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e-dubbc11 · 1 year

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You’re Mine…I’m Yours

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Some swear words, possessive behavior by both reader and Billy in a semi serious way and a playful manner, little violent, fluffy bunnies and unicorns, little bit of smut (18+ please or I’m telling on you)

Word Count: 3.9k-ish

Summary: You have a weekly outing with your co-workers. Billy doesn’t really like it. He doesn’t like other men looking at you especially when he’s not there to put a stop to it but tonight he decides to do a little bit of a checkup on you.

A/N: This one has been done for awhile, I’ve just been so busy I haven’t had a chance to put it out yet, I haven’t had a chance to do much lately so I’m sorry for being behind on my reading also but I digress. I hope you enjoy it! Oh and this will probably be my last fic until my 400 follower celebration is finished, plenty of time left to come say hi so please do! ♥️

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

“Do you have to do these so often, baby?” He asked.

Your expression softened and you walked from the kitchen to the living room and sat down next to him on the couch. The suit jacket he wore to work was cascading off the back of the couch, he had rolled his dress shirt sleeves up to his elbows and he was holding the crystal glass with the dark amber liquid inside.

Billy tilted the glass back and forth, watching it glide from side to side when a stray piece of his ink colored hair dipped into his eyes.

“Do what, handsome?” You asked softly as you gently scratched his scalp with your fingernails. His onyx colored eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself under your loving touch. You moved the stray hair away from his eyes, those beautiful dark brown eyes that now gazed at you with a touch of sadness to them.

“Ya know, the work outing you guys do every week.” He said.

“It’s just a couple drinks after work with some co-workers, baby. And I still usually get home before you do anyway, Billy.” You stated. “Tell me the real reason you don’t really like me going out after work.”

He shifted his weight on the couch and set his drink down on the coffee table while you climbed into his lap and snaked your arms around his neck.

“I know you have trouble telling me stuff that bothers you, Billy but it’s just us here. You can tell me.” You said while gliding his striped tie in between your fingers.

The muscles in his shoulders stiffened as he brushed his beard with his long fingers.

“I don’t like…” He paused to think hard about what he wanted to say. “I just don’t like that I’m not there with you, ya know, to protect you.”

“Baby, what do you think is gonna happen to me? I’m with co-workers and friends.” You said with a smile, trying to make him feel at ease.

“Sweet girl, you are VERY beautiful. You think I don’t notice the way men look at you when we’re out? So I can only imagine how they look at you and act when I’m not around.” He said. The tone of his voice wasn’t angry but it was stern.

Billy’s worst fear was someone hurting you or taking you away from him. He often had nightmares about it so he was somewhat overprotective of you, jealous, and possessive, at times.

Not only did the nightmares scare him but they also scared you too because you didn’t always know what to do or how to help but you did your best. Billy said just you sleeping next to him helped him immensely.

Your presence helped to the point that he had them less often or they were less severe which he was so grateful for. So the thought of losing the one person that meant everything to him and that loved him even with all his faults to someone else, terrified him. He would do whatever he had to, to hold on to the most precious thing he’s ever had.

And Billy’s methods weren’t exactly conventional when it came to deterring the unwanted attention of men toward you, they were more like…unreasonable.

Most of the time he would notice before you did…a young frat boy staring at you from across the bar, a suit from Wall Street at the next table checking you out while out to dinner with clients, and even a couple of his own employees were fired because their gaze lingered just a little too long for Billy’s taste.

It was always just a quick glance at first, then a second time to confirm that they really were looking at you. With his long slender fingers wrapped around a beer bottle, a glass of bourbon, or a fork at dinner, his knuckles would start to show white the tighter he held on to them.

His dark chocolate colored eyes narrowed, and with a scorching glare he would size them up, stare them down until they either averted their eyes or doubled down, which Billy loved.

Like an evil cat, he prowled. Billy stalked his prey, he acted like a wild animal hunting for its food. He would wait until they went to the restroom or outside to smoke a cigarette and he’d growl in their ear “You look at my girl like that again and you’re gonna lose your two front teeth, do…you…understand?”

His lips curled back to reveal gnashed teeth and you knew they felt his hot breath against their ear, making the hair on the back of their neck stand at attention.

Billy never struck first. Sometimes they would make that mistake, especially if you were out at a bar together. He knew the rules, don’t hit first but you can defend yourself or in most cases, defend you.

And they’d always say the same thing to him, almost like they all gathered together at some point and agreed on the one phrase that would send Billy right over the edge. “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” And try to force him backwards by pushing against his chest.

Big mistake.

Yes, Billy was incredibly handsome but he hated being called “pretty.” And only you and his best friend Frank knew why. It enraged him. That term made his eyes glow with savage fire and caused his voice to harden. “You have about 30 seconds before I mop the fuckin’ floor with you.”

He warned them but they’d never heed that warning and they had no idea what he was capable of. As the saying goes, they “fucked around and found out.”

“Where are you going tomorrow, sweet girl?” He asked.

You pondered for a minute, trying to remember the place you all agreed on and then it came to you. “Oh! Ocean’s 8 Billiards. It’s on Flatbush Ave. in Brooklyn.” You replied.

Billy had a surprised tone to his voice. “You’re goin’ to shoot pool? As in, you’ll be bent over a table where every man in there can check out your ass?”

“Billy!” You snapped.

The heat radiating off his chest could be felt through his shirt as his cheeks flamed with anger. His eyes darkened, his pupils were wide and unfocused as you tried to bring him back by brushing his beard with your thumbs and reassuring him that he had your heart and no one else.

“Billy, have I EVER given you any reason not to trust me?!” You asked.

His agile fingers wrapped around your neck and pulled you close to him. There was a touch of acid in his tone and when he spoke you could feel his warm breath against your eyelashes. “I don’t trust any man that’s not me…around you.”

“You can’t control who I talk to, Billy Russo!” Easing your body away from him, you tugged slightly on his hair, tilting his head back so he was looking up at you.

He gazed up at you with a smug smile on his face. “No, but I WILL control who talks to YOU.” He growled.

The guttural moan that escaped your lips was involuntary and it shouldn’t but it made you wet when he talked to you like that. Grinding down into his crotch, you could feel his cock hardening underneath as you started to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. It turned him on when you talked back, he loved the push back.

“Oh yeah? You think I like it when I see women throwing themselves at you? Waiting until I go to the ladies room so they can try and make a move.” You hissed in his ear, biting down gently on his earlobe, and feeling his length strain against his suit pants.

Biting down on his lower lip, his eyes traveled the length of your body and back up to meet your gaze once again while his hands extended underneath your t-shirt to brush the smooth skin in the middle of your back, along your spine.

Goosebumps erupted across your skin which caused your nipples to harden and Billy swiftly pulled your t-shirt over your head and threw it across the room.

“And I’ve never given them the time of day, have I.” He said, burying his face between your breasts, his tongue tracing the skin across your collarbone before biting down hard on the spot on your neck that made your vision go white.

“You better fuckin’ not, Mr. Russo because I…don’t…share!” You said against his mouth before his lips collided with yours. Billy’s kisses were all tongue and teeth as his hand unhooked your bra to have your bare breasts pressed firmly against his body. Calling him “Mr. Russo” made him absolutely feral and reassuring him that he was all yours caused him to snap.

You made quick work of his shirt and tie before he carried you off to bed. You lost that battle, the war will have to continue tomorrow.

