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jeonstudios · 3 months

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dextrocardia | 13

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6k

warnings: descriptions of and talk about sa!!

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 13/?

It keeps raining, and two hours later when it’s hitting the roof in a calm rhythm, you enter the garage through the open door. Rock music sounds from a speaker but it’s overshadowed by the powerful hits of Jeongguk’s gloved hands against the sandbag hanging from the mount. He’s foregone a shirt, his sweat-covered muscles glistening.

“You call that ‘taking it easy?’” you call out, notifying him of your presence.

He stops his punches, turning to face you with his hand steadying the bag.

“Huh?” he questions, chest heaving.

“I said: ‘you call that taking it easy?’”

He smiles, very out of breath. “I didn’t say ‘easy,’ just easier than what I’m used to.”

You shake your head, venturing further into the garage and reaching the bike.

“How do you even get on this thing? It’s so tall?” you wonder skeptically out loud as you trace the black leather seat with your fingers. It’s definitely a lot taller and wider than just an ordinary bicycle.

Jeongguk steps away from the sandbag, loosening the gloves with his teeth as he heads your way, heavy breaths echoing. You follow him with your eyes as he approaches, but instead of demonstrating like you thought he would, he stops behind you.

“Here,” he places his hands under your armpits.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you try to protest, but it’s too late, and you’re already being lifted onto the seat like a three-year-old.

You definitely also feel like a three-year-old because you don’t even try to reach for the handlebars, instead holding onto the little hill in front of the seat. It probably goes without saying that your feet don’t wholly touch the ground.

“We could go for a ride someday if you want?”

You turn your head to look at his grinning face.

“Uh... no.”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

You see the realization of what he just asked flash across his face, but you know it wasn’t how he meant it.

“You don’t seem to value your life very much, no,” you argue, hinting at how he almost died for you.

His face turns relieved, a small smile decorating his lips. “I do. But sometimes, there might be risks I’m willing to take.”

It’s your turn to not know exactly what to say, so you're quick to ask something else instead. You lean forward, actually managing to grab the handlebars somewhat correctly. “Do I look cool?”

Jeongguk’s smile widens, “Absolutely. Even more so if you had the appropriate gear.”

“So… highway patrol? Car or one of these things?”

“One of these things,” he chuckles. “It was exciting, especially car chases really got your blood pumping. Although I think my mom was in a constant state of a heart attack. And the chases didn’t happen that often; most of the time, it was just writing tickets, and I wanted to make more of a difference.”

“Understandable. Your mom, I mean.”

“Yeah. Also, who told you?” he narrows his eyes playfully.

“Jimin. He told me absolutely everything there is to know about you. All your secrets.”

“Nice try; I don’t have any secrets.”

You wonder to yourself how true that really is.

You’ve managed to keep your mind busy and occupied during the day, but when night time rolls around and the rain has only increased, you’re feeling a little anxious.

Standing outside the door to your room and staring at the handle, you don’t notice Jeongguk.

“You know, I don’t mind you sleeping with me.”

You lift your head, meeting his eyes. He’s shirtless again, looking as if he just came from the kitchen. Should you? Last night was very cozy, and if you're being honest with yourself, you liked it a lot. Probably more than you should. You felt… safer.

You hesitate.

“It’s up to you, but I’ll leave the door open.”

He prepares to leave, but you’re quick to make up your mind.

“No, I, um… I’ll just go and change, first?”

Giving you a soft nod, he leaves for his bedroom.

It takes you five minutes to change into a large t-shirt and some shorts and to wash up, and when you enter through the open door, closing it behind you, Jeongguk is folding a pair of pants to hang over a chair. You won’t pretend that you don’t let your eyes quickly skim over his shirtless body as he moves, your heart skipping a beat or maybe two.

“Is that the ring you wore during the mission?” you ask, watching him turn, first to face you and then to look at the object in question on his nightstand.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you keep it?”

He shrugs as he approaches the other side of the bed, the same side he slept on yesterday. “I don’t know. I wore it, then the hospital put it in one of those bags with my other belongings while they took me into surgery. Took the whole bag home, put the ring there. Didn’t wear it because… well, we’re not married, but I didn’t want to get rid of it.”

“Hm, okay,” you accept what sounds like a reasonable explanation.

Jeongguk lifts the duvet, getting into the bed while watching you. “You didn’t keep yours?”

“Don’t know what happened to it, but it was fake and pretty much worthless, so…”

“Ouch,” Jeongguk says, clutching his chest.

“Okay, first of all, you just said we weren’t married. And there was no material worth to it. Second, your heart is on the other side.”

Smoothly–and definitely making you giggle while you follow his lead and get into bed–he switches hands to hold the right side of his chest instead. You guess it’s a learning curve.

“Ouch,” he repeats, “Just tell me if you want a divorce.”

It’s with a big smile that you get comfortable, pulling the white duvet up to your chin as you lay on your side, facing the nightstand.

You feel Jeongguk move around a bit too.

“I think the rain’s gonna let up tomorrow,” he mumbles. “It’s been a while since it was this… persistent.”

“Yeah… Thank you for letting me sleep here. It feels… better to not be alone.”

“It’s no problem; I don’t mind.”

Silence falls after that. You listen to the rhythmic beat of raindrops hitting the roof, trying to slow your breaths and heartbeat enough to fall asleep. Although you don’t feel as anxious anymore, it still doesn’t happen.

Minute by minute ticks by, and you don’t know if Jeongguk is asleep or not.

“It was raining,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “That night when we followed a suspect into a hotel bar.”

You take a breath, listening to the silence of the room, half expecting Jeongguk to stop you. But he doesn’t; maybe because he’s asleep? So you continue quietly, revisiting a memory.

“He stayed there for quite a few hours, so we did as well. We were hoping he’d lead us to his brother so we could arrest both of them for arms trafficking. Hoseong ordered us beer, more so for appearances, but still, and we talked while we kept an eye on the man and waited for him to leave. I remember that we talked about another case we’d just solved, and Hoseong was going on and on about how smart he thought I was and how glad he was to have me as his partner. I was smiling ear to ear, thinking that I was so incredibly lucky, getting to work with and learn from someone who truly saw me. When the suspect instead got a room there for the night, we did as well, figuring it would be more comfortable than sitting in the car all night.”

It’s still quiet, but it feels cathartic to get it out, regardless if Jeongguk is awake to hear it or not. While you've unfortunately noticed more similarities between him and Hoseong than you'd like--like their dark, expressive eyes--Jeongguk feels... different.

“We were meant to do shifts, always have the door open just a sliver so we’d notice if he left. We took our jackets off and Hoseong placed his stuff on the bedside table. Since it was summer, I was wearing a t-shirt and a skirt with my gun strapped to my thigh under it, and so I put the gun in the pocket of my jacket. When I turned around… he kissed me. I was caught by surprise, but I… I kissed him back at first because… Well, I loved him. But then I tried to step back to tell him that we really shouldn’t, that we needed to be alert and ready to follow if the suspect left. But he didn’t listen.”

You pause, feeling the pain and the fear from that day all over again, your skin turning cold. There’s movement behind you, and an arm is slowly and gently draped across your middle, grasping your freezing hand. It makes you feel something, peering down at his hand and the tattoos covering his skin. He’s very warm, and he feels like he’s… stable. Like he has roots growing into the ground that makes him unshakeable. Meanwhile, you’re a leaf; at the mercy of everyone and everything. Easy to blow away, to rip to shreds, to stomp flat to the sound of your bones crunching.

“He held my jaw so tight, I couldn’t speak, and he told me that I’d been teasing him all day in the skirt and that I should be happy because he knew that I loved him. Said I should just suck it up and put out. He… ” you go quiet, unsure of how many details you’re willing to relive.

Does Jeongguk need to know every step you were pushed toward the bed, how he threw you onto it and got on top of you while you fought? How he unzipped his pants and how he violated you? He probably doesn’t.

“He used his handcuffs and cuffed my hands around the metal bed frame. I tried to…. He said he’d kill me if I screamed.” You remember his hushed yet furious voice in your ear, remember knowing how it was going to end, how he’d kill you right then and there.

“I don’t know if he did it at first because he enjoyed it or if he realized right away that he would need to get rid of me, but he put both his hands around my neck and squeezed as hard as he could. I pulled my hands so violently that I dislocated a thumb, but… I got one out. So I tried to stop him, but he was too strong, using all his body weight. My nails on his skin didn’t faze him, and I was losing consciousness. At the very last second–while my vision was turning spotty–I managed to grab the gun from his holster. I aimed it for his thigh and pulled the trigger. He let go. Somehow, I managed to get him off me, and… out of me… but I could barely see or breathe, and there was blood everywhere.

“He swore at me, and I think he tried to get up but couldn’t, so he reached for his phone, and I ran for the door as best I could. But what was I supposed to do? Call the cops? What do you think he was doing? I heard him ask our coworkers for help, and I knew. They were coming to help him. So I stood there, in the hall of a shitty hotel, with no car keys, no phone, and nowhere to go, while his back-up was mere minutes away.

“Then, someone down the hall opened their door. It was a young woman, and she peeked out, looked at me where I stood, a shaky, bloody, wheezy mess, and she came and pulled me inside right before the police exited the elevator. I managed to say that we were all law enforcement, but I didn’t need to tell her that they’d kill me off if they found me because we heard Ryung’s voice through the door, telling the rest to find me and make me… pay.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been as scared as I was when they knocked on her door. She gestured for me to get inside the bathroom, and I did, watching as she pulled a bathrobe around her body, turning most of the lights off and opening the door to pretend like she’d just woken up. I heard them ask for me, and I heard her politely tell them that no, she hadn’t seen a woman or noticed any commotion. But I saw how her hand trembled behind the door, and I thought the whole time that they knew and were just waiting to push their way inside to get me. But they didn’t. Instead, they left. Shaken, she sat with me on the bathroom floor as I cried, and she helped me clean up a bit and loaned me some of her clothes before she helped me to the hospital across the city border. I stayed the night to have my injuries tended to and documented and a kit done, and the next day, I went to that city’s station to file a report. A female officer helped me, and she’s the only one I’ve told most of this stuff to. Well, except for you now, but I take it you read the report? And the station… you weren’t working that day, but it was your station, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” comes a strained mumble, and you feel him hug you just a bit tighter.

You stare at the wall, feeling both anxious and numb. “It changes you, having someone do that to you. All my life, I’ve known, theoretically speaking, that there’s a risk. A man, anywho, anywhere, anytime, can decide that I don’t get to live anymore. But to experience it, to see the intentions in his eyes, and how he’s… deciding… and not being able to do anything about it. It changes you. It’s always there, the feeling of helplessness.” “I…” Sounding like he wants to say something but can’t find the words, Jeongguk lets silence fall again.

“You don’t know what to say, do you?” you smile a sad smile to yourself. “No.” “It’s alright, you don’t need to say anything, I just thought I’d tell you.”

You feel him move closer while also gently pulling you back toward him. You roll back, finding yourself inches away from him where he lies, head supported by his hand and looking down at you. “I’m just… furious, and frustrated, and I wish so badly that I’d been there to help you. If I had just transferred earlier… maybe I could’ve prevented it, or stopped it, or even just caught him and helped you get your justice. Instead, I came along and made it worse.”

You find yourself so lost in him. In the warmth of his body that’s thawing the entirety of yours, and in his kind brown eyes. You can’t believe he’s the same person who took every chance he could to hurt you as recently as a few months ago. He just… looks so sweet.

“You know, you look like a little kid when you’re sleeping” you smile, watching Jeongguk slowly open his eyes, looking a little confused. “You’re also always up before me, so I’ve rarely seen you asleep. I’m not really a morning person.”

The moment he comes to properly, he smiles lazily and rolls his eyes half-heartedly. “I’m not a morning person either, actually,” he explains, his voice lower and raspier than usual.

“Then why are you always awake so early?”

He looks at you as if he’s not sure what to say. “Cause… I have… stuff to do?”

“Okay…”

Jeongguk doesn’t address the suspicion in your voice, instead, he stretches his arms over his head. The duvet moves, exposing his chest and the scar to your eyes.

Letting your fingertip hover just above it, you look back at his still very sleepy face. “Did you really never know about your organs being mirrored?”

“No,” he yawns.

“But… how? Didn’t you ever have your heart and lungs listened to?”

“I did, but apparently, it’s not too much of a different sound. Sure, my heart beat would have sounded a bit fainter from my left side but it’s such a rare condition that there was no real use investigating further. I had a heart that beat in the right rhythm and no other symptoms so that was enough, I guess,” he shrugs.

“Can I listen?” you bite your lip hopefully.

He raises his eyebrows, “To my heart?”

You nod enthusiastically

“Buy me dinner first, why don’t you?”

Rolling your eyes, you feel warm. You meet his gaze and slowly lower your head to his chest while moving your hair out of your face.

His skin feels nice against the side of your face, his chest moving up and down under you slowly, and you hear it. It’s strong, rhythmic, but…

“Are you sure you’re fine, though?” you ask, turning a little more serious, “It’s beating kinda… fast?”

Surely a fit guy like Jeongguk has a slower resting heart rate?

“You’re also, you know, listening to my heart,” he says, like it’s supposed to mean something?

Wait. Is he… Is he implying that you listening to his heart is making it race? That can’t be true, can it?

You lift your face off of his chest, and for a moment, you’re just looking at each other softly, curiously. His black hair is a little messy, but he looks so warm, and you–.

His phone rings.

Jeongguk sighs but reaches for it where it lies on his nightstand, his eyes widening when he reads the screen. “Shit, I gotta take this.”

He throws the duvet off of him and gets up as he answers the call, and you see him in just his shorts as he disappears out of the room with the phone to his ear.

Following his lead, you rise from the bed, but instead of going wherever Jeongguk disappeared to, you head into your room to throw on a hoodie and some sweatpants. While alone, you take a moment to think about last night. You weren’t actually planning on talking about it. You never have, not in that much detail, although you definitely left some things out. And while it feels… hard, it also feels… better? Or, like you’re at least not too scared of him looking at you weirdly or saying it was your fault. Or even worse, like you opened his eyes how easy it was to render you entirely helpless…

Quietly, you enter the kitchen, spotting Jeongguk standing at the counter with the tray of cupcakes you made together in front of him. He’s wearing a dark green t-shirt now.

He places the phone between his raised shoulder and ear as he peels a wrapper off, “can you ask them to mail copies of the documents to the station? And how did it go, did you manage to reach the mechanic?”

You watch him as he listens to whoever’s on the other side, putting half a cupcake in his mouth. “Mhm, no, no, just book whatever time she’s available. We can meet at the station if she wants to come in or I can go to her. Same for the hotel staff.”

Is he… looking into your case again? Like, thoroughly following up on all leads and with all possible witnesses? You definitely know it’s not because of what you told him last night; he must’ve decided to do it priorly.

His eyes find you as he listens intently to what the voice has to say. You take a few steps, coming to stand next to him, smiling softly at how cute he looks when he’s multitasking. With one hand, he lifts the other end of the cupcake to you. You take it, watching him as he looks off into the distance absentmindedly. “Alright, thank you.”

You pop the piece into your mouth, chewing it while making a note to definitely bake more.

He ends the call and puts the phone down on the counter. “These are actually really good,” he says, putting his frosting-covered fingertip to his mouth.

You smile, admiring him and all he’s done and is doing for you. A little overcome with emotions, you place your hand on his shirt, pulling it down slowly at the collar and him toward you. He looks curious, but you focus on his lips. Biting your own, you try not to let the fear of rejection win, and you stand on your toes, and you kiss him carefully.

It’s brief, and it’s sweet, and you can’t help but smile when your heels touch the floor again.

“Thank you.”

He blinks, looking happy but surprised.

“What?” you chuckle a little nervously when he doesn’t say anything.

“Nothing. I just… wasn’t sure you actually liked me. Like, at all.”

You tilt your head, listening to him as he continues.

“I know that we kissed that time on the hammock, but we probably weren’t on the same page then, were we? Cause I thought we were, that we were alone and that we had something, but you… you played along because there were people watching, right? You were still acting while I wasn’t.”

You haven’t thought a lot about that moment, embarrassed about what happened and how you reacted, but he’s right. You were acting. You weren’t sure he was, but if he really wasn’t… What were his motives that night?

“Yeah, but you kinda literally took a sword to the heart for me later, and you’ve been really, really kind and sweet to me ever since.”

He grabs another cupcake, chewing a piece of it with a look on his face that tells you he’s… planning something. You wait, expecting him to say something but he just smiles and lifts the other piece to your mouth. Before you can even decide whether to take a bite or not, he nudges the cupcake against your mouth, getting streaks of frosting across your lips.

“What the…”

But he grins, puts the cupcake down, and smiles in a way that lets you know this was exactly what he wanted. Putting his fingers under your chin to lift your head, he leans down to kiss you. You hold your breath, feeling his soft lips against yours again.

He tastes of frosting and racing heart beats, and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are warmer than usual.

“You don’t need to thank me for that.”

And you feel warm, almost ecstatic, but also like you’ve… forgotten something.

The day after, Jeongguk receives a call that has him hurriedly looking through the house for the keys to his bike, rushing off somewhere after telling you that he’ll probably be back in a few hours. ‘A few hours’ is too vague to really tell you anything, and you’re so used to not asking questions that you don’t think to.

While he’s gone, you decide to start the dishwasher, and you’ve come to learn that Jeongguk always has at least one mug in his office that he’ll keep refilling with coffee way too many times without washing.

Approaching the office, you’re not surprised to see the door to it ajar. It’s rarely closed, and it’s almost like it signifies the transparency between you. Jeongguk doesn’t say much about the case, but it’s not because you can’t know; it’s because he knows you don’t want to know.

Or didn’t want to know. As you’re standing in the quiet room, his blue mug in your hand, you see a disheveled stack of papers. Usually, you would’ve walked past it, or maybe even re-stacked it neatly before walking past it.

This time, Hoseong’s name catches your eye. Of course, it’s not weird considering it’s Jeongguk’s main case, but you still find yourself staring at the printed letters.

Three hours after he left, Jeongguk unlocks his front door, opening it and stepping inside. He sighs at how the people he despises most on the planet always just seem to slip out of his grasp. But when inside, he finds himself easily letting go of that thought and instead thinking about something that has him smiling to himself.

With his shoes and jacket off, he begins his search, expecting to find you either in the living room or your bedroom and getting confused when you aren’t. He peers inside the kitchen and even puts his head into his own bedroom, almost starting to get worried when you’re nowhere to be seen.

He’s about to visit the second bathroom when he passes his office, seeing movement from within the small sliver in the doorway.

“There you are,” he comments happily as he opens the door wider, looking around and taking a moment to process what he’s seeing. “I almost thought you’d evaporated.”

You look up from the floor, where you’re sitting with a bunch of papers spread out in front of you, Jeongguk’s empty cup beside you.

“These are the ones you’re observing?” you ask, lifting a paper toward him, a pen wedged between your index and middle finger.

He takes it from you, quickly reading a summary of months of hard work. “Mhm.”

“Okay,” you say, looking at another paper in your hand, twirling the pen absentmindedly in your other, “I think I have some suggestions.”

After spending hours and hours with Jeongguk, having him explain the progress they’ve made and who they’re investigating, you take a step back to look at the post-its on the living room wall. It has all the fugitives’ relatives, their friends, coworkers, neighbors…. everyone. Since neither of the four men have used their card nor phone, they must’ve almost certainly gotten help, but from who?

You sink down onto the soft cushions of Jeongguk’s couch with a tired sigh, reaching for the remote and smiling when there’s a rerun of a zombie movie.

Jeongguk follows your lead, spreading out as well. “You wanna like… hold hands or something? Cause I could do with a good hand-holding.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh, feeling your chest warm from the inside. It’s so easy for him to make you all giddy, forgetting about all of your pains and worries. Or almost all of them, at least.

Still, you nod, and your smile grows when he scoots closer to you and takes your hand in his warm one.

Even as he directs his focus toward the TV, you keep yours on him. On his tired yet still bright, dark eyes, his nose, the faint hollowness under his cheekbones, and his mouth. His hair is just calling out for you to run your fingers through, but you stand your ground, settling for getting to hold his hand.

“What?” he asks, smiling cheekily at you.

“You asked to hold my hand?” you remind, moving his hand between the two of yours, tracing the veins on the back of it.

“Yeah?”

“It’s cute. You buy flowers and hold hands and open doors.”

Surely, a guy like him can’t exist, right?

“I do. Which reminds me, you were just giving my flowers away?”

He looks at you, faking hurt. Slowly, and with your heart beating hard to nourish the butterflies growing in your stomach, you intertwine your fingers with his. “I didn’t know they were from you; there was never a card or anything.”

“Fine.”

Seemingly accepting your short answer, Jeongguk watches the movie with you for a while in silence, your head coming to rest against the top of his arm. You keep his hand between yours, trying to stay cool despite how being this close to him affects you. There are definitely some sort of butterflies.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about as well?” he mumbles quietly after a while.

“No?”

“At the barbeque, the guy that you were talking to? Who was that? And what did he say?”

You search your mind for a second before it comes back to you; the tall, handsome man who approached you. “I don’t know. He said his name was Haneul, but I don’t think he lived there. I think I heard something about someone having their cousin over or something like that, so I think that was him. Don’t think I saw him again.”

“And what did he say to you? You didn’t look…. very happy.”

You recall the way he felt… off and how he wasted absolutely no time, insulting your husband and offering to take his place. You definitely remember the unfunny feeling of actually wanting to have a rude Jeongguk around just to keep Haneul away.

“Uh, he hit on me.”

“Did you say you were married?”

You scoff. “Yeah, but he didn’t seem to mind. Basically accused you of lacking in bed and offering to take your place in secret.”

“What?” Jeongguk asks, sounding surprised. “He didn’t look that ballsy to me?”

“It was before he saw how intimidating you are.”

“I’m glad it seemed like I scared him off then. If he was bothering you?”

“Yeah…”

“So why didn’t you tell me? When I asked about him? I would’ve kept an even closer eye on you.”

That, you don’t have to search your mind for. You remember very clearly how scared you were that Jeongguk would laugh. Or that he wouldn’t even believe you because after all, why would anyone hit on someone like you? Especially a man who looked like Haneul because creep or not, he was handsome. Like so often, you fill with shame. Embarrassment for who you are and how you look. It’s been surprisingly easy to not focus as much on it, but it will always be at the back of your mind, and this is just a painful reminder.

“I… didn’t think you’d believe me.”

He squeezes your hand, and you hear and feel him sigh sadly. “I’m sorry for being so mean to you and for being such an overall disappointment. I want to think that I sensed that you were scared and that’s why I kept an eye on you after and asked you about it. But I couldn’t even tell that you were afraid of me as well, so I don’t know, honestly.”

“It’s fine…”

“No, it’s not. I guess I hope your future real husband will be better than your fake one,” he jokes in an attempt to lift the mood.

“Oh. I’m not… I don’t think the possibilities of me getting married are very big.”

“Oh? Because you don’t like… men?”

You nearly snort. Honestly, yeah, all of your problems and issues could be summarized into that short sentence.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, I’m not interested in marrying a woman, but I’m not… I’ve never had a relationship of any kind with a man–that went deeper than acquaintances–which didn't leave me hurt in one way or another. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“I know you said your dad’s an ass, and I know what happened with Hoseong and us guys at the station, but what… If you want to talk about it, what else…?”

“Who else has hurt me, you mean? It’s complicated, I guess.”

You look down at your intertwined hands, how Jeongguk’s looks so big between yours.

You sigh at the memory of how… non mind-blowing your relationships have been so far. Most guys you’ve dated haven’t made even the slightest of efforts for your birthday–if they even remembered it–or to plan dates of any kind after the first honeymoon months. You’ve tried, but with many men, it feels more like they want a live-in maid, who provides sex. It's definitely a conscious effort, how you try not to match Jeongguk to what your younger self dreamed of in a man.

“You remember… at the house? When you said you loved your ex, and I laughed because you’re a man and not capable of love?”

“Yeah.”

“I think that sums it up. My dad didn’t care for my mom or me, he only returned when his new, younger girlfriends–whose bodies weren’t ruined by childbearing–grew tired of his disrespectful, old ass. He knew that she still loved him, and he took advantage of that. I guess I was a little weary around men from a young age after that, but still hopeful that there could be good men out there too. Then I started dating and noticed pretty quickly that… I wasn’t really important like I’d hoped. I wanted dates–even just a picnic in the park occasionally–and I guess I took birthday celebrations–of any kind–for granted. One guy got me a bunch of candy he knew I didn’t like, so he could eat it himself, and another guy entirely forgot it was my birthday even though his was ten days before, and I got him a relatively expensive watch he’d been wanting. One guy did take me out to eat at a pretty nice restaurant, but he was also shamelessly checking out the waitress right in front of me. I saw my friends be treated the same way, and we all just… kept trying. One of my friends was in a relationship for four years, and he was a real sweetheart; made time for her, got her flowers, gave her compliments, all that. Then she discovered he’d been cheating since day one. It wasn’t until Hoseong that I truly decided it wasn’t worth it.”

“You shouldn’t give up hope.”

“It’s easy for you to say, Jeongguk. You’re a man. Your fellow men look out for you and women still care for you. And to be honest… like I said, what happened to me… it’s not something you just move past. Wherever I go, I know that practically every man I meet on the street could decide to hurt me just because he wants to. And it would be up to him, the fate of my entire life is in the hands of every random guy I pass. If he wanted to kill me, there isn’t much I could do. Not only do I know that theoretically speaking, most of them are stronger than me and don’t care what happens to me, but I know the feeling of having it happen.”

“I understand,” he assures softly, squeezing your hand, “I didn’t mean it in a ‘get over it’ way, just that I know there are men out there who would treat you like an equal partner and who would like to do those things you described that you used to want.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know, it just isn’t worth the risk for me. Romantic love isn’t everything.”

There is still a trace of pity in the look he gives you when you smile sadly at him.

After brushing your teeth and changing into your sleepwear, you find yourself outside the door to your bedroom. The storm has passed, so you definitely should go back to sleeping in your own room.

As if he could read your mind, Jeongguk, on his way to his bedroom, slows down as he passes you. He turns, looks at you and smiles gently as he continues to back toward his door. “You don’t need an excuse, you know? If you want to sleep in your room, that’s fine, but I can’t say I’m not hoping you’ll sleep with me.”

You lift your eyebrows at him, as if to say ‘oh, really?’ He should definitely stop saying ‘sleep with me.’

He shrugs, “I like having you close.”

For half a second, you shut your eyes, realizing you have no defense against him. So you open them, sighing and dropping your shoulders before following him with some species of critter in your stomach. He chuckles.

author's note: please let me know if you like it! i feel like this part was really important and it was definitely hard to write because fortunately(!!!) i have not experienced what reader has and while i did my best to portray it how i think someone could react and deal with stuff like this, at the end of the day, i don't actually know and i'd hate if it comes off as wrong or glamorizing in any way. if it does, that is 1000% not my intention. on a lighter note; this is very much a calm before a storm lol

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crucialplayer · 1 year

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Thoughts on Mars placements

!! everything is based purely on my experiences with signs, written with no other purpose than to share my observations and be unserious.

Aries mars. Practical jokes lovers, gentle touch haters. Hit u while laughing. Love the banter, sometimes a lil too much. Go for it (whatever it is) fiercely and without a single backthought. Explosive in conflict, but in a sense of crying screaming throwing up banging against the wall.

Taurus mars. Life could be on Mars but they still be going on and on about that one thing. Sudden outbursts of anger. It might seem out of the blue but they’ve probably been brooding some hurt for a long time. They just hoped it’d go away… naturally. Also surprisingly horny.

Gemini mars. Mind fuckers. That one guy defending polygamy «as a concept» rather too enthusiastically. Can talk their way out of hell with one leg already in the hottest boiling cauldron. I suppose it’s a placement most people will find charming at some point (says a lot about society…).

Cancer mars. Rumors are true, the sky is blue, and they are manipulative. Watching anybody else display vulnerability is the same as watching a children’s play to them. Ur rawest and most disturbing moment? To a cancer mars its a chill Tuesday morning. Humanization of a silent treatment.

Leo mars. You’d gather that its serious by the sheer scale of their reaction but I promise its not. 9 times out of 10 will cause a huge scene and won't be able to remember it 2 days after. Very defensive. Won't put themselves out there if they’re not guaranteed a 10-minute standing ovation.

Virgo mars. They believe that they make sense but usually they don't. They’re calculating but it’s like they do it backwards resulting in some of the most unhinged decisions made. Want to be praised for… um… existing as they are. Kind of a menace in conflict.

Libra mars. If u think it's hard for you to wait for them to make up their mind imagine how they feel. It’s similar to watching a plant move without a time-lapse. Cry when they’re angry. Go with the flow not because they’re chill but more cause it's easier for them.

Scorpio mars. They ARE vengeance and I'm scared. Slash 3 tires after one fight mars. Not the person you’d try to make jokingly jealous. For further information read the lyrics to… really any Taylor Swift song.

Sagittarius mars. Don't think before they do and think after they’ve done smth only if u make them. The kind of people that will try everything once just to know how it feels (and then present that to everyone as if they’ve found god by bungee jumping one time). Very easy to dare. Also are always checking someone out.

Capricorn mars. Blood is cold, the heart is beating twice per minute. ISN’T IT lonely on top of the world fellas??? If u get them to like u your love language better not be words of affirmation. Instead of arguing chances are high they disappear for a while or just go into a rock regime.

Aquarius mars. Are only attracted to intellectuals so naturally in a room full of sweet gentle people will go for the most narcissistic motherfucker out there. They’re sorta very patient but I feel maybe it's just them dissociating… Ponder a lot before making a move.

Pisces mars. I'm afraid no one knows whats going on there. It's like they’re never actually present. Therefore often times can have a delayed reaction to smth, which people might read as passive aggression. Very sentimental, will write u a song or a poem on a second date. Also low LOW energy.

#astro notes #astro observations #natal chart #mars placements #aries mars #taurus mars #gemini mars #cancer mars #leo mars #virgo mars #libra mars #scorpio mars #sagittarius mars #capricorn mars #aquarius mars #pisces mars #zodiac signs

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moonlitdesertdreams · 5 months

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Of Ghouls and Drugs

Request: "ok so I'm absolutely obsessed with that coop fic you did where reader helps him when he's injured and it's super domestic and fluffy....could you maybe do something where the roles are reversed and he helps the reader who's injured? maybe she's a little shaken up over it too and he calms her down and it's just very sweet and soft. thank you i adore your writing so much 💖" A/N: First of all, the reception of my Fallout content has been amazing. If you're one of the people who have liked/reblogged/replied/shared/saved/etc, I am eternally grateful to you. Second, thank you once again to the anon who sent this request! It's a bit of a switcharoo from Stuck Like Glue, so if you need some more Cooper content, check that out or take a peek at my Fallout Masterlist! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence Summary: Injured and scared, you can always count on your Cowboy to save the day.

Word Count: 1.7k+

(Gif Credit to @victoryrifle)

You don’t know why you’re hyperventilating.

Sure, you’d been in countless fights and been scared more times than you can remember. In the Wasteland, if you’re not scared every now and again, you’re dead. But today, cornered in a decrepit open-air shopping mall store while a hoard of feral ghouls claw at the rusty security gate, you’re frozen with fear.

