certainly would be the case if Oya had to live with that wretched woman for the rest of her human life. But of course, the woman she knew would never agree to fall in like under the heel of a man like Michael, any man actually.

“Mrs. Mead,” Venable breathed with annoyance. The smaller woman with ink hair and paper-pale skin fished a gun out from under her jacket, the sound of it clicking following quickly after. With her human body, Oya reacted to the sound, a wave of goosebumps washing over her. Unconsciously she stepped behind Michael, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket, the motion of it without a doubt known to Michael. She knew he felt her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Michael warned and by doing so extending another chance for survival. He wouldn’t give another one. Venable’s smirk grew, the fire in her eyes burning bright by the victorious end in sight.

Michael tilted his head towards Mrs. Mead, brows rising in anticipation. By this show of what some would call carelessness but in reality a certainty, Oya felt a boost of confidence. It was strange to watch Mrs. Mead with her ghosty blank expressions as if a million thoughts were going through her head.

The delay became too much and Venable’s delight turned to impatience. “Mrs. Mead.” Venable turned to glare at her companion but found that the gun was now pointed at her. Before she could register it went off, the expression of her face changing to surprise and then betrayal. One Oya recognized all too well. The sound of the shot resonated through the room and ran a cold finger down her spine. The air smelled and tasted metallic, a small gush of blood exploded into it.

Oya couldn’t help but breathe relieved, the joy of seeing Venable fall from her pedestal to lie on the ground among all those she had killed. If she believed in karma this would be it. But there were also surprised bubbling within by the reveal that Mrs. Mead had been the one among all of them to protect her. That she hadn’t seen coming.

Mrs. Mead, however, looked as shocked as Venable, her actions a complete surprise to herself. She shook at it, body trembling while she watched the woman she had thought she was to protect now lying dying on the ground, gasping for air as she drowned in her own blood.”I don’t know why I did that. I was always so loyal to her.”

Oya felt sympathy for the woman but remained standing in silence while Michael crouched down to look Venable in the eyes as life left her. Rarely had she felt pleasure to watch life leave a person but a few occasions changed that.

“It’s alright,” Michael said with a calm voice. “You were obeying command. Like you’re programed to do. My commands.”

Oya stepped up to him, placing a hand on his back as he stood and looked at Mrs. Mead, satisfaction shining through his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned into a delighted smile. “Did you enjoy executing the poisonous apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?”

Mrs. Mead was at a loss of words for a moment. You could see everything going through her head, how disoriented her thoughts were. Her body was frozen in time, still pointing the gun as if Venable was still standing. “You wanted everyone dead?”

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty,” Michael explained with a drawl. “Learned that from my father.”

Oya looked down at Venables dead body, the bullet torn through clothing and skin as if it were the same and left a bloody gaping wound in her chest. From the looks of it it had tron through her chest plate and into her lung. There were no blood splatter nor any bullet hole behind her, so the bullet was still inside of her. Either she drowned in her own blood or her heart gave in. By the time Oya looked up, Mrs. Mead was trembling even more, bottom lip quivering and tears streaking down her pale cheeks.

“-Always more fun to entice men and women to dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed.”

“W-wa-what do y-you believe?”

“That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus are evil motherfuckers,” Michael continued. Oya made a face and pursed her lips. Whether there was a flaw in Michael’s belief or not, were not hers to dispute. To her humans was oblivious little creatures capable of great monstrosity or kindness, each holding their own value. Humanity was flawed and just maybe a new set of rules, a new world, could make up for that flaw. In chaos, there were always the greatest fun.

“I-I’m having trouble with this,” Mrs. Mead stammered. “I know, I’m just a machine-,”

“Never say that!” Michael broke, the tremor in his voice indicating how emotional he was in this moment. It cut into her, the sudden realisation that this woman was more important to him that she initially thought. “You’re not just a machine. Not to me. When I tasked the Cooperative’s R&D department to have you constructed…” Oya put a hand on the small of his back, coming up to stand beside him. Michael glanced at her and revealed the tears in his eyes, the pain and sadness in the blue. “I gave them a prototype to model.”

“A prototype?”

“Someone from my childhood,” Michael said gently. “This one very dear to me.”

It was like she was watching the sun rise for the first time. Pure and adulterated realisation shining through every ounce of her. It looked like a door had opened and all that was hidden behind it washed over her.

Oya couldn’t help but feel a strange sadness at the bottom of her stomach. This woman was created in the image of someone else, someone human and she had been lost to him. This woman was made out of his pain and sorrow and loneliness to replace the one he had lost. But in the end, to Oya at least, a robot could never replace a human.

“The beautiful boy,” Mrs. Mead said calmly.

“That was me,” Michael said back, voice barely above a whisper and breaking. “But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind.”

“Why?”

“To protect you,” Michael answered. “And the plan. But now it’s time to remember it all. I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t imagine a new world without you by my side. One of two women who ever really understood me.”

There were no other way to explain it other than pure happiness showing upon her face. “Who ever really loved you.”

Michael embraced the woman, hugging her tightly. The sight moved Oya, her heart swelling in her chest. He looked like a child, a boy who was finally hugged by their absent parent that had returned to them. She had seen the boy in him before, seen the loneliness and heartbreak. If a simple thing like a rose or an embrace could bring this sort of happiness, belonging, she’d shower him in it. For all he had gone through he deserved better.

Michael sat Mrs. Mead down and told her about the woman in which image she was created. The conversation was intimate, between the two, mother and child, and Oya felt strangely out of place. She watched as the two were hunched together, the aura around them thick and warm. Standing back she wrapped her arms around herself and looked away while nibbling at her bottom lip.

“...Who better than the one person who I never stopped trusting,” Michael said with a gentle drawl. “Or loving.”

Mrs. Mead smiled, eyes sparkling with artificial life, with joy and prosperous love. Truly, it was like she was looking at her son, with the same proud eyes mothers had when their child achieved greatness. An oddly jealous ache settling in her heart. The woman stood and Michael with her, she took his hands with a gratified smile upon her lips.

“Mrs. Mead, I do believe you’re glowing,” Michael smiled at her.

“For the first time I feel like I know my place in the world,” she said. At this Oya smiled, knowing exactly what that felt like. She walked to Michael, wrapping her arm around his and smiled at the both of them.

“Oya,” Mrs. Mead said and looked at Oya who’s eyes widened a little unsure what to expect. The woman simply smiled and brushed a hand down her arm and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here,” She answered. Michael smiled down at Oya only for his smile to stifle, slowly turning into a frown as his eyes unfocused out into the room. The air changed, electricity filling it up making the hairs on her body stand. Not even the candles and fireplace managed to warm the air that seemed to be forever chilled.

“What is it?” Mrs. Mead asked.

“A powerful presence,” Michael answered.

“What do you mean everyone is dead.”

“Not anymore.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #obsidian & angelite

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pink-ink-goblin · 6 years

Note

Google and Bing 77

Prompt 77: “There is nothing wrong with you.”

From this list here

((I’ve never properly written either of these two before, so this is kinda janky and full of computer mumbo-jumbo, but thank you for giving me the opportunity to try, mysterious being! And as always, I hope you enjoy! And a special thanks to @egotisticalfloof for giving this mess a read over!))

Warnings: Human bashing because Google hates us, but nothing else.

Google had always been more of the quiet type.

This was just a fact. It definitely wasn’t because he was afraid to speak up, something that was painfully obvious in the way he more often than not left one of the lessers crying after they spoke.

No, he had just always prefered to be alone to think… And plot the downfall of all mankind, but thanks to the unwitting cooperative efforts of every ego contained in the building, that plan was quickly becoming more of a sweet, sweet pipedream.