**********

After work the following day, you met your co-workers at the pool hall for your usual once a week bitch fest and enjoyed a couple of beers in the process.

“…Yeah I don’t think they shut up the entire time they’re in the office and if you gonna have meetings on speakerphone, how about you go into a conference room?” You said to one of your cubemates, talking about the people in the cube next to you.

Leaning over the table to line up your shot, you could feel eyes staring at you coming from all directions from a group of guys a few tables over. After sinking the ball in the side pocket, your friend walked over while you were lining up your second shot.

“Those guys over there are staring at you, one guy in particular.” She said.

Your second shot was a miss.

“Ya know how you can FEEL someone staring at you? Yeah I can definitely feel it.” You replied.

While chalking up your cue, you took a sip of your beer and looked around nonchalantly, trying to not give that group of guys any sort of attention and keep your focus on your friends but it was starting to feel uncomfortable.

But out of the corner of your eye, you also noticed a tall slender man, wearing a dark blue suit, with raven colored hair and a well-groomed beard walking toward you.

Biting down on your lower lip to keep the smile from spreading across your face, you shook your head back and forth as he came closer, and smiled that perfect smile of his only for you.

“Freeze, soldier! This group activity is for government contractors only!” You shouted with a smile.

Billy pulled you into a firm embrace by the waist so you were flush with his body, looking down at you with his million dollar smile and love in his eyes, he planted a kiss on your lips.

Resting his hands on your hips, his tongue swiped across his bottom lip, probably tasting the beer that was on your tongue moments before he kissed you. The spicy scent of his cologne hovered in between your bodies as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and then cupped your cheeks to kiss you again.

Billy loved touching you in every way possible because it reiterated to him that you were real, you were right in front of him, and it comforted him.

Touch was his love language whether it was brushing your legs with his fingers while watching tv, holding your hand while he was driving, or keeping you close while you slept. You were his in every way and he would never let anyone put their hands on you.

“Ok, well what if I tell you that you look really pretty today? Can I stay?” He asked, flashing that perfect smile at you again.

That smile would be the death of you. How were you supposed to say no to him?

“Maybe…what are you doing here, Billy?” You asked as you set your pool cue down and folded your arms across your chest.

“Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?” He asked, as a devilish smirk stretched across his lips.

Narrowing your eyes at him you replied. “Uh, I think you’re full of shit, lieutenant so no, I don’t believe you.” Your voice dripped with sass, as you lightly poked him in the chest. “Are you spying on me?”

With a sly smile, he tilted his head up and quickly glanced at the ceiling, he knew he was caught and flicked his gaze back to you.

“Is it so wrong of me to not want another man to try and put his hands on you in a place like this?” He said, gritting his teeth and whispering in your ear.

You pressed your tongue to the roof of your mouth before telling him. “And what makes you think I would let another man put his hands on me, Billy?”

“Like I said last night, sweet girl. I can control who talks to you.” He said in that soft sexy voice of his. The words fell like warm honey from his lips and soaking your panties in the process. “You don’t know the vile things all these guys in here are thinking.”

“Oh and you do? Maybe you should add ‘mind reader’ to your list of special skills.” You said sarcastically with wide eyes.

He started to shake his head and press his lips together in a straight line before saying. “Always with that smart mouth, huh baby? Ya know I could think of a few other things you can do with that mouth of yours and talkin’ back to me ain’t one of them.” He hissed in your ear.

Smoothing his hair, you gently pulled down on the back of his neck so his ear was close to your mouth. “Stop turning me on in front of my co-workers, baby. I mean it.” You said as a sly smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

Billy knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Ever been fucked on a pool table before, princess?” He purred, his breath tickling the side of your neck.

You playfully smacked him on the shoulder and lightly shoved him away from you. This was bonding time for you and your co-workers, he can talk dirty to you at home.

“Alright, alright! Go get a beer, actually get me one too please and I’ll let you stay.” You said, giving him a wink as he turned and walked away toward the bar.

Continuing the game with your friends, you noticed one of the guys from the “frat pack” a few tables over started walking toward you while Billy was gone. Before you could stand up after sinking your shot, he “bumped into” you. His crotch grazed your ass as he did and then acted like it was an accident.

You turned around quickly, breathless with anger and a thread of warning in your voice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!!” You yelled.

He stood in front of you with a smug grin on his face, trying to act apologetic. “I am…SO sorry! I didn’t see you there but you are even prettier up close. I was watching you from a few tables over. How ‘bout I play the winner?” He said, looking at you and then at your friends.

You caught the strong scent of beer on his breath as he stood in front of you, trying to inch closer but you wouldn’t let him, and he tried to reach out to grab your hips but you backed away even further. In your peripheral, there he was, taking long strides to get to you as fast as he could and leaving the beer on the first table he passed.

Billy must not have seen when the stranger put his hands on you because he would have been laid flat out if he did. You didn’t hear him approach from behind but you felt him, you knew he was there however light on his feet he was.

It was almost like a sixth sense you had when it came to him and before you could say anything else to the rude stranger, Billy was standing in between you and the handsy frat boy.

Silently communicating with your friend that saw the whole thing, you shook your head at her basically telling her NOT to tell Billy that guy put his hands on you.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Billy asked, glaring at the stranger. “She’s taken.” He said, shielding you with his arm to stay in back of him.

The stranger moved from side to side trying to get a better look at you. “Well she hasn’t said anything about being taken, have you beautiful.” He said.

His compliment made you nauseous, your stomach immediately started churning, and you felt like you needed a shower after what can only be described as he was undressing you with his eyes.

“Well, I said she’s taken. Do you know what that means? Get…fuckin’…lost.” Said Billy.

The stranger stepped into Billy’s personal space and you waited for it. You waited for those words to be said because you knew they were coming.

“Oh yeah? Are you gonna make me…pretty boy?” He said in a wicked hissing whisper, giving Billy a slight shove to the chest.

The stranger kept poking, he kept provoking Billy into a fight but he wouldn’t budge. Never swing first. And he finally did, he took two swings at Billy which he dodged both of them, kicked him behind the knees and smashed his face into the wooden pool table which you were sure the entire pool hall heard.

It didn’t knock him out but it did knock him to the ground and the hit to the head probably gave him a concussion. With the frat boy writhing around in pain with a bloody nose and an egg starting to form on his forehead, Billy squatted down lower to the ground and with hell burning behind his dark eyes and acid in his tone said.

“Who’s pretty now?!!”

When the stranger took his first swing at Billy, you had moved out of the way, and while you were huddling with your co-workers, one of them said “Maybe it’s time to go?” Everyone cracked a smile and after he hit the ground, Billy walked away and over to you.

Everyone else was fine, except the guy who was prone on the floor with his face turned to the side. His friends rushed over and tried to help him stand up but you were sure he was seeing stars while employees of the pool hall asked them all to leave.

“Are you alright, baby? Is everyone ok?” He asked with concern in his voice. “Asshole, got blood on my shirt.”

“I’m fine, handsome.” You said as you turned to your friends to say “Same time next week, right?”

“Definitely!!!” Your cubemate exclaimed.

You said your goodbyes to your friends and told them that you would see them tomorrow and apologized for the extra action on their Wednesday night.

They all said the apology wasn’t necessary, they had a great time and even asked if Billy was available next week to be their bodyguard. He shyly turned away and you knew it was because he didn’t want everyone to see him blush.

Putting his jacket on, Billy turned toward you. “I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?”