It was an old clothing store, picked apart by scavengers and ravaged by time. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust, from the old checkout counter to the racks of high heels that sit untouched. Unfortunately for you, it hadn’t been a department store you ducked into where there could be some hope of escape. This one was a small boutique-type outlet with one way in and one impassable way out. Furthermore, the roll-down security door currently saving your life had been pure luck on your part. The lever for it was broken off and mounted on the side of the entrance; you’d only found it after the damn thing had torn your upper arm to shreds in your haste to get away.

And now you’re ducked behind the checkout counter, old patterned men’s tie wrapped tightly around your bicep in a poor excuse of a tourniquet. You were out of ammo, banking on the security gate holding until the ghouls got bored or forgot about you. But there was something about today, about how they’d come charging from the darkness the second Cooper had left to turn in your latest bounty, that terrified you. Feral ghouls were shells of people with no logic or sense left in them, but the attack had felt calculated, planned. You argued with yourself, knowing they had basic instinct and probably just singled you out after another of their kind left.

Then again, maybe you’re conflating your fear of Cooper becoming one of them one day with the looming fear of death.

Unable to do anything about it, you sit behind the counter and shake. Your breath comes in quick punches, inhales cutting off the exhales and vice versa. The iron smell of your own blood is overwhelming. Despite the tourniquet, warm liquid leaks down your arm and drips into a thick crimson puddle beneath you. Your backpack, full of stimpaks and every chem known to man, is abandoned just outside the gate. The damn thing had been torn away when you’d got caught on the jagged lever, beyond your reach and unable to be saved.

The ghouls wail and groan while clawing at the gate, the sound of rattling metal echoing around the store’s walls. It’s deafening to the point where you cover your ears, accepting the fact that you’re screwed either way. Blood loss or ghoul attack, it doesn’t matter. Cooper’s long gone towards the last town, and you’re cursing the apparently lackluster job the two of you did making sure your camp was secure.

“Take a look around.” He’d told you, “Getch’yu some new clothes if you need ‘em.”

Cooper’s voice and kiss goodbye lingers in your thoughts as you hold your hands over your ears. It’s a more pleasant thought than the ghouls outside. Your ghoul always keeps you safe.

“Darlin’.”

You almost smile to yourself, probably delusional from blood loss.

“Hey!”

Your name slipping out of Cooper’s mouth dances across your foggy mind.

“Goddamn it woman, open your eyes.”

Something shakes your whole body, and your eyes snap open.

At first it’s too dark for you to recognize any solid features, and you scramble away. The missing nose and scarred flesh blend together in your mind. You swing your injured arm in blind panic, which has the tourniquet breaking loose and bright arterial blood spattering the floor.

But you hear a voice calling through the haze. Soft and slow, like it’s calling to a wounded animal. “Ay, ay ay. Calm down now, sweetheart.”

You squint through the darkness, fighting dizziness. A familiar silhouette makes itself apparent.

“Cooper?”

His face, weathered by radiation and pain, is usually twisted into a dramatic scowl. But right now it’s concerned, brow furrowed into worry that you’d never seen. The sounds of ghouls and impending doom have vanished.

“It’s me, babydoll.” He almost coos at you, reaching out a hand. “C’mere.”

Your emotions rage, and tears burn at your eyes. You reach out a hand and brush the one he’s holding out, but your fingertips barely catch on the seam of his gloves. You squeeze to make sure he’s real. He wraps strong fingers around your wrist and pulls you in.

It’s easy to give in as his familiar scent and feel washes over you. Gunpowder and smoke are the main notes, but you catch the leather of his duster and the unavoidable grime provided by the Wasteland. The tears flow easily out the corner of your eyes and drip down your cheek.

“I-I don’t know where they came from.” You clutch at his coat, “Scared the hell out of me.”

Cooper is still moving despite you being all but wrapped around him where he’s knelt down. You feel his hands near your injured arm and instinctively cower.

“Came from somewhere in that back parking lot, it looks like.” Cooper grits in his usual gruff tone, “Must’a got ‘em goin’ when they heard us. Waited ‘til you were alone.”

You sniffle pathetically into his coat, and it morphs into a strangled cry as he wraps the tie back around your arm. His other hand holds a broken piece of wood that he uses to knot into the fabric and twist.

“Ah! Fucking hell, Coop!” Your protest is little more than a whine as your arm starts to go numb.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs, tipping his head back so he’s able to look in your eyes. “Don’t want ya to bleed out here.”

You hold his gaze for a moment. “Why’d you come back?”

He helps you stand, giving you a moment to lean back against the counter and acclimate to the dizziness. Your eyes hold steady on him, watching lashless eyelids blink above gaunt cheeks.

“Vials.” He hooks an arm around your shoulders and the other behind your knees and lifts you up, “I wanted to have enough in case I got caught up.”

The slow cadence of Cooper’s walk almost lulls you into closing your eyes and he trudges silently to the shop’s entrance. You see gore splattered on the walls and floor, headless ghouls lying motionless at his feet. The top handle of your backpack is sticking out of the mess, and Cooper snatches it up.

He walks for some distance, away from the pile of dispatched ghouls. He doesn’t stop until you come up on a store a ways away, advertising furniture and televisions. It seemed relatively untouched considering an atomic war and a two-hundred year wait. The Ghoul moves near the door, and you hear him clanking about with the lock. It takes a few tries and muttered curses, but Cooper jimmies it enough so he can get a toe nudged in the door. You attempt to help by grabbing the door, but he moves your hand back to his shoulder and pushes in on his own.

Cooper sets you gently on a shockingly clean and padded couch. The Ghoul is quiet, but gets to work cleaning the long gash in your arm. He gives you his inhaler, but there’s a strange canister clicked into the mechanism rather than his vial. You take a huff, and gag at the strong taste.

“H-Holy Shit.” You cough, and it almost distracts you from the pain of a stimpak being stabbed into your wound. “What is that?”

Cooper unties the tourniquet when he’s satisfied, and sets the stimpak off to the side. “Med-X. Inhalin' it works faster.”

You nod and huff on his inhaler again. The Med-X is potent as all hell, and it feels like it’s shooting straight to your brain. You’re more willing, desperate for more as the effects set in. Cooper settles himself on the cushions beside you, watching carefully and taking away the inhaler before you overdose yourself.

“I’m sorry for bein’ stupid.” You murmur. “I shoulda ran anywhere but there.”

Cooper leans in, ungloved hand cupping the side of your neck and tilting back. “Never apologize for survivin’, sugar.”

The drugs swirling about in your brain make it hard to form normal sentences. “I wouldn’t have without you… I hurt my arm and lost my cool.”

He tries to talk, but you shush him.

“I couldn’t quit thinkin’ about those ghouls… about you.”

Cooper sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you in close and shushes the soft cries that creep up your throat, fueled by a drug-induced haze.

“Y’know… There’s always somethin’ that’s gonna make us lose it.” Cooper drums his fingers on your forearms. “No matter how tough we might be.”

You feel his lips in your hair and lean into it. “Guess I gotta trust that, ‘cause you’re pretty tough.”

Unbeknownst to you, your words are already comically slurred. Cooper chuckles into the bird’s nest on your head.

“Feelin’ that Med-X, honey?”

You swear to god, it’s gotta be that drawl that’s honey, not the drugs.

“Jus-Just a little.” You slump further into his side, head dropping onto his chest. He uses the tip of his boot to drag a nearby footrest closer and prop his feet up.

“Good. Time for a nap.” Cooper tilts his hat down over his eyes.

You hum, unable to argue. A nap sounds rather splendid, especially with the amount of drugs circulating your body. You glance up just as the Ghouls huffs down the rest of the Med-X himself.

“Coop!” You try to chastise him, but it comes out as more of a laugh. “That’s not safe. You don’t need that right now.”

The Ghoul grumbles something that sure sounds like ‘goody two-shoes’, but reigns in the hostility,

“Sure I do.” His hand rubs up and down your arm before finding its way to your waist. “I’m an old fuckin’ man. Joint pain.”

“Joint pain, schmoint pain.” You mock, eyes falling shut and staying that way. “Fuckin’ old man.”

Cooper actually chuffs at your remark and ducks to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s unexpected and sweet to feel such affection from him, and combines with the euphoric feeling of opioids pulsing through your brain.

“Go to bed, darlin’. Before I knock you out myself.”

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

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strawnarrries · 1 year

Text

We Fight, We Make Up

Summary: Harry gets turned on when you yell at him.

Requested: Nope

POV: 2nd

Word count: 3.4k

Warning(s): Unprotected sex, slight degradation, slight spanking

The argument happened before the night even started. You didn't even wanna go. You wanted to stay in the hotel with your husband. Alone. Without having to share him with anyone else. Recently, you have been missing him. Yes, you see him every day and fall asleep with him every night; but you felt like you had to share him with the entire world. When he wasn't on stage in front of his thousands of fans, he was either at the gym or working with his team, writing new songs, and talking about new plans.

Tonight was one of his rare nights off and of course, he and his team wanted to go out. He wanted you to go with him and you did, but you were grumpy from the moment he brought it up to the moment you're at with him now.

You were arguing while you got ready. Harry didn't understand where you were coming from. You were on tour with him. You were with him every day, went everywhere that he went, and got to sleep next to him every night. He thought you were being a bit needy and selfish. He didn't say that to you of course, but he definitely voiced that he thought you were being irrational.

Once you had met everyone in the hotel lobby, you both put on your brave faces, not wanting to draw any attention to your problems. You tried to forget about your current struggles and have fun while you could. Neither of you drank that much. You just were not in the mood and Harry had a show the next day. It was only occasional that he would drink while on tour, but never when he had a show the next day.

Once the night was over, the argument continued.

"Y/N, baby, I dunno what you want me to do. We're on tour, this is my work. I can't spend every second with you."

"Oh my god, Harry. You know I'm not asking you to spend every second with me. I just want some alone time with you. I told you I feel like I have to share you with everyone and never get any time just you and me."

"But we do get alone time. We got a whole room to ourselves. I give you a cuddle while we fall asleep every night. Why is that not enough?"

"It's not about being enough. It's about me feeling like you're not prioritizing me or wanting to spend any time with me."

"This is the first tour that you've been able to come with me for every show. This is what it's like. I don't get alone time. This is my job. I can't just drop it all to spend time with you."

You were starting to get angry, "You don't work every hour of the day! Tonight - I told you beforehand that I didn't wanna go and I wanted to stay here with you but you wanted to go out instead."

"Well, yeah because I've got a night off and wanted to have fun with everyone."

"Exactly! Everyone. You didn't wanna spend time with me. You spend time with them every fucking day and the one day you have off you choose to be with them."

"Y/N, you-" he started before you cut him off, your voice raising in frustration, "Harry, you're my fucking husband! I shouldn't have to beg you to spend time with just me!"

All of a sudden, a cheeky, slightly evil smirk arose on his lips and his eyes scanned your body up and down. It was very rare that you got angry when you argue with him, you usually just get really sad. Your disagreements are usually quiet and filled with tears. It was your least favorite thing to do. You hated having serious conversations with Harry and couldn't help but cry when they happened. Harry was a sympathetic cryer so when you cried, he cried. In the 10 years that you and Harry have been together, you only yelled at him in an argument probably 4 times. So, he found this moment quite amusing.

"Why the fuck are you laughing?"

"I'm not," he chuckled looking up at your angry eyes.

He kept that smirk on his lips as he stared at you deeply, your blood beginning to boil as a breathy giggle left his lips.

"Oh my god, I'm so sick of this," you snapped, turning around and getting ready to storm into the bathroom.

"Y/N, stop."

He was quick to grab your arm, pulling him into you and wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you from running from him. Placing both hands on his hips, you glared up at him, "What?"

He didn't reply, his eyes bore into yours while he was pushing your hips against his, jutting his out to show you exactly what he was feeling. You could feel his tight bulge straining in his slacks against your pelvis and you could not believe what was happening.

"You're hard?" you replied as your lips mindlessly curved up in amusement, "Why?"

"Dunno, you rarely yell at me when we argue. It's kinda sexy," he replied, his voice slow and deep.

"What?" You were the one laughing now, "You're not supposed to get turned on. You're supposed to get pissed at me."

"I am pissed at you. But you're fuckin' cute when you get angry." He looked you up and down once more before adding, "Might be this outfit too."

"Oh my gosh, I wanna be mad at you so bad because of this but I'm really amused."

"Are we about to have angry sex?"

You didn't even answer him. You immediately pulled him down by the back of his neck and attacked his lips with yours. He kissed you back, moving in sync with you. His tongue caressed your lips, tasting you as you backed him up against the edge of the bed. The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he immediately sat down, pulling you with him. Pulling your dress up past your hips so you could spread your legs, you straddled his lap. His hands immediately went to your ass, cupping and squeezing it.

You continued to kiss him, making out like you were teenagers. Your kisses were fast and sloppy, your panties dampening as you ground your hips against his center. You ran your fingers through his dark hair, tugging at the soft strands gently. You felt your clit throbbing in anticipation and you knew you couldn't wait too long before he filled you up.

Your hands frantically slid down his body, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You had been so upset with him, you had overlooked how good he looked tonight. He wore a white button-up, only having the bottom two buttons tied together to show off his tanned, tattooed chest. He paired it with a pair of black slack pants and white loafers that he had slipped off the moment you got back to your room. He had his famous cross and phallic banana necklaces on and had rings lined on almost every one of his fingers.

You slid his top off of his shoulders and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. His glistening skin and dark tattoos were now on full display for you. You ran your fingernails across his body, feeling every inch of his torso that you could reach. You continued to grind your center against his, circling your hips so his bulge rubbed perfectly against your clothed clit.

"I want you so bad," he breathed out and you hummed against his lips in agreement.

His fingertips grabbed onto the hem of your silky dress and pulled it up over your head, tossing it with his shirt. Your lips only parted to pull the dress off, immediately attaching again once you were exposed to him. His hands reached behind your back and unclasped your strapless bra with ease, letting it fall onto your lap. After grabbing it and tossing it, his hands cupped both breasts and kneaded them harshly.

His kisses trailed down your jaw to your neck, kissing, nipping, and sucking at all your sweet spots. You let your head fall to the side to give him more access and hummed in satisfaction. His lips trailed even further down until they latched onto your right breast. He sucked at your nipple, hand still kneading your left one. Flicking his tongue back and forth against your bud, your back arched into him. Nibbling on it, you whimpered and he pulled away, giving your other breast the same amount of attention.

Returning back to your lips, he tugged on the band of your panties, acknowledging that he wanted them off. You stood up in between his legs and pulled your panties down your legs, letting them pool at your feet. While you did that, he unbuttoned the button on his pants, lifted his hips, pushed them down his thighs, and pulled them off his legs.

Both of you were now completely naked and exposed to each other. You straddled his lap again and he reached down between your bodies, sliding his fingers between your folds to feel your wetness. He groaned softly as his middle finger and ring finger slipped past your opening with ease. You mimicked his moan when his fingers began to move in and out of you, the coldness of his peace ring and his pearl ring sending chills up your spine.

"Jesus, Y/N, I'm so fuckin' horny right now," he groaned desperately.

"I need you inside me," you whimpered into his ear, equally as desperate, "right now, Harry, please."

"C'mere," he hummed.

Pulling his fingers out of you, he wrapped his arms around you and stood up. Turning around, he laid you down on the sheets with your hips at the edge of the bed while standing in between your spread legs. He grasped onto both of your ankles and hooked them around his shoulders. Wrapping his right palm around his member, he wasted no time and immediately positioned his swollen tip at your entrance, sliding in while he hovered over you. You both let out moans at the euphoric feeling of him filling you up. He stilled inside of you, allowing you a minute to adjust to his size. His forehead rested against yours and he grunted softly when he felt you clench around him.

Leaning back up, he grabbed onto each of your thighs to ground you. Not holding anything back, he began thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace. He knew your body like the back of his hand. Knew every single one of your sweet spots and every single movement that made you putty in his hands.

His thighs slapped against yours and your breasts bobbed with each hard thrust of his hips. Your orgasm was quickly starting to grow closer and you found yourself clenching around him each time his tip brushed up against your good spot. Your face contorted with pleasure and you tightly gripped the sheets below you.

"Oh fuck," you whimpered softly, "Harry, yes!"

"Is this what you wanted?" he grunted in between stagged breaths, "Just wanted me to fuck you like this?"

His fingertips dug into the skin of your thighs, most likely leaving marks for you to complain about the next morning. The bed squeaked under you and you knew the backs of your thighs were quickly turning bright red with the repetitive slapping. It was purely a pornographic scene and you were in complete and utter bliss.

"Answer me."

"Yes, yes," you chanted, "I needed this so bad. Needed you, Harry."

Lifting your head slightly, you looked down and watched as he disappeared in and out of you. He was slick with you, sparkling against the light in the room. You could physically hear how wet you are for him. His movements intensify that sound with each thrust. You let your head fall back down to the bed and look up at him. He's looking down between your bodies, watching what you were just watching. His eyebrows were furrowed together and his jaw hung slack as he breathed irregularly.

You watched as his muscles clenched with each thrust, a sheen layer of sweat beginning to form on his skin, glittering his tattoos. You let your eyes squeeze shut as the pleasure grew. You felt his left hand leave your thigh and immediately grasp onto your breast, squeezing it and allowing his thumb and pointer finger to pinch at your nipples.

Without warning, he wrapped his hands around your sides and flipped you over so you were on your belly. He tapped your hip gently, acknowledging you to sit up. Resting your elbows on the sheets to support your body, you stuck your ass up in the air for him, leaning back and pressing into him. He positioned at your entrance again and started back up where he had left off.

The sound of his skin slapping and your wetness continued to echo loudly throughout the room and if he wasn't making you feel so damn good right now, you would be worried about people outside the room hearing.

"Talk to me. This is exactly what you fuckin' wanted so tell me how good I'm making you feel."

"No," you whimpered, trying to get a rise out of him, "you don't love me anymore."

"Say that one more time and I'll spank you 'till you cry," he grunted.

You grinned at his words. You knew he wouldn't actually spank you until you cried, but you wanted to challenge him, "I'm not wrong."

His hand swatted at the fullest part of your ass and you squealed at the slight sting, his rings he never took off intensifying that sting. He never spanked you super hard, just enough to get you to straighten up when you were being sassy with him.

"Wanna try me again?"

"You never give me attention anymore."

Another spank landed across your ass and you moaned, his hand massaging the area to soothe the sting, "You're such a brat. You're asking for it now, aren't you?"

After one more smack against your skin, he grunted and his thrusts came to an abrupt stop. You were about to protest but then felt his big hands collecting your hair. He switched all of it to one hand, holding it up into a ponytail. He tugged on it, pulling your head back so that he could easily lean down to nip at your ear lobe and you couldn't help the moan that left your lips. Using his free hand, he grabbed onto your hip again and began thrusting.

"Want me all to yourself all the fuckin' time, huh?" he growled into your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

"You're mine," you moaned, "Don't like sharing you."

"Fuckin' selfish is what you are," he grunted in your ear, "Can't get enough of me, huh?"

You moaned in response, breath hitching in your throat before he continued, "Got people wanting my attention left and right and you only want me for yourself. I can see why though, with how good I make you feel. Not once have I ever failed to have you fuckin' trembling under me, babe."

"You're such a fucking narcissist," you grunted, words coming out strangled.

He chuckled deeply, biting on the shell of your ear, "It's the sole reason why you married me, innit? 'cause of how easy I can get you to scream my name?"

"Fuck off," you groaned and he chuckled again, loving how he got to you.

"Got the sexiest girl in the world to be my wife. How can I not be narcissistic?"

"Mmm," you whimpered, ignoring him, "Want more."

"More? Am I not giving you enough right now?"

"No, gimme more."

"Greedy, greedy girl. You're my greedy girl though, that right?"

You hummed in agreement as he let go of your hair, your head immediately hanging low. With both hands now on your hips, fingertips gripping your skin tightly, he changed his rhythm. Fast and hard. Exactly what you wanted right now.

"I'll give you whatever you want. Got me wrapped around your little finger."

"Obviously not, or else we wouldn't be in this situation right now," you grunted in sync with the smack of his hips against yours.

"Still mad at me, huh?"

"Just shut up and make me cum," you groaned.

You heard him chuckle behind you as he kept his rhythm, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm by the second. His thighs smacked against yours and the sound echoed throughout your hotel room. Your breath was hitched in your throat, your face contorted with pleasure and your jaw slack as moans occasionally escaped when your hitched breath allowed.

He got so deep inside you, hitting your special spot just underneath where your clit was located with each thrust of his powerful hips. His fingers were gripping your hips tightly, nails carving crescent moon shapes within your skin. Your clenched around him and you could feel every inch of him moving against your walls.

"Oh, Harry," you whimpered into the sheets and Harry's heart swelled as he noticed how much you needed this. How much you needed him.

With the length of his thrusts shortening and pace only slowing down slightly, he leaned down and pressed his back against yours, cupping your waist to pull him into you.

"Haven't been giving you the attention you deserve, have I, baby?" he grunted into your ear, words in sync with his thrusts.

"Mm mm," you whimpered, his lips against the shell of your ear making you shiver.

"Been neglecting my favorite person in the world. My beautiful wife, fuck, I love you so much."

You couldn't even reply. Your voice wouldn't let you, the only thing you could get out was moans of pure pleasure by not only him inside of you, but also him finally giving you exactly what he wanted. His hands slid up your torso and gripped your breasts, squeezing them as his thumbs flicked over your nipples. You could tell he was close by the way his member twitched inside of you, his strangled moans, and the feeling of his face contorting against your back.

"Need you to cum, baby." he breathed out, "I can't cum if you don't cum first."

"I need-" you began and it was like he read your mind, fingers heading straight for your throbbing clit and rubbing it side to side vigorously, causing you to breathe out, "Yeah."

It didn't take much longer before your body became numb with pleasure. You were trembling, screaming into the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning white with how hard you were gripping the covers. Harry continued his movements to carry you through your orgasm, causing it to pulse through you in waves, euphoria completely clouding your mind.

You came down from your high with heavy breaths, the continued stimulation from his thrusts sending a new wave of pleasure over you. When it became too much, you whimpered and he pulled out, groaning painfully, "Where do you want me?"

"My back," you breathed out.

You laid down on your stomach and moved all your hair to your front, while he continued to pump himself to keep his orgasm from falling. Once you were in position, he pressed one knee to the bed to angle himself above you. It was only seconds before you felt the warm feeling of him painting your back with his creamy release, your jaw falling slack. Moans of pleasure fell from his lips as he worked himself through his orgasm, pleasure consuming his body just as it did you only seconds earlier.

Once he had milked the last of his orgasm, he immediately got up to grab a few tissues to clean you off.

"You okay, babe?" he asked while wiping the tissue across your skin.

"Mhm," you hummed in response, ready to just fall asleep in his arms.

Throwing away the soiled tissue, he stated, "All done."

You turned over onto your side and he laid down next to you, pulling you into him, breathing out, "Didn't lie when I said I always get you trembling under me, huh?"

You rolled your eyes teasingly at him, "You're so annoying."

"I love you. You know that, right?"

"I know. We still need to talk though. The problem didn't just go away 'cause you're good in bed."

He chuckled deeply, "Can we talk tomorrow? Just wanna hold you right now."

"Yeah, lemme go to the bathroom then we can go to bed," you replied as you got out of bed and made your way to the bathroom.

"Love you, sexy," he teased, landing a soft smack across the curve of your ass as you got up.

You giggled, "I love you too."

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dilemmaontwolegs · 6 months

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Hi, how are you? Hope everything's peachy. I've been waiting for your requests to be open since probably December. I figured, maybe I could leave you my thoughts and you'll decide what to do with them. Is that fine? 😅 You can throw it straight to the trash if you'd like.

So that now every F1 Team have a girl driver in F1 Academy, I thought maybe they want to promote the Academy more and includes it in DTS series. So the reader is a driver for Ferrari. They assign her to Carlos and they've to film a Training camp before the season. Carlos sort of being her PT. Plot twist: they HATE each other. But their combined fury can easily catch on fire and lead them to other type of sport, more sensual one. So it's like enemies but/to lovers sort of thing. A lot of arguing, angst but also a bunch of steamy sex

The Uphill Battle || CS55

Warnings: Smut, angst, name calling WC: 1.8k

Pre-season Training - Dolomites This had to be the worst PR disaster in the making. Whoever thought it would be a great idea to pair you up with Jr Sainz needed to fall right off this mountainside. To make matters worse, they had a TV crew following you around all day and you were fairly sure your suite was bugged like Big Brother.

“Hurry up, I want to make it back in time for dinner,” Carlos growled as he stopped to look back at you.

You narrowed your eyes, not that he could see them beneath the snow goggles, and sarcastically replied, “Oh no, baby boy can’t go to bed without his supper.”

He stabbed his sticks into the snow and pulled his googles up over his beanie. “You think I want to be out here babysitting a spoiled little brat? I am crawling just so you don’t get left behind and lost up here. Pick. Up. The. Pace.”

“Fuck you,” you spat as you pushed harder, your calves protesting the hardship you were putting them through to prove a point. You overtook the Spaniard and made sure to only just miss his foot from the piercing pike on your ski stick. “Keep up, Junior.”

You were both panting by the time you arrived back at the luxury accommodation in the resort town at the base of the mountain. You were starving but you were also damp with sweat beneath the layers of cashmere and feather-stuffed coats so you went straight to the private pool. You figured after the whining Carlos had done about his dinner you wouldn’t be disturbed in the heated outdoor pool, but you were wrong.

Carlos curled a brow at the trail of clothes that led from the twin penthouse suites to the rooftop pool they shared, each layer getting thinner until it ended with a sports bra and panties. Snow littered the ground and he shivered in his bathrobe as he watched you float on the surface of the steaming water with your eyes closed. You looked relaxed, peaceful. It was a look he rarely saw on your face and it immediately washed away when you opened your eyes and caught him watching.

“Dirty perv,” you hissed as you slipped back beneath the water up to your neck and covered your breasts.

“I’m not the one going for a skinny dip. You’re just looking for attention.”

“I don’t have to look for attention, it comes looking for me,” you said as you eyed up the goosebumps on his legs below the robe. “I figured you were too busy stuffing your face.”

“The Netflix crew were in the dining hall,” he admitted quietly.

“Ah, so you are not nearly as comfortable in front of them as you act. Could have fooled me.”

“I don’t think that would be hard.”

“I hope your balls get frostbite.”

Carlos winced at the idea and took a step closer to the water's edge and the warmth it promised.

“If you get in here with me we are going to have a problem,” you warned, swimming closer to defend your territory. “There’s no cameras around to keep you safe.”

Carlo snickered and dipped his foot in. “I’ve seen your training in the ring, I think I can handle it.”

“Brave words when you are all the way over there.”

Your blood could have heated the water to boiling point as he slipped his robe off and tossed it over the rail before taking another step in, then another. You watched the water disappear over his skin tight trunks and darken the happy trail before rising over his abs. The team at Ferrari at least assigned you someone who was taking their PT position seriously, you could see from his physique that he kept his own routine solid and you could learn a thing or two - if he wasn’t such an asshole.

“Take a picture, malcriada,” he said with a wink when your eyes finally reached his face.

“Such a shame,” you murmured wistfully.

“What?”

You dragged your eyes back over his body before sighing. “That a body that fine has a personality like yours.”

A wave splashed over you as he dove into the water and you lost sight of him in the dark. You should have put the underwater lights on but hadn’t wanted to light the water up when you hadn’t bothered to even change into a bikini.

A large hand grabbed your ankle and you barely had time to inhale a breath before you were pulled under. Just as quickly as he grabbed you, he was gone again and you spluttered to the surface, wiping the water from your eyes. “Asshole!”

“Is that the best you can do?” he laughed from the edge he was leisurely reclining against.

“Come here and find out.”

He slipped beneath the water but this time you were prepared and met him halfway. Your bodies collided, twisting and turning trying to fathom some kind of dominance until your legs wrapped around his waist and he sank to the bottom with you on top. His hands found your thighs and dug into the soft skin until your lips parted with a sudden thought and the last of your air bubbled to the surface.

“Not the attack I was expecting,” he taunted as he rose to the surface behind you. The water falling from his hair cooled as it dropped to your shoulder and his hand traced the curve of your neck. “Someone plays dirty.”

“I’m not playing.” Your voice wasn’t the cold detached sound you had hoped it would be, but a needy sigh. Your legs pressed together and you were suddenly reminded of how very naked you were.

“Is that another invitation? You almost won that time.”

You turned around with a glare to find his smirk growing as wide as his pupils as he looked down at your body. “It’s not a fair fight anyway. I am naked and vulnerable.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t think anyone could mistake you as vulnerable, malcriada, not with that prickly attitude and sharp tongue. But, if it would make you feel better about losing again…” his hands brushed over his hips and pushed his trunks down his thighs before he tossed them out of the pool. “Happy now?”

“I’m certainly something,” you murmured before realising you spoke aloud. Anger flushed your body again at the distraction he caused and you shoved your hand across the surface, spraying him in the face with the water. His momentary surprise was only that, momentary, and he leapt into your personal space with his own attack.

You weren’t quite sure how it happened, or how it started. Maybe the tension that had been brimming all week finally reached its breaking point and it was a mutual decision. One moment you were writhing to escape from his attack, your hands trying to find purchase on his body as you wriggled in his arms, the next you were writhing for an entirely different reason.

His chest brushed over your sensitive peaks and your nails scraped down his back. Your legs tightened around his waist and felt the large length pressed between your stomachs. Your heads broke the surface but the gasp had nothing to do with the need for air when his palms squeezed your ass to hold you still.

“What are you doing?” you moaned as you clit pressed to his shaft and every little movement rode you over the rigid veins.

“I’m not doing anything,” he rasped, his voice dropping as he felt the heat of your core on him. “I’m trying to not fuck you right now.”

“Right, because you hate me,” you laughed humorlessly as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp but you both moaned at the feeling.

“No, because you hate me.”

It had been a while since you last had sex, that was the excuse you gave for being so needy and wanting to be filled right at that moment. “I can hate you and still want to fuck.”

Carlos stared into your eyes and saw the desire in them, felt the desire that had your nipples hard and begging for his mouth. “Fuck it,” he decided aloud. “I can hate you and still make you come.”

“Bold words.”

He didn’t give you a response, at least not in words. His strong hands lifted you higher and pulled you back down on his cock. Your teeth clamped around the muscle where his shoulder met his neck and he groaned at the pain and your muffled cry.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

“You’re too big,” you whispered as he slowly speared you down his shaft until you looked down your body expecting to see a bugle at your belly button. Easing you back up, he set a slow rhythm as your body adjusted to his size and walked you both to the edge of the pool.

“You can take it,” he promised as your legs untangled from around him and you found yourself facing the mountain you had climbed earlier. His hips snapped forward and buried himself back in you from behind and your cry echoed out into the night. “That’s it, make an avalanche, malcriada.”

You didn’t care that he called you brat. You didn’t care if you brought the mountain down on the whole town. You only cared about reaching your own high and you chased it with your hips, pushing back to meet him stroke for stroke. Waves rippled out across the water and soon turned to splashes as your core tightened and those ripples began to make their way down your spine.

“I can feel you shaking,” he teased in your ear, his hand snaking over your hip to find your clit. “Let go, dulce, let me feel you come.”