One annoying lookalike in particular - his self-proclaimed ‘rival’ - was making every day a nightmare for him to try and process anything at all. Internet memes, slang, insults, overt attempts at attention that had Google quietly plotting his disassembly, and so much more; Bing was very much everything that Google was not, and nearly every day was a hassle whenever he was around.

In the inferior android’s weak defense, Bing wasn’t built with the same filters Google was, having been optimized more as a ‘fun’ information engine, but that hardly excused the fact that Bing ran around like a teenage human of all things, butting into everyone’s business and making sure every ego within a nine mile radius knew he was there.

So when a time finally came where Bing had been seen but not heard for the past day and a half, it was mildly… disconcerting; not that Google’s concern overrode his thankfulness at the actual spot of peace of course.

At least, that was what he told himself, even as he exasperatedly searched for the obnoxious bot.

Structural damage was on the forefront of his mind, something broken or jostled out of place most likely from some inane skateboard trick, or perhaps a mere broken throat speaker that Google would maybe think about fixing. Something minor that the fellow android would be too stubborn to seek help for.

After all, what was Bing if not a stubborn idiot?

It had taken a while to find the bot, given that his scans only picked up the living, before he finally found the android perched on the roof of their building, legs dangling off the edge and his skateboard by his side. Bing’s back was to him, the bot leaning backwards onto his hands as he seemed to be quietly taking in the sunset over the city. It would have been such a peaceful sight if Google knew better than to think Bing actually appreciated those kinds of things.

“What are you doing?” Google queried in monotone, remaining by the roof access as he saw the bot actually jump like a startled human. Bing turned to him quickly, giving him a startled look, and Google realized he wasn’t wearing those stupid Instagram glasses. Without them his face looked… almost pleasant.

“Nothing,” The bot insisted quickly, sounding guilty of something, and Google could only fathom who he managed to anger today. Considering there were no bullet holes in his chassis, the suspects list lowered by at least one.

“So more of the same then,” Google responded dryly, watching with growing curiosity as Bing flinched rather hard at that, before giving him an oddly sullen look instead of the expected petulant snark that usually met Google’s sarcasm.

“Yeah, sure,” The bot mumbled irritably, turning back around and pulling his knees upward to rest his chin on them. “Just like always.”

Google quirked an eyebrow and needed to pause for a moment to process after that out of the norm interaction.

That posture, that face, his tone… was Bing… brooding? Like a human?

It had been obvious to Google for a while now that the opposing information engine fell strangely into the emotional spectrum most robots lacked - and Google had always found this to be more a benefit than a curse - but it had never seemed to be more than a simple empathy mechanism to make Bing relate to his users more.

But this behavior was unusual, to say the least, and Google could only fathom two possibilities for this:

The first was that Bing actually did manage to smack something loose and his programming was misfiring that teenage friendly drivel into something less that friendly.

Or second, and infinitely more interestingly… Bing might actually have human feelings.

Curiouser and curiouser, Google cocked his head and walked over to Bing’s side, pebbles that lined the roof crunching underneath his heavy steps. Bing didn’t even spare him a glance until Google prompted him in a rather empty tone, “Bing, you seem…upset. I had not thought you capable.”

Bing looked up and gave him a rather scathing look. “Yeah, I am, okay? And you aren’t helping. Just leave me alone.”

What a wonderful suggestion, and one Google would have loved to follow, but something in him was perturbed by this and he couldn’t begin to explain why. “If you’d like help, perhaps you would permit me to scan your databanks to make sure everything is in proper working order?”

“My systems are fine,” Bing growled through his acrylic teeth, fingers curling into his jeans and making the material creak.

Google frowned. “Then why are you up here moping like a human? It’s disgraceful.”

Bing scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he hissed out, “Maybe because I feel like one. Like the kind that can’t do anything right, alright? Like, all I ever do it mess everything up and I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s my programming, dude.”

Google stared down at Bing, his face unflinching but his processor working double time to take in the fact that all this time, Bing was entirely aware that everything he was doing was absurd.

And he literally couldn’t stop himself.

‘Okay Google…’

Perhaps he had miscalculated everything he had assumed about Bing. Using a human level of visual bias no less. Shameful.

“Go away, Googs,” Bing insisted irritably, looking for a moment like he might cry if only he were capable, before turning his body to present Google with his back once more like a petulant child. Google’s mouth twitched at his shortened name, but he ultimately let it go. If the android could’ve sighed, he would have, but alas, he was only built to look like a human.

Google allowed a beat of silence, before unwillingly admitting, “Perhaps I approached in the wrong manner. Why don’t you come back inside and we can… talk.”

“Why? All I am to you guys is an annoyance,” Bing countered bitterly, a hand falling to mess with the pebbles lining the roof idly. “Not a single one of you actually likes me. Dark calls me tiresome, Host calls me destructive, Dr. Iplier calls me an idiot, and YOU call me a f–king waste of intelligent space!”

Bing flinched as his censor filter kicked in at the swear, before suddenly slamming his hand into the rooftop angrily, sending pebbles flying.

“And I’m so f–king sick of being unable to f–king swear! It drives me crazy to watch as you all do what you do free of restraints when I’m g–damn STUCK!”

There was a sharp crack that drew both of their eyes to Bing’s fist, and when he opened it, sand and bits of rock crushed fell free. The robot grimaced and dusted the limb off on his pants before pulling it back in, obviously not having meant to do that and now feeling guilty at abusing the inherent strength that came with being what they were.

But Google remained unfazed by it. He was unsure how to counter any of that given that it was all extensively true. Bing was the running joke amongst them all, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others who actually liked him being the way he was.

“I did not know you felt so strongly,” Google offered after a quiet moment, resolving himself to this now and sitting down on the rocks to stare emotionlessly at Bing’s back.

“I don’t expect you to. You’re the king of zero emotions,” Bing spat, something in him whirring as his anger activated an exhausted vent in his chest. “I am jealous of you, you know. Sometimes I wish I could just turn it off. Be cold and calculating like you are. Nothing rattles you. Nothing makes you question what you do. You’re perfect, and all it does is piss me off.”

“I am hardly perfect,” Google countered, lowering his vocal volume in what he hoped was a gentle manner. And it was true. He knew himself as a generation one model, and as it was with new things, they were riddled with bugs. Bugs he’d been working to purge from his system since day one.

“Yeah? Well, you’re pretty close, because there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Google narrowed his eyes at that. That should have been a compliment, but there was accusation in it that the blue android didn’t like. By all means, Google considered himself a better robot than all else, but Bing’s tone indicated a sense of self deprecation that came from a place of deep-seated self loathing.

A place that if Bing continued to venture into, it would likely would cause a catastrophic malfunction as his awareness built a code that would fight, and eventually kill, his programming.

A self made virus… That explained everything, including his ability to share this information now. But to kill this virus outright would cause Bing to reset and default to exactly the way he was without the awareness.

And sans memories.

Google found himself oddly conflicted for the first time since his reactivation.

“How long have you felt this way?” Google asked suddenly, and Bing shrugged in a non committal way. “Since you met me?”

“I don’t remember when,” Bing muttered irately, his earlier stance still obvious in the way he dodged. “It seems like it’s been a slow burn, so maybe.”

Google felt the joints around his lips pull in a betrayal of his thoughts. Nice was not something he had been programmed with. Cold, hard facts were, so the revelation that his callousness had caused an error in Bing’s already unstable emotional protocol didn’t sit well within him. He didn’t particularly like the fellow android, but that did not mean he wished him dead.

Pulling his hands from his knees and weaving his fingers together, Google prepared himself to do what could be the nicest thing he’d ever done for anyone.

He was going to lie.