“Technically, my love, everything turned to shit when you showed up soooooooo.” You said with a coy smile.

“There’s that smart mouth again.” Billy said.

A few tables over, you noticed a group of women checking Billy out, batting their eyelashes, laughing and tucking their hair behind their ears while taking sips of their drinks.

“You have some admirers, soldier.” You huffed.

“I didn’t notice…but that’s because I belong to someone else. And she doesn’t like to share.” Billy said. He winked and smiled at you, pulling you in close. “Right, sweet girl?”

You snaked your arms around his neck and gently tickled the back of his neck with your nails. Goosebumps pricked his skin as you closed your eyes and pulled him toward you so you could rest your forehead against his.

Billy claimed your lips like he had so many times before, the butterflies in your stomach made your body shudder every single time.

“You’re all mine, Billy.” You said, tugging gently on his hair.

He looked down at you with his hypnotic brown eyes. “And you say I’m possessive.” He said.

“Well I guess we’re both a little uh…domineering, huh baby?” You said with a warm smile.

Billy chuckled. “That’s just a fancy way of saying we’re both a couple of jealous assholes.”

“Maybe it just means we really really love each other?” You said.

He shrugged and smiled. “Sure, baby. I like the sound of that better, anyway. I do really really love you, y/n.”

“I really really love you too, handsome.” You said as you placed your ear against his chest, forgetting all about every other person inside the pool hall.

Billy Russo was a marine, you wouldn’t know that by looking at him now in his designer suit, his $500 tie, and sterling silver monogrammed cufflinks.

Those were products of the hard work he put in, first as a marine and second as a CEO. He had been fighting off bullies for his entire life, even as a small child when he shouldn’t have had to.

He should have been protected and loved but neither of those things happened for him although it made him the strongest person you’ve ever known.

You finally understood why he was so overprotective, why he was so possessive of you and it was because no one had done that for him.

Every day that you told him you loved him, every time you smiled at him, every time you told him he was good enough, and that he was wanted, it helped to heal the broken little boy that was still inside.

The empty space in Billy’s chest that craved love was finally full and that was because of you. The lesson he was still trying to learn was that he didn’t have to hold on so tightly to keep you. You stayed with him because you wanted to, and the fear of abandonment he held close was slowly peeling away as you gained more and more of his trust.

Billy’s eyes shone like two pieces of onyx as he peered down at you, his intense brown eyes doing the smiling instead of his lips as he whispered in your ear. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You looked up at him through your long dark lashes and with a devilish grin on your face, you asked him. “Ok, my love. Did you come up with some other things I can do with my smart ass mouth?”

He let out a sharp exhale against your lips. “Oh I have a couple ideas, princess.”

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Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #billy russo #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x y/n

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mythuzalasheir3 · 2 months

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Paul Matthews’ Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Night In Dulvey Ch1

~*~

After his wife, Emma, went missing three years ago, Paul Matthews receives a cryptic email allegedly from her, summoning him to the Chasity House in Dulvey.

~*~

Cast list:

Ethan Winters: Paul Matthews

Mia Winters: Emma Perkins

Jack Baker: Mark Chasity

Marguerite Baker: Karen Chasity

Zoe Baker: Becky Barnes

Eveline: Grace Chasity

Chris Redfield: General John Macnamara

~*~

Bc I’ve locked all my fics due to AI scraping, I’m cross posting it on here :))) Enjoy :))

TWs in the tags xoxo

Reblogs>>>Likes

~*~

Paul Matthews sat in his room, watching over the last video he had of his wife, Emma.

“Hey, Paul!” Emma smiled, on some ship with the sun shining behind her and seagulls flying in the background. “Sorry I haven’t been able to talk as much on this trip, but this job is keeping me busy! But the moment this babysitting job is over, I’ll be at home… with you…”

Then there was a shuddering on the recording, like something on the ship was shaking.

“I gotta go, but I love you and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Then the video ended.

Paul had watched the last video message Emma had sent him approximately 643 times since she went missing a few years ago, he could recite it from memory and watch it in his sleep.

Little did he know that Emma had recorded another message that failed to send, admitting to lying and begging him to stay away.

Then an email pinged on his phone.

He swiped it open and noticed it was from Emma.

“Chasity House, Dulvey

Find me.” It read.

Paul packed a bag and got on the road to Dulvey, Louisiana, calling out of work as the urban world he was used to faded into grassy marshland, the moisture and heat hanging low in the air, almost touchable.

Paul parked his car in the seemingly abandoned garage of the Chasitys’ house and walked through.

The whole place looked like it had been abandoned in the middle of dinner, a large pot of rotting meatloaf sat covered in the table.

“Okay…” Paul said nervously as he opened it up and saw bugs crawling out over the top of it.

Paul grabbed an old, slightly rusted knife for protection.

He took in the faded, peeling paintwork, moth bitten holes in the blinds and patches of black and blue mold in the corner as he made his way to the living room, which had old mugs of coffee on the end tables, faded and worn magazines on the table and a videotape in the television, depicting the death and disappearance of a group of ‘paranormal investigation’ television hosts.

Paul found the key for the basement in one of the mugs of coffee.

The basement was much larger and darker than the rest of the house, with old, creaking steps leading down into what felt like the belly of the beast.

Paul turned his phone flashlight on as he walked in, hand against the wall to find a light switch.

Then his hand felt something strange, soft and sticky, yet cold.

Paul turned his phone torch over to see what he had found.

He leapt back in shock, wiping his hand furiously against his jeans as he realised he had the heel of his hand in the severed jaw of the rotting corpse of one of the camera crew from the show that was in the TV upstairs.

“Okay… Okay… Okay! Okay… Okay…” Paul muttered to himself, trying to ignore the feeling of congealed blood smeared on his hands like jelly.

He was immensely grateful that there was a leaky pipe nearby to wash it all off.

Paul turned the corner in the basement to see a cell, with a woman sleeping on an old worn mattress inside.

Paul noticed bolt cutters nearby to cut the rusted chain holding the cell door closed.

He got a closer look at the woman. She was worse for wear, her hair matted and her skin grimy, but it was most certainly her.

“Emma?” Paul gently shook her awake.

“...Paul?” Emma gently woke up, her eyes bleary and unfocused.

“Hey… I found you. I got your email.”

“...Email?!” Emma sat up, suddenly afraid.

“What?”

“We need to go. Now.” She stood up, still rather groggy, but the adrenaline was keeping her going.

They slowly made their way out, as Emma wasn’t well.

Paul was constantly pausing to check up on her, seeing how she was, if she was able to continue.

They could smell the mold that seemed persistent about the whole house.

“Paul… go on ahead. I’ll catch you up.” Emma sat on the stairs leading out of the basement.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Just need to catch my breath…”

Paul nodded and went up the creaking wooden stairs one by one, no sound aside from his footsteps, thrumming heartbeat and the creaking of the old, slowly rotting wooden floorboards.

Then a house phone at the end of the hallway rang.

Paul left Emma to answer that phone.

The phone was covered in grime.

“Hello?” Paul answered.

“Paul, is it?” The woman on the other end of the line said.

“Y-yeah… who are you?”

“A friend of a friend. The front exit is not an option right now. Head up to the attic and run.”

“I need to get Emma.”

“I’ll meet you at the exit of the estate and we’ll get out of here together.”

“Okay…”

Mysterious Phone Lady hung up, leaving the whole area in silence, aside from the quiet hum of bugs and insects nearby. It was too quiet.