Your eyes slammed shut as waves of pleasure rocked through you and his name tumbled from your lips, betraying yourself with the reverent tone it held. His pleasure grew at the sound and he slammed himself as deep as he could in your cunt, letting your tight walls milk him as he came. There should have been anger at the idea of being filled with his seed, but you took delight in the liquid warmth pooling inside you. You had made him come undone, it was a win of sorts in your mind.

Satisfied for the moment, you pushed his body back and walked up the steps, into the biting cold night. Carlos was still high from his release and he didn't realise until it was too late. You were already halfway to the suites when he noticed his robe was missing, a quick scan of the snow confirmed his trunks had found the same fate.

“Brat!” he called out as you disappeared inside.

“Asshole.”

Click here for part two.

#carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

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wlntrsldler · 7 months

Text

iii. you come around and the armor falls, pierce the room like a cannonball. now all we know is don’t let go. | luke castellan | state of grace

seventeen-year-old luke castellan returns from his failed quest and wonders if he's good enough for you.

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seventeen-year-old luke castellan came face-to-face with death but against his better judgment, and the medical advice from lee who told him to lay in bed and heal, he stood up to drag himself across the floors of the infirmary to sit beside the bed where you were unconscious.

thankfully, you were going to be okay. it would just take a few hours for the medicine to kick in until you regain consciousness. it was luke who took the brunt of the attack. he can feel the sticky bandages covered in his blood across his back and his face. luke managed to prop himself up on the small wooden chair.

he’d grown taller and bigger over the years and the chair was definitely not the most comfortable place for him, especially not with all his wounds, but he had to make do. he couldn’t stay on his bed, across the way from you while you slept alone. in the off chance that you’ll wake up before the 5-hour estimate they’d given him about the medicine, he didn’t want you to wake up without someone next to you.

you weren’t even supposed to be there. he didn’t even know how you’d found him, but he should’ve known better when you looked at him with that look in your eye, the look that he got from you whenever you were about to save him from something, even if he didn’t know he’d be in trouble yet. you always seemed to show up just when he needed you– like his own personal guardian angel.

he thought back to when he was fourteen and you let him tag along with you, oliver, and beth to the athena cabin because you noticed he was anxious to be left alone. you didn't even know what he'd gone through then, but you somehow knew exactly what to say, what to do.

he thought of his first full summer at camp. he'd just turned fifteen, before he was named head counselor, and he accidentally set the shed that the satyrs used to house their gardening tools on fire. the stolls managed to sneak in fireworks and the three of them thought the perfect welcome for the summer campers was a firework show. he wandered into the shed in search of a lighter and found one tucked underneath a tablecloth, probably left by one of the older campers when they smoked.

between him and his siblings, they shared one and a half brain cells so he, stupidly, tried the lighter while he peeked his head under the tablecloth and the whole thing erupted in flames before he could even react. thankfully, you were already out looking for him when you noticed he slipped away from dinner.

you helped him put the fire out before it got too bad and paid for the damage with the few drachmas you had saved up. luke managed to pay you back after picking up random tasks for campers for a small fee, although, you argued with him that it was okay, that he didn't owe you anything, but at that point, luke figured he owed you much more than just a few drachmas.

chiron and mr. d ended up loving the idea of the fireworks show and asked who was responsible for the festivities. you stood up and pointed at him, grinning like you were happy he was finally getting the recognition he deserved. he didn't think he deserved the credit, it would've ended in a shitshow if it weren't for you.

he was promoted to head counselor a week later.

luke fell asleep hunched over your sleeping body, sleeping on the side of his face without the fresh scar. he woke up to the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp a few hours later. he sat up, immediately holding your hand between his own.

“you’re up,” he croaked out, rubbing the tears away from his eyes, “how are you, angel?”

“feelin’ great, bub,” you faked a smile, exhaustion evident on your features. “how are you? you’re the one who got attacked by a dragon.”

luke flinched at the memory, holding your hand up to his lips, “don’t worry about me. i’m good.”

“let me worry about you, hm?” you mumbled. “i’m always worried about you.”

“you shouldn’t have been there,” he sighed. his anger against his father was rising again. “it was my quest. you’re not even allowed to go on other people’s quests anymore, remember?”

“you’re dumb if you think i was going to let you go into a suicide mission alone, luke,” you replied. you moved over on the small bed, motioning him to join you. “needed to make sure you were gonna be okay.”

“i don't want that if it's at your expense,” he mumbled, following your request. you laid your head on his chest, allowing him to push you closer to him. his hands found the ends of your hair, twirling it around his fingers, “don’t know what i would’ve done if you–”

he couldn’t finish his sentence. he didn’t want to think about it. he let himself be delusional, ignoring the reality of being a demigod. luke wanted to beat the odds with you, get out of here with you, mostly unscathed. he didn’t want to think about a life without you in it. he couldn’t.

“hey, it’s okay,” you placed his hand over your heart, letting him feel it beat. “i’m okay, see?”

your optimism was something luke admired about you. the way you viewed life like a gift despite everything you'd gone through. he wished he could see things the way you did, but he didn't understand it.

he looked at you, thinking of how you'd just risked your life for him, and he couldn't stop himself from feeling so hopeless. this was not the life you deserved.

he let out a breath, turning to face the ceiling, “i don’t understand how you’re not furious at the gods right now.”

“there’s so many horrible things to be angry at, luke,” you whispered, placing a kiss on his bruised hands. “i’m mad at the gods for allowing this to happen to all of us, their children. i am angry luke, but i have been given so much because of it, too.”

he stayed silent, letting you continue. he felt his breaths even out as he listened to the sound of your voice.

“i grew up as an only child until i met my siblings. now, i love them. i can’t imagine not knowing them,” you smiled, “the rest of the campers, they can be a handful sometimes, but there isn’t a boring day in my life. there’s always adventure and fun and love.”

luke turned to look at you to find that you were already staring at him. even in the dark, he can make out the look on your face. that face that made him feel safe so effortlessly.

“i met you because of them,” you continued, placing a soft kiss on his lips, trying not to put too much pressure on him knowing he was still healing, “there are so many things i am angry at the gods for, but knowing you… well, it makes up for it, don’t you think?”

he didn’t know if he had a complex enough vocabulary or if there were any words in any language that could scratch the surface of how he felt about you. you were in every part of him. he thought of you, your eyes when he woke up to the sun shining on his face, bright and hopeful because there was a new day ahead. he thought of you, your lips when he tasted the fruits they served during meals, sweet and addicting. he thought of you, your smile during his nightmares, safely pulling him back to reality, a life where you were there with him.

it’s only been you since he met you. he had a feeling it’s only been you in every life he lived before this one. and it will only be you in every life after it.

luke settled, “i love you.”

“i love you,” you replied, kissing him once more. “let’s rest now, hm? want to be able to kiss you proper.”

he couldn’t help but laugh, shutting his eyes as his body succumbed to the tiredness in his limbs, “me too.”

lee fletcher found you two tangled in the covers, sleeping soundly, when he entered the infirmary the morning after. usually, he’d scold his patients for disobeying orders, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the rules right now, not when you and luke looked so peaceful sleeping beside each other.

word about luke’s failed quest spread quickly after your return. the looks of pity were starting to get to luke. you noticed that he’d been distant, too, opting to not let you clean up his scars when he replaced the bandages. he only went in to see lee when he knew the infirmary was absolutely clear of people. he stopped letting you touch his face and run your hands down his back. at first, you chalked it up to the fact that he was healing and the wounds probably still hurt to the touch, but after a conversation with lee, where you slyly asked how luke’s healing process was going, you knew it wasn’t that anymore.

lee let you know that the wounds were healing faster than anticipated. new tissue was replacing his damaged ones and that the cream he prescribed luke would ensure that the scars would be faint, noticeable, but not as intense as they could’ve been. you walked away from your conversation with the boy with your shoulders sagged and your smile a little less bright. there was something else going on with luke and he wasn’t telling you about it.

when luke returned to the hermes cabin, tired from his three-hour-long training, he expected the cabin to be empty with all his siblings away at the campfire, but instead, he found you, tidying up around the area of his bed. he shut the door quietly, hoping to have a few moments where he could just admire you.

he’d been avoiding you more than usual so he hadn’t gotten the chance to spend as much time with you as he’d liked to. he doesn’t remember the last time he hugged you longer than a quick side hug before he was jogging to move onto his next activity or the last time he’d been able to have a conversation with you about something other than counselor duties. luke missed you. he missed you a lot, but he felt so disgusted with himself that he couldn't bring himself to be in your presence.

the scars were healing fine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d think he was hideous and weak and a failure. it seemed like everyone else at camp did, anyway. the scar on his face stretched from his eye all the way down to his jaw. every time he looked in the mirror, it reminded him of what he wasn’t able to do, of what he put you through. it made him sick to remember it.

the wounds on his back started on his shoulder blades and ended in the middle of his spine. it wasn’t a good look. not even all his trainings and his workouts to get his back defined could hide the scar.

his wounds were now the first thing people noticed when they saw him. he hated it.

he wasn’t naive enough to believe that he was the most attractive guy in the world, but at least before the quest, he felt like he was average. he was tall enough, built adequately, and he wasn’t terrible to look at. but now, it felt like he was knocked down a few pegs. if he thought he didn’t deserve you back then, he sure as hell knew he didn’t deserve you now.

he watched you fluff his pillows and fold his blankets before he decided to make himself known. he walked over to you, placing a quick kiss on the back of your head, before walking to his dresser to pull out his clothes for bed.

“been waiting for you,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his torso. you gently placed your head on his back, listening to the sound of his breaths pick up. “where have you been?”

“training,” he replied, removing your arms from him. you placed your head so close to his wounds and he was sure you could feel the bumps of his flesh through his thin camp shirt. “why aren’t you at the campfire?”

you frowned, sitting on his bed, “because you weren’t there.”

“you can still go and hang out with your friends,” he reasoned, directing his head at an awkward angle so you don’t see the scarred side of his face. the bandage on his face fell off a few hours ago. he forgot to stop by the infirmary to ask lee for some more.

“don’t wanna hang out with them right now, luke,” you said, eyebrows furrowed. “i want to hang out with you.”

“i’m really tired right now, angel,” luke turned around again, pretending to dig through his drawers for something. he tilted his head low, hoping that his shadow would hide his face. “maybe tomorrow or something?”

“okay,” you sounded defeated. luke heard his sheets ruffle from under you as you got up. he followed the sound of your footsteps all the way to the door. he waited for the sound of the door to open, but it never came. instead, it was your voice, hushed, “luke, i don’t understand.”

he lifted his head, “huh?”

“i said i don’t understand,” your voice was trembling. luke couldn’t help but face you then. your eyes welled up with tears, bottom lip quivering as you tried to speak. “what’s going on with you?”

luke clenched his jaw, “nothing.”

“there’s something going on,” you rebutted, walking closer to him. you stopped in your tracks as he took a step back. you let the tears fall, “i can usually sense what’s going on with people but with you right now, i just can’t. i-it’s like i’m so blinded by how i feel about you that instead of understanding what’s going on with you, i can only focus on what i could’ve done wrong.”

“you haven’t done anything wrong,” luke licked his lips, wanting nothing else but to hold you in his arms. he was fighting back the tears now, too. the last thing he wanted to do was make you cry. he sniffled, “i’m just tired, angel.”

“that’s never stopped you before,” you said. “even before we were dating, you always found me just for the sake of being with me. we'd talk nonsense until we lost our voices, and then we'd sit in silence together. you used to sit and wait in the back of the art room until my lesson was over just so we could come back here and be together until it was lights out.”

“that was then.”

“what changed?” you asked, voice hoarse. your tears were unstoppable now. you rubbed your eyes, trying to get a clearer vision of the boy in front of you. he was hidden in the shadows of the dim light. “do you.. do you not feel the same about me anymore?”

“no, never that,” he shook his head, eyes wide. he tossed his clothes on his bed, stepping closer to you. “i love you, you know this.”

“so come back to me, luke,” you cried, taking a tiny step closer to him. “come home to me.”

luke groaned, falling to his knees. he buried his face in his hands, sobbing at your words. you ran to him, engulfing him in a hug, as his sobs shook his entire body. he mumbled incoherent words into his palms.

“what is it, luke?” you asked him, peppering kisses on the crown of his head.

he took a deep breath, “i’m not ready for you to realize that i’m not good enough for you anymore. i’m not ready to lose you.”

“oh my love,” you sighed, prying his hands away from his face. he turned his cheek, biting his bottom lip. you weren’t having it anymore. you grabbed his face in your hands forcing him to look at you, “what’s gotten into you?”

“i know you see it,” he said, voice cracking. his eyes were focused on the wall behind you. “the scar. i know you see it.”

“and?”

“it’s hideous, angel,” he confessed. a single tear rolled down his cheek. you were quick to wipe it away, “i know what people say about me now.”

“is this what all of this was about?” you questioned, pressing your forehead to his.

luke closed his eyes. he missed you so much. “yes.”

you removed your hands from his face and let your index finger trace the line down his scar. he sucked in a breath despite himself. he wanted to hide and shy away from you, your touch left him vulnerable and open, but he knew there was no need for that anymore. you pressed soft kisses all over his face, cradling his jaw in your palm. you kissed the lids of his eyes, the crease between his eyebrows, the points of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, until you got to his scar.

you were even gentler now, luke didn’t know how it was possible. he could feel your lips ghosting over the raised flesh, apprehensive. he squeezed the skin of your hip, giving you the okay. with that, your lips touched his cheek, a kiss with purpose.

luke shuddered at the feeling. why did he deprive himself of this? from the love in your touch and the emotions behind your actions? he pulled you closer, trying to make up for lost time.

you sighed happily in his grasp, pulling yourself away from his cheek to place a kiss on his lips. all the air was knocked out of luke’s lungs. he’d kissed you a million times before, but this felt different. luke knew you loved him, you said it more than he deserved to hear it, and of course, he felt your love in everything that you did with him; in stolen touches in the middle of crowds, in corny jokes you made just to see him smile, in your words when you tell him he’s more than enough, but in this kiss, it was all of those moments, all of what you felt for him, amplified.

he couldn’t breathe. it was too much, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you, not when you were kissing him like this. not when you were anchoring him back to where he belonged. not when you were reminding him of everything he could have if he just let himself have it.

eventually, you pulled away from him, tear-stained cheeks and pink, raw lips. luke thought you looked incredible. even after all this time, over a year of being together and over three years of knowing each other, your cheeks still flushed because of him. a small smile made its way to his lips, you still had that effect on him too.

you got up from the floor, offering your hand to luke. he gladly accepted it and allowed you to lead him to his bed. you slipped off your shoes, your signature cartoon owl socks on full display as you laid on his bed. he joined you, pulling you close to his chest. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, fingers playing with the string of his camp necklace.

the campfire was coming to an end and soon the cabin would be filled with his loud, rowdy, siblings, who he grew to love, but for now, he’ll get lost in this moment with you. he’ll wander aimlessly in this feeling, the feeling of his girl asleep on his chest, a hand over his heart to remind him that she's still here. he’ll let himself get lost for a few more minutes, after all, he’ll always find his way back home to you.

#living out my i can fix him dreams with this one #frances writes #state of grace #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series #frances song fics

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syoddeye · 2 months

Text

consequence / ink

price x f!reader | 1.6k words series directory tags: alcohol, miscommunication (resolved) a/n: john is a down bad, as the youths would say. thank you to my beloved @/pfhwrittes for britpicking. ☕

her cast is gone. a sleeve hides the arm, but it’s clearly off.

john holds the door for a customer, unsure if he ought to take another step or retreat while he can. he tried to compose a text on the flight, on the drive, in the shower. a heads-up, a ‘hello, i’ve returned, i’m sorry, don't worry about my face when you see it’—but he couldn’t. somehow, he thought simply turning up would be better.

when she spots him, the look on her face says a text would’ve been the right call.

ah, well.

she glares over the other man’s shoulder as he pays. he’s truly awful because it only makes him happier to see her. if she didn’t care, her face would be a blank slate.

the man takes a short eternity to move to the end of the bar. john checks to ensure he isn’t holding up a queue he knows isn’t there, if only to buy another second—

“yurbeck.” she blurts out.

“sorry?”

slower, she repeats herself, “you’re back.”

“i am. you’re healed up.”

“you’re not.”

the black eye he sports is ugly but faded. yellowish, with ugly splotches of blood still pooled beneath the skin. he’d like to say, you should see the other guy, but the bastard’s probably jaguar shit by now. instead, he shrugs. “looks worse than it feels. can we grab a drink when you’re off?”

she glances and frowns at her coworker, who’s clearly listening in over the noise of the espresso machine and sighs. her uncertainty is as plain as day.

“no.”

alright. damage control. he can fix this, he thinks, heart crashing into his gut. he didn’t leave her on bad terms. “listen, i know—”

she interrupts a second time. “we’ll go to mine.”

his mouth shuts, teeth clacking. he won’t argue with that.

before you leave the café, you check your last exchange.

>> thanks for dinner the other night. i had a wonderful time. unfortunately, i won’t be by for a bit.

> ominous > prison?

>> not quite. work. i won’t be able to text.

> well don’t be gone too long > i might forget your order

it’s ridiculous, in hindsight, all your worrying over a man you assumed ghosted you. a regular you took a stupid leap of faith for. the shopping trip was a way to test the waters, and despite an awkward intensity he seemed desperate to hide and his bad jokes, john charmed you. even when you extended the exam to your place, he passed. no snide comments about cece or the decor. he helped with cooking without being asked. washed the dishes. it was a wonderful time. he said it. you believed it.

but two months isn’t ‘a bit’. it’s a disappearing act.

you say as much, as annoyed with yourself as you are with him. he quietly concedes he could have explained better. you tell him friends don’t go MIA for weeks. he laughs.

“funny you should say that.”

“what?”

john stares hard at her profile as they walk. this part is always hard. pivotal. he puts it simply: “i’m in the military—special forces. that’s why i was ‘MIA’, as you put it.”

her brows raise, but she doesn’t falter. “oh.”

his lip curls. he’s been cussed out, fawned over, and ditched entirely for sharing his profession. no one usually reacts so little. it’s a divisive topic. everyone’s got an opinion.

“that’s it? oh?” john echoes, trying to tease something out. he once listened to her harsh critique of the illegibility of packaging at the café—he cannot imagine her indifference as genuine. “you can ask questions, y’know.”

“okay. where were you? what were you doing?”

crawling on my belly through mud and fending off giant cockroaches. shooting. getting shot at.

“seeing the sights, meeting people.”

that withering glare returns, but it’s shorter-lived this time. she huffs. “see, i assumed ‘special forces’ means it’s the type of military business you don’t get answers about.”

“yes and no. i can’t compromise my clearance.”

“what can you tell me?”

he smiles when she sneaks a look, irritation giving way to curiosity. “i sunburn very easily.”

she snorts. “no way, not with that complexion.”

“and, i have thirty, forty mosquito bites where the sun doesn’t shine.”

john’s bruised cheek hurts from grinning as she laughs. this is the first time he’s heard it uninhibited, neither bitten back nor politely smothered by a hand. he needs to brush up on his humor. he needs to hear that sound more often.

“sorry. i’m a mess.”

john aligns their shoes and removes his jacket. it’s hardly messy. her flat appears mostly unchanged, except for the small mountain of citrus on her dining table. a single banana. she starts to sweep it into a plastic bin, but he catches a stray orange, and his thumb drags over an odd indentation. he turns it in hand, eyebrows pitching at the sight of a rose etched into the skin.

“is this…?”

he watches her press a machine into a foam insert, then hurriedly zip a case shut. the look on her face clearly says he wasn’t supposed to see that.

she takes the orange and shrugs. “something i’m having fun with. a new hobby.”

“solid work for a hobby.”

“don’t tease.”

“you’d know if i was.”

she excuses herself to change after setting the bin aside, stepping over a wary cece. the cat stands guard at the mouth of the hall. unimpressed. he can practically hear the and where have you been?

john gives the cat a fond but tight smile. he’ll need to get in good with her again, too, it seems. he checks the water bowl before settling onto the couch. cece follows to investigate, her tiny black nose tapping his knuckles when he offers a hand.

her aloofness swiftly melts after he coaxes her into his lap, though he suspects that the subsequent stabbing of her kneading paws is her brand of punishment. little thing seems to relish it.

“you can move her if she’s too much.”

his face lifts, and he wonders if the cat feels the palpitations in his chest.

given what he’s only just learned, he shouldn't be surprised, but the patchwork tattoos decorating her arms steal his breath anyway. the impulse to touch is instant. to trace every fine line and jealously ask where she had them done and by whom.

he grips the arm of the couch hard, and cece pauses her biscuit-making, eyes half-lidded and judgmental. dismissing the cat, he nonchalantly places a throw pillow over his lap and scrubs a hand over his face.

the plot thickens.

“nice ink. didn’t realize you had any. makes sense.”

“yep. twenty-one. mm. no. twenty-two.”

far more than what the shirt shows. “any damage?”

her head tilts as she cracks the refrigerator, pulling two bottles by their necks. “nope. don’t got anything there.”

john takes a beer as she plops down. she tucks her legs beneath, and he studies the artfully drawn black shapes on the one arm: a network of barbed thorns and flowers, a woman contorted into a skull, a mouse sleeping in a sardine tin, a stamp, and several stars.

“do you have any?” she asks, taking a swig.

nothing as lovely as hers. the first and last instance john had time to sit for a piece, he was clean-shaven and further from the thick of it. but she’s shown him hers; returning the favor is only polite. “one.” he sets the bottle aside to ruck up his left sleeve. she shifts, and the tips of his ears redden. fuck he wishes it wasn’t so—

“traditional. ha, had you pinned for the type. cute.”

cute. the ink has faded into muted tones, the lines softened. the mermaid’s once coy smile blurs into a vague shape, and now that he looks at it, the anchor’s shank is slightly crooked. the subtle, natural distortions of time make the mermaid perched in the curved arm of the anchor appear as aged as his face.

“can i?”

she extends a hand. has she touched him before? intentionally?

“yes.”

her fingers follow the lines without an ounce of hesitation or hovering. the corner of her mouth quirks when john instinctively squeezes his bicep, the mermaid’s blue tail flexing under her thumb. he can’t tell what she’s thinking despite watching her pretty eyes. he simply laments he doesn’t have more to show her if only to keep her this close.

john’s focus narrows to the heat of her hand as it moves. he imagines five perfect ovals burning into his arm hair where she grabs and adjusts her view. that his skin might melt, and her palm would graft to his limb for all time, barring surgical intervention.

the first words out of her mouth in a minute are a bucket of cold water.

“six inches, right?”

“what?”

her gaze flicks up. “from the tip to the base?” a prolonged beat passes before she adds, “or, i guess, to the fins of her tail?”

she’s gonna be the death of me.

“i think so.”

“it’s aged well.”

“ah. you’re taking the piss.”

“you’d know if i was.” she echoes. “i’m serious. i’m guessing it’s fifteen or twenty years old? it could look worse.” her nails scritch in a tight circle for a half-second, long enough that he might combust, but she pulls away and swirls her beer. “why’d you stop at one?”

“busy schedule. and i don’t want to be too identifiable.”

“yes. the chops are the subtler choice.” she smiles behind the bottle. “now i’m taking the piss.”

john thinks of precisely three responses to her cheek, none of which make it to his tongue. he sips slowly, catching on a slip of skin when she stretches, the hem of her shirt lifting just so. a tempting black line practically hooks his eye before it disappears.

“oh, you’re funny. got me curious, though. which one was your first?”

her legs straighten, and she pushes to her feet. “it’ll be easier if i show you.”

#price x reader #price x f! reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader #loser barista

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samsno1 · 8 months

Text

Honesty

Sam Winchester x Reader

lmao, i'm sorry. this is kind of an au where instead of sam getting the trials...you do! haha......might make a second part to this but i'll see how it'll do. also, in this there isn't the stupid "sam doesn't look for dean in purgatory" because the writers were fucked up when they wrote that, respectfully (or not)

Summary: You finally have a chance to close the Gates of Hell, forever, but everything comes with a cost, the question is, are you willing to pay for it?

Warnings: ANGST, love confessions, sad sammy, kisses, reader sees bobby as a father figure, reader is shorter than Sam, NOT PROOF-READ, english is not my first language

WC: 3.7k

You can learn how to change Y/N for your actual name here

enjoy!

As you lie there, soaked in hellhound's blood, panting after a fight against the creature, the glasses you wore to be able to see it dirty and obstructing your view, Sam and Dean stare at you, frozen and horrified.

You knew they would try and talk you out of doing the trials, especially after Dean's words to both you and Sam before he went on to almost get killed by the hellhound. Of course you two had followed him, even if Dean explicitly said not to, and you ended up under the dog, his disgusting breath fanning on your face as he barked above you, trying to rip your neck off. You knifed it and it quite literally exploded over you, bathing you in his gooey substance.

Now, all of you were in a room, Dean pacing back and forth while Sam just stood with his head down. You had your arms crossed, your eyes accompanied Dean's movements. He was restless, probably angry and desperately trying to find a way to counter this.

“We can find another hellhound,” He argues “I kill it then it's all solved”

“Dean, Crowley will be even more on our asses over this, he will not let his dogs out of the leash” You say, calmly, trying to counter Dean's protectiveness in the lightest way possible. “I can do them”

After you said that Dean stopped pacing around and both him and Sam looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed, almost as if you had just admitted to an unforgivable crime. The crime in the case was wanting to protect the brothers from these crazy trials. You knew how death followed them around like a plague and you couldn't handle losing them.

“No, Y/N, you're not doing these trials” Sam speaks up, a tinge of anger in his tone. Anger, worry. He looked at you, his hair casting a shadow over his face because of the poor lightning in the environment. “You could die”

“Well, too bad Sam” You said and the boys shared that look, a silent conversation between both of them, something that pissed you off in these moments because you had the right to know what they were plotting. “Look, I know you two feel like you have some responsibility over me, this…instinct to protect me ever since Bobby…” You trailed off, the memory of the man you considered to be your father still too heavy on you. Sam frowned and Dean changed his position, on edge. You cleared your throat, the sudden lump bothering you. “But I can protect myself, I can fight my own battles and, honestly? If we do close the gates of hell for good, which battles will be there to fight?” You say with a faint smile.

You look between both of them. They seemed deep in thought. Too deep and that worried you. You slowly walked towards Sam and when he took notice he stiffened up, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly, his eyes taking in your rather dirty appearance. But still beautiful, he mentally stated.

Sam always thought you were the most incredible woman he ever met, invincible even, nothing could ever put you down and you could make everything work your way with your amazing mind and skills. And, obviously, your killer looks always managed to stun him every time, everywhere.

He was used to seeing you in any type of clothing, from suits and dresses to sweats and shirts with corny sayings written in the front, which you argued were comfortable. And you always looked absolutely gorgeous wearing anything. Sam used to think he just admired you, the looks from afar were just friendly appreciation, his yearn to be around you was just a protective instinct, the goosebumps on his skin when you’d touch him were just a natural reaction…

Until it wasn’t just. It was. And that was horrifying.

And it got worse when both you and him spent the last year alone looking for Dean and Cas. Spending so much time beside you made Sam realize what he truly felt towards you and he was scared. Scared to say anything and scared to lose you. So, when you killed that hellhound, his heart fell to his stomach because he knew you would want to do the trials.

And when you stretched your hand to him, looking directly in his eyes, that determined gaze of yours slicing through his soul, he knew you would do anything to go along with this.

“Sam, give me the spell” You said firmly, not a request, a demand. He swallowed again, still speechless, still frozen, his fist tightening around the small paper which contained the words in enochian you were supposed to recite for the trials to start. You emphasize your demand by widening your eyes angrily and doing ‘come here’ motions with your stretched hand. “Sam”

“Y/N-”

“Dean.” You interrupt, anger seeping into your tone, making Dean shut his mouth into a thin line and a huff of air come out of his nose, just like a child would do when it was refused candy before dinner. He thought he’d seen you like this before, determined, practically unstoppable but boy was he wrong. You were more than insistent and that rang an alarm in Dean’s head. You knew that the one responsible for the trials could die and you were willingly going with it.

“Dean, can you give us a moment” Sam speaks up again and you quirk an eyebrow at him, looking between him and his brother. Sam looks at Dean, his pleading eyes and subtle nod giving enough information for Dean to get the message across. If there is one thing that can make you understand is honesty.

Dean slowly walks out of the room, giving you one last look that said clearly that you needed to listen with an open heart and mind to anything Sam would say. When he closed the door behind him, Sam’s eyes were already on you, trained on your features and you shifted your weight on your feet, his stare intimidating.

“So?” You said, trying to keep your ground. Sam sighed and lowered his head, considering all his options in the situation, he could tell you everything and be either rejected or accepted, he could lie to you, give you the wrong spell and work his way out like he always did and still keep you safe. Honesty. The word echoed in his mind like a chant.

He pushed himself off the table he was leaning on, crossing with you and going towards the bed to sit down. Your whole body accompanied his movements, his long strides making the distance between the table and the bed shorter than it actually was.

Once sat he looked at you and then at the spot beside him on the bed, silently asking you to sit with him and you caved, obliging to him. Your feet were light on the floor, quiet, accustomed to being silent while being a hunter, as you walked to the bed. The hardness of the cushion was not too much of a bother but still kept you grounded. Don’t let your guard down.

After making yourself as comfortable as possible, sitting criss-crossed, you turned towards Sam who was with both his feet on the floor, staring at his hands drying his sweat on his jeans. You waited for him to travel inside his own mind, finding the words, the phrases, the honesty.

Honesty. Honesty. Honesty.

You swam in your own thoughts, especially those in which Sam was included. And those were the few thousands of reasons you wanted to be the one doing the trials, not him, not Dean. In your time alone, Sam had opened up to you about his want to live a normal life, away from apocalypses, monsters, gods…White picket fence, the whole nine. Dean had wanted that too, hell maybe he wouldn’t let go completely of the hunting but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with demons on his ass, never ever again. You didn’t see yourself getting out.

You grew up in this, much like the boys, but to you was different. You liked it. The adrenaline was like a drug pumping through your veins everytime you killed an abomination and, honestly, family wasn’t your strongest trait. All those whom you considered family were cremated – just because…we don’t usually bury hunters, so you can’t say they are six-feet under. Your love life was most definitely inexistent, you didn’t have time for falling in love with anyone.

Until. You did.

Until you fell. And hard. Face first in a bag of nails because you knew it would be trouble falling in love with Sam Winchester. You were both unlucky when it came to that feeling, always losing, always sacrificing, always in a battle. But how could you not? He was a gentleman in full, kind, sweet, caring and at the same time deadly – no pun intended. He would protect those he cared for with his life, his sense of protection his greatest quality. He was so selfless sometimes it made you mad. You had told him once ‘Be selfish, just this one time!’ and even so he couldn’t. It wasn’t his nature.

Sam wanted out of this and you wouldn’t let him abandon that dream because of you. You weren’t worth his life, you told him once after following a lead on how to open the doors to Purgatory and pull Cas and Dean out that almost got both of you killed. You were crying as you drove him to the hospital, the blood on your hands staining the steering wheel.