“Bing, turn around, because I want you to listen very, very carefully to what I am going to say, as I am going to say this once, and only once,” Google warned, glowing eyes narrowing at the back of the android’s head. Bing remained where he was for a moment longer, seeming to grapple with his anger, before his curiosity won out and he slow turned to face Google with an irate, and almost lost, expression.

And once he knew he had Bing’s unwavering attention, he spoke slowly, careful to enunciate every word so that they would not be misinterpreted.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Google said, his tone still flat, but the words held their meaning, and something faltered on Bing’s face. “You are following your programming to the letter, and just because you cannot be like me, does not mean you should try. You are not limited, you are not faulty. You are bound by different protocol rules that make you… almost human, and in this I am admittedly jealous. People are quicker to trust you than me, after all. So do not for a second think that that aspect makes you inferior, especially when an older unit such as myself insults you for it. You are valuable, Bing. Every executable file of you.”

There was a moment of silence as Google waited for Bing to respond. The robot’s eyes had gone wide, a soft whirring noise kicking up in his chest as his processor ran double time to take in the words, and for a moment, Google feared he may have accelerated the virus’ spread, until Bing asked softly:

“Do… do you mean it?”

“What did I say?” Google chided flatly, his relief hidden by his monotone. But Bing still looked at him with a growing happiness that had him rolling his eyes before saying, “But yes. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Even me.”

“Thanks Googs. That… that means a lot. ‘Specially coming from you.” Bing beamed, cocking his head happily before his grin turned playful. “I’m telling everyone you said that.”

“Go ahead,” Google encouraged monotonously, but there was a glimmer of something playful in his optics as well as he slowly stood. “Who is going to believe you?”

“The Jims,” Bing insisted, following suit to stand, grabbing his skateboard as he did.

“Ah yes, the most believable of us,” Google bit back, but the normally implied maliciousness that usually burned in his words was no longer there.

“Okay, maybe not,” Bing chuckled, raising one hand and the other holding his board upward in surrender. The bot shifted in an almost shy manner before continuing. “Honestly though, thanks Googs. Sometimes the CPU gets a little scrambled and it means a lot that you’d, well… you know.”

“Don’t mention it,” Google replied lightly, but implying every sense of the phrase. “And if you find that you… need someone to help clear your RAM auditorily, you’re welcome in the hub.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good,” Google said curtly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’ve taken enough precious time out of my day.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sah, Googs,” Bing bid happily, clutching his board to his chest, the sunset behind him practically making his synthetic skin glow as bright as his renewed smile. Despite it, Google knew they weren’t quite out of the woods yet, and that virus would have to be dealt with eventually, but if being nice was all it took to keep it at bay, and allow for that awareness to turn into something one day usable, then perhaps he could allow for that at least.

But for now, Google just rolled his optics and walked into the shade of the doorway his back to the other just so Bing couldn’t see him vaguely smile as he replied, “… Sah, Bing.”

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #googleplier #bingiplier #prompts #hurt/comfort #oneshots #authors writing tag

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starcunning · 6 years

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This Beast That Rends Me: 5 Apr

Hi I obliterated my word count target for the day but I still wish I could have done more. See you tomorrow!

Previously: 1 Apr, 2 Apr, 3 Apr, 4 Apr

Chapter Three

The sky—her sliver of it, anyway—was leaden gray in the morning. Her calves ached, a bone-deep feeling that satisfied more than troubled her, but stretching took most of it away. There was a carafe of coffee awaiting her on the table, and propped against it an envelope of vellum. Both were black.

Shasi poured herself a mug, tail twitching behind her as she drank, and then she took the envelope and turned it over in her hands. The seal on the back was gold wax, stamped with a pair of scales. That didn’t surprise her, but she finished her coffee first.

Lieutenant Kilntreader, the letter inside read, Under most circumstances even results would not spare you the indignity of a court-martial, but Ul’dah has done enough harm to the name of the Scions. So says the Sultana, who has ever counted you a friend. If I were you, I would do nothing that would jeopardize that friendship, nor the friendship between Ul’dah and Ala Mhigo, even with our home restored to us.

Although we have declared a general moratorium on your briefings, you should be permitted to know this: the interim leadership council of Ala Mhigo has been selected. It is their intent to serve the will of the people—the same people Zenos yae Galvus kept beneath his heel. That he yet lives is not common knowledge, or there would be rioting in the streets. Learn what you can from him, but do not expect him to survive.

Included is a questionnaire on matters of critical import. Of especial interest are the “Populares” mentioned in your conversation with Urianger Augurelt. You may submit your report in writing. You are under no circumstances to break the terms of your sequester; the Echo is the only thing that keeps you on an even footing with him, but its unpredictable nature precludes your contact with anyone holding sensitive knowledge.

I trust you will remember what it is to serve.

For Coin and Country, General Aldynn

Shasi frowned, flipping through the pages of the questionnaire, committing them to memory. The room felt cool, and she shivered. Whatever relief was to be found in Raubahn’s letter, it was tempered by a sense of foreboding. But this was the bargain she’d struck, and now had to fulfill. She could delay it a while—another cup of coffee, and then she’d make ready for the day and go find a megalith board—but X’shasi had learned better than to think she could shirk her own destiny.

She could smell the petrichor from the menagerie even within the glass walls of the greenhouse, a few of the windows canted so that the air might circulate. She had dressed more formally, in a coat of slate blue and dark trousers—there had been, for a moment, the temptation to come in uniform, but that had seemed unwise. The game board was folded under one arm, tucked against her elbow.

The Viceroy’s head was already turned toward the entryway as she approached, and the lift of his chin betrayed his attentiveness, but when he rose he did not look directly at her. He loaned his robe an air of formality despite the simplicity of his garb: the same indigo yukata she had seen him in weeks before.

“Eikon-slayer,” he greeted her. “Viceroy,” she said in turn. “No,” he said, “you have taken that from me.” “What should I call you, then?” Shasi asked. “As my friend, you might call me Zenos. Come,” he said, “sit.”

The table was set below a chandelier of crystal. With no candles, it simply refracted what light it could snatch from the air around them; in the wanness of the morning it was little enough. He waited for her to sit first, and she found herself recalling he was royalty after all, and schooled in some manner of courtly graces.

“You found one,” he said as she set the megalith set between them. “I had to bribe a quartermaster,” she said with a sly little smile. “Somehow I doubt that.” She turned it around on the table, lifting the latch on one side to open the casing. “They’re all Ul’dahn, don’t you know.” He regarded her a moment, and as she laid the case open to reveal the pieces stowed away, he plucked one up, running a nail over the carved stone. “Aren’t you?” “Yes,” she said, sorting them by color. “And no. I was born in the mountains of Gyr Abania, but I barely remember it. Then it was southern Thanalan, but I don’t recall that either. Perhaps my memories are hazy enough that it all looks the same to me.”

She pushed the marble pieces across the table at him, flipping the case over to reveal the playing board of inlaid stone on the other side. “I thought you would play light,” he said with a tight little smile. “I thought you might like to represent the ivory standard,” she countered. His laughter filled the airy room then. “Perhaps I might. Well,” he said. “Your Princeps goes here, on his own color.” He set the piece in place with a decisive motion.

Soon, the board had been arranged, and the pieces and their movements explained.