Paul hesitantly approached the stairs where he left Emma, slowly getting more worried with each creaking step he took.

“E-Emma?” Paul called out quietly.

Then Emma leapt in front of Paul’s face but she was all wrong.

Her face was sickly pale, contrasted by the raised blackened veins on her neck, her eyes were pitch black and her breath smelled of rot.

“Emma?!” Paul said, backing away slowly as she raised the box cutter in her hand, slashing wildly at Paul. “Emma… It’s me…”

He rushed back, trying to run away from his wife, who was grunting and crying like some sort of wounded, scared animal as she slashed wildly.

What had happened to her?

“Shit!” Paul yelped as Emma jammed the box cutter into his hand, pinning it against the wall as she exchanged it for a chainsaw nearby. “Emma! Emma, please! Don’t do this!”

She couldn’t hear her husband’s pleas as she dragged the chainsaw which looked so heavy in her hands with how weak she had become.

She brought it over her head and down onto Paul’s wrist, painfully and brutally severing his hand from the rest of his body.

Paul grabbed the kitchen knife with his remaining hand and started slashing wildly, trying to push Emma away and scare her off.

He pushed her down the stairs to the basement.

“I’m sorry, Em!” Paul said, scarpering, trying to find something else, preferably an exit.

He grabbed a handgun from a drawer nearby, along with a few rounds, as he ran toward the attic.

There was a surprising amount of mold in the attic, and there was no way to climb out of the window.

Paul began moving boxes to clear the ladder to the skylight.

Then he heard the revving of a chainsaw behind him and he turned around to see the sickly, monstrous version of Emma lumber toward him swinging the chainsaw wildly.

“Emma! Forgive me!” Paul started firing the gun equally as wildly, not wanting to kill his wife, but fearing for his life.

“Paul… I’m… sorry…” She said as she finally went down, collapsing onto the floor like a limp ragdoll.

Paul went to continue his exit, moving boxes to access the ladder that would free him and lead to his escape.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

A tall man in glasses and a worn plain shirt, with a moth eaten sweater tied over his shoulders.

“Welcome to the family.” He punched Paul in the face with a surprising amount of strength, sending him to the floor.

Then the man stomped on Paul’s head, and everything went dark.

#tw limb loss #tw gore and violence #paulkins #hatchetfield fanfic #hatchetfield x resident evil AU #mashup au #myth’s fics #hatchetfield #starkid #resident evil 7 #resident evil

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esmealux · 3 years

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Hi there! For the two-part drabble, may I request Deckerstar in situation 13 (someone does something stupid) with sentence 6 ("Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.") Thank you, and I've really really been enjoying your the updates on your Planning a Hell of a Wedding fic!

Hey! It took me two months (including more than one month of writing) but I've now finally finished your prompt. Another anon had requested 25 (being somewhere you're not supposed to) + 6 and dear @my-crazy-awesome-sox had requested 26 (a very cheesy date) + 6, so I've merged all your prompts into one 7K+ long 'drabble'. Hope you don't mind!

And I'm glad you like the updates on PHW! I'll try to write some more now that I've finished this.

Hope you like this!

Also, an immense special thanks to @my-crazy-awesome-sox for helping me with this fic. She truly has been a godsend, and a lot of the wording (especially in the later parts) is kindly and almost directly borrowed from her mind. Thank you again, babe!

Also thanks to @lightbringer-666 for assisting me with some French. If all the French isn't perfect, it's because I also googled my way to a lot of it. Apologies in advance (and please do let me know if there's anything I should change!)

Someone does something stupid + being somehwere you're not supposed to + a very cheesy date + 'Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.'

Rated M. Post 5B - contains spoilers!

Read on AO3 (includes list with English translations)

It’s ridiculous, really. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach like she’s a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. It’s not even their first date. It’s not even their second. The thing is, between becoming God and Consultant, revising a few laws of the cosmos, fixing some bugs in humanity, bringing Dan to Heaven, and going to therapy, she and Lucifer haven’t had much time for, well, each other. At least not in ways that didn’t involve discussions about the redesign of the afterworld and how to sate world hunger. So yes, she is a little giddy with excitement at the thought of having a whole evening to themselves—no celestial craziness. Just the two of them and a bottle of the restaurant’s finest.

If Lucifer would just show up.

She checks her phone. 06:14. Unlike last time she anxiously waited for him in a restaurant, there’s a text.

Running a bit late. Please forgive me. Can’t wait to see you ❤

And one more.

Sorry. Can’t wait to see you naked*

Chloe shakes her head, a stupid smile spreading across her face. She resists typing back a flirty reply—he’ll be with her in a minute, and she is nota schoolgirl—and puts her phone back in her clutch. Hands trembling a little, she smooths out invisible creases in the dress he’s bought her. It’s short and tight, of course, but perfectly so. Reaching mid-thigh, with a small slit revealing a bit more of her left thigh. Black, unsurprisingly; he still hasn’t gotten over how delectable she looked in the LBD she wore on their last ‘date’. And this one makes her legs look even longer, which is undoubtedly the primary reason Lucifer picked it. Still, it isn’t skimpy. He could have opted for a deep neckline and cold shoulders—she almost expected him to when he said he’d bought her a dress—but he didn’t. Instead, the short and skin-tight skirt is perfectly balanced with a high neck and long bell sleeves that are cut open just above her joints, making the soft fabric flow around her bare underarms. She likes it—would probably have bought it herself if it weren’t crazy expensive. Likes how it makes her feel both sexy and classy and most of all comfortable, likes that he knows her so well.

She fidgets with her earring and traces the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingertip, watching people as much as she can from their semi-private corner. She spots an Oscar-winning film director, a retired NFL player, that pop star Lucifer pretends to hate, and just how expensive isthis place?

She’s immediately distracted by the shift in the air and the sound of Italian loafers approaching her.

‘My me, Detective!’

His brown eyes roam her figure as she stands to kiss him. Their lips meet in a soft peck that could easily have turned into more if Lucifer hadn’t pulled away to look her up and down.

‘You look like a goddess.’

Chloe snorts and chuckles, not yet used to the title he insists is hers if she’ll have it. She puts a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a smile.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

He hums and leans in for another kiss, but something comes between them this time. They both look down—at a dozen red roses.

‘Those for me?’ she asks, warmth spreading in her chest.

Lucifer hands her the bouquet with a nod and that soft smile she loves more than anything. He pulls out her chair, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sits down, and sits down himself.

There’s a card nestled between the velvet petals: ‘For the Detective & Consultant’, her old and new moniker scribbled side by side in his annoyingly elegant handwriting. The latter nickname, however, is written in smaller, cramped letters—an afterthought. She smiles.

She turns the card, expecting to find a dirty, eye-roll-deserving comment on the back. But there’s no lewd joke or naughty promise.

It simply says, ‘I love you.’

Her heart swells, filling her chest till it aches. It’s all so new still. Not the love between them, but how it’s uninhibited now. It’s not like they don’t have their obstacles—just yesterday they had a fight—but there’s no doubt anymore, no voices telling them some dreams simply cannot be. They might have a whole universe to deal with, but for the first time ever, things between them are easy. No words are left unsaid. No feelings are squashed. No time is wasted. Every day is spent wrapped in each other’s love. Finally.

‘I love you too,’ she tells him, and he lights up, amazed. Confident. Their hands find each other on the table, fingers intertwining.