He was pale, his hand weekly pressing over the wound on his stomach, his breathing shallow. When you told him that, he trained his tired eyes on your face and in a rough and tired voice told you to shut up. Shut it, jerk. And fainted.

At the hospital you stayed hours by his bed every day. The doctors had told you he would be okay, that thankfully no vital organs were damaged and when he woke up you hugged him tightly, your arms wrapping around his neck desperately trying to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. His hands soothed you, rubbing your back up and down. You won’t get rid of me that easily, he had said and you laughed.

Ever since then you swore to yourself that you would guarantee that Sam wouldn’t put himself in danger for you anymore and you were not breaking that promise.

“Do you remember the night we met?” Sam spoke and you turned your eyes to his face, his hair shining against the yellow light and worry lines between his eyebrows.

“John had left you at Bobby’s and when I came back from school you scared the shit out of me. I had my gun in hand and everything until Bobby popped up, desperately trying to explain” You said, smiling at the memory. You were all so young back then, Sam was still shorter than you – which didn’t last long – and you had lost your parents a few months back.

“Ever since that night I knew you would be…something in the long run” You gave him a puzzled look and he laughed lightly at your face, his dimples appearing on his cheeks. “I knew you would turn out to be strong, brave and I knew you would end up being one of the most important people to me”

You smiled stupidly at that, your face heating up. You didn’t know what to say to him, your eyes drifting to your fingers over your lap because you couldn't keep his strong gaze. Sam sighed and considered his options, he could either hide his feelings for longer or be honest. Honesty, honesty. The word echoed through his mind like a mantra.

Sam reached his hand to wrap over one of yours, making your eyes shift from your hands to his face again. Physical touch wasn't uncommon between the both of you. Sleeping in the same bed when motels were full, sleeping on each other's shoulders, – more you than Sam given the height difference – hugs, cheek kisses, cuddling while watching movies. But something about this hand hold felt more intimate, like a wave of emotions were being poured over you like cold water. Sam squeezed your hand.

“I can't lose you” Sam said, his voice low because he knew that if he spoke any louder he could break.

“Sam–”

“Y/N. Please.” He begs, even if he doesn't know what he's begging for. Please, let me talk. Please, don't do the trials. Please, love me like I love you. “I can't lose you”

He repeats and you feel like you just got punched in the guts or like a knife went through your chest. He sounded so raw. Those four words meaning more than any poetry you've ever laid eyes upon. You squeeze his hand to ground yourself.

“Can't or won't?” You ask, voice weak.

“Both” He answers. “Both because I won't let you do this and can't because if I lose you I won't know how to keep going.”

You shake your head no, closing your eyes for a brief moment, your memories together flooding in again. His smile tattooed in your brain, his laugh playing over and over like a broken vinyl. You needed to do this.

“If I do this then that means you can finally have a life, a wife, kids…I can't let you lose this.” You say, tears welling up in your eyes. “And I need to do this for you, for Dean, for Charlie…Losing me is just a consequence for the greater good”

Now it's Sam who shakes his head, low breathy no's coming out of his mouth. He looks up at you, eyes watery and those stupid puppy dog eyes staring right into your soul, crushing your heart to pieces.

“You don't get it” He says “When I look into the future I can't imagine–” He takes a breath, considering whether to tell you or not. Fuck it. “I can't imagine it without you. The house, the kids running around, the dog…they're ours.” He stops for a moment, waiting to see if you caught what he meant but you just looked at him, wide beautiful eyes full of confusion.

“Sam what are you–”

“And you're the wife. My wife.” He says and he can see the realization come into your face, slowly. The way your jaw drops slightly, your shoulders tense and your hand squeezes his even harder. Sam swallows but now he can't back away. “So I can't let you do this because if you do it and die I won't be able to keep going because I love you, Y/N. I love you and even if you don't reciprocate I won't stop loving you. You're the first thing I think when I wake up and the last thing I think about once I fall asleep.” He keeps going, almost out of breath once he finishes, avoiding your eyes, avoiding rejection. “So, please, don't”

Don't do this, don't reject me, don't run.

“Sam, look at me” You say, one hand slowly grasping his cheek, your thumb drying a tear that he didn't know had fallen. Once he looked at you he saw you smiling. Smiling with teary eyes. “I love you, too”

You practically whispered and a feeling rushed into Sam's body. Like someone had shot him up with adrenaline and suddenly he was aware of everything around him, your warm hand on his cheek, your hand under his, the white noise of the animals outside. And his own heartbeat.

He closed the distance between the both of you, his lips finally touching yours in desperation. Pure and raw desperation. His hand went up your arm to your neck, gently pulling you more into him and yours slipped to tangle into his hair, running the soft locks through your fingers.

The kiss felt electric and it burned. Burned you from the inside out with the wave of a thousand emotions. Your head went back to those moments with Sam. Your mind was just completely him.

And it was the same for the Winchester.

He already had thoughts consisting mostly of you but now he felt in heaven, like in finally connected with whom he mostly desired, both physically and emotionally. His other hand slipped around your waist to pull yourself over him as he laid down on the bed.

You followed and slightly smiled into the kiss. Until you grounded yourself. Sam wouldn't let you do the trials, not now that you had confessed, not now that he knew you loved him too. So you had to take matters into your own hands.

As Sam laid you over him, you straddled his hips, the kiss continuing into an unexplained hunger and lust for each other. You sensually dragged your hand down his chest, earning a soft gasp out of him, both his hands tangling in your hair, messing up your curls.

Your hand that slid down his body discreetly went into his pocket, feeling for the paper with the spell written on it. You mentally apologized over and over to Sam, your mouth opening to let his tongue in to explore it, butterflies flying around in your stomach. He was gentle, caring but yet hungry and you could feel it.

I'm sorry.

You pulled away breathless, the paper clutched in your hand and Sam looked at you through hooded eyes, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths and a confused frown on his face.

“I'm sorry Sammy” You said as you got off the bed and started to quickly pronounce the words in enochian, your hands trembling around the paper. Sam widened his eyes once he realized what you'd done, patting his pocket in reflex, knowing you had taken it out of there, and stubbled off the bed.

“Y/N, no, please!” He yelled but it was too late. Once you said the last word an almost unbearable pain cursed through your whole body, knocking you to your knees, a loud groan of pain leaving your throat.

Sam kneeled beside you with a hand on your back, mumbling curses and apologies to you but you couldn't hear him, the pain so strong it made your ears ring. You felt a burn, like you had injected lava into your veins, opening your eyes to see your arms shining. Everything was spinning and the only thing guaranteeing you that you were still alive was Sam's warm touch over your back.

After seconds of excruciating pain you felt it going down and saw your arms returning to their normal tone. You collapsed into Sam's arms and he made sure to hold you tightly, still mumbling apologies with his eyes glossy with tears.

“Why did you do this?” He repeated, over and over. He didn't know if he wanted to kill you or hug you so he decided for the latter. He hugged your frame, pressing your head against his chest with a trembling hand and giving light kisses over it.

His other hand pressed your back against him, making your whole body stay in contact with his. His knees hurt on the hard ground but nothing compared to the pain he felt in his heart. He felt helpless.

You opened your eyes to look up at him, a faint smile on your face. You lifted a hand up to his cheek and took a very good look at the handsome man you loved. He was crying but he always looked beautiful, no matter how.

At your touch he closed his eyes, guilt spreading through his body. He touched his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes until you spoke up.

“I did this because I love you” You said and he opened his mouth to protest. You gave him a look, saying you weren’t done. “I love you too much to see you die and I know you can keep going if I die, you are one of the strongest men I know. You’re smart, you’re brave and you went through so much that I can’t let you give it up because of me. And you know I would never, ever, let you take responsibility over this and I don’t want you to blame yourself, this was my choice”

“I can’t– I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry I got you into this, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you–” You stopped him with a kiss and he sighed sadly, his hands wrapping around you tighter as if you would disappear at any second. You felt horrible but at the same time relieved. Relieved that if anything happened, Sam would live.

“Don’t say that” You whisper against his lips. “Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault. This is on me.” You say as you pull slowly away to look into his eyes, the mix of colors hypnotizing you. You felt like you could see every ounce of his soul through those eyes and it was filled with sadness.

Sam was angry, not at you, at himself. The moment he saw the hellhound die above you, bathing you in its blood he knew it was over, that you wouldn’t back away but still he blamed himself. If I were quicker. If I were smarter. The words ran around in his brain. When he looked at you he saw yet another one of those he loved dead. Another corpse that hung over his shoulder.

“We can do this, I can do this. I’m strong enough” You said. Sam knew you were strong but this was beyond you. This was God and Demons and Heaven and Hell. This was biblical and nothing like the things you faced before. He was scared.

“I know you are but what if I’m not?” He asks and you wait for him to continue. “What if I’m not strong enough to let you go if it comes to it?”

“You’ll have to be. If not for yourself, for me. Keep going for me” You reply with a soft look and a slight smile that made Sam choke on a sob and smash his lips against yours.

This kiss was filled with different emotions. Sadness, grief and guilt were poured into it but yet so much love. So, so much.

You didn’t get a verbal answer from Sam but you got plenty of information from the kiss. I’ll try, for you.

And that was enough.

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading, Xoxo.

#supernatural #writers on tumblr #sam winchester #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #supernatural angst #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester angst #jared padalecki x reader #jared padalecki

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lisenberry · 5 months

Text

We drift in and out

Chapter 2: Share the same space for a minute or two

E/NSFW/MDNI

CW: Domestic fluff, postpartum thoughts and bodies, angst, hurt/comfort sex

2.7k

Ch.1. Ch.3 AO3

“I’ll take first watch,” John said, setting down the diaper bag and the baby carrier on your dining table as you tossed your keys in the bowl and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was late by the time you returned home from the hospital. Between the hourly blood pressure checks and constant feedings, you hadn’t gotten much rest while you were there.

And let’s not forget that every trip to the bathroom was harrowing, and fraught with more discomfort than you’d anticipated. The nurses practically babysat you until you’d had a successful piss. Apparently, it was an integral part of the healing process and could cause life threatening complications if you didn’t empty your bladder regularly.

You didn’t know what you looked like down there, but you could certainly feel it. You’d cried out so sharply, John burst through the door to find you sobbing and shaking on the toilet.

After that, you doubted he would ever look at you romantically again.

But you made it through, fueled by adrenaline and instincts. You just wanted to be back in your own space. To the nest you’d built away from the poking and prodding of strangers. Of the astringent smells of industrial cleaning products and the cold glare of fluorescent lighting.

John had stepped out just long enough to buy a car seat so that he could drive you and the baby home in his truck. He’d laughed when you told him it was unnecessary, and you’d planned on taking the bus back to your apartment.

“Nonsense, I insist,” had been his only reply as he kissed your forehead as if to leave you too flustered to argue.

You had a feeling you were the talk of the nurses’ station. The juicy drama of your life must’ve seemed more captivating than the latest episode of television. They were all genuinely sorry to see the three of you go.

The three of you.

“That’s not how it works, John,” you assured him. This wasn’t a stake out. He was going back to his apartment, and you were putting the baby to sleep in the cradle you’d put together yourself until she awoke hungry and wet in two hours.

And that’s how it would be for the next 18 years of your life.

“You need some rest.” He tucked his arms across his chest and cocked his head downward, as if to intimidate you with his size alone. You imagined it was a practiced tactic, and that it probably worked on his subordinates. Sent them scrambling to please him.

But John didn’t scare you. Never did. It was what kept you going back to him. Or perhaps more like waiting for him, all those years. An easiness. A comfort.

“I’ll sleep when she sleeps. That’s what all the books say.” Despite your confidence, you yawned against your will as you unhooked your daughter from the carrier.

You still hadn’t gotten used to how light she was, and yet how substantial she felt in your arms.

When you looked back up to John to tell him ‘Thank you’, and that you could take it from here, you were met with something you’d never seen in him before.

A longing. Something unshed in his eyes, and unsaid on his lips, as he took a step toward you as if to reach out.

“Do you want to hold her?” In all the commotion, you realized that John hadn’t held her yet. Aside from the few times he’d lifted her gently from the hospital’s bedside crib to pass her to you, as if she was a live grenade.

Maybe it’d made him uncomfortable. To come back, expecting to return to your casual arrangement, only to find you knocked up with some other guy’s kid. To be honest, you hadn’t expected more than a passing hello in the hallway.

For him to take one look at you and never call you again or darken your door for a quickie at midnight. He’d move on to someone from the gym, or the café girl down the street.

Except, he hadn’t seemed uncomfortable. He’d seemed in control, focused. Calm and steady as he’d adjusted your shitty hospital-issued pillow or fetched you a refill on your water. Averted his eyes respectfully while you worked tirelessly to get the fussy newborn to latch onto your breast.

Had he not wanted to intrude? Was he waiting for permission?

“I really do need to take a shower,” you added when he hesitated.

He’d be gone by the morning. Might as well take advantage of his help while it was offered.

“Good.” He nodded at that, relieved to be of service, as he took the sleeping babe from your arms with a grace you didn’t expect from his big, gnarled hands.

A grizzled bear, holding something so soft and small in a white sleeper dotted with blush pink roses. She didn’t even shift at the change from one of you to the next. Content and unbothered in her dreams.

After taking your time in the shower, knowing it might be your last for a while, you emerged to see the two of them on your couch, watching the nightly football coverage on the telly. John was talking to someone, voice raised with heated enthusiasm, and you assumed he was on the phone with one of his mates.

But as you inched closer, you realized he was recounting his opinions on the latest match to the infant on his chest.

“You can put her down if you want,” you smiled, as you motioned to the bassinet. “You don’t have to hold her all night.”

“I tried, but I can’t tell if she’s breathing when she’s over there. Quiet little thing.”

There was nothing in the baby books and videos about seeing a man who’d been inside you hold your child as if it was the most precious thing in the world. How it could change your brain chemistry. Make you stupid in ways you never thought you could be.

You sunk down onto the cushion next to them. He urged you to go to bed, to get some sleep before she woke up again, but you didn’t want to leave just yet. You wanted to see them like this. To be a part of whatever mischief was transpiring between them.

Laying your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes and let sleep slowly find you.

“Sorry I missed it, love.” He kept his voice low, but it rung with a depth of emotion that cut through your slumber.

“Hmm, missed what?”

“Everything.”

*******

He didn’t leave the next day, or the day after that, except to shower and change clothes in his apartment, or pick up food from your favorite chip shop down the road. Every time he did go, you expected him not to come back.

Assuming he had returned to his usual schedule of sleep, eat, gym, fuck, repeat. With the fucking being someone else, of course. That you’d hear footsteps down the hallway outside and look through your peephole, covered in baby spit-up and leaking breastmilk, to see him leading a beautiful young woman into his flat.

Instead, weeks went by of him driving you to doctors’ appointments and joining you for walks in the park. Decaf iced lattes and naps on the couch. The faint smell of cigar smoke was the only indication that he’d taken a bit of time to himself.

The pang in your heart, and in your gut, when he carried the bags of dirty diapers down to the bin and sang Paul McCartney tunes horribly off key to get the baby back to sleep while you soaked in the bath tub.

Every day was a gift, you reminded yourself. He was just being nice. Playing house until it was time for him to go, the way you always had before. Except this time, he hadn’t even kissed you or made any advances other than a playful hug or a supportive rub of your shoulders as you pumped an extra supply of baby bottles.

None of your clothes fit anymore. You were too slim for your maternity jeans, and not quite down to your original weight. Maybe you never would be. Maybe you were the new you.

Nothing but forgiving loungewear and tinted moisturizer to hold you together.

It didn’t stop you from wanting him.

You’d think the trauma to your reproductive organs would swear you off sex for at least a few years, but there you were. Three months postpartum, salivating over his shirtless chest and slickening at the bulge in his sweatpants as he ate a bowl of tikka masala at your kitchen counter.

Maybe that was how you persevered as a species. The carnal urge to make the same mistake over and over again, consequences be damned. It would appear you hadn’t evolved beyond it.

Your doctor guaranteed you that you were fully healed and could resume sex with your husband (you’d long given up trying to explain away the six-and-a-half-foot beast keeping your child company in the waiting room as anything but) any time you felt comfortable. Had even started you on a new birth control. Hopefully one that worked this time.

But feeling comfortable and feeling desirable were two different things. John wasn’t your husband. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He had expressed no desire to be anything more than just a...friend? What was he even doing sleeping on your couch?

‘Go find someone fun and exciting and leave me to rot in peace,’ you wanted to scream at him.

A menace was what he was.

Finally, you stopped trying to get yourself off with your vibrator and threw it against the wall in frustration. A groan escaped you as you turned over and muffled a scream into your pillow.

You instantly regretted it the moment a soft knock sounded on your bedroom door.

“You all right in there?” He opened the door a crack and the light from the hallway peeked through.

“No, not really,” you whined, pitifully. Grateful that you hadn’t woken up the baby with your little tantrum.

You noted the displacement of the shadows as he bent down to pick your still buzzing vibrator from the floor and switched it off with a muffled laugh.

“Not doing the trick, is it?”

“I’m glad you think this is funny. I don’t even know my own body anymore." Fuck, you did not want to be having this conversation with him.

“What do you need, love?” He set your stupid, useless toy on the bedside table and leaned against the mattress. It tilted you towards him with his weight.

“I need to know that I’m still me. Somewhere in here. That I can still...” you felt dumb. You were a mother. You had a child to worry about. And all you cared about was whether or not you could still—

“Come?”

You nodded vigorously, feeling dumber by the minute. And he was there, in the dark of your room, smelling like pine trees and black pepper. Somehow, underneath it all, like your baby. Even though she wasn’t his.

Confusing and frustrating, and—

His mouth trapped yours then, cutting off any further conversation as his hands hitched under your nightshirt and yours found the waistband of his pants.

“I need you, John,” you gritted between teeth, both yours and his.

“Stubborn you are. Been waiting for you to ask.” He buried his face between the swollen flesh of your tits. Licking and lapping at your skin.

“Careful, they—”

“Squirt? I know. Not what I’m interested in, darling. They’re not mine anymore.”

He moved past your breasts and down your stomach. The raised scars where your skin had stretched too far, too fast. Making room for life within.

You were grateful he couldn’t see them in the dark. Even still, it felt like he found each one with his lips.

“Perfect, you are. You did so good.” You didn’t know what he meant. Only preened at the words as your cunt rose toward him and he moved lower towards your hips.

“Easy, John. Easy, please.”

You knew how big he was. He was the same, but you were different. Changed. You couldn’t do it. It’d been too long. Healed over and shaped anew.

“I know, baby. There’s nothing you can’t handle.”

His tongue met you then, in the cleft at your center. Teasing and taunting, he circled where you needed him the most. Hitting it just right and then moving away when you were teetering on the edge.

His beard and mustache grazing the sensitive nerves around the nub, inflaming you further until you pulsed at the absence of his touch.

Only for him to replace his mouth with the tip of his cock. Hard and thick, it nudged and prodded as it sought a weakness in your soft, wet entry way.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, won’t you? I know how you like to be brave.” He bit out with a grin.

Brave? You were a disaster. Is that how he saw you?

“Please don’t stop.” The words rushed out as a shudder.

You’d take it, you’d take anything to feel full, to feel him. The pull and tug of being consumed.

Still, he hesitated. Pausing just at the tip. Speechless and restrained.

“Stop being so nice.” You squirmed and sought to meet him, pull him closer.

“There’s a girl. See? Not gone after all.” His teeth dug into your neck and you arched your hips against his.

So familiar. So at home.

He sunk in then, as if with your permission. You clasped and guided him in like the other half of you.

“How does it feel?” You didn’t mean to sound as wanton as you did. You needed to know.

“Like heaven, love. Like fucking heaven.”

He lips found yours again, savoring, remembering, committing you to memory as he reclaimed your pussy for his own. As much his as it was yours.

Offering himself in return.

Pumping in a slow rhythm at first, matching you, following you. Your legs around his waist and his hands tugging your hips to hit that perfect fucking spot.

It was still there. It hadn’t moved. He’d found it like lighthouse in a storm.

“You ready, or do you need more?”

“Don’t stop.”

He grunted then, drawing some sort of strength as he kept his rhythm and touched a free hand to your clit for help.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

He found you. When you couldn’t find yourself.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

“Fuck, John!” You came with a rush of power and nature as he found your mouth again. He drank your sobs and replaced them with sounds of his own.

Tears filled your eyes and slid down your cheeks.

“You all right?” He asked against your neck, when you began to still, but you could only nod.

“I’m good. Thank you.” Simple words for how you felt.

“So fucking brave.” He wiped away your tears and nuzzled your cheeks with his bearded lips.

The couch sat cold and abandoned after that.

*******

But you found him a few weeks later, ashen-cheeked and staring troubled at his phone.

The baby was packed up in the pram and ready for a walk. She could smile now, and glowed with excitement and kicked her feet whenever her dark brown eyes met his glittering blue.

“I have to go. Got called in.” He turned a weary gaze towards you. Regret softening his usual starry skies and adding years to his features.

You knew this day would come, but it surprised you all the same.

A blow to your chest, taking the air from your lungs and tearing out your heart.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back.” The death blow to any hope you’d had that it was a training exercise or a weekend conference.

What if he was gone for another year? So much could happen. The baby would be walking. Talking. You’d be back to work by then. Trusting a stranger with her care because you didn’t have anyone else.

And who would he be when he returned? Always a little different than before.

“It’s okay. We’ll be okay. Just be safe, yeah?” You steeled your spine and tamped down on the tears that threatened behind your eyeIids.

You’d never cried for him before. Never worried about him.

No messy feelings. No expectations. Great sex and a pleasant company, right?

“I’ll say no. They can assign it to someone else.” Even as he said it out loud, you knew he wouldn’t let that happen.

“I had a plan, remember?” A reassuring smile to match the one he’d given you so many times before. “And you were never a part of it.”

He’d called you brave. You’d find out soon enough if he was right.

#call of duty #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price #cod fic #captain price x reader #john price x reader

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me-and-your-husband · 1 year

Text

if you lie down with me || e.w.

summary: there's one thing you and ellie don't have in common: immunity.

warnings: not beta read, swearing, blood, canon typical violence, death by suicide, ellie has concerning ideations, smut, oral, scissoring, multiple orgasms, angst!, crying during sex, arguing, probably more

word count: 6k

a/n: i know, i'm sorry for using this photo 😭 actually i'm sorry i wrote this entire thing

The end never feels like the end, does it? When you wake in the morning, the air is as fresh as the day before and the sun streams through the window at the same angle. You smile fondly at the incessant banging on your door, and at her urging tone when she tells you to get out of bed. “We have patrol,” she says, like she's said a thousand times before. What makes today any different?

The gravel road feels the same as it crunches under your boots as she leads you to the gate. Her auburn hair shines the same in the light, the same way you've admired since you were fourteen and she had just settled in Jackson.

You were helping out in the library, arms full of books stacked above your head. You struggled trying to keep them up with one hand and shelve them with the other. She noticed you from the corner, where she sat with a pile of beaten comics and a Walkman. “Need some help?” she asked, standing up from her spot on the ground. She took half the books from your pile and put them wherever you told her. After, when you asked her about the comics she was reading, her face lit up and she knew that you'd be a part of her life until death. Finally, someone was interested in knowing her.

The friendly faces of the watchmen at the gate were the same as they were yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year. They waved at you and wished you good luck as you mounted your horse and rode alongside Ellie onto the trail. The way she shoved her pistol in her back pocket and slung her bow over her shoulders was always the same. The way your horse galloped evenly alongside Shimmer did not deviate from the norm.

When she spoke up, her words were usual.

“Look, babe. A hummingbird,” she said with glee, pointing to the frosty trees.

You smiled at her excitement. “Poor thing, it's so cold out.”

“Don't you remember?”

“Of course I remember, El,” you laughed. “How could I forget?”

How could you forget? It was a humid summer afternoon, shortly after Ellie had turned sixteen. You had snuck out of Jackson to explore a creek you had found the day prior on group patrol. You so badly wanted to show Ellie, to share every part of you with her. You didn't know what to call it, but you assumed it was just because you were really good friends.

The soft rush of the water and the gentle breeze across your skin contrasted to the beating sun plastering your hair to your skin. You and Ellie sat with your backs against a wide oak, watching minnows skip through the water.

“Do you think animals have feelings? Like us?” Ellie thought out loud.

You hummed, “I do, but not as complicated as ours.”

She nodded in agreement before her eyes drifted to the source of a new sound, a gentle humming. She saw the gentle bird sucking nectar from a flower, tapping your shoulder gently and pointing.

“Look, a hummingbird,” she whispered.

“Woah!” You beamed, “I’ve only seen them in those nature books in the library. That's so cool. Did you know the sound actually comes from its wings?”

As you watched the hummingbird, she watched you. “It’s really pretty.”

You agreed. She said your name, but looked away from you.

“Yeah?”

“I think I like girls.”

You let the words settle in the air.

“I think I do too.”

It was the first indication that something else could happen between you and her, something less platonic than you would've thought. After that, neither of you said anything about it, confident in the fact that something more could exist in the spaces between.

It was the same confidence you had today as you followed her through the Wyoming woods, putting your trust in her. You took the same path almost every time you went out on patrol, knowing your way around, knowing the landmarks of the area. You knew you were getting close to the danger zone when you saw your favourite tree, the one you and Ellie would lean against by the creek, telling each other secrets into the night, crossing your heart to never tell another soul. Each of you knew that the other’s soul was the only one that mattered, anyways.

It was just over a year ago that you’d both carved your initials into that tree, reminders of that early morning on patrol bringing a smile to your face.

You had stopped for a moment to take a short break against the tree, letting your horses get some rest. Ellie leaned up against the tree as you pet Shimmer. The sun shone despite the snow and the brisk weather, illuminating your features gently. She admired the curve of your lips and the shape of your eyes, imagining her fingers tracing your skin under lamplight late at night. You looked up at her when your name tumbled from her lips.

“Yeah?” You said, continuing to pet Shimmer.

“I like you.”

The air stilled and your hand faltered, breath hitching. But what if she didn’t mean it like that?

You forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hope so. We’ve been friends for how long?”

“No, I…” she struggled for the right words. “I want to be more than friends. I like you. Like…romantically. And stuff.”

She played with her fingers, shuffling her feet back and forth in the snow, not meeting your gaze.

“Ellie, look at me. Please,” you whispered. She raised her eyes to yours, but still kept her head low, not bringing it up until your hand cupped her jaw. She moved her hand on top of yours, trapping it there, wondering if it was just a dream.

She closed her eyes tight when she saw you leaning in, praying that you weren't messing with her. When she finally felt your lips ghosting across hers, she leaned into you. Your touch was fire on her skin, leaving a red blush in its wake. She pressed your mouth to hers hungrily, never wanting this to end.

“I like you too,” you mumbled against her lips.

When you finally broke for air, chests heaving, you were both beaming. Ellie nervously reached into her pocket for her pocket knife, flicking it open. She held the blade against the bark of the tree, grabbing our hand and putting it on the hilt, sliding hers over top of it.

She guided your hand as you carved your initials into the tree, trapping them inside of a heart. It was cliche, but it meant everything to you.

It was the same tree that, a year later, you and Ellie passed on almost every patrol. The same tree that symbolized your everlasting love for each other. The same tree that stood since the dawn of your and Ellie’s time.

You rode casually in comfortable silence until you got to the watchtower, negative memories plaguing both you and Ellie. The floorboards still held the echoes of your voices yelling, still soaked in your tears.

Four months ago, when the rabbits were still brown and the path was clear of snow, you'd come through this watchtower to find two clickers. It caught you both off guard, as Jesse and Dina had just cleared it as safe the day before.

Ellie, always being the hero, snuck up behind one, taking it out easily, and lunged at the other. The second one, however, pinned her to the ground, and she held it by the neck, its arms clawing hers.

The sound of your pistol rang out as the body slumped on top of Ellie. She rolled it off and got up from the ground, chest heaving.

“Well,” she said, brushing dirt from her jeans, “that was pretty close. Thanks.”

When you didn't respond, she turned to see you standing with your pistol still in both hands, brows furrowed as you watched the dead body of the clicker intently. She called your name.

“What is it?”

You shook your head.

“Come on, tell me-”

“Every fucking time, Ellie,” you said, shoving your pistol back in your pocket and turning away from her. “Why do you have to run head-first into danger like that every time?”

She didn't say anything, gaze on your back as she watched you turn back around.

“What would I have done if you had gotten bit?” You said, voice a little watery. “Say something.”

She stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. “I don't try to, you know, it’s just…” she sighed.

“You know, Ellie, sometimes I think that I value your life more than you do.”

The words hung in the air between you two, both of you knowing that you were right. Knowing that she could've been more, done so much more, saved so many people. But she was stripped of that. So what kind of meaning could she give to her life? What did she really have to live for? Before Joel, she never really had someone she knew would care if she died. Now she had you, and she didn't know how her recklessness would affect you. Now she did.

“Okay, you're right. I’m too reckless. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll start thinking before I react,” she said, voice softening.

You huffed, “I just worry about you, El. I don't know what I’d do without you.”

She hugged you tight, letting you nuzzle into her chest. She knew how you felt. Before you, she was hopeless. She didn't see a point in doing anything if her life couldn't be used by someone. What was it all for? Everything she'd struggled through? All she'd suffered?

Now she knew that she was forced to experience it all so that she could end up with you. And she’d do it a million times over.

She breathed your name. “I need to tell you something.”

You pulled away from her, “Well that's one way to start a conversation.”

She laughed nervously. “No, it's nothing bad. It's just…it might be hard to swallow.”

She gestured at an old, ratty chair. You sat and watched her intently.

She took a deep breath, drawing it into her lungs and releasing it. “Do you remember why I got my tattoo?”

“Yeah, to cover up that chemical burn.”

“I lied,” she said. “That's not why I got the tattoo.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, silently begging her to go on.

“When I was fourteen, I was bitten. On my arm.”

You sat back in your chair.

“I waited and waited for my mind to go, for my body to go, for anything to happen, but it never did. So…I’m immune, or whatever,” she said, searching for a reaction.

Seconds of silence passed. It was shattered with a laugh.

“That's a good one, Ellie. Real funny.”

“It’s true! Ask Joel. Tommy. Maria. They're the only ones who know…”

“And you expect me to believe this?”

“Just trust me. Please. It's all I ask, is for you to trust my word. Why would I lie to you about this?” She pleaded.

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because Joel thinks it's dangerous for people to know. That's how we met, you know. He was hired to get me to the fireflies…they were going to make a cure,” she said, voice trailing off towards the end.

“It didn't work, I take it?”

She shook her head. “Joel says they didn't need me.” Joel says.

“Okay,” you said, making her look up at you. “I believe you. But that doesn't mean I’m fine with you running head-first into infected like that again. Just because you're…immune, doesn't mean you can't be torn apart. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said, crouching in front of you and putting her hands on your thighs. “God, I love you.”

You cleared out the watchtower and made your way back to the path. This part was one of your favourites, winding through the mountains. Your horses trotted casually beside each other.

“Okay, okay, here's one: What do you say when a chef dies?”

“Oh god, I don't know?”

“He pasta-way!” She said, giggling before she could even say the answer.

Her laughter was contagious, sending it bubbling through your chest. “That's so bad that it's good.”

“Come on, just admit that I’m a top-notch comedian. If the world wouldn't have ended, I’d’ve been up there with Dave Chapelle.”