“White plays first,” Zenos told her, those long fingers plucking up a piece to advance. “Just as well,” Shasi laughed. “Is that how you see it? Is acting not better than reacting?” Shasi could only shrug at that, tentatively moving one of her pieces in turn. “You know the game better than I. At least I have the benefit of observation.” He shook his head, that smile still tugging at his lips. “Eventually, observation and reaction can carry you no further, and you must round on your foe and act,” he said, removing a piece from the board. “But you know this already, eikon-slayer.” “I thought we were friends. Zenos.” “It is a compliment,” he said. “In its way.” “From the rest of the Empire I might believe that,” Shasi agreed, propping her chin on a loosely curled fist. “Not from me?” “I don’t think it impresses you overmuch,” she told him. “Don’t overextend,” he told her. “You’ve left your castrum vulnerable. When did you come to Ul’dah?” “As a girl,” Shasi said. “I was perhaps five summers old then.” “With your tribe?” “No,” she said. “Why do you want to know?” “Call it a personal curiosity,” Zenos told her, leaning in to move a piece across the board. “You must have a curiosity of your own,” he said. “Several,” she said, capturing one of his flanking pieces and plucking it from its place. “What do you know about the Populares?” “I said ‘of your own,’ he reminded her. “This one, I think, comes by way of your Scions.” “Perhaps,” she said, “but I have a personal interest. We know of the Empire by their exclaves—the castra that Gaius van Baelsar established after the Calamity, and the provinces you have conquered. I have only the smallest inkling of what the heart of it is. It snows there?” “Often,” he agreed. “The winters there are bitter. Exile was bitterer.” “Like Ishgard?” she wondered. “Coerthas was blanketed in snow after the Calamity, but Garlemald has always been swathed in white,” he said, moving his Princeps back to a more fortified position.

“I have to give them something,” Shasi said, “and I do want to know.” He sighed. “The Populares are exactly what their name implies,” he told her, watching as she picked off one of his supporting pieces. “They are populists. My great-uncle was their champion. Whether they survived him I couldn’t say. It seems unlikely any would reveal themselves to me.” “Because you are your father’s son?” “Am I?” he asked, fixing her with a tight lipped smile. He drummed his fingers against the board. “He never seemed to think so. Because I am a Legatus, X’shasi. A military man. So yes, in that, I am Varis’s son. I am Solus zos Galvus’s great-grandson. They concern themselves more with internal matters than conquest, so I am beyond the remit of their trust.” Shasi heard the regret in his tone, and told him so: “So perhaps Varis was not wrong to doubt your loyalties. What could they offer you?” “He was,” Zenos said, snatching back one of his pieces angrily. “It was van Baelsar’s journals that changed my mind, and I did not read those until I arrived here.” “What was in them?” Shasi wondered. “A great deal,” he said. “Half a decade’s observations of Eorzea. His collaboration with the last ‘Warrior of Light.’ Musings on the primals,” he said, nudging a piece into place. “And you.” That surprised her, and she looked up into his face. He was smiling at her, an indulgent sort of expression. He continued: “He admired you, in a way. I suppose he would have made you regent. It would have made things much simpler, don’t you think?”

“That’s not something the Populares could offer you,” she said, feeling her jaw tighten. “No, but they could have offered it to you,” he said. “An end to Garlean expansionism? A different approach to the problem of the eikons? Tell me that holds no appeal for you.” “I don’t think you’re so terribly opposed to your empire’s expansion,” she said mildly, pressing forward to take another piece. “No more than you are opposed to Lominsan expansionism,” he agreed. He must have seen how it stung her, for he lifted his fingers from the piece he had been toying with and made a less threatening move instead.

A less obviously threatening one, anyway.

“So now you know something to tell your masters.” “Later,” she said. “I did promise. And if it had been any less dire a portent before, I would not have gone then.” “This Elidibus occupies you greatly,” he noted, lifting one of his discarded Legatii to examine its form. “Are you afraid of him?” Shasi swallowed, glad his gaze was elsewhere. “Yes,” she said. “You never seemed to fear me.” “No,” she agreed. “I knew your reputation ere ever you came to Rhalgr’s Reach, as it seems you knew mine, but even then … I was not afraid.” “You knew me,” he said flatly. “My mentor had spoken of you, once or twice. As a thing of unholy terror. But … it was not so long before that I chanced to see myself through another’s eyes, and I was no less a horror than as had been described.” He chuckled, a low, rolling purr that seemed to spill over the table between them. “So you were not afraid because you thought you had my measure, as I was sure I had yours.” “No, I was not afraid because I wanted to take your measure,” she said, darting a piece forward with a small smile. “Why not take his?” Zenos wondered. “He’s an emissary,” she told him. “I could no sooner harm him than, say, a prisoner of war.” “A pity,” Zenos said, plucking up one of her pieces to set his down in the square. “I have you,” he told her. “No, you don’t,” she said, diverting a piece to her defense. He looked at her a long moment, a crooked smile upon his features. “So your hands are bound,” he said. “Little as I like it,” Shasi shrugged. His smile only broadened. He leaned in, took her castrum, and set a fingertip to the crown of her Emperor. “I have you,” he reiterated, and toppled the piece.

Shasi cursed. “Well, I suppose at least I have the comfort of knowing you weren’t holding back.” “Have I ever?” he asked. “Dine with me tonight. That seems an appropriate forfeit.” “I didn’t know we were dictating terms,” she said. “What if I’d rather write a letter to my masters, as you so disdainfully call them?” He pouted, an oddly boyish expression bereft of the anger she had expected. “How disappointing,” he said. She looked at him, reaching down to roll the Emperor beneath her fingers. “Do you know what your life is missing, Zenos?” she said. “Challenges, I should imagine,” he drawled. “Yes,” she agreed, sweeping the pieces from the board. “Just not the ones you mean.” “Oh?” “You don’t hear ‘no’ nearly enough,” she said, turning the board back over.

“X’shasi,” he said, reaching out to take hold of her wrist. His grasp was gentler than expected, his fingers rough with a swordsman’s calluses, but surprisingly warm. She looked down at his hand a long moment, where it lay against her skin. “Please,” he said. “Please what,” she prompted, her voice steadier than she might have feared. “Please come and dine with me this evening.” She waited, not looking up into his eyes. In the face of her indifference—feigned though it might have been—he capitulated. “Not because you owe it to me, or because I’ve won it from you. Come because it pleases you to do so.” She nodded once. “I will return for dinner,” she said. “For now I should see to other matters.” He let go of her wrist, but she lingered over the task of putting away the megalith pieces, rising only when she was sure her knees were steady.

#TBTRM #x'shasi #zenos yae galvus #wol/zenos #original content #starcunning writes

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lillgreendeathling · 4 years

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Oof y'all. It's been a minute since I did something like this. But ya know, sometimes you just gotta do a thing. I won't lie this was very long winded and i ki days got board of going back and rereading and fixing shit so. If I'm gonna be frank there is really only 1 member of our audience that is is meant for, but I figured I'd save the trouble of screen shots. There were other parties involved that probably wont see this but worry not, they will get theirs. That being said if you read this and your a bit confused, then it wasn't meant for you but stick around till the end and leave a com.ent if you'd like. Might as well make it public since I really dont give a shit anymore. So without further ado...

I moved out of my house back in Royersford almost a year and a half ago. It's been a journey since then, but I WOULD'VE said it's been much nicer being out of that situation then the one I find myself in today. At the time I couldn't stand it there. There was 8 of us living in that 3.5 bedroom house with 2 dogs, 4 cats, 3 mice, 2-3 birds(they got replaced when they died) and an Anol. I had to share a room with my brother Gavan which I would say was like hell but that's putting it mildly. Not only did we not see eye to eye on anything, including the things we shared interest in, but for some reason he had my grandmothers favor. I was not that bad a kid and although I did my fare share of bad/illegal things, I never took it to far or really got myself into any trouble. And yet for some reason Satan himself was never the one getting yelled at or the one to get in trouble when we started throwing fists. It got worse after I graduated and started working because now I had money (and usually weed since that's when I first started smoking) and Gavan needed to have his hands on it. And it wasn't just my money either, my aunt and cousins started noticing money going missing. Then it was the money from birthday cards before they had been given to the recipiant, then one day one of my friends had money go missing. And instead of something being done about it, I was made to be the bad guy and was told I was the one with a problem not Gavan.