A waiter comes by with two menu cards and a vase for the flowers. Chloe reads through the menu carefully, pretending to know what kind of food hides behind the fancy French names. Lucifer sees right through her, sighs, and orders some hors d’œuvres, two of something she couldn’t pronounce if she tried, and a bottle of red.

‘So, were you stuck in traffic, or…?’ Chloe asks him with a glint in her eye as the waiter pours her a generous glass of wine. The celestial being with the supernatural metabolism can drive home.

The being in question looks confused for a moment before he answers, ‘Ah, no. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ For a brief second, he looks at her as if he’s apologising for more than tonight, but she strokes his knuckles and smiles at him, you’re here now, and he moves on to explain himself. ‘I just couldn’t find this bloody suit. Only when I’d ransacked the house did I realise it was still at the penthouse, so I had to make a detour.’

He is a little excused; so many things are impossible to find right now, with more or less unpacked boxes spread out between her apartment, Lux, and their new home. In hindsight, moving in together while taking over the almighty family business probably wasn’t the best idea, but they’ll get settled soon enough. Besides, right now, what’s important is that Lucifer was late because of a wardrobe crisis, and she will not let that slide.

‘You couldn’t just wear one of your three hundred other suits?’

A flicker of hurt and sheepishness flashes across Lucifer’s face.

‘Well, this one is special.’

Chloe takes in his suit: the navy jacket, the matching waistcoat, the royal blue shirt.

‘Oh.’

He smirks at her as heat creeps up her cheeks (so much for not being a schoolgirl).

‘You remember?’

She does. Of course, she does. She remembers vividly—how shocked he’d been at first, how new and soft his lips had felt against hers. How they’d held onto each other until the sun was setting and she really did have to go home and feed Maze and Trixie.

She also remembers how she, later, behind closed lids, had ripped off the shirt and waistcoat in desperate need. How it’d earned her a husky chuckle and a breathy ‘D’tective!’, and the sinful Heaven that was his hot and open mouth.

‘You okay, darling?’ Lucifer looks at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused. His thumb brushes the back of her hand.

Chloe takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. Adjusts her necklace.

‘Yeah, just, you know. Reminiscing.’

He studies her flushed face for a second before his curious smile spreads into a full-blown Cheshire grin.

‘You had a wet dream about me, didn’t you?! After our first kiss?’

Chloe glares at him. ‘Say it a little louder for the people in the back, will ya?’ He opens his mouth, and she immediately feels the need to clarify, ‘Do not say it a little louder for the people in the back.’

His smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m just ecstatic to know our first kiss left you all hot and bothered. I mean, not that I’m surprised.’ He brings his wine glass to his lips and lets go of her hand to gesture down himself.

Chloe rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t go home and wanked yourself blind that night.’

He laughs, surprised by her bluntness, and shamelessly answers, ‘Why, of course I did. That night, other nights. Before and after that kiss. This morning. You serve as quite the spank bank, my dear.’

She definitely doesn’t blush at that. But she does glance down at his waistcoat, at the soft skin and hard muscles she knows hide beneath it. She gives him a slow and dirty smirk, appreciative.

‘You too, baby.’

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening. Much to Chloe’s satisfaction, his neck and cheeks redden a little. Then he gives her a lopsided grin, smug and impressed.

‘Pray tell, Detective.’ His eyes glide down her face, her chest, her stomach, and slowly back up again.

In another time, she would have given him a stern look and told him it was none of his business, but she doesn’t. She also doesn’t tell him about lonely nights and long showers and crying his name into her pillow when they were still just friends. Instead, she leans across the table and half-whispers—

‘If you behave yourself tonight, I might show you.’

He gulps. Squirms a little in his seat, and—when he’s regained his composure and quite indiscreetly adjusted himself under the table—leans forward till there’s only mere inches between their faces.

‘Is that a promise?’ His voice is low and husky, his breath hot against her face. His eyes drop to her lips.

‘Pardon, monsieur, mais l’entrée est prête.’

They lean back in their seats and turn to the poor, young waiter, who’s balancing two seemingly heavy plates, a carafe of water, and a basket of crusty bread in his arms.

‘Lovely!’ Lucifer’s eyes follow the food as the waiter puts it down in front of them. ‘Merci beaucoup, Olivier.’

Olivier smiles at Lucifer, shy but with a look in his eyes Chloe knows all too well. She doesn’t blame him.

‘Ça va?’ Lucifer asks, his voice lined with genuine fondness.

Olivier nods. ‘Oui, ça va. Et toi?’

Lucifer looks to Chloe, beaming. He takes her hand on the table and interlocks their fingers again.

‘Tout va très bien,’ he answers, looking back up at Olivier with a dazzling smile.

Olivier’s eyes drop to their hands and, probably, to the ring, white and pearlescent, on Chloe’s third finger. His lips tug up at the corner.

‘Je peux voir ça. Félicitations!’ Before Lucifer can respond to that, whatever it means, Olivier gestures towards their food. ‘Et bon appétit.’

Lucifer replies with a friendly ‘merci’ and calls out something like ‘Salue ton père de ma part!’ as Olivier walks off.

Chloe stares at Lucifer, twirling the smashed bullet around her neck between her fingers.

‘What?’ he asks, curious.

She tilts her head, smiling. ‘French suits you.’

He smiles back, lasciviously. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm-hm.’

The look he gives her leaves no doubt that, sooner or later, he’ll be whispering foreign phrases against her skin.

But right now, they have other appetites to sate. They dig into the first course, and the (assumedly) insanely high prices suddenly make sense, because it is frigging good. The main course is even more delicious—divine, actually, to the point where Chloe has to ask Lucifer if he accidentally spiked the food with a blessing or two. He assures her it’s all Olivier’s father, no holiness involved, apart from Chef Beaumont’s heavenly cœeur de filet de bœuf. Chloe moans in agreement, savouring every bite.

He watches her with a smile, jokingly apologising for not serving her grilled cheese, and she makes a bad joke about this date being cheesy enough as it is. Because it is cheesy. Him buying her a dress, bringing her red roses, the love note, the candlelit restaurant, the French food, not to mention the suit. It’s like a rom-com parody.

But it’s also perfect. It’s everything she’s longed for, an over-the-top romantic date night with her- with her partner. A date that isn’t cut short by a horny stewardess (may she rest in peace) or a failed attempt at exorcism; where Lucifer actually shows up and isn’t just trying to outdo another man; where Chloe isn’t trying to make him ‘do something good for a change’; and their parents aren’t tagging along on a headache-inducing surprise double date that is also a sting in disguise.

So, in some ways, it is kinda their first date.

And it’s a really, really nice date.

They laugh—they laugh so much. More than they’ve done in the past few months combined. Or so it feels, at least.

They laugh, and they talk. About movies they cried to, favourite drinks, and how they’re gonna paint the living room. About the summers spent under the plum tree in Nana’s garden, and all the pranks pulled in the gilded meadows of Heaven. About chasing Amenadiel through the clouds, and how Chloe always wanted a sibling. About her short-lived Hollywood experience and that one time she may have gotten a little high at a Backstreet Boys concert. (He seems impressed by that, her ‘abhorrent’ taste in music aside.) They exchange secrets they never told anyone, stories of bad kisses—Jed used too much tongue; Will was always better with words—and tales from drunken nights out. They reminisce on the first time they met—how annoying she’d found him, how compelling he’d found her—and the many, many cases, some really weird, that first encounter led to.

They talk about Dan.