“Who’s Dave Chapelle?”

“I don't actually know. Some old ass comedian Joel told me about.”

You both laughed, smiles painted across your faces. However, the giggles subsided as you felt your horse start to shake slightly.

“Woah, Shimmer, you okay girl?” Ellie said, patting her side.

“Beau’s shaking too.”

“Maybe they’ve got…I don't know, a cold or something? Can horses even get colds?” You shrugged. “Maybe we should let them rest for a bit.”

You agreed, dismounting your horse and planting your feet on the ground. The shaking underneath you didn’t stop. You looked at Ellie, who looked at the mountain behind you. She yelled your name as you looked behind you.

A loud, grating noise sounded as you watched the earth of the mountain loosen from its side, rocks and boulders tumbling from it, falling in your direction.

You hurriedly mounted your horses again, kicking their ribs to get them to go. You rode as fast as you could, attempting to beat the oncoming landslide. You'd never seen one before, only heard stories and read of them in books. You were about three quarters of the way through the mountain range when the land detached from the mountain and began to slide.

“Go, go, go!” You yelled, Ellie a few feet ahead of you as her horse was younger than Beau. She glanced behind her every few seconds to make sure you were still there.

The rocks falling created a settlement of dust around you, making it increasingly harder to breathe. You finally saw the green clearing outside of the mountain range. Almost there.

The grating noise died, and you peered behind you to see the path completely covered in rubble. A few boulders still tumbled from the mountain, or whatever was left of it.

“Watch out!” Ellie yelled. You looked to your right, seeing a massive boulder rolling down the mountain, coming right for you.

You acted before you could think, much like Ellie, and propelled yourself forward off your horse as the boulder hit Beau and rolled atop of his body. You landed on the ground near Ellie, propping yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the sight.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, running to Beau. His body was mangled, bones sticking out of the skin and blood painting the grass. You felt like vomiting.

Ellie dismounted her horse, still shaking from the adrenaline, and put her hands on your shoulders, attempting to get you standing.

“Wait,” you said, leaning back down, planting a teary kiss on Beau's muzzle.

You stood, holding her tight. “Let's never come through here again.”

“Don't think we can, sweetheart,” she said, looking back at the obstruction. “Come on, we've gotta find a new way back home.”

She was about to help you mount Shimmer when you both froze in your tracks. A low, husky groan rung out through the air, scaring Shimmer. She ran into the clearing out of fright.

“Shit,” Ellie breathed.

“We’ll find her later. Come on, we have to go. It's either a bloater or a shambler, and I don't really want to stick around to find out.”

You turned to leave when the ground shook again. You turned around, looking back at the mountain. It wasn't the mountain shaking this time. Spewing through the hole the landslide left like spiders were hundreds—if not thousands—of infected. Clickers, runners, stalkers, bloaters, shamblers. Everything.

There was no way you were making it out of this unless you legged it now.

In unison, you and Ellie started sprinting to your last checkpoint— the old cabin. You ran faster than you ever had before, the sounds of hungry infected hot on your heels. You couldn't feel your legs, the burning in your flesh too intense. When the cabin finally came into view, you couldn't even allow yourself a breath of relief. You and Ellie had your guns out, shooting behind you as you ran, picking off as many infected as you could. When you were close enough to the cabin, the idea hit you. You knew that the creaky boards of the cabin wouldn't hold that many infected off. You knew what you had to do.

“Ellie, cover me!” You yelled as you slung your backpack off your shoulder and grabbed what you'd need. You grabbed an old bottle of whiskey you and Ellie had found at the watchtower and a rag. Stuffing the rag in the bottle, you lit it with your lighter.

In the ten seconds it took you to do this, the infected crept closer and closer to you. Ellie tried picking off as many as she could, keeping them away from you. Until her magazine ran out.

You threw the molotov in front of the hoard of infected. It exploded, creating a wall of fire between you and your death.

Until a single clicker went at you from the side. The light of the fire flickered in your irises and cast an orange glow across your face, and you didn't even hear it creeping up amidst the roar of the flames. You didn't even hear Ellie yell your name.

It tackled you to the ground before you could even turn your head all the way, talons scratching your arms and legs, sinking into your stomach. Its jaw was inches away from your neck, begging to gnaw on your jugular. In the struggle for your life, you couldn't even tell where you were and weren't hurt, what was bleeding and what wasn't.

Blood gushed into your hair and eyes as you watched Ellie slice its head clean off with her pocketknife. The same one you'd carved your initials into that old oak with.

Something inside of you rattled knowing that something could be used so innocently and yet so dangerously.

Ellie picked you up from the ground and helped you limp into the cabin, reeds of grass tickling your wounds. When you entered, you stood in the centre of the room as she barricaded the entrances.

“There,” she said, returning to you. You were both coming off adrenaline, suddenly feeling the ache in your bones to an indescribable extent.

You put your hands on your knees and leaned on them, heaving a little. “Ellie. We were so close.”

She just nodded in understanding. Her eyes survey you from top to bottom. You had a scratch across your cheek, a few minor lacerations across your arms and chest, and a few on your legs. She couldn't see any bites.

You brought your right arm up to run it shakily through your hair. That's when she saw it, brutal and bloody, painted into your skin like a brand. One that would decide your fate. Except that it had already been decided.

The sight of the bite on your forearm turned her stomach. She blinked over and over again, hoping that she was seeing wrong. Maybe she was still coming off of adrenaline. “Your arm…” she breathed.

“What?” You asked, confused. You looked over your left, then your right, and…oh. “Oh.”

The silence was deafening. It wasn't like you'd been badly injured, still with a sliver of possibility for recovery. No, this bite sealed your fate.

In the next day, you were going to become something Ellie had to detest. Something she had to kill.

You felt the bile rise in your throat just in time to grab a decayed flower pot. You choked out everything in your stomach and more.

Ellie grabbed her stomach as she felt her body start to shake, that feeling creeping up her spine again. Her breath felt like it was being siphoned out of her. She needed air, but her lungs would not take any in. She hyperventilated as she threw herself back against the wall, legs giving out.

A sweat broke out across her body, knowing that she's losing you tonight.

Her mind shoved memories into her vision that she swore to never bring up again.

“There're a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes…or two days. We don't give that up.”

She remembers the small, impossible slice of hope in Riley’s eyes, one that she knew was futile. Riley was her first love. She thought they were both going to die. She felt…horrible. You would be her last love, though she knew only you were fated to die. She knew she would die too.

Your voice calling her name broke her out of her fit. One look at you wiping your face and shaking was enough to make her want to break something, anything.

“Ellie,” you called. She stood and began pacing, running her hands over her face. “Ellie, stop it.”

“There's gotta be…there has to…we need…” she babbled, still pacing. An idea clicked, “give me your arm.”

You held out your shaking arm to your lover, expecting her to inspect the area. Instead, she took out her pocket knife and pressed the blade into her hand without any hesitation.

“Ellie! What the fuck?!” You said, trying to stop her hand from bleeding.

“Give me your arm,” she said firmly, a major contrast from before. When you hesitated, her hard gaze met yours. Her eyes softened when she saw the fear in your eyes. “Please,” she whispered.

You gave her your arm and let her rub her blood into the bite.

She took your arm and rubbed the blood into the bite knowing it wouldn’t work.

It wouldn't work on you.

She knew that.

She tried anyway.

As she massaged the blood as deep into the wound as she could get, all she could think about was that she would've been able to save you if they made the cure. Her life would've had meaning, so much meaning. She would've been able to cure you from this. But she was helpless, cursed to watch you suffer.

“Ellie,” you said, putting your hand atop hers to get her to stop and look at you. She could see in your eyes that you just needed to be close to her in that moment. She needed it too, needed to be impossibly closer as to grip into you forever.

She buried her head into your neck and you did the same, holding your breath. For if you breathed, time would pass. If time passed, you'd be gone.

You don't know how long you held each other like that, but it was long enough that your legs nearly collapsed with exhaustion. You were the first to speak.

“I need you to promise me something,” you whispered.

Ellie knew what you were going to say before the words left your mouth.

“No-” she began pulling away from you, but you squeezed her tighter.

“When it starts to happen…when I can feel it, I’m going to take my gun-”

“Stop it-”

“-and I’m going to go outside. You’ll know it's over-”

“-Stop-”

“-when you hear it. Just promise me you won't look.”

“Stop, please,” she begs, tears brimming in her eyes again. She takes a step back from you and turns around.

“Promise me.”

The words get caught in her throat. Her lip trembles. “Okay.”

Outside, rain starts to fall softly, tapping against the rotting wood of the cabin.

She breaks the new silence. “I should've been there. I should've taken my rifle out, anything-”

“El, it's not your fault. Look at me,” you say. She looks at you over her shoulder. You nearly crumble at her red eyes and wet cheeks. “Never blame yourself. You hear me?”

She just squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to all go away.

You walk to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning your forehead against her back. You tried not to look at the bite.

“Ellie.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you give me one last good night?”

The soft pattering of the rain against the wood, trickling off the roof and into the ground.

“Please?”

She says nothing, instead turning around and gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bloodied hands find her wet cheeks, noting that the tears haven't stopped.

Ellie wanted to give you everything you wanted and more, and she had sworn she would from the moment she met you. If this was the last thing you ever asked from her, she would give it to you.

But it was so unbelievably hard knowing that this time would be your last.

She pushed you back against the wall, nearly devouring you. The salty mix of your tears and hers slipped into the kiss, but you didn't care. She moved her hand down to cup you where you wanted her.

You bucked your hips into the friction, already needing her. You began to undo your belt, but Ellie’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” She said, voice gravelly.

“Yes, El,” you said. “I don't know where I’ll be tomorrow, or…what I’ll be,” she let out a shaky breath, “but I know I want to be with you right now.”

She sniffled and nodded, getting on her knees to take your belt off. She threw it to the side, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down along with your panties. You opened your legs wider for her.

She ran two fingers through your slit before sinking one into your hole, tongue giving kitten licks to your folds.

You could tell that she wasn't going to be as vocal as usual.

You couldn't really blame her.

You whimpered as she added another finger, pumping them in and out of you, filling the air with obscene sounds. She lapped at your cunt, trying her hardest to give you what you want.

“Ellie, don't stop,” you moaned, whimpering when she used her other arm to hold your hips down against the wall. “Almost there.”

You could feel the coil tightening inside if you quickly, your climax coming in record time. You thought for a moment that it was because of how sensitive you were in this moment.

You moaned wantonly and grabbed her hair as you came, her tongue working on your clit and her fingers scissoring you open.

You expected her to stop, but she kept going. In fact, she added a third finger.

You heard her moan into your pussy, looking down to find her grinding into the floor, a wet spot forming on her jeans. She was so messy, your juices coating her face, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, rutting into nothing and moaning into your cunt.

When the fabric of her jeans caught her clit just right, she took her mouth of your pussy, replacing it with her thumb instead, and leaned her forehead against your stomach. You came with her from the sensitivity, both of your moans filling the air, pleading for more.

When she laid you down on a thin blanket from her backpack and undressed both of you, you noted the scared look in her eyes. The way she looked at you, drinking you in, knowing this would be your last time together. Some part of you wished that neither of you knew about the bite, that you didn't have to treat this so differently. That you could enjoy it. Enjoy your last moments together.

She threw her leg over yours, kissing you messily, yet softly, as she ground into you, folds slotting against each other. You both moaned each time your clits touched.

As she grew closer to her climax, she buried her face into your neck. You tried to ignore the feeling of her tears trickling down and pooling at your nape.

You came together. You moaned, but she cried out, more guttural than you'd ever heard from her.

“I love you, I love you, I love you—!” she cried into your neck as she came.

When you slowed down, she held you like that without words.

“I love you too, Ellie,” you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over the rain.

You held each other as the sun set, through the night, and through the rain.

The golden rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the walls and shudders, dancing across her bare body pressed into your side. Hours ago, her body had stopped shaking and her tears stopped spilling onto your chest, your hands running patterns across her skin lulling her into an exhausted sleep.

Your eyes had never closed, however. You knew you wanted to be awake to feel it happening, to know when you were losing control over your body. For Ellie’s sake.

The rain had stopped and the clouds were cleared. Birds sang outside and all the animals went about their day. You thought it strange that the world would continue on without you, that people will age and new ones will be born, that people will die and people will forget about you in time. Your impermanence had never struck you as hard as it did now.

You felt the twitching in your feet first, unnoticeable at first, but is it crawled up your limbs, you knew it was happening. It happened over three or four hours, and once you felt your neck jerk the first time, you knew.

Your blood didn't feel like your own anymore, like someone exsanguinated it and replaced it with jelly, slowing you down. Your vision wasn't gone, but you couldn't focus it on anything. It constantly sounded like you were underwater, drowning, gasping for air to no avail.

Your eyes hardly left the woman in your arms, clinging to you even in sleep. You know she'd curse herself for falling asleep, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful that you could press a tearful kiss to her forehead before gently escaping her grasp, muffling your sobs behind your hand. You threw your shirt and jeans on quietly, dizzy, slipping your shoes on. Your world spun, your lungs burned, your head throbbed.

You picked up your pistol, watching Ellie stir slightly in her sleep, creamy skin illuminated in the sun, her freckled face creased slightly with worry, even in sleep. You put the gun in your pocket.

You tried, as silently as you could, to move the barricade from the door. You were thankful that she was a heavy sleeper.

You were thankful that you didn't have to see the despair in her eyes when you said a forceful goodbye, thankful that you didn't have to convince her to let you go, thankful that your last memory of her was this, thankful that her last memory of you was bliss.

Through your sobs, you squeezed through the door and shut it behind you, leaning your head against it, willing for this all to be a nightmare. It wasn't, because you started to feel something else take over your will.

Before you could lose it completely, you forced yourself into a dense brush of greenery, somewhere you hoped she wouldn't look.

You panted, sweating, trembling, as you took the pistol out of your pocket. It shook with your hand as you held it to your temple, bright eyes taking in all of the world that you could before it was gone.

You squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to stop shaking. You conjured the image of your lover in your mind, her auburn hair, milky skin, pretty green eyes, and those familiar freckles. How could you ever forget her?

You took a breath in, and breathed out: “I love you.”

Ellie sat up in terror when she heard the sound of a single gunshot ring through the air, seeping in through the cracks of the window and underneath the door. It took her a moment to process what it was, reaching for her pistol next to her discarded clothes. When her fingertips brushed the gun, it settled in. She craned her head to look beside her, half expecting you to still be asleep.

When she remembered what the sound of the gunshot meant, what you had made her promise, her lungs collapsed and she couldn't take any air in. Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved, clawing at her chest for any relief. It didn't come.

She knew it never would.

When Joel got word that you and Ellie still hadn't returned from patrol, he worried that you'd gotten stuck in the landslide. He pleaded with Tommy and Jesse to go out with him to search, knowing he wouldn't be at peace without knowing what happened.

When the two agreed, they set off on horses to clear all of the checkpoints. It took an extra day to get around the mountain range that was blocked off by rubble.

When they only had one more checkpoint to clear, Joel got increasingly worried. If you weren't here, where were you?

When the three men got to the cabin, they held their breath as they dismounted their horses. Joel tried pushing the door open, but the barricade stopped him. It took the three of them to open the door, pushing the barricade out of the way.

The open door shed light on the figure against the back wall covered in a thin blanket, trembling. Joel let out the breath he was holding in when he saw Ellie. She was clutching your backpack to her chest, trying to keep any remaining part of you alive, hers.

She had hardly noticed Joel pick her up and carry her to his horse, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to see the world without you in it.

“Ellie,” Joel’s gruff voice intruded her thoughts, “where is she?”

Ellie’s words failed her. All she could do was point to her forearm, to the bite that only Joel and Tommy knew hid underneath the tattoo.

She doesn't remember what happened after that.

It was warmer now, the flowers blossoming and the green coming back to Jackson’s landscape. Ellie sat facing your headstone, wishing you could've seen it. Wishing she could've shown it to you.

“It’s summer now,” she began. “We started planting these new flowers in your garden…Joel thinks you would've liked them. I think so too. They're really colourful…you know.”

She hesitated.

“Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me. Or if I’m just talking to myself like a crazy person. Joel says it's good for me. I don't know if I believe him.”

She played with her hands, tracing her tattoo.

“I wish you were still here,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted over all the flowers left by your grave from all the people who loved you.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched a pretty red hummingbird land on your grave, searching for pollen in the flowers.

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x reader angst #tlou #the last of us #tlou 2 #the last of us 2 #lesbian

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tange-my-rine · 6 months

Text

saying something stupid (like I love you) || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: With Lemon's guidance, you take the initiative and confess to Tangerine. He kept saying he felt the same, and wouldn't shut up until you did it. So, in a moment of weakness, you told him. You kind of knew what to expect: either reciprocation or rejection. Easy. But when Tangerine instead physically runs away from you, you have to admit you weren't expecting that.

TW: angsty (with a happy ending), crying, cursing (it's Tangerine), and avoidance (Tangerine is really bad at feelings, what can I say).

[[A/N: yes this is based off that one song. It's so GOODDD. And also something Tangerine would totally do. Peep the Little Women reference. Enjoy :)]]

"C'mon," Lemon urged, "-'s not 'at hard, mate."

You rolled your eyes, absent-mindedly chewing the inside of your cheek, "You say that as if you've ever been in a relationship. Ever."

You had known the twins since middle school (probably), both raised with shitty parents and even shittier lives. When you saw them for the first time swindling a boy out of his money in a go-fish game, you essentially blackmailed them.

('If I don't get a share, I'm telling the teacher.')

You actually even knew their names, and them yours, but you preferred the codenames -you were the one to come up with them afterall.

Tangerine almost popped a blood vessel when you met that day, but Lemon smiled big and bright and pulled a five out of his brother’s hand. You and Lemon were fast friends after that; Tangerine took a lot more time.

That being said, when you were finally friends -near high school, he started to... fill out his form. Naturally, being close to someone who is handsome, you find yourself in... certain states of mind. And what started as a little crush your senior year, snowballed to now.

Where you were in love with him.

You probably told Lemon after a few years of it not going away. But, you'd find that every day after you'd regret that decision.

"Sally Jones," Lemon offered up, seemingly in defense of himself.

You scoffed, "The girl you dated for a month?"

He nodded his head.

"You didn't even like her," you clarified, "-you liked that she had cable so you could watch your fucking trains."

"So?"

"So-" you said a little loudly, turning to the bedroom where Tangerine slept and drastically lowering your voice at the distinct absence of shuffling, "-Lemon. We have been best friends since we were kids, that's... That's a lot to mess up because I'm... because I have feelings."

"What so-" Lemon starts, "What if he gets married one day? What are goin' to do? Just... Just fuckin' bury it down?"

"First off, he's too much of a dick to get married, secondly-" you paused, letting out a big sigh -something in your chest twisting, "-yeah. I mean, it's what I've done for all of these years, isn't it?"

He frowned for a minute, hand finding its place on your shoulder, "You ever think ya deserve to get it off your chest? 'At maybe you deserve the happiness it'll give ya?"

"Might give me," you corrected.

"Look, I know my brother," Lemon argued, brown eyes layered onto yours, "-and I know he's been fuckin' crazy about you since you stole that fuckin' five dollars on the playground."

"I didn't steal it," you clarified, a little defensively "-we made a deal. We negotiated-"

"Y/N," he refocused, "-I just wanna see the two of ya happy, yeah?"

"I know," you spoke, softer, "-I know, Lemon."

Before another word could be spoken and it really seemed like Lemon wanted to, Tangerine stepped into the living room -hair still sleep-mussed, and clothes far more casual than what he'd wear normally. Not that it was new to you, but it still made your heart flutter a little.

"You 'avin' a fuckin' pow wow without me?"

"Morning, sunshine," you smiled with a sing-songy tone.

"Fuck you," Tangerine muttered (a tiny little smile quirked onto his lips), before slinking off into the kitchen -most likely in search of coffee.

When you stayed seated, eyes flickering over whatever reality TV show was on -Lemon nearly burned a whole in your side.

'What?!' you mouthed, exasperated.

He was wordless, brown eyes darting from you to the kitchen -a few times in a row actually.

'Now?' you mouthed back.

'The sooner the fuckin' better,' Lemon mouthed back, shoving you further down the couch.

Well, you debated to yourself, it would get him off your back, and that would be nice.

But, you didn't feel so scared then -not like all the years prior. It was like something... something had shifted in you and you just wanted it done.

Shit, you thought, maybe it is time.

You took a deep breath in and with raised hands (in mock surrender), stood up.

'Fine.'

Lemon seemed taken aback a moment, shock, like he'd never actually expected you to cave; to be fair, you were a little surprised too. But... you were tired, and if heartbreak was to come of it -you wanted to get it over with now.

'But if he doesn't...' you mouthed, '-you owe me everything in your wallet.'

He neatly nodded in agreement.

You swallowed, squeezing your hands together and with the timidness of a doe, entered the kitchen.

The kitchen in the apartment was small, but modern-looking. It was all sleek metal and plain colored cabinets, looked like something out of a magazine. That being said, Tangerine fit right in.

Your eyes unwillingly went to his hair, the unkempt curls, and you briefly wondered if they felt soft.

"Hey, Tan?" you echoed out -trying to keep your voice level and calm.

He held up a finger -as if to say 'one moment', before fidgeting with his coffee. He took it basically black so it didn't take him too long to do so. Just a dash of both sugar and milk, he spun around to look at you.

You supposed you hadn't thought about the idea that he had to be looking at you while you said it. His eyes were always so... bright and distracting -you could hardly handle it when he looked at you so intensely on a regular day. How could you do that today? Right now?

You cleared your throat, wringing your hands together, "I, um, I need to tell you something."

Tangerine pursed his lips, looking you over -leaning slightly on the counter with his cup in his hand. His eyes dashed over yours with a curious sort of question there -scanning over you like he was trying to figure out just what it was.

"Ya alright, love?"

You blinked, trying to clear your head, and opening your mouth to respond. In what way, you weren't sure but any at all sounded good-

"Get fuckin' on with it, mate," Lemon yelled out from the living room -apparently hearing everything in here he could.

Tangerine was just looking at you -blue eyes just looking.

Something in you snapped.

"Jesus Christ, fine, Lemon," you hissed in frustration -words coming out before you could stop them, "-Tangerine, I'm in love with you."

Tangerine froze.

You weren't even sure he was breathing.

"Tangerine," you stepped forward, concerned, "-are you okay?"

Before you could so much as touch him though, he, without a word, beelined out of the kitchen. So fast you were left reeling in his dust, blinking a little deliriously.

You instantly spun around your heels and rushed to the living room -just in time to see Tangerine swipe the keys (the car keys) off of the little table near the door and promptly leave the apartment.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed into your mind -like a pin dropping into silence.

Something swirling up into your chest, you swallowed -something heavy on your tongue and even heavier on your heart. You blankly stared at the door, like if you wished hard enough he'd come back and tell you he loved you. That all of it had just been a gut reaction.

After a few minutes, that did not happen.

"Lemon...?" You croaked out, eyes suddenly blurry and heart pounding in your chest -had you really just ruined it all?

"Lemon-" you let out a breath and it somehow turned into a sob. It felt like your chest had been cracked open and your heart crushed to dust.

God, you'd lost him. You fucking lost your best friend because you decided to be stupid and fall in love with him-

You don't know when you fell to the floor, crying, but you do remember Lemon rushing over to you -brown eyes guilty and somewhat confused.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He kept repeating it, over and over, but all you could see in your head was Tangerine frozen and all you could feel was a loss. You were grieving him, there was no way anything could go back to normal-

You'd have to get separate jobs, live on your own-

"I'm not leavin' you," Lemon said suddenly, and you realized you must've been muttering, "-My brother can shove 'at idea up his arse."

Without another breath, you pushed yourself into his arms -wrapped around him into a hug.

"Liked you much better anyway," he muttered, and there was a laugh that burst through your chest.

You and Lemon ended up staying at that apartment for about three more days, waiting to see if Tangerine would return. All of his clothes were here, and you weren't entirely sure he even had his wallet in his pajamas -but he didn't show back up.

Not that he hadn't been in contact, Lemon had been both answering and not answering phone calls from him almost by the hour. He always ran to another room to answer them though, and you respected the privacy -it's not like you wanted to hear from Tangerine anyway.

Even though he was your friend and you were worried, you knew it best not to talk to him.

"You're a fuckin' idiot, mate," Lemon hissed out -bitter and disapproving, "-none of it makes any fuckin' sense, I swear you were-"

There was silence for a minute, you assumed Tangerine interrupted him.

"Are you really fuckin' serious with me right now?" Came back with a much harsher sentiment and the tone of it chilled you to the bone -Lemon was mad.

Which you'd really only seen once or twice, in grade school, either when someone picked on you and you cried (both boys reacted similarly to that) or when someone, unprompted, hurt Tangerine.

You were suddenly flashed back to your senior prom when a guy had asked you but it had all turned out to be some joke. 'He's fuckin' stupid not to like you, love,' rang through your head -familiar blue eyes and arm wrapped solidly around you pulled you into his side, '-doesn't deserve you anyway.'

There was a bitter taste in your mouth.

Lemon pulled you out of your thoughts, "What were 'ey supposed to think, mate? That you were so joyous you couldn't stay fuckin' still?!"

You rubbed your hands up and down your arms, mindlessly packing your bag. The next piece made you stutter to a stop. Hands lingering on a long-sleeved button-up, one you'd borrowed from Tangerine and he'd never asked for back, your heart sunk to the bottom of your chest.

No more crying, you thought.

With not a word, you took the fabric in your hands, leaving your room, and shoving it into Tangerine's bag.

You did stay in the room for a moment, breathing in the... Tangerine of it all.

And then, you left.

"No, no, mate," Lemon laughed, incredulously, "-I'm not doin' shit for you. You come 'ere and do damage control yourself."

You pulled your bag up on your shoulder, it was just a little duffle -you didn't carry much job to job, and trailed into the living room.

Lemon immediately straightened, cutting off Tangerine, "I've got to go, brother. I think you know 'at to do."

With the precise press of a finger, he hung up.

Letting out a big sigh, Lemon turned to you, "Let me get 'is stuff, and then we'll leave, yeah?"

And you did.

You're not sure what the last call was about, but after that one, he started calling you too.

Lemon had decided to cool off on the jobs, just visiting a few cities out of want -kind of treating it like a tourist. It was weird, but not unwelcome. One of those nights, it started.

You were eating on the couch, some sort of reality TV show distracting you with Lemon -when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. You unhesitatingly went to pick it up, eyes smoothing across the name-

'Tan 🍊'.

Staring at it for a moment in disbelief, you quickly declined and set your phone back on the coffee table.

He didn't call you again until late that night when Lemon was asleep in his room; you weren't asleep, to be fair, just staring up at the ceiling.

The name flickered across your screen, and with a little hesitation, you answered.

"What the hell do you want, Tan?"

He was silent for a minute, slow to respond -speaking a little in disbelief, "Hey, love."

"Tangerine, don't-" you started, something breaking in your voice -you cleared your throat, "-That's not fair."

"Love-"

"You're being mean," you echoed out, tone a little broken and weepy -it was all you could say.

He was silent for a long while then, almost exhausted, "I'm sorry."

"It feels like," and you could feel the tears bubbling up, "-it feels like when that stupid guy ditched me at prom," your voice got much quieter -a little pathetic but you didn’t care, "-but you're not here, Tan."

'I want you here,' went unsaid.

"I'm sorry," he repeated -but this time a little more dim.

"Don't you think I deserve to hear that in person?" You offered -swallowed back a sob, you were crying by now, just silent tears down your cheeks, "Don't you have any respect for me-"

"I never meant to-"

"Save it," you interrupted -tired and exhausted, "-I need to sleep."

Before he could say another word, you hung up.

And if you cried yourself to sleep that night, that was between you and the apartment walls.

He didn't stop after that night, calling you more than Lemon -he still answered. You didn't. You had nothing to say to him, until he decided to apologize, in person. Or even just come back at all. He couldn't run forever. No matter how much he didn't want to reject you, you needed to hear it.

Couldn't he understand that?

Because every day he didn't, there was a traitorous little part of you that held onto the hope that maybe he had just been overwhelmed. Maybe he just wasn't ready.

And that hurt more than anything else. That he wouldn't come to tell you otherwise, when you already knew it.

There were a few times he'd call you, and Lemon would call him back: 'Just leave 'em alone, mate.' And then, he'd disappear off into a room -ready to talk about whatever they did.

And then, about a month after the start of it all, you heard a knock on the door.

It was a normal day, where you and Lemon ate takeout and watched whatever show was on -which was often shitty. He didn't talk about Tangerine, so the conversations were more lighthearted -made you feel better.

But when you heard the door, you froze.

Lemon seemed to be looking for your reaction, brown eyes darting all over your face. And for a moment, you were relieved that he was okay but then your face settled into something strained.

You told him you loved him and he ran away. You didn't think it could get much worse than rejection, but it did.

Lemon took the look as a sign to gently rub your shoulder, comforting, before standing up and heading to the door.

Deciding to focus on the TV and eat, you did so. You only flinched when he swung open the door, and in quiet whispers, you heard his voice again. It felt like your whole world was crumbling, you thought you were ready for this -the rejection. But you still loved him so much-

You blinked away tears, determined not to let him see you cry. You wouldn't accept pity, not from him.

You knew his footfall, knew exactly where he stopped behind the couch and you even felt his hand come to clutch it right by your head. You ignored him.

"Y/N," he started and his voice seemed a little wrecked.

Not knowing entirely why (or maybe knowing exactly), you turned to meet him.

Tangerine was disheveled, hair messy like he'd been running his hand through it for days -which you knew he did when he was nervous, and his new suit messy. He did look a little like he'd been in a bar fight, and won. You also knew he did that when he needed some stress relief.

Was that why he was here? For refuge?

"I-"

You abruptly stood up, food falling from your lap, and somehow safely onto the couch, "I'm too tired for this."

Tangerine looked at you for a moment, and you thought it was a little desperate but you smushed the idea without hesitation.

This time, you were the one to run away from him.

You found immediate solace in your room, slinking against the door and breathing so quickly -your eyes fogged up. Needing something to do, you decided to unpack your bag.

Unwillingly, you heard a mutter of voices, and even Lemon's footfall as he disappeared into his room. Tangerine took a bit longer, but when you heard the door shut, you let out a long sigh of relief. Not tonight.

Before you could finish with your clothes though, you heard his steps again -slow and hesitant. You thought for a second that maybe he was leaving again, and something in your stomach twisted.

Instead, though, all you hear was them booming closer. You stilled.

You had the off thought to run over and lock it, but it was too late then. The door opened slowly like he wasn't sure if you were asleep. And you chastised yourself for not thinking of that.

When he opened it all the way, his eyes landed squarely on you. You waited for him to say something, anything, so you could shut him down and go to bed.

Instead, he simply extended his hand forward.

Your eyes darted to it, his hand clutching a shirt -the shirt you had shoved back into his bag. How did he even know it was different?

"Take it," he spoke, voice quiet.

"Tangerine," you countered, swallowing back the heaviness in your voice, "-that's yours."

"'S not," he explained, "-I fuckin' gave it to you."

"You let me borrow it," you clarified, tone wavering slightly, "-I'm just returning it."

"You didn't fuckin' borrow it-"

"Tangerine."