I started talking to my Aunt Sam after I realized I couldn't even trust my own parental figure and to an extent my aunt couldn't either. My Aunt and I conspiring with each other about my brother and grand mother went on for about a year and a half. I thought I could go to her about anything including when Gavan stole my weed stuff, you know she was the cool aunt. And ik she felt she could trust me too. But even that bridge was burned. I still remember going to her that day, and the way she turned and looked at me and said "Is everything ok? You've been acting different. Are things ok at work? Are things ok with your friends?" then proceeded to bitch about Gavan herself. The hypocrisy that she spewed that day was so dense it could have been physically cut with a knife.

I knew before that moment that I wanted to get out of that situation but nothing lit a fire under my ass like realizing I had no one left to trust. The only people I felt I had were the people I had come to call my family. My real family. A group of people that I could just be myself around. A group of people who would let me just do me. A group that would have my back. Help me back up when I fall.

I could sit here guessing at what changed, and believe me I have a few. Some of them aren't even guesses(fun fact they arnt even about what changed in me) cause I'm not blind. I told you I was actually pretty fucking observant. But at the same time I just dont care. Cause I dont have the TIME or the ENERGY to look, to strech or reach, for something that isn't there. I'm sometimes too tolerant of people, so much so that I have a major communication that I am well aware of. But I'm tired of feeling like there is something wrong with me. Especially when I know damn well what is wrong with me and what I need to work on. I may not know how to fix those things but when I think I might be on to something, the last thing I need is that "family" of mine holding me back. I'd rather you be there to pick me up off of my face when I fall then prevent me from getting the scars. I didn't ask you to be my moral compass. And instead of taking my word you kept reaching for and issue that wasn't even there. Gee thanks for the self doubt.

I appreciate the concern others had for me when I started drinking more frequently. I really do so dont get that shit twisted. I couldn't tell you why but one day alcohol didn't flip my stomach everytime I drank it. I could not have alcohol at all without my stomach flipping the fuck out until about 3 months ago. Before that I never really had any desire to drink, but after my jaw stopped locking up the second I smelled alcohol I decided to give drinking a try. Never really done it before so I will admit that my initial intake was a but excessive. Yes going through an entire bottle of tequila in 3 days may have been a bit excessive I can't deny that. And I'm not entirely fond of excuses so I won't try and blame it on having never really drank before. However, personally have felt no physical changes in my body since Halloween when I started drinking that I can say without a doubt didn't happen from me just working in retail. And as far as my personality goes the only major change Ive noticed is that I speak my mind a little bit more. Like I said before I appreciated the concern that I had a problem at first, but when I sincerely tell you that there is really nothing wrong and that I am genuinely ok they only thing you have now done is cause me to doubt myself. And ik if I had more followers or if I had a Twitter I would get people saying that "addiction is a real problem", "you aren't taking this seriously", "what if you actually have a problem". To those people, well I guess you just dont know me do you?

I said what I did at the beginning about my blood family because my true family just put themselves into their rolls. No one person did exactly as the first one did, but not a single feeling was missed.

Thinking I had someone to talk to.

Thinking I had people I could trust.

Thinking people had faith in me and could take me for my word.

Thinking i didn't have to keep my stuff hidden and locked away anymore. But alas. I was wrong. So now that you all have made me feel like I'm living back in royersford, I think it's time that I reevaluate my current bonds and see if they are thing that help push me forward or if they are things that are only gonna hold me back. And if you find yourself stuck on the second half of that statement well. I guess it's been fun¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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booksncoffee · 7 years

Text

how you get the boy - eleven

“Very mature of you, Harry.”

“Aw, bunny, are you angry?” His bottom lip jutted out into a faux pout and I gave him the bird.

“Nah,” I said as I wiped the icing from my nose and before he could see it coming, I brushed the remaining of the frosting across his cheek.

read below // story page

I woke up the next morning with a pounding in my head as though I hadn’t slept at all.

A night of piss-poor sleep had turned the mildly irritating into infuriating, or in another word, I was in a proper sour mood. It didn’t help that everyone in the lecture hall was narking me by their inability to keep their mouths shut and that the girl sitting next to me couldn’t stop shouting the wrong answers to our professor. Other days I would appreciate her effort, but not this morning. Not when her voice made me want to bang my head against the nearest wall.

As soon as we were told that class was over, I hiked up the strap of my tote bag on my shoulder and made a beeline to the exit. The only thing that I could think of at the moment was how badly I needed a good cup of coffee. And that’s why instead of getting it from the campus’ cafeteria, I decided to take a ten minutes’ walk to go to The Cup.

It wasn’t until my hand had pushed open the door and I was inside of the coffee shop that I finally remembered why I had avoided coming over here before I went to my first class like I usually did: Harry.

Though I was certain that the two of us had a rather serious conversation last night when I decided to drop by his place, I wasn’t entirely sure what it was about, thanks to the alcohol I consumed at the party.

Nevertheless, as soon as my eyes found him, standing behind the counter as he tied his apron, bits and pieces of the words he said to me returned. A part of me wished that I was drunk enough not to remember a thing. Alas, I wasn’t and somehow that thought didn’t bother me at all.

Colours blooming my cheeks, I ducked my head and was about to turn around and leave The Cup when his voice halted me in my tracks. Instead of calling me with another ridiculous nicknames that he usually made up on the spot, he called me with my real name.

“Tenley? S’that you?”

Shit.

A soft sigh escaped my lips and I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear before I looked up and waved at him, pulling my lips into a smile. “Hi, Harry,” I said once I had reached the counter, fingers drumming against my jeans clad thighs. I chose to ignore the way my heartbeats increased when I could smell the scent of him – something fresh, something musky – as he stood in front of me and chose to focus on the list of drinks this place served instead.

“Caramel macchiato?” He asked with a kink of an eyebrow.

I shook my head, “Black coffee, please.”

The infamous smirk slowly made an appearance, dimples indenting his cheeks. I hated how that look no longer infuriated me; in fact, it awoke the butterflies inside my stomach, the ones that usually fluttered when Louis looked at me. “Tough morning, huh?”

“Yeah, you can say that,” I answered with a nod of my head as I searched for my purse in the tote bag. Just as I was about to hand him my money, he pushed my hand away, shaking his head. “What, you don’t want my money?”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “S’on me.”

“What?” I gaped at him, to which he chuckled once more. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Despite my frequent visit to this coffee shop, not once had he ever paid for my drink before. Besides, even if he offered, I wouldn’t have believed him or taken his offer because I would have thought that he was just messing around with me. “You sure?”

He nodded, shooting me a sincere smile before he walked away from the counter to prepare the black coffee I had asked for. Looking around The Cup, I noticed that the place was slightly quiet and empty than usual. I had grown used to coming over when it was swamped with people – students, mostly – that it was almost strange not to hear the chitter chatter of people around me.

“It’s a bit quiet this morning,” he said from behind me as though he knew exactly what I was thinking about and I turned around to see him already looking at me through his shoulder. “S’good though.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him; as far as I was concerned, the crowd had never bothered him before. In fact, he always had a smile adorning his face whenever he talked to his customers as if he enjoyed his work. But then again, I supposed he was a much better actor than I could ever be. “Yeah?”

“I mean, I hardly slept last night so I guess I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with many people today,” he said as he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck before handing me my much needed cup of coffee, to which I thanked him for it.

It was odd, though, that we weren’t bantering with each other nor were we arguing back and forth like we always did. Not that I enjoyed doing those things with him, but since I’d gotten used to him riling me up and making me leave the coffee shop with a frown fixed on my forehead, I found it weird that he wasn’t doing any of those this morning.