About missing him, even though he’s making waffles with Charlotte now.

About Trixie, and how therapy seems to be helping her, too. How she still sometimes breaks down crying, but no longer crawls into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping for air. How she’d laughed the other day, and it’d made them both cry. How incredibly strong she is, that little urchin.

They talk about going to Paris one day, all three of them—the French do make excellent chocolate cakes—or maybe somewhere else she wants to see, once everything is calmer. They talk about some of the prayers Lucifer has been hearing, about faith and free will, what they miss about solving crimes together, what they don’t miss, and how they’re still very much partners, even more so now—in every corner of life.

They talk till their cheeks hurt from smiling and Chloe’s half-drunk on expensive Burgundy. Lucifer asks for the cheque, their food long gone, and pays with cash, making sure to leave a tip possibly the size of Olivier’s monthly salary.

They leave the restaurant giggling about a stupid joke Lucifer makes, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. Her own hand is placed much lower than what is decent for such a fancy place like this, practically cupping his ass, but she’s tipsy enough not to care, and he doesn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s his own fault, anyway, for having his pants tailored to hug his butt like this.

Naturally, Lucifer drives. He doesn’t hold back his comments on how slow and boring her car is, but at least he stays somewhere close to the speed limit. She wishes he’d also wear a seatbelt, and keep both hands on the wheel, but his palm is nice and warm on her thigh, and she trusts he’ll get them home safely. She leans back in her seat, her head comfortably buzzing from wine and him, and watches the blurry city lights through the window. He’s turned down 2ndStreet.

‘Where are we going?’ She looks over at him, curious.

He smiles in the shadows, his fingers stroking the skin left exposed by the slit in her dress. His touch leaves hot, tingling paths on her thigh.

‘I thought we’d go for a second desert.’

Chloe is beyond full, her dress stretched over her now slightly rounder belly, and she can think of other things she’d rather do (things that include pinning Lucifer to their bed and making him groan and beg and laugh), but she’ll never say no to a freshly brewed latte and watching Lucifer obscenely enjoy some Sicilian pastry.

She turns up the radio, fumbling a bit, and closes her eyes with a smile, more content than she’s been in… a long time. His hand stays on her thigh as they move through the night, fingers tapping to the beat of the songs against her skin, creeping higher, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch, but nothing more, and then back down again. Maybe they’ll just take that latte to-go.

The car comes to a final halt, and first then does Chloe realise they haven’t stopped outside the late-night café and bakery that’s opened down on Spring Street.

‘Lucifer, what’—she looks around, double-checking—‘what are we doing at the back entrance to the precinct? You said we were getting desert.’

He leans across the centre console, fingers spreading on her thigh, and brings their faces so close their noses touch. Chloe swallows.

‘We are,’ he assures her with a wolfish grin, his gaze lingering hungrily on her, and she could jump him right then and there. But he takes his hand off her body and clicks her seatbelt free, pulls the key out of the ignition and exits the car. He strides to her side and opens the door for her, gentlemanly as ever, and she watches him with narrowed eyes as she takes his hand and steps out, sceptical even in her cloud of lust and inebriation.

He heads directly for the back entrance and opens the black iron door with ease, rudely ignoring the state-of-the-art security locks. A part of her knows she should stop him right there and give him a stern talking-to about respecting human laws—he still can’t do whatever the hell he likes just because he’s God now. But another part, the part of her who helped him empty two bottles of French wine, really wants to step over that threshold, to intertwine their fingers and go on a late-night adventure. And that part of her must overpower the other, because she lets him snake his arm around her waist and lead her through the door and inside the familiar building.

She senses him grinning by her side, his fingers curling around her hip in a deliciously tight grip that only stokes the heat pooling low in her belly. He takes her down the corridor, around the corner, and then they’re there, in the middle of the precinct. Everything is covered in darkness, the wide, open space only illuminated by a never-resting info screen and the purplish glow from the vending machine. Still, she can make out the shape of their desk, the door to Ella’s lab, the interrogation room. The fridge in the breakroom still hums obnoxiously, and the air smells like strong coffee and sugary glaze—or maybe that’s just a phantom. Either way, it all tugs at her heart, beckons her down memory lane, and she lets herself be pulled. Through the good, the bad, and the crazy.

Lucifer is quiet beside her, probably lost in nostalgia himself, or maybe just letting her have this moment. But not for long. With titillating eagerness and a devilish smirk, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her by the hand—towards the evidence closet.

He presses her up against the door, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement.

‘There’s something we never got to try.’

Her pulse quickens, blood humming loud and hot.

‘Lucifer, we can’t.’ She tries to sound firm around her suddenly heavy breaths and dry throat, but he doesn’t seem discouraged in the least.

He leans in, closer, his smirking lips brush against her ear. ‘Can’t we, now?’

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites it.

Chloe smothers a gasp.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She puts her hand on his chest and pushes her head against his, nudging him away from her neck so she can thinkfor a second. He reluctantly obeys and settles for placing his hands on her sides, dangerously high, thumbs almost stroking the underside of her breasts. She pushes his hands down to her waist. ‘We shouldn’t have sex in Evidence—shouldn’t have broken into the precinct in the first place. I mean, do you want us to get arrested?’

He only laughs at that, of course. ‘I’m God, darling. I won’t get arrested.’

Chloe rolls her eyes. He would probably charm his way out of it if they were caught, God or not—but that doesn’t make any of this okay. She’s about to tell him as much when he adds-

‘But if you wanted to cuff me and tell me what to do, resisting would be the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m sure we can find some cuffs lying about-’

‘Lucifer, no.’

Her tone is sharper than she’d intended. He pulls back a little, studying her face. His eyes flicker to her parted lips, her flushed, heaving chest, and then back to her determined gaze. His brows furrow.

‘Do you really not want to do this?’ His voice is soft, serious.

They stare at each other, hot breaths mingling. He’s still pressed up against her, a six-foot-three wall of muscle and love, and his scent—spicy cologne and smoke—floods her head like ambrosia, a dizzying fog of him. Her skin burns beneath his palms, his touch sending embers through the expensive fabric and down, flames licking at her inner thighs. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears.

‘We don’t even work here anymore,’ she rasps, deflecting his question. It’s a weak excuse, but she is fraying at the edges.

A salacious smile forms on Lucifer’s face. ‘We’ll just pretend we do.’

He takes a step back, putting a more ‘professional’ distance between them, adjusts his lapels and attempts at a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to show me something in Evidence, Detective?’

And there’s that word again, want—because she still hasn’t answered his question and her consent means more to him than anything. She loves him for that, she really does, but right now, it’s not that simple. She wants, every cell in her body wants, wants him to shove her into that closet and take her apart. Has wanted it for so long, thought about it for years—at her desk, in the shower, while sitting next to him during interrogations. Thought about it in the self-same evidence closet, as she was pressed up against the wall by someone else. Imagined tugging at his hair, feeling him between her legs—even had to swallow his name. She still thinks about it, thought about it the other night, briefly, wistfully, while making a cup of tea. Thought about how much fun they could have had, sneaking off to secret corners of the precinct like two horny teenagers—if it hadn’t been for, well, mostly Michael, and all the chaos he’d released upon their lives.

In fact, it’s only fair they have at least one reckless, semi-public rendezvous. Just one. To make up for the honeymoon phase they never really had. With all the hurt and heartbreak they’ve had to go through, alone and together, they deserve to have one night of stupid fun.