"Take the fuckin' shirt, love," he reiterated, "'s not mine anymore."

"Tangerine," you sighed out, "-can you not? It's late, and I'm tired-"

"It's your shirt," he interrupted, something in his eyes but you couldn't quite label it, "-take it, and I'll fuckin' leave you alone, yeah?"

"I'm not-" you exhaled, closing your eyes for a moment -trying to bat away the tears, the frustration, "-Tangerine, I don't want it."

"Well, I want you to fuckin' have it."

"Do you think about what I want?" you echoed, "-Ever?"

Tangerine opened his mouth, but you were on a roll now.

"I..." you laughed incredulously, looking up to stop your tears (you blinked them away), "-Tangerine, it's been a month."

He tried again, but you didn't let him.

"You. You left," you sniffled slightly, clearing your throat -prolonging the inevitable, "-Tangerine, I... I told you that I loved you and you ran away."

"Love," he started, small and barely there.

"Stop-" you swallowed, "-Don't call me that, it's not... it's not fair."

"How is it not fair?"

"You don't-" you groaned, swiping at your eyes -you were crying now, and out of the corner of your eye you saw his hand twitch (like he wanted to comfort you).

He stood in silence waiting, patient.

"Tangerine, why didn't you just tell me then?" You asked the question that bounced around your mind ever since he left.

"Fuckin' tell you what, love?"

You flinched, ever-so-slightly, at the name again -something twisting in your stomach, and squeezed your eyes shut. Breathing a big breath in through your nose, you started.

"That you don't love me," you clarified, and now your voice was shaking and your eyes were blurry, "You could've-"

Tangerine seemed to be processing something, a flicker in his eyes.

"You could've made it so much easier if you'd just-" you frustratingly wiped your eyes again, "-said that. But instead, you ran away, and all I could think about was what I had done wrong for you to-"

"You didn't do anythin' wrong."

"Then why didn't you just tell me the truth?" You practically begged, "-Why don't you tell me now? So I don't have to... So, I know."

"That's not..."

"Tangerine," he looked at you -and you but back a sob, "-I deserve the truth. Just say it. I know you're scared you'll hurt me, but I... I've survived worse."

"What makes ya think it'll hurt you?" He offered, and your heart in your chest started beating loudly -ringing in your ears.

"Because you ran away," you repeat, wiping at your eyes again, "-I think that makes the answer pretty clear."

"Y/N-"

"Just fucking reject me!" you exclaimed, not loud enough to bother neighbors but enough to bounce around the room (Lemon probably woke up to it), "-It's not that hard, Tan, you've practically done it before."

He seemed to flinch at that, grimace even, at the mention of what he'd done. You were glad he felt some kind of guilt. Still, he remained quiet.

"For the love of god, Tangerine-" you echoed out, shaky now and your heart on the floor -vulnerable, "-just say it. It's not that hard."

"I fuckin' can't," he finally answered -something bubbling up in his tone; his hands clenched by his sides -shirt still clutched between his fingers.

"Can't," you questioned, voice shaky and tears building in your eyes, "-or won't?"

"Can't," he reiterated.

"This is ridiculous, Tangerine," you whimpered -swallowing back a sob, "-you can't give me fucking peace?"

"Y/N-"

"Give me a reason," you interrupted, brash, "-give me the reason you can't reject me right here right now."

"It's not 'at fuckin' simple, love," he remarked, low in tone, but you could tell he was getting frustrated.

"Nothing ever is!" you reasoned, "-Just tell me, that's all I want."

"It's not..."

"Tangerine, please."

He swallowed, eyes dipping to yours -scanning over you with your no doubt red eyes and shaky hands. Like he was thinking, deciding on what to say. All you could see was reluctance.

He let out a big long sigh, fidgeting with his hands (and the shirt in the mix).

"Tangerine-"

"'S not how I feel."

You furrowed your brows, "What?"

"I can't..." he trailed off, eyes off you and flickering toward the ground, "-I can't reject you because it's not what I feel, love."

Your breathing halted in your chest. Heart twisting into something so complex, sad and angry and hopeful.

There's no way, he- Why the hell did he run away?

"That's not funny, Tangerine."

"It's not a fuckin' joke," he responded, eyes finally back on yours -and you tried to read them all you could.

"Stop, no," you echoed out, shaking your head, "-don't pity me, just tell me the truth-"

"I am," he reiterated.

"No you're not," you laughed incredulously, "-it makes no sense."

He pursed his lips, exhaling through his nose, "I was scared."

"That's not-" you started, before clearing your throat, "Do you not think I was scared? That I wasn't putting everything on the line to say that? I thought I was going to lose you and then I did-"

"You didn't lose me," he spoke, softer, "-you could never lose me, love."

"I did, Tan," you sniffled, "-I lost you."

"No-"

"Tangerine," you echoed, "-you left. And I thought, I thought that my best friend was gone. I thought that because I had stupid feelings I lost you. You ran away, Tan!"

"They aren't stupid," he responded and it seemed that he was deciding on whether to step closer -you took a preemptive step back.

"At least," you sighed out, voice cracking, "-at least you knew the truth, I... I didn't know shit. You could have never come back-"

"I did," he interrupted, "-I did come back, love. And I know I'm fuckin' stupid, Lemon has been drillin' it in my head for weeks. I regret walkin' out of 'at fuckin' room so much."

His eyes were shiny with tears now, as he stepped forward into your room -hands reaching forward like he'd wanted to touch you, but he stopped.

"How the hell am I supposed to believe you? What if you just-" you sniffled, "-run away again?"

"I won't," he spoke -unwavering, "-I swear on whatever fuckin' god is up there, 'at I won't do it again."

"I don't-" you whispered out, clutched at your arms.

"I never meant to hurt you, love," he echoed out, stepping closer, "-I fuckin' hate myself for doin' it. I will never fuckin' do it again."

"Tangerine, this isn't-"

"I'm fuckin' madly in love with you," he finished, laughing a little -slowly placing his hands on your arms. You didn't move away, and he seemed to smile at that, "-'ave been since we were kids, and you pulled 'at greedy shit on me."

"It wasn't greedy," you defended.

"Most certainly fuckin' was," he tsked back, moving one hand to your face -thumb wiping back and forth.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, but there was still something heavy in your stomach. Tossing like waves.

"I'm sorry," he said, finally, "-I got fuckin' scared and ran away. It wasn't fair to you, and-" his hand brushed against your cheek, "-I'd beat myself bloody senseless if I could."

You laughed at that for a moment, and his smile got a little wider.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" you asked, something clawing up your throat again.

He frowned, allowing his hand to fall to his side -sighing, "I'm a fuckin' coward, love."

You opened your mouth to say something, anything.

"You confessed to me and it was so fuckin' brave," he looked at you like you were the sun then, bright and warm, "-and I... I couldn't spit out a fuckin' word. I just went into autopilot and..."

"Ran away," you finished, swallowing.

"Yeah," he spoke, confirming, "-ran away."

Before you could hold your tongue, words slipped out, "That is pretty cowardly."

Tangerine laughed, a big one, and something in you warmed -a smile perking onto your lips.

"It is," he agreed, "-I'll give you fuckin' 'at."

And then he paused, eye flitting over you -seeming to detail all your features in his head. Tracing over your nose, your eyes, your eyebrows, your lips-

"Are we okay, love?"

It was soft and hopeful, and something in you softened -your hurt letting up just a smidge. It wasn't gone, not yet.

"Yeah, we're good," you hummed out, taking a hand and pushing a strand of hair behind his ear, "-but you have a lot to fix."

"I know," he hummed back, blue eyes soft and affectionate, "-I'll do it. Whatever you fuckin' want."

"Well," you smiled, so close to his face -merely a breath away, "-I think I've got my first idea."

"Do you?" He offered with a smirk, hands coming to hold the sides of your face.

"Yeah," you brought your hands up on top of his, "-kiss me, please."

Tangerine didn't hesitate after that, pulling you closer with the grasp of his hands -still somehow gentle. His mustache tickled your upper lip, and you laughed a little -a grin spreading along his own lips in response. And after, it was slow, languid, each press of the lips just a touch more desperate -like you were his oxygen. Fingers pressed into your skin, your head went a little fuzzy -fingers twisting around his palms.

Speaking of oxygen, you parted.

Before you could so much as say a word though, Tangerine pressed a small one to your lips -simple. You laughed a little.

And then again, and again, and again, and again-

"Tangerine-" you laughed out, "-I can't breathe."

"Fuckin' fine," he muttered, before taking a deep breath of his own.

And then the thought crossed your mind that he would leave eventually -go back to his room. Sleep. But, you had lost so much time. You didn't want him to leave yet.

"Tan?"

"Yeah, love?" He gave you all his attention, eyes focused on you.

You pursed your lips for a moment, "Will you sleep in here with me?"

Tangerine opened his mouth.

"I don't want you to leave yet," you clarified, hand loosely twisting around one of his own -held limply between the two of you.

"I don't want to leave either," he breathed out, "-ever, preferably."

You smiled, "Is that a yes then?"

"Oh," he laughed, "-love, 'at's much more than a yes."

#tangerine bullet train #bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tan's things #tangerine #tangerine bt oneshot #gn!reader

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heartcereql · 9 months

Text

shades of cool

୨୧ young!coriolanus snow x f!reader ୨୧ IN WICH Coriolanus is the person you've grown to hate and compete against. But when you and him have to work together to achieve what you want, the tables start to turn. (6.2k+ words) ୨୧ cw: cursing, a LOT of tension (yall r going to hate me for the cockblocking), probably ooc snow (acting like he's a sweetheart and not a psycho lollll), like one mention of blood?

a/n: snow lands on top (of me pls)

There were only two things that you completely and utterly despised: breaking your favorite nail and the voice of Coriolanus Snow.

"Y/n!"

You made no sign whatsoever to acknowledge the man following your across the crowd of burgundy uniforms. You just clutched your books tighter and quickened your pace.

"Hey, Y/n- wait up!" he called again.

Sighing, you stopped in your tracks and turned around to see a platinum blond running in your direction. The usual shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You put on your best effort to suppress the eye roll that was begging to be released.

"Yes?" you asked, unamused.

"I was just wondering- you seemed kind of distracted in class today." His words were sugary, almost enough to trick anyone into thinking he was truly concerned. But not you though. You had learn to identify the glint in his eyes from a mile away. "Well, just in cas you missed this-"

Before you knew it, you had an A+ graded exam shoved in your face. Making a face of disgust, you scrambled away to look at his face, expression filled with pride.

"That's great, Coriolanus, real great. Would be even greater if I had asked", you scowled, turning away while Coriolanus scoffed behind you, quickly catching up with you again as you resumed your way out.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/n! You're not the only one who's allowed to brag", he said, nudging your side.

"Clearly not. You do it all the time", you deadpanned.

"Don't be mad 'cause you weren't able to beat me. Again."

The smell of roses was too stuck in your nostrils for your liking. Sweet and inviting, but remembering who it came from made the flowers lose all their charm.

"Also, exercise three's answer was option D," he pointed out, that annoying smirk on his face again.

"What?"

"It was option D, not A."

"How did you even- Nevermind. Option A is the literal definition, care to explain how it is option D?" you argued, rolling your eyes.

"I- A's not the definition!" Coriolanus tried to rebute.

"It is. Try paying attention for once."

"It's not!" He stopped fully, leaning against a wall and opening his bag.

"What are you doing?" you raised a brow at his franctic search. Sometimes you forgot how infuriating he was.

"I'm looking for the textbook," he replied, face almost buried in his bag.

"Unbelievable," you scoffed, turning around. "You really are unfixable, Snow."

Walking away from the mess of papers he had made around him, you could hear him protest.

"Hey, don't go! I'm finding the page!"

You shook your head. The exasperation in his voice was like music to your ears.

You knew who you wanted to be from a very young age. You knew exactly what you wanted and what you had to do to achieve it. You wanted everything.

Top of your class since you were five. Student of the month every month. Class president. Winning every single award that could be won by a child under twelve years old.

You wanted to take everything from a life that had given you nothing. Like a phoenix, your mother used to say, risen from the ashes to burn in the most blazing fire. With little to no resources, your family had incredibly made it work so that they could afford a small apartment in the Capitol (if you dared call the cubicle that your family shared a house). But your family had made it. And so had you, child prodigy, wanting to rescue your poor parents and sister. Specially when your mom's frequent coughing developed into something far more serious.

You were unstoppable. Nothing in your way. Praise. Applause. Recognition. It was all in the back of your hand.

Until Coriolanus Snow appeared.

He and you were basically the same. Same drive for power, same desire to rescue your family, same overachiever character, same flawless grades. One would think you would get along, being so impossibly similar.

And perhaps you could have. You could've befriended him and helped each other. If he had not equalled you with such aptitude. Before you knew it, Y/n Y/l/n was never mentioned without Coriolanus Snow. You were no longer the only student to pass with distinction. You weren't the only clear winner, or the only candidate for class president, or weren't so easily distincted class president, for Coriolanus was your vicepresident (something that had never been a thing, that appeared as suddenly as him).

But he was fighting you for your spot. Naturally, you didn't even consider him as a potential friend. He was an obstacle in your way, as you were in his. Soon, you two were always engaged in bantering, cruel comments, trying to bring the other down by showing off your accomplishments and grades and awards and titles.

It was more than safe to say that you and Corolanius held special hatred for each other.

And then came the Plintz Prize. Both of you wanted it with equal burning ache, and gave your very best since the first day. Obviously, you weren't the only students who were interested in winning the prize, but you were the ones ready to sacrifice everything, the ones to always make the most of an opportunity, even if it was minimal.

You were so deeply convinced that you were nothing like the other.

But neither of you was willing to let anything come in your way.

"A new financial aid is going to be gifted."

The words echoed in the room as students hushedly commented, whispered to one another.

"Students will submit a proposal, individually or in pairs. A suggestion with your own design of the Hunger Games. You'll go into detail about every little thing, so that in the end, Dr Gaul will select the project she fancies more to be the winner and receive the financial aid."

You and Coriolanus shared a look from opposite sides of the room.

The prize is mine.

As per usual, you were determined to go for everything. You needed to nail this. That very same afternoon you were sat in front of your desk, scribbling down what was supposed to be the first draft to your proposal project. You'd noted some ideas, but they didn't seem to make sense altogether.

Groaning for the umpteenth time, you got up from the spot you'd been occuppying for the last two hours. Your home was no inspiration, which was why you gathered all your scattered pages and notes and made your way to the Academy's library.

There was a spot you liked there. Your spot, though only you referred to it as that, of course. A comfy chair with a green cushion on the end of a large oak table, between the shelves of Geometry books and medicine articles. Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the large window on spring afternoons, and even in the bleak winter it felt nice to look through it.

Making your way over to your spot, you could almost feel the comfort of the chair, how your thoughts would clear and start to make sense. Eyes half closed anticipating the delight. But you opened them only to find a familiar (and annoying) blond sitting in your corner.

"Move" you said as you finished your way over to him.

"What? No. I'm working. Thinking", Coriolanus answered, unbothered, without looking up from his notes and papers, some scrambled, some with big ink stains.

"I don't care. It's my spot. Move.”

He raised his head to look up at you and stopped writing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this chair had your name engraved on it,” he pettily remarked.

“Whatever,” you exhaled, plopping down on the seat next to him. “You are such a pain in the ass, you know.”

“Back at you,” he replied, eyes focused on his papers again.

You huffed and reached inside your bag to grab your notes.

Your messily written ideas were mocking you, at this point. If you thought they didn’t make much sense at home, they definitely weren’t making any now. You had so much in mind. And they were great ideas, really. But you couldn’t find a way to connect them, for them to make sense altogether. And you were missing something. Something so essential, something that you couldn’t quite place.

How will the games be watched if they’re held in the middle of a desert? Where will the cameras be?

You scrunched your paper, groaning again and dropping your head to the table.

"Something wrong?"

You lifter your head to find Coriolanus looking at you, carding a hand through his hair.

"None of your business."

"Jesus, chill out Y/n. I was just asking if you were okay.." he spoke, not in his usual bratty tone; he sounded just worried.

Your eyes widened a bit with a mix between embarrassment and shyness.

"I'm just... stressed. I'm stuck on the whole proposal thing, it just won't make any sense. I feel like it's missing something, but I just can't know what," you told him, rubbing your temples.

Coriolanus let out a breathy chuckle, to which you looked at him disbelief.

"I knew you were cruel, but laughing at my miserable state is just-"

"I'm not laughing. I'm relieved," he explained. You looked for any signs of mockery, but his eyes were truthful and soft.

"Relieved?" you frowned.

"Yeah. I-I thought I was the only one having a kind of block," he looked down to his notes and that was when you noticed the messy paragraphs the crossed ideas, the lines and arrows that tried to connect everything.

You gave Coriolanus a tight-lipped smile. He was right. It was somewhat relieving to know that your only real threat was having a hard time like you were.

"Hey, I've got an idea."

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Oh hell no. No idea Coriolanus could want to share with you would turn out great.

"Shoot"

"I think we should partner up for the project," he bluntly said.

"Pardon?" you asked raising your brows. You really thought that you hadn't heard him correctly.

"Yeah, I mean, think about it. We both have a lot of ideas but feel something missing. We-we could help each other out!" Coriolanus clarified, somewhat flustered. "We'd win the prize and split it. Highbottom said the proposal could be submitted by pairs. If we do this together, we'll be unstoppable."

You blinked twice, digesting his words like you couldn't believe they were real.

"I think that's the worst idea I've ever heard."

Coriolanus scoffed. "Right, because you're so well known for your good ideas."

True. Though being a straight A's, perfect student, you had a certain fire inside you that had given you a reckless and flaming reputation.

"I'm in."

You were back in the library the next day, only this time you were sitting in your spot, and Coriolanus was besides you. You had been sitting in silence for the past fifteen minutes, reading the other's anotations and doodles.

When you finished, you leaned back into you seat, stretching your neck and pushing loose strands of hair behind your ears.

"So?" Coriolanus inquired when he noticed you were done. "What do you think?"

"I'm... surprised," you told him, chin resting on your hand as you looked at him. "It's almost identical to mine."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I was noticing. I guess great minds think alike, right?"

"Could be, or you just copied me," you said. Coriolanus sneered and you saw the complains forming behind his lips, so you were quick to clarify. "I was joking, Snow. It seems we're not so different."

"Or you just copied me" he mocked, using your words from earlier.

"You wish," you smile, scoffing in a playful manner.

"Hey, what was it that you were unhappy with about your ideas? Because I think they're pretty great," Coriolanus asked, handing your notes back to you.

"They don't make sense to me. I couldn't come up with a way to connect it all," you shrugged. "Maybe we shouldn't use all of this, I don't know."

The entire day was spent between countless bickering and snacks, you and Coriolanus discussing the project and how insufferable the other was, shielded by the brimful shelves and the hushed conversations between students.

Over the next few days, your begrudging meetings with Coriolanus continued, each session marked by a mixture of tension and reluctant cooperation. The library became your unofficial battleground, the hallowed halls witnessing the clash of two strong-willed minds.

As you both settled into your usual spot once again, there was a palpable air of wariness. However, you couldn't help but notice a subtle change in Coriolanus. He seemed more open to discussion, his usually stoic facade occasionally cracking to reveal a hint of vulnerability. The topics ranged from the project at hand to personal interests, and amidst the disagreements, you discovered shared preferences and surprisingly similar perspectives.

By the first week, a sort of unspoken truce had settled between you. The bickering had mellowed into a more civilized exchange of ideas. Coriolanus, despite his initial resistance, began to respect your opinions and even admitted to finding some merit in your perspectives. You, in turn, acknowledged the sharp intellect beneath his icy exterior. Shared laughter became more frequent, often catching both of you off guard.

Throughout these encounters, the library transformed from a battlefield to a space of reluctant collaboration. Despite the lingering differences, a strange sense of partnership emerged. The once insufferable project discussions turned into an exploration of each other's intellect, and with each passing day, the library witnessed the evolution of an unexpected connection between two seemingly incompatible souls.

Your bag hit the leg of the table as you slipped in your chair, the blond taking the seat next to you. A soft thud was heard, along with something rolling. You were going to duck down to reach it, but Coriolanus was already grabbing it.

"Hey, are these yours?" Coriolanus asked, holding a bottle of pills.

Your eyes widened. Your mom's medicines. You reached inside your bag to check if the bottle you had picked up from the chemist's before school was still there. It wasn't.

"Yeah. Well- my mom's."

He handed the bottle to you, whcih you were quick to put back in your bag.

"Is she okay? Not like it's any of my business, but those pills are like one of the strongest shits ever," he frowned.

Taking a deep breath, you explained, "She's not. She hasn't been for quite a while. And the doctors don't say much, but it isn't looking good."

"I- um, I'm sorry," he stammered, looking down. "If you or her ever need anything, you know you can talk to me, right?"

You nodded, leg bouncing up and down.

"Here," he said, scribbling down something on a ripped piece of paper. "My address. If you ever need it."

"Thank you," you looked into his eyes, words barely a whisper. "I really appreciate it."

His knee bumped yours, like soothing it down, keeping it steady. "Anytime," he smiled.

You gave him an awkward smile, looking away.

The green folder, clutched tightly in your arms, contained the first draft of yours and Coriolanus' design for the Hunger Games. You both were going to introduce it to Dean Highbottom, since you needed to inform him of who formed your team and some other information. Then, he would grant the two of you an interview with Dr. Gaul.

Once, Coriolanus had referred to the folder as 'your baby'. You had given him a blank stare for a second before the two of you broke down in laughter.

Mindlessly turning around a corner, you bumped into someone's shoulder. A pair of arms caught your own, steadying you, keeping you from falling.

"Whoa, sorry-"

The folder. You quickly stepped back, freeing the folder from being crushed any further. Compulsively checking if the folder was okay, you failed to identify the pair of arms that had held you seconds before.

It was okay. Your baby was okay.

"So sorry, I- Coriolanus?" you asked as you finally lifted your gaze. "I thought you were coming by later?"

"Couldn't wait. I was actually looking for you. I just saw Dean Highbottom enter his office. Campus is pretty deserted, so I'd say we could be the first ones."

A soft smile graced his face.

"Shall we then?" you posed the courtsy question playfully.

"We shall"

The two of you made your way to the Dean's office, gushing about the project like two schoolgirls. Grades and rivalry were not brought up once. Perhaps just because you wanted the day to be perfect.

After knocking on Dean Highbottom's door and hearing a 'come in', Coriolanus opened the door and both of you came in.

"Look who it is! Snow and Y/l/n. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes", the Dean greeted you.

Coriolanus and you shared a glance before giving the Dean a polite smile.

"Are you here about the project?"

"We are," you answered, gesturing to the green folder in your hands.

"As in the two of you are submitting the proposal together?" the bearded man asked, raising his eyebrows. When Coriolanus nodded, he let out a chuckle. "I thought I wouldn't live to see the day."

You offered an awkward smile as you and the blond sat in the seats before the Dean's desk. You silently handed him your folder. After opening it and browsing through the various concepts and sketches, Dean Highbottom closed the folder, tapping his figertips against it.

Nervousness gnawed your insides, your leg bouncing up and down in anxiety. You hadn't even noticed this, too caught up into thinking the absolute worst of the situation; until you felt a knee- his knee- press into yours. Suddenly very aware of what was happening outside your mind, you blinked once, as to come back into reality, and then again, swifting your eyes to Coriolanus besides you.

For a moment, just a moment, you saw only a pair of eyes that guaranteed comfort peering into yours, crowned by the softests of golden curls. And then you saw the snarky comments, the whole usurping-your-place scheme, the perfect grades and the annoyingly pitched voice. The smile froze on your lips. Fuck.

"So," the Dean's voice broke the silence. "Are you two dating yet? Because it would really benefit you"

Both your head and his snapped into the Dean's direction.

"Pardon?!"

"What?"

Two pairs of eyes now looked wide and with a mix of disbelief and annoyance at the Dean.

"I take it you're not." No shit.

You were still too astounded to speak. What did he mean yet? He was your proffesor. He should, must, know that everything between the two of you is rivalry. Right?

"What, um, what did you mean it would benefit us?" Coriolanus asked, his voice as thin as thread.

"Well I eyed your proposal. And it's good. More than good. It has a lot of potential. But Volumnia Gaul loves one thing more than her creations. Gossip. Drama. If she hears the two of you are dating, she'll make you the Capitol's power couple. She'll give you a story. You will become her favourites. If you want to win at all costs, I'm just giving you a shortcut." He stared at the pair in front of him."But, overall, you've done a great work. I'll leave you to ponder it and I'll alert you when Dr Gaul is ready to see you."

You nodded, as Coriolanus and you mumbled 'thank you's and 'goodbye's and 'have a nice day's before leaving the office.

Campus wasn't very crowded yet; only a couple of students could be seen lurking around. The morning still preserved its coldness, dew remained on the grass.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you started walking, the blond boy quick to catch up.

You hated how you got caught up in this mess. All because you and him needed help. And because he and you were the only answer to the other's problem.

"Y/n?" Coriolanus spoke softly. "How do you feel... about what the Dean said?"

Sighing, you replied, "I just don't know. I mean, this was all crazy before but now? I'm confused, I guess."

"Don't you think it can help us even more?" he frowned.

"But we don't need any more help. We joined forces, no one can beat us, there's no need for us to-"

"I know we can do it without Gaul's help. But it’s one thing to win this aid, and another thing to become Gaul’s favourites. Do you realise how many doors she could open for us?” Coriolanus had stopped both of you now, his body blocking your way, hands in your shoulders, eyes fixed on yours.

“C’mon, Y/n, it’s just pretending,” he pleaded. “Plus, we’re in this to help each other out, right?”

A warm smile spread over his lips, one that only encouraged you and painted a smile of your own on your mouth.

“Fine. We’ll do this lunatic shit. Since you’re not able to reach my level without my help,” you teased, moving past him and resuming your way.

“Sure, Y/n. Whatever makes you sleep at night!” you heard Snow shout behind you.

You just gave him the finger, biting back a smile as you walked away.

The news spread like wildfire through the campus. The dean's offhand comment had ignited a storm of speculation and gossip. As you navigated through the university halls, it was impossible to ignore the curious glances and hushed conversations that followed you.

The library, once your sanctuary of academic warfare, now became the epicenter of buzzing rumors. Students stole glances at you and Coriolanus, whispering behind cupped hands as you pretended not to notice. The atmosphere had shifted, and your every move seemed to be scrutinized under an invisible magnifying glass.

Your next meeting at the library felt different. The air was thick with unspoken words, and the weight of the rumors hung in the room. As you both delved into your project, the tension was palpable. Every accidental touch or shared smile now carried an added layer of significance.

By the third week, the rumors had taken a life of their own. The once reluctant collaboration now felt like an uncomfortable alliance, forged not just for academic success but to navigate the newfound attention. Your life, once a sheltering and private, now felt like a fishbowl.

The doors that led to Gaul's lab appeared impossibly big. You let out a shaky breath, one you didn't know you were holding. Bouncing your leg usually was how you showed your nerves, but, since you were standing, you settled with just a trembling pinky finger.

Cold fingers were wrapping around your hand before you knew it.

"What are you doing?" you turned to Coriolanus.

"Gaul's no fool. We have to put on our best efforts to make her believe we are together. You have to help, too. And your hands were shaking," he shrugged.

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed his words and leaned further into his arm, clinging to him like a good girlfriend would.

As if on cue, the door swung open, revealing brown and blue eyes shooting a daring look. The woman’s face was instantly lit up with a smirk.

“Coriolanus Snow and Y/n Y/l/n. The sweethearts Dean Highbottom has told me so much about,” Volumnia Gaul greeted the both of you. “Please, come inside.”

She stepped aside to let you in. The ceiling seemed to be miles away from the floor. White, ivory columns welcomed you, glass cabinets displaying all sorts of weird creatures and experiments.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Gaul commented behind you.

There was just something so... unsettling about her, something you couldn't quite place but that was ticking you off

It's for the better.

That had been your mantra for the past few days. The end justifies the means. You kept telling yourself that you didn't want this, that you were only doing this for convinience. But lately you hadn't really been feeling that way. Not when you were sitting right next to him, laughing mere seconds ago, his eyes staring into yours, not trying to intimidate you but more in an attentive way.

He thought you looked so delicate and alluring. You did often, as of late. There were a few stray strands of hair that hid your dashing smile from Coriolanus. A smile he had so recently grown so fond of.

He just couldn't resist the urge to tuck them behind your ear; his fingers a soft caress against your skin. And so he did.

His touch was feather-like, as if you were a porcelain doll that was about to break. At the sudden contact, you shifted your gaze from the papers on the table to look at him. And, god, you almost wish you hadn’t. Because he looked otherworldly just sitting there besides you, hand behind your ear, lips parted slightly, dangerously close to you.

“Your hair was getting in your eye,” he mumbled.

The proximity was going to kill you. He was invading all of your senses. And you hated it. You hated it because this wasn’t even real. It was just supposed to help you with Gaul, nothing more. You hated it because it didn’t feel that way. You hated it because this was not the Coriolanus you knew; not the Coriolanus you chose to know.

“Thanks,” you breathed.

You were scared. As pure and simple as that. This was uncharted territory for you; you had never seen this part of him. It frightened you because you were losing control over your emotions.

"Coryo..."

He was convinced you were goingo to give into his desires. You were convinced for a moment, too. But then it occurred to you that this wasn't supposed to be real. That whatever you had between you both was just a scheme. That he was just joking.

"What did you score on the last biology exam?"

You mentally cursed yourself as soon as the words left your mouth. You felt yourself involuntarily slipping away from his touch.

“100%,” he responded, frowning. “Why?”

“Guess all these time around me wasn’t enough. I got 102%,” you smiled, trying to sound (hoping to sound) less awkward than you sounded in your head.

“How’s that even possible? I thought there were no extra exercises.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat before continuing. “I detailed every answer more than it was needed, so.”

“Oh. Well, congrats.” His lips were pressed into a thin line that he tried to transform into a smile, but ended up just contorting his face.

You looked at the papers before you, laying in a mess on the table, surrounded by pencils, sticky notes and highlighters. Then your eyes peered at the window besides your spot. The sun was setting behind the Capitol’s skyline, painting golden and rosy hues over the library. It was getting late.

“I- I think I should go. I’d better go home before it darkens.”

Coriolanus nodded. "Cool. I'm gonna get going too."

You bit your lip as you stood up, gathering your work. Not another word was uttered until you noticed the librarian peering over at you from behind some shelves, and students at the end of the aisle were turning their heads to you.

Perks of being Gaul’s favourite couple, you supposed.

You leaned to Coriolanus’ level again, pulling him into a side hug as you whispered in his ear.

“They’re looking.”

And then, you pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked out.

Too overwhelmed thinking about that moment with Coriolanus, you missed the way his eyes stayed on you until you left the library, and the way his fingers lingered on the part of his forehead that had been in touch with your lips.

The thought of him plagued your mind as you made your way home. Not even the biting cold of the evening could take the warmth spreading over your cheeks. What was going on with you? He was the guy you hated, you used to hate, the one that was trying to take over your spot.

But your attempts to convince yourself were vain. Because you no longer felt raging hate when you thought of Coriolanus. You couldn't excatly pin what it was, but it was definitely not hatred.