I supposed last night had changed the way we treated each other. Or rather, it changed the way he treated me.

“So-“

“This is odd-“

Harry looked at me, his smile disappearing from his face almost quickly and I cursed myself for saying those stupid three words. Scratching his jaw, he pursed his lips together whilst his eyes scanned my face. I tried my best not to let myriad of emotions passed through my eyes, for I feared that he might be able to read my mind like he always did.

I didn’t want him to know that something had shifted between us after the conversation we had last night, after what he told me. I didn’t want him to know that not only had he gotten under my skin, he had also somehow edged his way into my mind, occupying every crevice of my thoughts. But most of all, I didn’t want him to know that for once, I was completely and utterly unsure of my own feeling.

And he was the reason behind my uncertainty.

“Just forget what I said last night, Tee, if that’s what you want,” he said after what felt like an eternity of silence, his voice sounded strained and defeated.

The warmth radiated from the cup to my palm as I tightened my grip around it. I tried to ignore the way my heart dropped upon hearing those words that had just rolled off of his tongue, but it was to no avail. They kept ringing in my head, making it difficult for me to think straight.

If anyone were to tell me a few weeks ago that I would be having this conversation with Harry, I would have laughed in their face. Would have told them that this would never happen, that Harry and I would never get along well to be standing here and talking about something that involved our emotions. But here we are and I wasn’t at all prepared for it.

“Y’know what, Tee, just forget every-“

“Harry, I..” I began, catching him off guard when I cut him midsentence. Taking his surprise as an advantage, I quickly spluttered the next words in one breath, “I don’t know if I want to forget it.”

Biting my lip, I watched as his eyes bulged from his head, but he was quick to mask his surprise by coughing into his hand. “What?” He asked next once he’d cleared his throat twice within two seconds, shifting his weight back and forth.

“I.. I don’t want to forget what you told me,” I replied. This time, I sounded more confident than I did few seconds ago.

When the silence engulfed me, I could feel my heart up in my throat and my blood pumping in my ears. If it weren’t for the warmth, I would have forgotten that I was holding a cup of coffee and that I had come here for it. Not for this conversation. Whilst I took a sip of the black coffee, attempting to alleviate the dryness in my throat, he made his way out from behind the counter and led me to one of the empty tables.

Once we were seated in front of each other, he ran his tongue over his lower lip, his eyes darting from my lips then to my face. “Do you, uh, remember what happened last night?” Harry asked in a voice that was just barely above whisper.

I blinked and a memory I’d chose to file away popped back into my mind: the two of us on his couch, his hand on the nape of my neck whilst mine was pressed against his chest and his lips on mine. I could remember the anticipation building up inside of me, the chills running down my spine at his touch. And I sure as hell remembered how I didn’t even think before I returned his kiss with vigour.

With those images imprinted on my mind, I looked away from Harry, feeling my cheeks grow warm. Who would’ve thought that a mere memory of our kiss could bring colours to my cheeks?

Not me, obviously.

“I take that as a yes, then?” He asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. In a matter of seconds, his face split into a huge smirk and that’s when I knew that the awkwardness was gone – thankfully – and that we were back to normal. If you could ever consider Harry and I normal, that is. “S’pose I am one hell of a good kisser, eh?”

Rolling my eyes, I shoved him playfully with my free hand, to which he caught my wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. I could feel the awkwardness looming over us because Harry and I had never ever shared subtle touches like this before; nevertheless I found myself savouring it, as I didn’t bother pulling away. In fact, I caught myself rubbing my thumb over the tattoo that was inked on the skin between his thumb and index finger before I pulled my hand away from his.

“Sod off, Harry.” I told him with a scoff as an attempt to cut the tension between us. And it worked, for he let out a laugh, shaking his head as he mumbled something under his breath. Unfortunately the laughter was cut short when the worry returned and I saw his brows slowly knitted together, forming a frown that shouldn’t ever adorn his forehead.

“You’re not angry, are you?” He questioned. His fingers that were previously wrapped around my wrist moved up to his head where he took off the beanie he was wearing so he could ruffle his hair. It was gratifying, really, to watch his every movement when he thought no one was looking. This time, however, he caught me looking and a small smile touched his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes, though, for he was waiting for me to answer his question; the one I’d forgotten to answer because I was too busy looking at him.

“’m not angry,” I answered and those three words were enough to bring his smile up to his eyes. “Why should I?”

He shrugged. “Well, you were drunk when I kissed you so-“

Before he could finish his sentence, I decided to do so for him because I knew full well where this was heading. “You’re worried that I’d think you were taking advantage of me?” When he sheepishly nodded his head, I felt laughter bubbling up inside of me. Where did Harry Jackass Styles go, I hadn’t a clue. The bloke sitting in front of me at the moment wasn’t the same Harry I very much disliked or the Harry who would torment me with every chance he got.

This was a completely different Harry.

“Bunny,” his voice pulled me out of my trance and I cocked my head to the left, my eyes drifting to his large hand that was on top of mine. His touch felt almost natural and I decided not to dwell on that thought right now. God knew it was a dangerous thing to think about. Especially with him looking at me as though I was the only person that mattered. “You don’t think I was taking advantage of you, right?”

I blinked my eyes once, twice, before I shook my head, a smile taking over my lips. “No, not at all. I mean, I kissed you back-“

“-because you were drunk-”

“-because I wanted to.” I wasn’t sure who’s more surprised when those words leave my mouth.

Both of us looked at each other in silent, for neither of us saw this coming so we didn’t know what to say to each other. I was pretty certain that neither of us had a reply prepared for what had just slipped past my lips. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t go ahead and try to save myself as I opened my mouth to clarify, only to close it a second later. It wasn’t until I saw something flickering in his eyes that I realised that nothing I said could change the fact that I’d just straight out told him that I wanted to kiss him back.

“Just don’t worry, yeah?” I said instead, bringing the cup up to my lips and taking a couple of sips before I decided that maybe it was best if I left. I couldn’t risk saying things that I shouldn’t say again and expose myself to him. “I- Uh should go.”

I didn’t wait around to hear what he had to say because before he had the chance to do so, I had already pushed the chair away from the table and made my out of the place. I could feel his eyes following me and the entire time, I fought the urge to turn around and look at him.

Jesus Christ, what had I gotten myself into?

For once, I let out a relieved sigh when I saw Niall standing outside my lecture hall, waiting for me. Though normally I would avoid him, for I would rather do something else than entertain him, that wasn’t what I did this evening.

As a matter of fact, when I saw him leaning against the wall, his eyes fixated on the screen of his mobile phone, I decided to approach him. My action, of course, startled him and he almost dropped the precious device to the floor, a string of expletives leaving his lips as he tried to calm his crazy heartbeat.

“Jeez, Tee, a hello would’ve been nice,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes, a look of annoyance taking over his feature.

Instead of responding with another witty remark like I would always do, I tried to take a look at the screen of his mobile phone, for he looked as though he was having a serious conversation with someone. Which came as a surprise to me because Niall Horan didn’t like serious conversation; he liked to avoid it. Unluckily for me, before I got the chance to look at the name on the screen, he hid his mobile phone away from me – a clear indication that he was indeed hiding something from me.

“Who’re you talking to?” I asked whilst I tried to snatch the device from his hand, but it was pointless. He had a firm grip on it like his life depended on that thing and hard as I tried, he refused to let me see the screen. I chose to start poking him, telling him that he could trust me with whatever information he had to say.

And fortunately for me, he eventually relented. “It’s Jo,” he mentioned, his shoulders curving forward, “H was right, I do like her.”