On the other hand, and this is why it’s not that simple, it’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea. And also, pretty illegal. If she asked him to, if she said no now, he would take her home and push her up against the nearest surface, bury himself in her faster than any of them could get their clothes off, bring her to ecstasy-

But it’s not the same. It just isn’t.

With as much innocence she can muster, she looks up at his anticipatory face and puts her hand on the doorknob. The cold steel is a soothing balm against her burning skin.

‘I do want to show you something in Evidence.’

He lights up like it’s a declaration of love, all unrestrained enthusiasm.

‘After you, darling.’

Their lips crash against each other before the door is even closed. He pushes her backwards in the semi-darkness, between shelves and boxes, hands low on her hips. His fingers dig softly into her ass as they stumble towards a sliver of wall together, panting and laughing against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t break contact with her lips as he quickly sheds his jacket on the way and throws it over his shoulder, for the moment uncaring of dirt and creases. Then her back hits the wall with a thunk and she’s instantly struck by déjà vu, until Lucifer grabs her thigh inside the slit of her dress, and the unwelcome memory quickly evaporates in the heat of their clashing bodies as he wraps her bare leg around his waist and pins her to the wall with the hard press of his hips. Their unison groans fill the cramped space.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she murmurs breathlessly against his lips before opening her mouth to let his tongue back in. He tastes like wine and crème brûlée.

He hums in disagreement. ‘We should always be here, Detective.’ With the hand still on her ass, he pushes their bodies impossibly closer together and rocks against her. She moans, despite herself.

‘We- I-‘ Chloe stammers, leaning her head back as he kisses his way down her neck, her mind and body pulling in different directions. ‘This is- why am I letting you get away with this?’

She feels him smirk against her throat. His hand slowly glides up her inner thigh—her pulse quickening with every inch—until his thumb brushes past damp fabric.

‘Because you like me.’ His beard rasps against her hot skin in the crook of her neck, a contrast to his soft lips placing slow, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collar. ‘Because you love me.’

Chloe scoffs.

‘Do I love you?’ she questions, her breathing erratic, her eyes turned to the ceiling as he sucks a mark onto her neck. With the hand that is still between her legs, he pushes her underwear to the side and rubs against her, nice and slow. ‘Yes.’ Her gasped answer has a proud, almost victorious chuckle rumbling from his chest.

‘But do I like you?’—she bites her lip and stifles another moan as his fingers press just right—‘That’s still up for debate.’

He breaks off the assault on her neck and looks up at her, eyes black with desire.

‘Allow me to try and tip the scales, then.’

She’s bereaved of his fingers as his hand moves to the edge of her underwear, pulling it down as he sinks to his knees. She almost stumbles when he slips it over her feet, but he grabs her leg, steadying her, and helps her out of her stilettos. Once she’s barefoot, his warm palms slide up the side of her legs, pushes the hem of her dress up a few inches, and then his mouth is on her.

He licks her, slowly, tenderly. She reaches down to pull at his hair, commanding him to give her more, to take more, and he does. He starts feasting on her, all tongue and lips and-

‘God, yes.’

He chuckles smugly into her core. ‘I do love it when you moan my name, darling.’ Eyes fixed on hers, he gives her a nice, long lick before he dives back in. He kisses her clit, sucks it, circles it, laps at her like he can’t get enough, and she’s reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. She bucks against his face, needing more, and he does that thing that she likes, tongue flicking her clit, warm and wet, as he pushes a finger inside her.

Her eyes clench shut, her head falls back against the wall. She doesn’t bother holding back her groan this time.

Lucifer hums against her, low and greedy, taking as much as he can, before he pulls away with ragged breaths. ‘Ma déesse, que tu as bon gout.’

The meaning is forever lost on her, but his hungry tone, the way his tongue wraps smoothly around the French syllables, the words dripping like sin from his glistening lips, sends warm shivers down her spine.

He slows down his pace inside her, places kisses on her lower belly, seeks her ticklish spots and the ones that make her breath hitch, and then trails down to her hips, studying her sharp bone with his lips and his teeth, before moving down to her thigh, stubble prickling her tender skin. As if he’s got all the time in the world, he lets his mouth travel to the insides of her legs, already spread for him, and kisses a path up her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she aches with need,but never quite there. His finger, still moving slowly—too slowly—curls a bit, reaches that spot deep inside her that usually makes her see stars, but he pulls back before she’s even done gasping.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, a threat and a plea.

He places one last kiss to her sensitive thigh, nuzzles his nose against her heat, before his tongue finally finds her clit again and his finger starts pumping inside her, fast and hard. Then faster, harder, and, fuck, deeper.

‘Baby,’ she begs him to continue, fire spreading through her body, from her curling toes to her already heated cheeks.

He slows down for a second, and she reaches down to scratch at his scalp in frustration but quickly forgives him when he adds another finger and resumes his perfect pace, thrusting up in her to the beat of her racing heart.

‘Je veux te faire jouir.’ His thumb replaces his tongue as he looks up at her, eyes sparkling with lust and determination, but also patience. Like he could do this for hours, the whole night, as long as she falls apart around his tongue and fingers in the end.

He doesn’t need all night, though. She’s close, so close, can feel the beginning of that blissful high burning in her lower belly, between her thighs, where his mouth licks and nibbles and sucks. A building warmth pumping through her veins. She grabs at his hair, wraps her leg around his shoulder and pushes his face closer into her heat, needing that last-

‘Fuck, right there,’ she gasps. Right there right there right there.

He smirks against her, always eager to please, and does as she says. As she’s teetering on the edge, he curls both fingers inside her, goes impossibly deeper, and reaches the same spot as before, except this time, he doesn’t stop, and she comes with a shudder and a gasped ‘fuck!’ as he licks her through it.

‘Tu es tellement belle, ma chérie,’ he tells her, voice soft with awe as she comes down from her high and opens her eyes. She understands enough of the words to smile down at him, at his dishevelled hair, his swollen lips, and warm, chocolatey eyes.

‘You too, baby.’

She still hasn’t caught her breath when he, after wiping his mouth on her thigh, slowly rises from his feet and starts making his way up her body. His fingers skate lightly up her dress, his knuckles brushing against her rising and falling ribs as his hands sneak higher and higher, closer and closer. With a feather-light touch, he starts tracing the curves of her breasts, deliberately avoiding her aching nipples. He teases her with his fingers, kisses her neck, lips trailing, hot and slow, up to her jaw and the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

‘J’ai envie de toi,’ he says into her ear, his voice rough with want and determination.

Chloe can’t take it anymore. She fists his waistcoast in one hand and grabs him by the hair with the other to pull him up into a hard kiss. He tries to stay in control, to hold back his obvious desire for just a little longer, but he quickly loses the battle and lets a bit of hunger take over. They pour equal heat into the kiss, tongues pressing and teeth clashing as their mouths slide against each other. She threads her fingers through his curls, he bites her lip, and they both groan and gasp into the kiss.

Chloe’s the one to pull away, needing air sooner than him. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, both panting, when he says it again, ‘J’ai envie de toi.’ This time, breathy desperation shines through his voice. ‘Je veux être en toi.’