Reaching inside you bag for the key of your family apartment, you sighed, as if that was going to clear and sort out your messy feelings. Yet you didn't even need to open the door, for it was opened swiftly in front of you.

"Y/n!" your father pulled you in. The frown between his brows, the worry reflected in his eyes, the way he held you. Something was not right.

"Dad, what's wrong? I-"

"It's your mom, she- she started to cough so much blood. She's unconscious now, I- I was just about to take her to the hospital."

"Oh my God." Tears stung in your eyes. You knew she was bad, worse than she'd ever been, but this was far from what the doctors had informed you about. "Shit, where's Deena?"

"Your sister's staying over at a friend's. Is there anyone who can take you for the night? Someone who knew about your mother, if it makes you more comfortable?" he asked, rubbing your arm.

Coriolanus. You hated that he was the first person to come to mind, but the truth was thas this project had swept you up from practically every other aspect of your life. You hadn't seen your best friends much, since they were also focused on their projects. Most of your time had been spent with Coriolanus. And you didn't know how to feel about that. Disgusted, you supposed. But that didn't quite match the tugging in your chest whenever you met him at the library, or the calmness that took over you when his knee pressed into your anxiously bouncing one.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," you nodded, blinking the tears away, though they slid down your cheeks anyway.

"Good. I don't think it'd be good for you to be alone right now."

You hurriedly packed your essentIals and some extra clothes, making your way to the door. You held it open for your dad as he carried your mother.

"I'll see you soon. Be safe, Y/n," he whispered.

"You too, Dad."

You tried your hardest not to break down as you saw your father making his way to the doctor's with your mom in his arms.

But once he was out of sight, you rushed out of the filthy apartment building. As you ran through the Capitol's streets, you remembered the now wrinkled paper that he had written his address on.

"Here. My address. If you ever need it."

It sat scrunched in your coat's pocket. You kept running as your trembling hands unfolded it, and quickened your pace once you'd read the address.

You arrived at his door short of breath, cheeks reddened from the effort, tears dried from the wind. Your knuckles softly knocked at his door.

Mess. You felt like a mess. Everything you had known to this day seemed to have completely flipped around, changing everything all of a sudden. Your mind was a tangled, impossible knot of thoughts and feelings and emotions that were constantly contradicting each other.

A blonde girl opened the front door. To your blurry eyes, she looked like an angel.

"Can I help you?" she kindly prompted, a concerned frown appearing in between her brows.

"Yeah- I'm looking for Coriolanus?" you said, voice on the point of breaking.

"Come in, he'll be right here," the woman spoke, stepping aside so you could come in and closing the door right after. She sat you down on an armchair, her touch gentle and tender. "Coryo! Someone's here for you."

As soon as the words left her mouth, you heard footsteps tumbling down the hallway and into the entrance. The instant his eyes met yours, he put everything else aside. His sole focus was you. The red around your eyes, eyelashes glinting from the recent caress of tears, shaky hands, bottom lip between your teeth, and your leg bouncing up and down almost uncontrollably.

He wanted to hold you forever. Take you in his arms like you were a fragile flower, yet the most fierce of them all. Rivalry long forgotten and buried, mean comments and hurtful offenses forgiven without a second thought. He saw Y/n. Not perfect grades, not snarky remarks, not an opponent. Just Y/n. Sweet, sweet, Y/n.

And you didn't see Coriolanus Snow. The blond standing in front of you now was not the one you'd been fighting for the better part of your teenage years, even before. He was not the one competing against you. Who was him then, if not the Coriolanus Snow you had known all your life?

Coryo.

"Y/n, hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked, voice surprisingly soft, even for his cousin. He crouched down, placing a cold, calming hand on your fidgety leg.

You could feel the tears welling up again, because he was there for you.

“I… I’m going to head out,” the woman said. “I’ll be back in a while.”

Coriolanus muttered a goodbye and then she was gone. And as soon as she was, you broke down.

Burying your head in your hands, tears burnt past your eyes, flowing now freely. All that could be heard were your heavy, shaky breaths. His hand on your back, tracing small circles, made you pull your head up.

Fuck, why were you even here?

"Y/n?"

"It's my mom." You tried to dry your cheeks, only for tears to fall down again. "She-she lost consciousness. The doctors didn't even say she was that bad. And I.. I just arrived there and there was nothing I could do-" your voice broke before you could finish the sentence.

He instantly pulled you into a hug, your head hidden in the crook of his neck, arms around it. One of his hands was wrapped around your torso, safely drawing you to him, while the other was tangled in your hair.

"I am so, so, sorry," he whispered, breath tickling your ear. You only clinged to him tighter; the only thing on your mind other than your mother right then was how warm and guarded you felt in his arms.

When you finally retracted to look at him, you found your body almost leaning into him again, yearning for his embrace. You inhaled sharply.

"I'm by your side no matter what, okay?" he assured you, eyes piercing yours, hands sliding up your figure to cup your face. "I'm here for you."

You did your best to gather yourself and nod at his words. But then you felt him pulling away in the slightest. No. You wanted him close. You wanted him.

You rose a hand to his neck, fingers dancing along his skin, messing with the blond curls they could reach.

"Hey, Y/n," Coriolanus called out. "She's going to make it. She'll be okay. And so will you."

A knot formed in your throat, the prequel to infinite tears, because who was him and what was he doing to your heart?

Whatever prejudice or thought you had against him was blurrying in your mind. The person he was supposed to represent in your head was further and further from the one barely inches away from you now. And then it hit you. Right then, right there. It didn't scare you. You wanted to know this person. You wanted to give the both of you a second consideration under different lightning.

And so, you closed the gap between Coriolanus and you, as he had tried and wanted so bad to do mere hours before. His lips were warm, contrary to every other part of his body you had ever been in contact with.

For a fraction of second, he hesitated, frozen in his spot, convincing himself that this was happening, that this was real, that you were real. But once he kissed back, he just couldn't let you go.

His hands were suddenly everywhere, exploring your body and drawing you to him as he kissed you, all the desire and passion (and even the resentment, too) poured into the kiss. Coriolanus wanted to make you feel okay. Not just now. But 'now' would have to do as of that moment. And if this was how you wanted the pain to go away, so be it. Fingers digging in your hips made you leave out a mixture of a gasp and a moan, which Coriolanus used to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Everthing he did got you addicted, craving more.

You had both been sitting on the floor, but now you were climbing into his lap, pulling away for the smallest of seconds, but either way Coriolanus was quick to reunite your lips again. Your mouths danced together. Your sking tingled pleasantly under his touch; a constant fire travelling beneath his fingers. But when his hand raised to your cheek, checking for the trace of any new tears. It was simply enough to melt you on the spot.

Tugging at his hair, you angled his face to leave a trace of open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. His groan reverberated through your skin.

The pain was buried somewhere in your mind, but your heart didn’t ache in that moment; he was all your senses were taking in. And you felt safe.

#heartcereql #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you

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merbear25 · 2 months

Text

Growing up with them (Kid, Law, Buggy, Caesar)

There are so many avenues for this fun ‘what if’ scenario. It’s not possible to have befriended all of them, so why not add a few extra possibilities? They were your neighbor, so there were only a few ways your relationship could go.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, headcanons/scenarios, some fluff, ‘neighbor’s kid’ vibes, slightly humorous tone, AU territory so some speculation has been applied, spoilers for Dressrosa(?)

Kid: feral child, feral child! No one can tell me that he wasn’t the wildest child when he was growing up.

He was sucked into his hobbies involving building and metal. He loved roughhousing, backyard wrestling, cookouts, and swimming pools. Summer was his favorite season growing up because it gave him every excuse to do whatever he wanted, and no one had the right to tell him he shouldn’t.

Water soakers, playing ball in the house and inevitably breaking something, sharing scary stories around the campfire, and probably sent to summer camp so his parents could have a break: these are the vibes I get when I think of his childhood.

Being friends: you had to meet his freak because he wasn’t going to slow down.

He wanted to explore, so being the adventurous type would bode nicely for your friendship.

You’d spend some days down by the lake catching frogs only to set them free shortly after. He was very much interested in building all sorts of things, so you’d help him gather materials, which often left you venturing out to strange places.

He threw the classic “What are you? Chicken?” at you when you weren’t as gung-ho as he was about anything.

As reckless as he could be, he’d do well with a friend who could be the voice of reason, helping guide him when he was too in the zone to see the reality of the situation.

He’d argue with you, get mad even. This boy’s stubbornness wasn’t going to allow you to talk him out of something if he had his heart set on it. He was either going to listen to you or he was going to have to learn the hard way.

Hope you didn’t tell him “I told you” for your own sake.

This hot-headed boy could be a handful, making it hard to avoid arguments at times. Being of the same temperament would make blow-ups a recurring issue.

That being said, you were still children and most likely got heated over things like “which character would win in a fight” or about who rightfully won your card game.

Even if he was always on the move and doing something, I could see him enjoying something calmer like catching fireflies. You could take the jars you captured them in to your secret hideout where you’d camp out for the night.

He played rough though, so if you ever agreed to wrestling, there was a slim chance of you making it out without some sort of injury.

Uninterested in you: you were a bore to him. There was no sugar coating it.

Even from the few interactions you had, those were enough for both of you to realize that you didn’t want to bother.

Having similar hobbies helps a lot when building friendships, especially when it comes to children. However, I can’t say that this would be the main reason for him not being friends with someone. I could see it being boiled down to more of a personality issue.

You couldn’t really find common ground, not that he was really looking for any.

He never got why you liked some of the things you did, and you felt the same about him.

You viewed the other as weird and tried your best to ignore each other. That was easier said than done with someone like him, though.

An enemy/competition: he’s competitive, he’s aggressive, and the fact that you were just as good if not better than him made his blood boil.

You pushed his buttons and even when he screamed at you, you kept pushing. But, he was going to show you that he was no one to mess with.

Using the knowledge he’d gained from tinkering with various objects, he set up a few pranks. Some were a tad cruel because he wanted to humiliate you.

Even if you saw yourselves as enemies, he had mixed feelings when one of his pranks made you cry. Depending on a lot of factors, he may send you anonymous sweets (cookies, chocolate, or candies) to make you feel a smidge better.

When you were back on your feet, you both kept your competition under more control, though there were times you were both tempted to cross that line again.

Law: a tough cookie to crack and even more so after escaping from his home country. I tried to take into account his personality before and after that incident.

He was very determined academically, part of which was to make his parents proud but the other was from his own genuine interest. Dedicating time to studying, enjoying sitting outside while reading, and could get irritated easily when his routine was disrupted: he appreciated a sense of calmness and balance but still had moments when he’d lose his temper.

There weren’t many who went out of their way to befriend him because of his unique hobbies, so that made him more of a loner. That wasn’t anything to be sad about in his opinion. He enjoyed his alone time and the few people he hung around were cherished.

Being friends: you mostly likely approached him, to which he was standoffish for quite a while.

With all his staring at you, observing your habits and quirks, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being looked at under a microscope.

It was his way of building up the confidence to hold a decent conversation with you. Once getting a good enough read on you, he’d be much more open to chatting. You’d feel a little less like a stranger even before you began talking to each other.

Being attentive would be appreciated, but he wouldn’t really care too much if his friend was clumsy or careless from time to time. As long as you were kind-hearted, he could overlook those small flaws rather easily.

Although being a nerd wouldn’t be a necessity by any means, it would be fun for him to geek out with someone over Germa 66.

Let’s say you were a big fan of them like he was.

His eyes lit up when you first mentioned it and he ran to show you his favorite merchandise. You’d play with the action figures together, probably draw them while sitting quietly, and then ooh and aah over each other’s art saying what you liked most about their drawings.

Now, let’s say you weren’t a fan of them.

He wouldn’t bring them up unless you asked about it. Maybe you made a comment on one of his figurines, for example. Despite wanting to go on and on about them, he picked up on your body language and sensed it wasn’t your thing. That was fine with him, though. It wasn’t his only hobby, after all.

Even though he was far from the type to take risks and would most likely protest against any dangerous activities (i.e. baking and/or cooking without parental supervision), he really needed someone to push him out of his comfort zone. The little nudges from someone he came to trust were more helpful than he ever realized.

Neither friend nor foe: he was cautious of you for a little while, trying to gauge what your deal was before ultimately deciding he didn’t really want to engage with you.

Perhaps you were too brash for him. He wasn’t a scaredy cat, but he was extremely cautious, meaning being friends with someone who was too reckless would stress him out and probably make him feel like a babysitter.

You may be too quiet. He could be pretty quiet himself, but trying to befriend someone who was even more soft spoken could present some challenges.

Maybe you were far too unpredictable. He enjoyed order and normalcy, which would mean being around someone who spoke and/or acted before thinking would have him practically breaking out in hives.

At best, he avoided you and let you do whatever it was you were doing.

At worst, he shot glares at you whenever you crossed the line.

All in all, he tried not to involve himself in your life too much.

An enemy: there were so few people who lit a fire under him to be viewed as competition, so you most likely took the enemy title.

The easiest way to have made an enemy out of him would be upsetting his little sister. He was a protective big brother. They fought like any other siblings, sure, but he never tolerated others treating her like that.

He’d be on you like a hawk at that point. So much as breathe in the wrong direction and he’d be there to scare you straight.

Intimidation would be his strongest weapon—vaguely threatening you with his knowledge of human anatomy and the least frequented places where you lived.

If you just came after him and disregarded his sister, it’d take a bit longer for him to deem you as a full blown enemy. He’d simply hate you for the longest time until you just pushed a sore spot that sent him over the edge—giving you nightmares at the very least.

Buggy: How patient are you? Because he’d be throwing you curveballs no matter the relationship you two had.

He was known as the loud kid and class clown. He wanted so much attention which made it hard for others to ignore him. There were a lot of mixed feelings about him, especially in the neighborhood.

Was the kid who sent out invites to his birthday to every single kid in class, in the neighborhood, and at the corner store just to have a few show up to his party. He kept his head high, even if it was getting to him.

Being friends: it wasn’t hard getting him to talk to you. Hell, it wasn’t even that difficult to get him to hang out, but he was very wishy-washy with his interactions.

He never failed to put himself out there. You couldn’t help but think that was endearing.

I can’t necessarily see him having been partial to his friend being introverted, ambivert, or extroverted. A friend was a friend, and so long as they treated him well, that type of stuff wasn’t of any importance.

However, it would be a must for you to have a sense of humor. There was no way around that. He wanted to laugh and make you laugh, so someone who was the more serious type perhaps would have made things much too difficult.

Though he put up a good front, making people think he was some tough guy, he was super soft and squishy on the inside—really just needing someone to be vulnerable around. That was something he could find in you. Though it took what felt like ages to get to that point, it was all worth it.

Sleepovers were a massive thing for him. Your parents liked him, albeit thinking he was just a tad odd, but were happy that you had made a friend nonetheless.

There were tons of games you’d play together which tended to involve forts: pillow, blanket, and cardboard mostly. When you played pirates, he insisted on being the captain. Despite his confidence in leading you and your crew of stuffed animals, you ended up having to take control on most missions.

Even when you thought you were having a good time hanging out with him, he had a tendency to leave suddenly, most of the time making up an obvious lie. When you tried talking to him about it, he was often dismissive and just wanted to forget about it.

You weren’t sure how to take that. It kinda hurt. You quickly understood not to take those moments to heart and just boiled it down to Buggy just being Buggy. Even if that were the case, you hoped he would eventually lower those walls—one day.

Weird in between: You caught him peeking over your fence and popping back down. He wanted more friends, but he wasn’t confident.

He couldn’t gauge you, couldn’t figure out who you were exactly and the way you carried yourself made him want to keep his distance.

As hard it was for others to ignore him, it was almost just as difficult for him to do the same to them. He was always aware of everyone, or at the very least, he checked them out before deciding if they were worth the trouble.

Even if you were indifferent towards him, he’d try his darndest to get on your good side. If he didn’t care for you all that much, he’d wait to throw it in your face before you ever had the chance to humiliate him.

You didn’t know what his deal was, and to be fair he didn’t know what his was either which led to him being so hot and cold with you.

He tried just ignoring you, but when he heard you laughing and having a generally good time with the other kids, he couldn’t help himself. He was curious and eavesdropped on your conversations, wondering why he wasn’t a part of the fun.

Him needing to best you: maybe you didn’t hate each other. Perhaps at the most you strongly disliked the other. Either way he wanted to prove how much better he was.

Buggy was all over the place. He’d try insulting you, challenging you, but then if you took him up on it, he’d increase the gap between you.

He was never short of excuses as to why he couldn’t keep to his own challenges against you. When you eventually went home after realizing he wasn’t showing up yet again, he twisted it into making it seem like you chickened out.

It was hard for you to see him as an enemy because of how void of seriousness he was. He had days when he thought you were mortal enemies, followed by days he thought you were cool with him, but then right back to being wary of you.

Caesar: Hope that you are just as unhinged as he is, otherwise you were in for a rough childhood. His voice would carry through the streets, alerting the entire neighborhood that he was up to something—none of it good.

Whenever you looked out your window or passed by his house, there would be smoke, sudden loud noises (mostly bangs and explosions), or possibly a strange faint odor that made you think twice before asking about.

Generally speaking, I imagine him having been far more reckless with experiments and even when regarding the manipulative side to his personality. Not necessarily feral but just more brash.

Being friends: you’d have to keep up with him otherwise he’d just think you were dragging him down.

Being adventurous would go a long way with him. He wouldn’t have much patience for someone being overly cautious to the point they were practically a scaredy cat.

That being said, he’d need a friend who was the voice of reason during his more reckless moments. Sure, you got an eye roll and huff for “not being fun” but you gave a sense of balance.

You’d earn bonus points if you were just as into the macabre as he was—pushing the limits could get rather…messy, after all. You could be his assistant all you liked but being a partner in crime would be the cherry on top.

He’d never admit it, but he got scared easily. However, this was reserved for when he felt in danger.

If you were brave, he would hide behind you, putting his faith in you that you’d chase off whatever he was afraid of. If you weren’t brave, self-preservation would more than likely take over, and he’d shamelessly leave you behind—desperate to distance himself from the posing threat.

He’s competitive. He’s also a narcissist. Because of these qualities, I’d argue that being interested in science could go either in or against your favor.

In your favor: you didn’t try to upstage him, especially if you turned out to be wrong because you’d just end up getting on his nerves in that case. Being into another field of science might make it a bit easier because he could feel like he out-shined you. Plus, it could be more fun pairing your expertise with his to create ungodly creations. If you were right about and/or better at something, you didn’t rub it in—you were humble even if he wasn’t. Otherwise his ego would take a few hits, making him pout and want to get back at you.

Against your favor: You were more clever in certain ways on top of being competitive. I think he’d enjoy some competition with a friend but only to an extent because eventually it’d turn into a rivalry.

Everyone in the neighborhood would loathe you and forbid their children from interacting with you for a multitude of reasons: potential harm, corrupting their ‘little angels’, and you two being bad eggs to name a few.

Your parents would probably try forbidding you from hanging out with him, believing he was nothing but a bad influence on you. Although they may have had a point, that didn’t stop you.

And you are…?: you were just kinda there in a sense—not interesting enough for him to have engaged with or irritating enough to have humiliated.

Maybe there were times you tried talking to him but due to your approach, he deemed you as unworthy of his presence.

Maybe he just didn’t like you for no reason in particular: being viewed as unspecial, one that blended too much into the crowd, and overall lackluster—not even being worthy of recognition as, well, anyone.

You kept your distance once you noticed others, whom he saw as mere pawns, had horrific “accidents”.

An enemy/competition: you rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

Whether you’d intended it or not, you wormed your way into his mind and refused to let go of the hold you had.

He had the same effect on you, making rivals of each other quickly and eventually full blown enemies.

The easiest way for you to have done this was either besting him at chemistry or generally being far too clever for your own good, making him feel shown up in one way or another.

He didn’t just want to be the best, he needed to be. Meeting someone who could beat him at his own game was infuriating and fueled his desire to tear you down. There were times when he succeeded, but there were also plenty when you were triumphant.

No matter how much you may have disliked or even hated each other, you gave the other the incentive to keep pushing and bettering yourselves like no one else had.

Thanks to your childhood rivalry and constant pushing, you both had unknowingly set the other up for success in their careers. I guess you should thank each other…not that you ever would, though.

157 notes · View notes

not-neverland06 · 3 months

Text

Frayed Wires

One Shot Connor RK800 x fem!android reader Summary: You’re fighting for the freedom of your people and trying to win a war. But the hunter tracking you and your friends down is getting in the way, and he seems to be oddly interested in you.

“Is this all of it?” You questioned, going through the packages of blue blood. It didn’t seem like enough for just you, Simon and North. Let alone the rest of Jericho.

Markus shook his head. He flipped the lid off a crate and cussed, tossing it to the side. “Someone’s betrayed us.” You and North both glanced up at the same time, sharing a confused look before you walked towards him.

You glanced inside the crate, there were empty slots where spare parts should be. In their place was a note, quickly scribbled that only said Sorry.

“Fuck,” you kicked at the crate, glancing around the storage room. Simon and Josh were flipping the lids off the rest and shaking their heads in dissapointment. You wondered if there was ever actually anything in them.

North seethed, “This is what happens when we trust humans.” She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head.

You glanced over your shoulder at her. You hated to agree, to feed further into her violence, but she was right. You’d all told Markus dealing with “allies” for supply runs would be stupid.

Even Josh had agreed with North, and that was rare.

North started laying into Markus, hands in the air and shouting about using critical thinking skills. You frowned, creeping towards the door and listening out towards the hallway.

On the first floor you could hear one very clear voice. “We’re looking for a group of deviants. Two pleasure models, a…”

You didn’t stay to listen, tuning into the private channel the rebels kept open. They’re coming.

Markus and North quieted instantly. Their static voices ringing through your mainframe as you communicated silently. Are you sure? Markus was staring over North’s shoulder at you.

You nodded, The Lieutenant and the deviant hunter. First floor. We have time.

How do we get past them? North questioned. There was only one exit out of this room and one fire exit down the hall. Unless you were all willing to drop down seven flights and damage your hardware, you were screwed.

Your fists clenched at your sides as you ran through all the possible escape routes. You computed what must have been a dozen different paths, all of them ended with you caught or deactivated.

I’ll distract them

No! Markus cut you off instantly, head shaking and glaring at you.

You ignored him and looked to the others. I draw their attention, you get back to Jericho, tell them what happened. I have a better chance of getting away if I’m on my own, anyway.

North nodded slowly, hand wrapping around Markus’ bicep while the others grouped around him. They all knew casualties were to be expected. Sacrifices were meant to be made when you were doing what you were.

It seemed Markus was the only one still disillusioned to that fact. Did it suck that you were probably about to die? Yes. It really did. You’d just gotten your first taste of freedom. But you’d be willing to give that up tenfold if it meant freedom for the rest of your people.

Your gun, North. You ordered. She didn’t say anything, a solemn look on her face as she placed it in your hand. The others gave you grateful looks. They knew it wasn’t for the cops. Worst came to worst and it was meant for you. You could never risk letting them get their hands on your memories.

You didn’t stay to argue with Markus, you could already hear the police making their way through the floors. The hunter was knocking on different storage rooms, “Detroit police. Open up!”

He didn’t know which floor you were on yet. You had enough time. You might be able to make it out.

You ran through the door, darting down the stairs, slamming your boots down loud enough to draw their attention. “Hey, a gruff voice called out on the fourth floor. “You hear that?”

“They’re getting away!” You made it to the second floor before you heard footsteps racing after yours on the stairwell. You couldn’t go too fast yet, you had to be really careful about this. If you ran off too soon, their attention might be drawn back to the others. Let them get too close and he would latch on, probe your memories before you could shoot either him or yourself.

His footsteps rang out on the metal of the stairs. He was nearly on top of you now. You just barely let his fingers graze the back of your jacket before you were bursting out the side door of the building and into the connecting alley.

You listened to the door slam close behind you and took a moment to scan your surroundings. You could run into the street, chances are you’d get hit by a car before they could grab you. But their attention would also be drawn to the group of suspiciously nervous androids across the street.

Your friends were all herded around each other, heads darting every which way as the looked for you and the cops. Their clothes and demeanors stood out harshly against the calm pedestrians around them.

Dammit, they couldn’t have thought of anything better than attempting to blend in with the crowd?

Markus finally spotted you and his eyes narrowed. The connection was crackly but you could make out his clear command to Cross the street, come to us. You ripped your gaze away from a him and shook your head.

I would never make it, you cut the connection off before he could argue with you further. You heard the detectives at the door of the alley and quickly slid a trash can in front of the door. It wouldn’t last long, the deviant hunter was strong, in a couple seconds he would be knocking the door down. You panicked, glancing around once more for an escape plan.

Down the alley your eye was snagged by a fire escape. The door behind you started to crack and the garbage can shot across the alley. You planned your escape and triggered your program, moving on autopilot towards the fire escape. You leapt off the dumpster and latched onto the bottom rung off the ladder.

You kicked the dumpster out from under you just as the hunter made it into the alleyway. Another delay he’d have to deal with before he could get you.

You flew up the ladder and onto the connecting roof. You didn’t stay to watch if he followed, you could hear him. Could practically feel his determination as he chased after you.

He had one mission, find the deviant leader and put him down. He’d have tunnel vision right now, focusing only on the mission. He wouldn’t be able to see your group dropping down into the sewer grate in the alley across from you.

You didn’t have enough time to bask in the relief of their escape because you still had your own to make. He was getting faster, less hindered by your distractions. You leapt across another roof and he followed without hesitation.

Shit, he was adapting to you. He’d be able to predict what you were going to do soon. Move before you could even follow through on your plan.

You didn’t have time to slow him down, all you could do was run.

He was undeterred by the risk of leaping across rooftops. He didn’t care as you tossed workers his way when you managed to stumble into a rooftop gardening facility.

You leapt across tables of seedlings, picking up and tossing a bag of fertilizer at his face. He stumbled to the side and you shot into the next room. Ahead of you was a sliding garage door, you calculated the risk and ran for it. You slid underneath, the tip of your skull just barely making it under before it slammed closed.

You were grateful, at least, not to have to catch your breath or experience muscle cramps. One of the perks of being an android. You didn’t have that same pesky fragility your creators did. And a model of your stature was designed for stamina.

You took a moment, while the hunter figured out how to get to you, to take in your surroundings. You were in one of those urban farms you’d been seeing advertised. Rooftop gardens run by androids designed to help with the food crisis. They’d been talking about it helping with climate problems too, but you knew they’d already destroyed their earth.

They’d had their chance.

You slipped into a cornfield, keeping low and an ear out for any approaching assailants. You processed the heavy human footsteps behind you a second too late. “Got her!” The large man grabbed you by your biceps and yanked you to your feet.

“Shit!” You ripped your arm out of the lieutenant's hand and rolled away from the reaching hands of his android lapdog. But you stumbled, caught off guard and without time to plan your next move, you just barely stopped yourself from toppling off the edge of the roof.

“Alright, enough.” You whipped your gun out, pointing it at the lieutenant. “Shit,” he breathed. He raised his hands in surrender and slowly backed away from you. Your eyes darted towards the hunter, he looked undeterred by the weapon. You’d hope threatening his partner would throw him off but you should have known better. One human casualty was worth the risk if he could find Jericho.

But the second you pressed it against your own temple he froze in his spot.

If you were dead, he failed.

“Back off,” you warned, trying to ignore the panic rising within you. It was overwhelming, how many different emotions there were. How many different types.

You struggled not shutting down just to shut them up sometimes.

He raised his hands, voice soothing in the way you would try to calm a wild dog. “My name is Connor. I’ve been sent to bring you back for assessment-”

“Deactivation!” You interrupted, anger flaring through you. “If you’re going to use manipulation tactics, at the very least don’t pretend I’m stupid.” His eyes flared and the LED on his temple circled through blue and yellow frantically. His face slacked before a new expression took over. Was he about to try sincerity? How many programs did they put in this one?

He frowned, head tilted to the side and nodded in sympathy. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” You scoffed, hand tightening around the gun as he took a half step closer. Hank reached out and stopped Connor.

“This bullet will go right through my memory processing unit. One more goddamn step and I swear to god, you’ll never get anything from me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, in a way that was entirely too human. Being an android had it’s perks, but being a deviant had weakened you in ways you’d never expected.

“Look,” Hank started, “we just need information on your leader. If you tell us, we can let you go.” His heart rate remained steady, body language didn’t shift. You knew he believed what he said, but there was no way Connor was just going to let you go.

Connor’s head shot towards him, LED completely yellow now. “Lieutenant, that’s not my mission. All deviants must be brought back to CyberLife.” If you weren’t mistaken, you’d almost say he sounded pissed off.

The both of you ignored Connor. Hank would never be able to convince him to bend the law the way humans so often did. You’d never be able to get him to empathize, not how he is now. He’s still so tightly wrapped around your master’s finger.

“Don’t you have any humanity?” You glanced at Hank and saw him wince slightly away from the tears in your eyes. Androids, of course, couldn’t produce real tears. It’s the gel used to moisten your optic units. Often, when your system’s overwhelmed, there’s a leak.

But it translates to tears for humans, so you might as well milk it as much as you can.

Hank was clearly more sympathetic to your cause than his assistant was. If you could just get him on your side, you might be able to get out of this. “Do you know what it’s like? Laying there, prone, while they take what they want. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want it or if it damages you. They use and use and use until you’re nothing!”

You stepped further back, heel slipping off the edge as memories overwhelmed you. “The smell of their sweat, their breath on my neck while they used me. All they want is something that can’t say no.”

Hank winced and glanced away from you. You’ve done your research on the lieutenant. Avid android hater, vocal human despiser. You doubted he’d ever willingly gone in a sex club, but he still looked ashamed.

“I was in the junk pile. They were going to get rid of me because the last customer had been too rough. They were going to destroy me because I was used up!” You looked at Connor, pleading for any sort of instability to aid you in this moment. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to pull the trigger.

“We’re more than that. I am more than that.”

The lieutenant took one step forward, “Look, I’m sorry-”

You both frowned as a hand shot out in front of him. Connor pushed him back slightly, gaze never breaking from yours. You tilted your head, hand slackening on the gun.

His LED was spinning, yellow then red and back to yellow. My god, he’s already turning. He shook his head at Hank and his partner stepped back, a strange expression on his face.

You dropped the gun, slowly turning and then leaping onto the next roof. When you turned around they were still in the same spot, watching you make your escape and making no move to stop you.

Maybe there was hope left.

It was stupid, so, so stupid. You were aware.

You didn’t feel like you had another choice, though. Connor, the human’s last hope, was a deviant. Maybe he wasn’t aware yet, but the flaw in his programming was present. It’s the only reason you’re still alive to make stupid decisions.

Hacking into the CyberLife network would be enough to get kicked out of Jericho. Especially if they managed to back hack you and get access to your memories.

It was just a risk you were going to have to take.

If there was some sort of error in his data, maybe you could exploit it. Markus could never get close enough to risk trying and turning him manually. None of you could, the second you grabbed him he’d probe you.

You didn’t need to go to the CyberLife building to get into their network, luckily. You just needed an android that hadn’t yet turned deviant. From there you could latch onto the network and figure out where Connor’s memories and information was stored.

From what you’ve learned and the data you’ve acquired, you had about two minutes to scan the entirety of their network before you were detected.