Having expected to hear a gasp coming from me, Niall looked surprised when I appear unaffected by what he’d just told me. See, my eyes would’ve bulged from my head and my lips would’ve formed an ‘o’ had Harry not told me about this before, but the bloke had. He had opened his mouth and told me that Niall might or might not have a crush on Jo, the girl whom I hadn’t yet met.

“You already know,” he stated with a roll of his eyes and a scoff. “Harry told you, innit?”

“That doesn’t matter,” I said, ignoring the slight smirk tugging at his lips. “What matters is that you need to tell me why aren’t you two together yet.”

At that, he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. “I don’t know if she likes me.”

Although laughing wasn’t exactly the appropriate respond judging by how upset he looked when he stated that, burst out laughing was exactly what I did. Niall had never been this unsure before when it came to girls, but this time he was and it was truly amusing to watch as he scratched the back of his neck in confusion. It was clear that he didn’t understand girls in the slightest and that he needed help.

Therefore, being the good friend that I always was – regardless how shitty of a friend that he was to me – I told him that I would help him find out the answer seeing that I was a girl myself and I could tell if she liked him or not. Or in another words, I wasn’t as oblivious as Niall was.

And that was how, twenty minutes later, we found ourselves lining up for cupcakes that we didn’t even want to buy at the shop where Jo was working at. How he came to know about this, I didn’t bother to ask because a part of me had a hunch that he might or might not have been stalking her.

“Stop it, Tee,” Niall hissed at me and I frowned at him, confused as to why he’s suddenly using that tone with me when I’d agreed to help him. He should be thankful, not angry. “I know what you’re thinking. You think I’ve been stalking her, didn’t ya?”

“Well, you’re right,” I said with a nod of my head, as I didn’t bother to lie to him about this. We’re close enough to share this sort of information with each other; he should know that. “Have you, though, Ni?”

He quickly shook his head, lips jutting out into a pout. “’Course not!”

I nodded my head, though I found it quite hard to believe him. “So you’re saying that if she sees you, she wouldn’t be surprised?”

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he began biting his nail – a sign that he was, surprisingly, anxious about this whole thing. “Dunno.”

“Not very convincing, Ni,” I rolled my eyes, nudging him with my shoulder.

“I don’t know okay? She’s different, Tee. I don’t know how she works.” He said with frustration lilting his voice whilst he ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to look unkempt.

Quickly I slapped his hand away from his hair before he could do more damage on it and gave him a pointed stare. “You said I’m different, Niall.”

“You’re a weird different. I’ve figured you out but her,” he paused, his blue eyes darting to the girl standing behind the counter, playing with a strand of her hair as she talked to one of her customers. She definitely didn’t seem like the kind of girl Niall would pick up from a bar or a party and that’s how I knew that maybe he really did like her. As in he wasn’t just planning on getting into her pants. “I haven’t figured her out yet. Dunno if I could.”

“You haven’t tried,” I pointed out, to which he scanned my face for a couple of seconds like he was trying to process my words. “Do it, Niall.”

His brows descended into a frown, “What?”

“Go,” I shoved him, but it was to no avail. He didn’t budge at all. “Talk to her. You guys have been talking on the phone, anyway, so this shouldn’t be awkward, yeah?”

See, that’s where I was wrong. The awkwardness was tangible the second Niall was standing in front of her, scratching his neck every five second. I didn’t blame the girl for not saying a word to him, though, because if I were her, I would’ve done the same, would’ve stayed quiet and waited for him to start the conversation.

And right now this bloody fool wasn’t saying a word.

For that reason, I decided to take matters into my hands. “So, Ni, you said this place serves the best cupcakes.”

Niall turned to look at me, brows lifting up, for he was confused as to what I was hinting at. It wasn’t until I had nudged him with my elbow, mouthing the word ‘speak’ to him, that he finally got it. “Urm, yeah, it does. Right, Jo?”

The girl who had been looking at us was taken aback when Niall addressed her name. Cheeks flustered, she began to stutter her words. “I-Yeah. I-I, erm, I can recommend which cupcakes you should try. If that’s what you’d like?”

Poor girl getting flustered over an ass like Niall. But then again, I’d slept with this bloke and I wasn’t one to judge.

“Yeah, Niall would love that, wouldn’t you?” I kinked an eyebrow at him and he subtly rolled his eyes, stepping on my foot before he turned his attention completely to Jo.

He’s lucky I was a good friend or else, I would have exposed him to the girl, ruining any chance he could have had with her.

Twenty five minutes later, I ended up leaving the shop with a dozen of cupcakes in hand, whereas Niall left with a fat grin smeared on his face as he’d just scored himself a date with Jo. Lucky bastard.

“I didn’t think I’d say this,” Niall fiddled with his fingers as he cleared his throat, his eyes darting from the road in front of him to me who was quirking an eyebrow at him. “But thanks Tee.”

I gave his arm a light punch – I was afraid that if I punched him too hard this car would swerve to the other lane and I couldn’t risk my life for that – and let out a scoff. “What do you mean you didn’t think you’d say it? I saved your ass, Ni, the least you could do is thank me.”

He rolled his eyes, “I already did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” I snorted, my eyes scanning the cupcakes that I was certain I wouldn’t be able to finish by myself, “Half assed thanks don’t mean shit.”

“Whatever Tee. What’s gotten up your ass, anyway?” He asked, his blue eyes scanning my face for a couple of seconds and before I could open my mouth to tell him nothing’s been up my ass, he beat me to it. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how fidgety you were – are – because it takes one to know one, y’know.”

“S’nothing,” I waved my hand dismissively, to which he gave me a side eyed glance.

“Ah there it is,” he pointed out as though I’d just made an announcement that something indeed had been up my ass whilst he made a move to lower the volume of the radio, “It’s something, innit? What’s it?”

“Really-“

“Fuck off Tee, don’t give me that bullshit,” he chided, his voice getting slightly louder as more words tumbled off his thin lips, “C’mon I’ve just paid for your cupcakes ‘cos I wanted to impress Jo and least you could do is tell me what’s been bothering you.”

“Jeez,” I rolled my eyes, slightly taken aback by his reply, for I didn’t think he’d press further about this. “Aren’t you a saint for wanting to be a good friend for once?”

This time, he had the audacity to look and sound offended; he should’ve known by now that he wasn’t a good friend and yet, he still liked to make himself believe he was one. “I’ve always been a good friend.”

“Right.” I snorted as I crossed my arms in front of my chest and looked out the window. Please drop the subject, I prayed to myself, but unfortunately it was not answered.

“Don’t change the subject, Tee. What’s it now? Louis? Harry?” When he saw the way I winced at the mention of Harry’s name, he realised that he got his answer. Lips pulling into a smirk, he tilted his head and kinked an eyebrow at me, “Shit, it’s Harry, innit? What happened?”

“Not-,” I began only to stop a second later when I realised that lying wouldn’t get me anywhere. I’d known Niall long and well enough to be able to know that he wasn’t going to let this go until I eventually relented because much like me, he was one hell of a stubborn person. “We kissed.”

Having expected that he would freak out, I was shocked to see that he didn’t seem surprised at all. “And?”

“And that’s it.” I shrugged as I played with the hem of my shirt, pulling at the thread. I shouldn’t have done that – I realised it a few seconds later – because it gave away the fact that I was not exactly telling the truth.

Niall, of course, noticed it despite the fact that his focus was directed at the road ahead of him, “Liar.”

I let out a sigh as I rubbed my temple, “Said he couldn’t get me out of his system.”

This time, he slapped his steering wheel, startling me with the loud sound followed by his booming voice. “See, I saw this coming!”

“What do you mean?” I frowned at him.

His eyes widened for a fraction before he shrugged, pretending as if he hadn’t just said something questionable as he turned left and stopped his car in front of my flat building. “I mean I know H.”

“Duh,” I rolled my eyes. “I wanna know how much you know him.”

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turned around to look at me, his eyes moving up and down, “He.. Let’s just say that I’ve always thought he’d like you.”

I couldn’t believe it and refused to believe it. Not when I had always thought that Harry hated me, which explained the ridiculous nicknames and the infuriating attitude towards me. “Why?”

“Because you’re Tenley Beckworth,” he said it simply as if it was the most plausible thing in the world, but to me it didn’t make any sense at all. Not in the slightest. And thus, I had a hard time trying to understand what he was trying to say.

“And?”

He shrugged, “There’s no and.”

I let out a frustrated huff as I shook my head, “You’re not making any sense here, Ni.”

Instead of explaining to me what he meant, he decided to give me a pointed stare – as though that could help me understand him – and change the topic. “What about Louis?”

“He.. Said he likes me,” I said in one breath, clenching my fist as I prepared myself to hear what Niall had to say next.

“Bloody hell,” he said under his breath, chuckling when I glared at him. “Aren’t ya living the dream now.”

Giving him the bird, I unbuckled my seatbelt before placing my hand on the handle of the door. “Not helping, Ni.”

“See, Tee, this is why I told you not to go down this road,” he mentioned as he gave me a look that said ‘you should’ve listened to me’. “Now you’re bloody confused, aren’t ya?”

Though I hated to admit that he was right, with a defeated sigh leaving my lips, I told him that yes, yes I was bloody confused and that I needed his help.

“Didn’t think I’d live to see the day where Tenley Beckworth asks for my help,” he teased me, to which I punched him on the arm again, before he began telling me things that I should and shouldn’t do after this.

Instead of going straight to my place, I found myself making my way to Harry’s flat and knocking on his door. After ten seconds of waiting and he still hadn’t opened the door, I figured that perhaps he wasn’t inside. However, just as I was about to turn around and go back to my flat, the door swung open, revealing a sleepy looking Harry whose hair was dishevelled and whose eyes were heavy. But as soon as he saw me standing in front of me, he rubbed the sleepiness away, a small smile taking over his lips as he murmured his greeting.

“I brought cupcakes,” I said as I held up the box in front of him. I could’ve sworn that almost immediately his face lighted up and he stepped aside to let me inside. I went to the living room – as if I was accustomed to the place already – and placed the box on the coffee table.

“Sorry, I was asleep,” he mentioned as he took a seat on the couch and eyed the cupcakes from afar. “Didn’t expect you to show up.”

“Sorry for coming,” I said, as I remained standing in his living room, unsure if I should leave now or stay. When he let out a chuckle and patted the empty spot next to him in the couch, I reciprocated his smile and occupied the seat.

“S’that for me?” He asked before he leaned forward and inspected the cupcakes inside of the box. If someone were to tell me that Harry loved cupcakes, I wouldn’t have believed them because he didn’t seem like a bloke who ate something sweet. But I’d seen how excited he was when he saw cupcakes in my hand during his birthday and just now, I realised that perhaps he loved cupcakes more than he could ever love anything else. And that was kind of.. cute.

“Yeah,” I nodded as I took the box and opened it, revealing six different flavours of cupcakes.

He was about to take one out when he suddenly pulled his hand away, his brows furrowing in confusion, “What’s this for?”

“Dunno,” I answered sincerely, shrugging when he gave me a questioning look. “Niall wanted to impress Jo and he ended up buying these.”

“Bastard,” he chuckled, “Got himself a date then?”

“Mhmm,” I hummed my response before I urged him to take one of the cupcakes.

“Wonder when I’ll get myself a date too,” he mumbled more to himself but since it was quiet, I heard it. And me being me, my cheeks turned red as though he was inferring that to me. Before taking a bite of the delicacy, he asked, “Wanna know why I love cupcakes?”

This was new; he’d never offered to tell me things about himself before. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t grab the opportunity to be able to know more about him. “Why?”

“My mum always bakes cupcakes for me,” he answered with his mouth full, chewing on the cupcake before he added, “She bakes cupcakes for my birthday.”

“Every year?” I questioned, to which he nodded his head yes. “Well, aren’t you lucky?”

“Your mum didn’t do that?”

I shook my head, remembering very well that my mother had never baked cupcakes for me. In fact, she’d never baked anything back in our kitchen. “Nah, she’s more of a forget my birthday and buy a cake two days later.”

“That’s-“

“-Sad. I know.” I cut him off midsentence, looking away immediately when I could feel his gaze on my face.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he asked, “When’s your birthday, Tee?”

“June 3rd.” I answered as I looked up at him, “Why?”

“Mm,” he hummed as he reached for another cupcake from the box, “I’ll bake you these someday.”

“Right, because you’re very good at that.” Though I didn’t mean to snort, that’s exactly what I did. Thanks to him, now I couldn’t get the image of him baking out of my head and it was, least to say, distracting.

His mouth dropped open and for a few seconds, the look on his face said that I had offended him. “Heeeey, don’t look down on me.”

“Oooookay,” I said with a roll of my eyes. Then, out of nowhere, his hand came up to my face and next thing I knew, I felt something on my nose. I didn’t have to guess to figure out that Harry had just swiped icing on it, for he couldn’t quite contain his laughter. “Very mature of you, Harry.”

“Aw, bunny, are you angry?” His bottom lip jutted out into a faux pout and I gave him the bird.

“Nah,” I said as I wiped the icing from my nose and before he could see it coming, I brushed the remaining of the frosting across his cheek. Lips forming an ‘o’, he didn’t think twice before he shoved the cupcake right at my lips. “Harry!” I let out a shriek, swatting his hand away whilst he laughed, his body bending forward as those happy sounds spilled from his lips.

However, before I could notice the change of the atmosphere nor could I process what was going on, I felt his lips against mine, his tongue licking the icing off of my lips. Since he caught me off guard, I remained immobile on the couch, my eyes widening as my brain worked so hard to register everything that had just happened within a couple of minutes.

“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly as colours bloomed across his neck up to his cheeks. “I just-“

“S’fine, you don’t have to apologise, y’know.”

“I don’t?”

And in the heat of the moment, I took the cupcake from his hand, shoved it on his lips. Before he could see it coming, I pressed my lips against his, licking at the icing, doing the same thing he did to me just ten seconds prior. I didn’t get the chance to pull away, though, for he placed his hand on the back of my neck and deepened the kiss. He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could kiss me but when I didn’t do anything to pull away, I felt his lips stretching into a smirk before he gently bit the bottom of my lip and pushed me until my back met one of the pillows on the couch.

This felt all too familiar and I knew what I was supposed to do to avoid what was about to come next.

Granted that, even with Niall’s words ringing in my head, telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want to further confuse myself, I still couldn’t find it in me to pull away or push him away from me. Instead, I relished in the weight I felt pressed against me as he hovered above me, his lips gliding over mine, moving with haste as his tongue slid into my mouth.

Pull away, Tee, I told myself again and again. And yet, that’s not what I did as I looped my arms around his neck and pulled him down until there was no space between us, until I could feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest as though it was ready to jump out.

“Tenley,” I heard him mumble my name once he’d pulled away, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to gather as much oxygen as he could before he continued speaking.

I kinked an eyebrow at him, “Hm?”

“I-“ he paused as he rested his forehead against mine, his warm breath fanning across my cheeks. I found myself holding my breath as the silence fell upon us and as I waited for him to say what he wanted to say, “fuck it, I really like you, bunny.”

#1dff #harry styles fanfiction #louis tomlinson fanfiction #hygtb #hygtb11 #hellooooo #its here!!!#let me know what you think pls #:)

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