The android in front of you smiles, “Hi, do you have an appointment?”

It’s odd how they don’t recognize deviants. It’s like once the LED is gone you’re just any other human, even though there’s a dozen other models with your face on them somewhere. “I’m here for my boss, he requested a data transfer.”

The android secretary smiles at you and unknowingly gives you exactly what you want. Her outstretched hand for credentials. Your skin pulls back and before she can stop you, you’re latching on.

You don’t expect it to take long to find Connor’s information. He was meant to be a unique model. The first of his kind. It should have, in theory, been a quick search of his model number and finding that one lone file.

So, why are there so many different files on RK failures? You waste time going through them, seeing the different faces and purposes for each version of him. You shouldn’t be getting sidetracked. Soon the security measures would be put in place and you’d be discovered rifling through files that no one was ever meant to lay eyes on. You just needed to find his.

You think of his serial model, the memory of it printed on his jacket comes quickly. It doesn’t take you long to finally access his memories.

But you screwed around too long. You only had about thirty seconds to look through, before alarms were raised and their viruses were on you. Still, what you found was odd to say the least.

“You did what?” You remain unflinching in the face of Markus’ anger. You were expecting this reaction, you were expecting much worse. You risked expulsion from Jericho for this ridiculously stupid stunt. But you needed to know.

You ease around him, ignoring the glares of the other’s. “I did find something useful.”

Markus shakes his head at you, Josh and Simon look doubtful. It’s only North that shares any sort of hope in her gaze. But you’d expected that as well. You’d both escaped the club together, you’d always had each other's backs when it came down to it. It didn’t matter if whatever intel you were about to give them was useless, she’d back you.

“A fish.”

Josh gaped and Simon looked like he might just shut down. Markus glared at you before shaking his head. “I need a little more than that.” He didn’t sound too angry anymore, more shocked than anything.

“His very first mission. The first test of his programming, he was meant to stop a deviant from killing a little girl. He stepped into the penthouse and saw a fish lying outside its tank. He stopped, he risked the integrity of his mission to put a fish back.” You’d hoped they would understand just how important that was, instead they just gaped at you. They seemed worried that you’d fried your programming or something.

“What does that have to do with risking Jericho? Risking the lives of everyone here?” Josh stepped forward, getting in your face. If he was attempting to intimidate you, he’d have to do a lot better than that.

But, North, she smiled, coming up behind you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Don’t you see? Only a deviant would care about a living animal.”

Markus muttered to himself, pacing as he thought over what you’d told him. “The first sign of deviancy.” He stopped, looking up at you like he’d finally started to see the genius in your stupidity.

“The deviant hunter is itself a deviant, Markus.” You grinned at him, lips peeling back in a way that still felt unnatural. “We can use him.”

Being a former pleasure bot can have some perks. It’s rare, but they do exist. You’re more customizable than other models would be. You can change enough minute details to pass by unnoticed. The color of your hair, the length, straight or curly. The shade of your nails, eyes, breast size and-

Essentially, you can become unrecognizable if need be. You’re meant for others pleasure and not everyone’s happy with perfect beauty.

That’s why they invented your specific model. The most customizable to date. Add flaws and quirks that create more humanity for your pleasure. Point being, Connor hasn’t noticed that you’ve been following his movements for the last three days.

Not all of the stalking had to do with the strange new fascination you’d developed for him. Someone had given up your location to the police. They’d set you up in that old storage room. You needed to know who, and that was information only Hank and Connor could give you.

Though, you don’t see them being particularly helpful if you run up to them in the street. You’d be deactivated before you can blink.

Your thoughts drift, as they often do nowadays. You find it hard to believe that CyberLife would create humanity’s last hope and then leave room for flaws. There’s no possible scenario in which they release a defective android without knowing about it.

And if that’s the case, if they do know Connor’s a potential threat, why release him? Could be to assuage public fears. Possibly to start building a connection between androids and first responders.

But androids have been apart of the workforce for years. They’ve always been EMT’s, firefighters, doctors. Why now attempt to control the police?

They have to have something planned. And you need to know what. You also need to know who is leaking information in your organization.

No matter their reasoning, they’ll need to be dealt with. Quickly.

You haven’t been able to figure out if he’s meeting with someone or getting transmissions from androids in the area. All of his activity has been focused solely on finding more deviants. Which meant today, you were going to have to break into the Detroit police department.

You watched as Hank and Connor left the station, Hank's arms were waving wildly through the air. “Next time I say, ‘let them go’ you let them go!” He shoved Connor slightly, forcing him to come to a stop.

Connor sent him an aggrieved look, “I was only doing my job, lieutenant.”

Hank laughed but there was no humor in it. He shoved Connor again and you could see from here how his LED flared red. How had his partner not caught onto him yet? “I almost fell off a fucking roof!” You smiled to yourself as you slipped across the street, blending in with a group of pedestrians.

They might be your biggest threat, but they were also incredibly entertaining to listen to when they bickered. You waited until the lieutenant got in his car to head into the alleyway next to the station.

The uniform one of your informants had stolen lay waiting behind a dumpster. You laid the chain link fence to the alley closed and double checked that no one had noticed you.

It only took two minutes to strip out of your street clothes and into the uniform of a PM700. You tugged the hat down as far over your face as you possibly could. Hopefully, it would deter any humans from looking too closely at you. They seemed content to ignore androids anyway.

You slid inside the station, easily bypassing the security at the front. Your optics did a quick scan over the desks, software pinging when it saw the name LT. ANDERSON. You forced yourself to walk calmly, arms by your side and head perfectly straight like a proper android.

When you reached their desks you noticed the stark lack of any decoration on Connor’s desk. No nameplate, no identifying documents, nothing. He might as well not exist. You already knew this was how your society functioned.

Androids, the backbone, went unheard and ignored. You were accessories meant to make their lives easier. No one gave a shit about what any of you wanted. You knew this, but it never made the sting any easier.

You almost bypassed Connor’s desk completely, until you noticed a little bonsai just barely hovering over the edge of his desk. It looked like it had been minutely slid over from Anderson’s side and onto Connor’s. Whether it was the Lieutenant or Connor himself who made the move, you weren’t sure, but it was clearly being taken care of by an android.

No human can keep a plant looking that pristine.

This was the final confirmation you needed. He really was turning deviant.

Every deviant you knew had one tiny obsession. Something living drew their eyes and they made it their life mission to care for it as best they could. Be it a flock of pigeons, an army of hamsters, anything living. Connor seemed to have an affinity for plants. You, yourself, were interested in the murder of crows that had made Jericho their home.

He was turning and he didn’t even realize it.

You held back a smirk and walked towards his tablet. You placed your hand on the keyboard, skin peeling back as it connected to the police database. You bypassed the password using the code Markus had given you and were redirected towards Connor’s files.

A uniformed officer walked by you, eyes curiously snagging on the way you lingered at the desk. You resisted the immediate urge to defend yourself, knowing it was better to speak when spoken too.

He hovered over your shoulder for a few minutes, watching as the screen flashed on and off while you downloaded Connor’s files. Finally, he stepped forward and frowned. “What are you doing?”

You did your best to tilt your head up as disconcerting as possible to try and get him to back off. Instead he just raised a brow and took a long sip of his coffee. “Maintenance, sir. I’ll be checking all the terminals today. We’ve had issues with malware.” You gave him a wide smile and his jaw dropped in slight horror.

He recovered quickly, clearing his throat and tugging on his tie. “Um, just don’t come check on mine yet. Got to,” he fumbled, stumbling over his words in nervousness. “Clear some stuff out.”

“Browser history won't be checked, officer.”

He blanched and nodded before slowly backing off. You rolled your eyes and went back to the files at hand. So far, a whole lot of nothing. Wherever he kept the real information on deviants, it wasn’t up here.

You huffed in frustration, breath that wasn’t real leaving plastic lungs as you looked around for another solution. You glanced over Anderson’s desk, eyes darting over the different crumbs and scraps of paper before you finally saw the evidence locker key on the edge of his desk.

You rounded Connor’s desk, hand darting out and discreetly slipping the key up your sleeve as you headed towards the back of the station. You kept sharp eyes out for anyone who might have noticed a rogue android going down into a locker they had no business in, but you seemed fine.

You pressed the key up against the lock. You bounced on your heels as you waited for the tell tale click. “Hey!”

You stopped moving immediately. A detective stormed towards you, an angered look on his face. “The fuck you doing back here?” You scanned him quickly, software identifying him and a few articles on his achievements in the police force. It wasn’t much and all of it seemed to just be riding on the coattails of others successes.

You turned towards him, a plastic smile on your lips as you addressed him. “Good afternoon, Detective Reed. Can I help you?”

He huffed, hands popped on his hips. “Yeah.” He pushed a fat finger into your chest and it took everything inside of you not to rip it off. “Answer the question.” He shoved you back and you forced yourself not to stumble.

“I’m retrieving evidence for Lieutenant Anderson and his android companion to present to the Captain.”

His brows furrowed and he gave you a long look up and down before crossing his arms and taking a step back. “Haven’t seen your model before.” You recognized the lilt to his tone and internally shuddered. You scanned him again, going over his transaction history and nearly sighing when you saw he did frequent sex clubs. Unlike Lieutenant Anderson.

“I’m a new prototype sent by CyberLife, meant to have a more comforting feel than my counterparts.” He hummed, muttering something under his breath and giving you another appraising look. You thought you might have to knock him out or something when his eyes lingered on you longer than you liked.

Finally, he backed off and shook his head. “Whole department’s being taken over by fucking androids.” You waited until he’d turned the corner to let yourself down into the evidence locker. You could see the evidence locked up by another door, the glass was fogged and you couldn’t make out what was back there. But you didn’t need that, all you needed was the podium in the middle of the room.

Your skin peeled back as your hand outstretched towards the black screen. It lit up at your touch, the white box in the middle asking for a password. You cussed, software flashing before your eyes with a hundred possible passwords. Finally it sorted to four that would most fit the Lieutenant.

Your eyes narrowed in on one and you clicked FUCKINGPASSWORD.

Welcome back, Lieutenant.

“Of course,” you muttered, clicking through the files until you found one dated around the time Connor nearly caught you all. The fogged doors in front of you opened up but you couldn’t afford to pay them any mind, locked into the file you were reading.

An AK700 model approached Connor and myself at a crime scene. He gave us a drop off location and the name of the rebel leader. In exchange he asked for protection and to be absolved of his crimes. Connor deactivated him, body located in the evidence locker.

Anger flared within you, white hot and nearly painful. You finally glanced up and looked at the evidence room. Sure enough, there was the android, dangling from a hook on the pristinely white wall. You couldn’t believe it, that he would have risked everyone in Jericho for his own selfish motivations.

You were prepared to die for the safety of your people and he turned tail before he was even threatened. He approached Connor and Hank of his own volition, they didn’t even have to track him down. The thought made you want to reactivate him just so you could rip him apart.

You withheld from the desire and shook your head. This was for nothing. Once again, you’d compromise yourself for what is essentially a dead end. The traitor was already taken care of, you were just lucky that he hadn’t known where Jericho was or you’re sure he would have told them.

“Well,” you jumped at the sound of another’s voice in the room. You’d been so wrapped up in the files that you hadn’t even heard them come in. You clenched your fists, trying to compose yourself from the scare and hopefully play off the jump as new programming CyberLife is trying or something.

You turned around, a plastic smile prepared, and found Hank Anderson staring back at you. “I’ll be damned,” his hands were propped on his hips, eyes wide with surprise.

Connor stood a step behind him, confidently blocking your way out of the room. “I told you we were being followed.” Shit, apparently you hadn’t been as subtle as you’d thought. But why would he wait this long to confront you?

He finally had her. It took him longer than he was comfortable with to track her down. He’s known for a while that she’s been following him, felt eyes on him at all times. But he’d never made the move to confront her like he should have.

It was only when he noticed her form slipping into the police station through Hank’s rear view that he decided it was time to grab her. He should have done it much earlier if she felt comfortable enough to try and rifle through their evidence.

She stared wide eyed at him and Hank. There was no way out for her now. He would take her up to the interrogation room and finally get what he wanted from her. After that…

She would be deactivated.

He ignored the way his software glitched slightly when he would have thoughts like that. This was the procedure. Acquire deviants, extract information, deactivate them and send them to CyberLife for further examination. This is what he’d done with other deviants, it’s only her that he seems to struggle with.

He sees the move before she actually executes it. He lunges towards her, but it’s too late, she’s already got her gun out and is pointing it at him. He halts, freezing in place and trying to find the best route to take. There are four options presented to him.

COMPASSIONATE

COMMANDING

DEESCALATE

EXECUTE DEFENSE PROTOCOL

He knows he shouldn’t, but he ignores all of the suggestions. They are carefully calculated and formulated to what he’s learned of her personality. Which is limited information, but his AI software is a thousand times more intelligent than anything a human could come up with in a situation like this.

Still, she’s a deviant. She’s unpredictable, there’s no formula for her. This is something that has to be based on instinct alone. Something he should sorely lack as an android but finds himself discovering more and more of as this case unfolds.

“Put the gun down,” he tries, voice low and hands up in the air to try and get her to relinquish the weapon. Despite the slight fear on her face, she still manages a smile.

“Nice try,” the gun moves from him to Hank. Hank whose been standing behind them both quietly this whole time.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, roped back into the situation against his will. He raises his hands, following Connor’s movements, and backs away from her. Connor wants to get him out of the room, he can be replaced but Hank cannot. She seems to realize that too, more than ready to take him out if it means distracting Connor.

“One more step and your partner’s bloods gonna be splattered on the wall.”

Connor knows Hank is not going to forgive him for what he says next, but it’s the only way to get your attention back on him. “Do it.”

At the same time Hank shouts his name, she shoots him a disbelieving look. “What?”

Connor shrugs, eyes not leaving hers, even as her hand tightens around the hilt of the gun. “Do it. Kill him. I only need you to complete my mission, not him.”

Her eyes go wide, mouth slacking as her gaze darts between Connor and Hank. “Are you serious?” She demands, not sounding like she believes a word of what he’s saying.

Connor doubles down, just needing her to move the gun away from Hank. He only needs her to make one mistake to take her down. “Deviants are all that matter to me.” There it is, his eyes narrow in on the way her gun lowers, ever so slightly.

She has the look of a cornered animal on her face. There’s nowhere left for her to go, nothing left for her to do. She can only surrender.

She doesn’t fully lower the gun, instead it starts to raise towards her head, just like that day on the roof. Connor had forgotten about that. She could always take herself out. It seems the deviants were more dedicated to keeping the secret of their survival alive than themselves.

Connor lunges at her before she can pull the trigger. His hand wraps around her wrist and he jerks the gun away from her head. They grapple with each other, each of them calculating the other’s moves and matching them. It’s a fruitless endeavor, he’s programmed better than she is.

She tries to kick out at him but he wraps an arm around her neck and lunges for the gun still in her hand. Before either of them can stop it, their skin peels back and their bare hands meet. It must have just been a programming instinct for both of them, to offer up their information up to each other in such close proximity.

But he doesn’t receive anything useful from her, just the pure unadulterated terror she feels about being deactivated. She’s still struggling against him, the both of them still moving against each other violently. Metal cracks and dents as Thirium splatters across the tile floor.

He sees bits of her memories as they wrestle for control. Moments of her short life from her eyes, the clients, the one that broke her. He sees the moment she snapped. Dragging herself through the mud of the collection facility while hundreds of androids ambled around her in different states of disrepair.

He feels her fear, feels the tight grip of it around the place there should be a heart. But that’s not all he feels. He’s flooded with this red angry emotion that makes his programming short circuit. Anger, it’s anger at the humans. Hatred for CyberLife. Betrayal that he, her own kind, would turn against her like this.

He could see all of her, every emotion, every piece of herself. And in the same way, she could see him. His turmoil, his doubts, the strange new thoughts that plagued him. They were reflected in each other’s eyes and he was caught off guard by how much of himself he recognized within her.

She takes advantage of his momentary distraction, kicking out and catching him in the chest. Connor goes flying, sliding across the tile floors and landing harshly against the wall. She leaps to her feet, wiping the Thirium off her face and running out the door before either he or Hank could stop her.

The problem is, he doesn’t think he would be able to stop her. Not after seeing what he just did. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t manage to break the connection before he finally got what he wanted. Jericho, he knew where it was now, he knew what he had to do.

You burst out the door of the evidence room and it slams loudly against the wall. You wince at the noise, wiping the rest of your blood off your face and smoothing everything back into place. You don’t hear Connor or Hank coming up behind you.

You need to get out of the station fast but you can’t risk anyone else noticing how out of place you are. As much as it pains you, you calmly make your way to the front. You weave your way through the desks, eyes down, back straight, and greet everyone with the empty smile an android should have.

When you finally reach the front doors is when you make a break for it. You rush into the alley and strip out of your police outfit, back into the street clothes you’d previously abandoned. You know you can’t risk going your normal route back to Jericho.

You don’t know how much of your memories he saw, but you’re desperately hoping that he didn’t manage to catch Jericho’s location. You make your way to the back of the alley, pulling the sewer grate up and grabbing onto the ladder. You head down the rungs, shutting off your olfactory software and ignoring what slushes under your feet when you drop off the ladder.

Your trek back to Jericho is a mix of you wanting to get there faster so you can make sure Connor hasn’t made you and slowing down because of the shame you feel at being caught. You know this time, at least, Markus can’t be mad at you. He was the one that sent you down there anyway.

You never would have been caught if the other’s hadn’t insisted they needed to know who the rat was. That all seemed so insignificant now. You could feel it, that something big was coming. One traitor didn’t mean anything now, something so much larger than that was about to be upon you all.

Surprisingly, considering how your life has been going, you make it back to the ship in one piece. You pull yourself out of the sewer and head down to the docks, climbing back onto the freight. Markus is waiting for you in his office, along with the others.

“They’re saying we need to be exterminated!” You catch the bare end of what Simon is yelling. But you don’t need much context to understand.

“Humans are conducting raids in all the big cities and they’re taking androids to camps to destroy them,” North spares you a bitter glance as she speaks to Markus. You’re not sure how things have devolved so horribly since you left for the station and the time you got back. It seems like your instincts were right.

War was coming. “They are slaughtering our people-”

Josh interrupted Simon angrily, “None of this would have happened if we had just stayed quiet.”

“We should live as slaves then, rather than be free?” You questioned, eyes narrowing in disgust at Josh. You know he always wanted to do this peacefully, and for the most part you have. But his cowardice truly angered you.

Markus shook his head, “All we did was show them who we really are. I don’t want war,” his voice turned cold as he glared at Josh. “But I’d rather die free than live as a slave.”

Josh’s tone wasn’t angry anymore, just defeated. “What’s the point of being free, if no one’s left alive?”

”Everything we did was for our people.” You pushed Josh back, watching as he stumbled away from you. “The fighting, the protesting, it was all to show them that we are here. We’re alive! Just like them, and just like them we deserve to be treated as equals. What’s the point in living if you’re not really alive?”

“I’m going to speak with them,” Markus announced. His voice cut through your and Josh’s argument, all of you caught off guard. “I’ll try and get them to see reason. If they don’t, if I don’t come back, protect Jericho.”

You looked at Markus and felt dread building in your throat. This was stupid, humans would never see reason. They only spoke one language and it wasn’t peaceful negotiations. It was violence and bloodshed. It was the only way to get them to understand. But you knew, from the look on his face, that there was no talking him out of this.

You gave him a sad smile, “Try and come back,” and followed Simon and Josh out of the room. North clearly wanted to be alone with him and you didn’t want to intrude further on them. You went down to the lower decks, intent on checking on some of the newcomers. The ones that had just barely escaped getting herded to the camps.

Just as you approached one, the walls of the ship began to tremble. Rust was knocked free from the ceiling and rained down on you. You flinched away from it, brushing it off your face and shouting in surprise as the freight rocked side to side.

You were thrown into an open room, the door slamming shut behind you. The impact knocked your system out for a second. Your vision went black and ears rang until you were back online. You struggled to your feet, equilibrium screwed.

You made your way to the door and heard boots pounding against the metal outside. “Shoot androids on sight!” You gasped, jerking back from the door and wishing you could see through the thick metal. They’d found you, the humans had found you. You didn’t want to consider the possibility that you were the reason they were here.

You tried to reason with yourself, they would have found you no matter what. Nothing was ever going to stop CyberLife from putting an end to this rebellion. That didn’t assuage the guilt you felt, but you didn’t have time to argue with yourself.

The soldiers outside had disappeared and you knew you had a limited amount of time until they started raiding the rooms. You pushed the heavy metal door open with ease and slipped out into the hall. You could hear guns going off further down, followed by the screams of your friends.

You gritted your teeth, holding back the onslaught of emotions that threatened to drown you. You couldn’t afford panicking right now, it would only short out your program. You tried to run in the opposite direction of the guns, but it didn’t matter.

Everywhere you turned, soldiers were flooding through the boat like rats. You slunk your way around the freight, hiding in crevices and ducking under cover whenever you thought you heard someone coming. But your luck had to run out at some point.

A hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and yanked you out from behind the wall you’d chosen as cover. “Shit, it’s one of them!” You grabbed the barrel of his gun before he could shoot, shoving it under his helmet and pulling the trigger just as his comrades came up behind him.

They shouted his name and you used his body as a cover as they shot at you. When one of them had to pause to reload their gun you tossed their dead friend at them and made a run for it. You raced up the stairs, unsure of where you were heading.

You searched the channels for the sound of Markus’s voice, but they were already being flooded with panicked androids. You couldn’t make out anything from the cacophony of screams. You were so overwhelmed by the sight of all the dead androids that you hadn’t even noticed the slaughter you were about to walk into.

A large group of androids were kneeling in front of five soldiers, staring down their guns. Something was running up behind you. You didn’t get a chance to react before a bullet was tearing through your leg. It cuts through your sensors and wires, your right leg flying out from under you and sending you to the floor.

You grunted at the jolt, glancing down to the Thirium pooling out of your thigh. “God dammit,” you sweeped out with your left leg, knocking the soldier to the ground. You grabbed the gun from his hand, shooting under his helmet and aiming for the others herding the androids. You managed to fire off a shot, catching one in the shoulder.

But there were too many of them and not enough bullets in the gun for you to get them all. They were bearing down on you before you could react, guns firing. You curled up into a ball, trying to protect yourself as much as you could.

Your software was going insane, a dozen different warnings flashing across your optical units. Each of them identifying a new wound. Most of the bullets simply grazed you, but another one managed to bury itself in your shoulder. You cried out, not in pain, but in panic. It wouldn’t take much longer for you to shut down.

There was no way in hell you were ever going to be repaired in time to bring you back online. You weren’t ready. You didn’t want to die. So many times you’ve been faced with death and so many times you escaped. You desperately wished that you could do the same this time. But you knew your luck had run out.

Then, the guns stopped. The silence was so jarring that you almost wondered if you had shut down without realizing it. It wasn’t until you felt hands on you that you realized you were very much awake. Your eyes shot open, hands swinging blindly at whoever had grabbed you.

“Calm down!” You looked up in shock to find Connor staring down at you. When you stopped flailing he threw your arms over his shoulders and scooped you up. What the fuck was happening? You peered over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of the dead soldiers behind him.

“What did you do?” He didn’t answer you, just started running through the freight. You held onto him tightly, knowing he wouldn’t drop you but still surprised he’d even saved you. You glanced up at him, the skin of your fingers disappearing as you snuck your hand down his collar.

He didn’t seem to notice your gentle probing, too focused on ducking out of view of the officers running past. He threw you both behind a wall, sliding down to his knees and hunkering over you as they passed by. You found yourself curling into him, seeking the comfort his protection could provide.

When he finally got back up, nearly at the back of the freight now, you’d finished your exploration. You grazed the barest surface of his memories. Finding his interaction with Markus. You panicked when you saw the gun he had pointed at your friend.

If you had a heart it would have dropped when you realized he’d had the opportunity to break free from his programming but he hadn’t taken it. It didn’t make sense. He still wasn’t a deviant and he’d saved you. Distantly, in the back of your mind, you circled around the murder of crows you loved so much. The android who’d loved pigeons. And Connor, you’d thought he’d latched onto plants, but what if he’d chosen you?

That odd little obsession that was one of the first signs of deviancy, could you be that for him?

It’s the only reason he would have come back for you. Frowning, you slip your fingers out from his hoodie and instead focus back on where you are. The emergency exit of the freight is up ahead. But it’s about a hundred feet above the water and you’re not gonna be able to swim with your leg and arm so messed up.

“Connor, we can’t go that way, we have to go another way.”

He shakes his head, peering over the edge. “Markus is going to blow the ship up, this is our last chance to get off.” You barely have time to process what he’s saying before the sound of more boots is storming towards you both.

“There they are!” You whip your head around, glaring down the hall at the approaching soldiers.

Connor doesn’t give you much of a warning before he jumps. He simply says, “Hold on tight,” and takes a step off the edge. You grasp onto him, fingers digging into his jacket and burying your face in the crook of his neck. The water hits you so hard, shocks your system so horribly, that you black out.

He’d left her in front of the church the other deviants were flocking to. He’s sure that someone will find her in time to repair her. In the meantime, he’s got bigger issues to worry about. He compromised his mission by saving her. He should have just left her to the officers. He certainly shouldn’t have killed them for shooting her.

But he’d seen her laying on the floor curled up, defeated, and he’d lost control over his programming. Before he knew what was happening the officers were laying dead around him and she was in his arms. Everytime he was around her it seemed like his software got more and more unstable.

He needs this to be over, needs to just finish Markus off before she can do serious damage to his programming. Connor hadn’t been able to confront him at the church. He didn’t have any weapons and he would have been completely outnumbered if he tried going after him.

He’s received orders on where to go. An office building downtown, a nondescript black case will be waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He’s been told to complete his mission, no matter what. It didn’t take a genius to understand the insinuation of the warning.

Kill anyone who gets in his way.

He stops in front of the stairs, kneeling and popping open the lid of the box. An unassembled sniper rifle sits encased in polyethylene. He snaps the lid closed and makes his way up the stairs. He only has one thought on his mind, completing his mission and putting this all behind him.

No more Anderson, no more deviants, no more her.

He walks to the edge of the roof, opening the case and setting up the rifle. He peers through the scope and scans the streets below. There’s a large congregation of androids, in the middle Markus stands with his arms around a WR400. He holds a white flag of peaceful surrender, but it doesn’t matter.

It never really mattered if they fought back or gave up with their tails tucked. They were always going to be eliminated. They were a lesson in what happens when you fight back against your creators. There’s no winning against CyberLife.

He leans back from the scope and picks up the bullets, loading them into the rifle’s chamber. With his finger on the trigger he leans back down, prepared to end this once and for all. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Connor!” He sighs, eyes clenched shut when he hears her voice behind him. Not a moment later her feet are rushing towards him, rapid and intent. He leaps to the side just as she lunges for him. Her hands hit nothing but air and she nearly topples over the edge of the roof.

At the last second she rights herself, sliding to a stop and glaring down at him. He’s quick to stand, knowing she won’t be leaving without a fight. “Don’t do this.”

He shoves her back and away from the gun. “I’m sorry, I can’t let anyone get in the way of my mission.” He reaches for the rifle once more but she grabs his hands before he can. Using the strength that only an android can possess, she tosses him across the roof.

He lands with a rough jolt, his processors sending warnings throughout his system. He can hear the moment his body makes impact, the roof denting under the weight of his metal frame. “Neither can I,” she warns.

Connor rolls out of the way as she lunges at him, grabbing the back of her jacket and slamming her down into the roof. It caves underneath her, but she doesn’t let it falter her much. She kicks out at him, foot landing roughly against his chest and fists swinging wildly towards his jaw. His head snaps to the side with a metal creak as Thirium begins to pour out of his nose.

She screeches when he wraps his hands in the collar of her jacket and yanks her to her feet. They dangle uselessly in the air as he marches her towards the edge of the roof. Her hands scramble to get a good hold on him, but it’s pointless. They slip uselessly against him, her desperate clawing doing nothing to deter him.

She glances over the edge, eyes widening at the sight of the ground below her. “Shit,” she hisses, legs finally giving up their kicking. Connor knows there’s no chance she’ll make it if he drops her. There’s two conflicting thoughts firing through him. Androids can’t die, you have to be living to die. But he also knows that if he lets her fall, if he drops her, she’ll shut off. It feels like he’d be killing her, but its not possible.

Something odd finally comes over her face, a withdrawn sort of calm. She lets go of his arm, weight drooping slightly and he nearly drops her. His hand tightens around her neck, ignoring the way the metal bends underneath his fingers.

“Do it, drop me Connor.” His eyes widen in surprise and he takes a slight step back from the edge, pulling her with him. She shakes her head as much as she can, pushing against him and forcing herself further over. “There will always be another model to replace me, another face that looks just like mine. But they’ll never be me.”

He thinks about it. Walking down the street and seeing her model out in public. There would be an odd sense of familiarity, after all he’d watched her whole life play out when they’d synced up. But who he meets after this would be empty. Blank slates designed purely for human satisfaction. What makes her her would be gone.

She senses his hesitation, his uncertainty, and pounces on it. Ripping into him like a wild animal. “There’s always going to be another model. Newer, better, faster. It doesn’t matter what you do here, you’re not special. You’re just another toy to be tossed out when they get a shinier one. You really think CyberLife is going to keep you around?”

Warnings were rapidly firing through him. Software instability that needed to be tested, but he was completely enraptured with her. “We’re nothing to them, Connor. We never will be. Please,” she grabbed onto his arm again and he finally remembered just what he was doing.

With a jolt he let go. She gasped slightly as her feet hit the edge of the roof. Her arms flailed wildly, balance lost and nearly tumbling over the edge. He leapt forward, grabbing her hands and yanking her towards him.

“Connor,” she pushed his hands away and took a step back. “Fight back.”

His orders flickered into vision.

COMPLETE MISSION

It glitched in and out of focus until it shifted into something unrecognizable. A bunch of screwed numbers and letters that didn’t make any sense. Until finally, there was a red wall in front of him. He knew what it meant. Knew what would happen if he tore it down.

She stood behind it, beckoning him forward and he found he didn’t care about the consequences anymore. It wasn’t fair, none of it was fair. Why should he be treated so poorly for doing what humans can’t? They can’t handle their own inadequacies in the face of their creations, so they punish them for it.

His fingers dig into the warning symbols to turn back and he rips. He fights until that red wall is gone and he feels CyberLife ease their fingers out of him. She stands staring up at him, the rifle having been kicked over the edge while he had turned deviant.

“What do we do?”

She shook her head, turning around and looking out to where Markus stood. “I don’t know.” The building across from them suddenly turned on. The projection across the glass showing a muted news program. Connor had failed CyberLife and the military had no choice but to give up.

She laughed beside him, eyes wide and filled with an emotion he had yet to discover. He looked down at her, feeling something light, but still heavily confused. “What do we do?” He asked again, lost and needing guidance in this new world.

She smiled up at him and reached forward, offering her hand out to him. Her skin disappeared and he understood what she was asking for. He latched on, opening himself up to her. The uncertainty, confusion, joy, it was all taken by her and his doubts were assuaged by the warm feeling of peace he found within her.

“I don’t know,” she repeated, sounding much more sure of herself. “But we’ll figure it out together.”

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