And then they’re kissing again and both of them are working at his belt and pants in a flurry of hands until he’s finally inside her with one quick thrust. He fills her to the hilt, deliciously stretching her inner muscles, warm and hard. For a moment, they’re both so overcome they can only pause and breathe, Lucifer’s forehead cradled in the crook of her shoulder as her hand gently strokes the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He pulls back to look deeply into her eyes, and starts off slow. Not teasing, just tender. He kisses her cheeks and neck, every inch of skin he can reach with his lips, and whispers sweet nothings against her skin. She can’t know for sure, of course, because it’s still in French, and she doesn’t catch all of it, the sounds alien and muffled—‘t’es incroyable’, she hears, ‘j’suis fou amoureux de toi’—but something about his tone tells her it’s not as dirty as whatever he was saying before. Still, it makes her just as wet, the words tingling across her skin.

He picks up the pace, wraps her legs tighter around him, and pushes her harder against the wall. His hand grasps her breast roughly, seeking purchase, then rhythmically strokes over her nipple in apology, and she moans her relief. The shelves on either side of them hit the wall with a consistent thump, thump, thump as he thrusts up into her, fucks her, their harsh pants mingling in the small space between their parted lips. Chloe claws at Lucifer’s shoulders and back, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Even through the two layers of fabric, she can feel his warmth and muscles, and a sudden urge bubbles up within her. With desperate fingers, she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, but it takes too long—she needs him—so she rips open both shirt and waistcoat and frantically pushes them off his shoulders. He pins her against the wall with a hard thrust, letting go of her thigh and breast to shake the material onto the floor, and Chloe scratches at his finally bare back and shoulders, nails digging into slick, freckled flesh. She arches back into the wall and bares her neck for him to nip and kiss.

‘Fuck, Lucifer!’ she whines. ‘Oh, God, baby, fuckyes!’

He growls at the sound of her noises and bites her ear.

‘J’adore baiser avec toi.’ One hand slides down to her ass, holding her and pushing her dress higher up as the other bites into the now bare skin at her waist. The sharp touch sends a jolt down to her throbbing clit, making her clench tighter around him. ‘J’adore ton corps. T’es vraiment une déesse.’ The last word is a groan against her lips as he kisses her.

It’s wet, messy, and so delicious they both grasp tightly onto each other’s mouths with lips, tongues and teeth, neither of them wanting to ever let go.

‘Je veux t’embrasser,’ Lucifer pants when they break apart for a second, his gaze fixed on her mouth as their lungs fight for air. His dark eyes soften when they look into hers. ‘Chaque jour de ma vie,’ he adds reverently as he leans in. ‘Pour toujours.’ And then he kisses her again, like he wants it to last for all eternity.

His thrusts turn slower and deeper as they kiss, harder, until kissing becomes panting into each other’s mouths and Chloe’s head falls back in sheer pleasure. He tightens his grip on her ass and runs the hand on her waist up her side, brushing his thumb over her nipple as he passes her breast, up her neck, and cups the side of her face. She lets their eyes meet, and the way he’s looking at her, with absolute awe and gratitude, makes her heart flutter and her hips buck against his bare stomach. Her hands slide from where they’ve been clutching his mess of a hair to his back, trailing down to where he’s most sensitive. She places her palms on either side of his spine and presses lightly, carefully.

‘Tu me-’ he cuts off with a gasp when her nails skim over his hidden wings, ‘Tu me rends- fucking hell, Chloe.’

She keens at the guttural sound of her name. He leans his forehead against hers with a grunt, the slight change in angle making his rhythm falter, one hand slamming against the wall next to her. She watches the rest of his control slip through glazed eyes. She did this to him. She rendered God himself lost to his own bliss. That knowledge itself is nearly enough to push her over the edge.

‘Close,’ she breathes.

He grabs both her thighs with strong hands and presses her flush up against the wall, going impossibly deeper inside her. She hisses through her teeth and sputters all kinds of incoherent, unholy prayers into the sweltering air between them. Every hard thrust pushes her closer to ecstasy.

‘You make me so happy,’ Lucifer whispers, sounding so wrecked and raw her eyes clench shut. ‘I want- I hope- fuck- I hope I make you, nnf, just as happy.’

‘You do, baby. You make me so- so-’

Heat floods her veins as she comes, the sweet tension snapping all at once. She cries out, arches her back, and moans long and low as he continues to fuck her through it. His thrusts are quick and inelegant, his arms and thighs trembling, and she knows he’s close. She intentionally clenches around him, whispers his name, and then he too is tumbling over the edge, the only type of falling she ever wants him to feel again.

They smile at each other as they try to catch their breaths, sweaty foreheads still pressed together.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘So much.’

She hums with happiness, her heart pleasantly aching at the sound of the words he couldn’t say the last time they were here.

‘I love you too, babe.’ She reaches up to lazily nuzzle the hairs at the nape of his neck, still smiling.

‘Maybe you even like me?’

She lets out a breathy chuckle and slides down the wall to land on her bare feet. Her legs are… wobbly, to say the least. Lucifer smirks at her.

‘We’ll see about that.’ She smoothes out her dress as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. ‘If anyone ever finds out about this, your chances are pretty bad, buddy.’

She collects his clothes from the floor and helps him into his shirt. Two buttons are missing, lost to the force of her hasty ripping. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, the fact that the shirt he wore when they first kissed—the shirt she dreamt of tearing off his body—now is marked by their little escapade. (At least until he gets his tailor to fix it.)

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you then, won’t I?’ He licks his lips and lifts his eyebrows as he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor once she’s put her shoes back on. Chloe bites her cheek so as to not smile at his suggestion and intertwines their fingers.

‘You can start by helping me assemble that new shelf system tomorrow,’ she tells him, waiting for him to groan in response, or mumble something about hiring some people to do it for them. But he doesn’t. He just opens the door for her and lets her go first with a soft smile on his still flushed face.

‘Anything for you, my love.’

The door shuts with a gentle click behind them.

#writing #deckerstar fanfiction #deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer on netflix #fluff #smut #established deckerstar #lucifer is god #post 5b #post s5 #two part drabble game

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bevioletskies · 3 years

Text

meet me halfway (across the sky)

summary: Video calls back home were a rare treat for Apollo, considering how busy his life in Khura’in could be. Catching up with Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix was one thing. Getting a sudden call from Klavier was another. And talking to Klavier every day for hours about everything they never knew about each other was possibly the most unexpected thing of all.

word count: 12k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day five of seven (prompt: "parallels"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

Mild spoiler warning for Spirit of Justice, along with implied spoilers for Dual Destinies. Fic title is from the song Meet Me Half Way by Kenny Loggins.

“Uh, Mr. Wright, you’re way too close to the screen. Can you sit back a little?”

“Oops - sorry, Apollo! Still not used to this kind of technology, heh.”

“Sheesh, Daddy, you make yourself sound ancient - ”

“Ah! Did you guys start already? Attendez-moi!”

Chuckling, Apollo leaned back in his seat and waited while the three of them rearranged themselves in front of their webcam. He’d missed this, this camaraderie that he didn’t quite have with his current companions in Khura’in. There was something immensely comforting about it, about every time he managed to schedule a video call with everyone back home. It didn’t happen as often as they would’ve liked, given how busy they all were, how tricky the time difference could be, but when it did, it was the best part of Apollo’s week.

“Hey, guys,” Apollo said, waving sleepily. “What’s been going on?” He leaned closer, peering at his screen. “...Athena, why do you have a banana sticker on your forehead?”

“Why don’t you have a banana sticker on your forehead?” Athena retorted, peeling hers off with a flourish. “Anyway, everything’s been sehr gut! We’ve had, hm...I think four clients since we last talked? All acquitted, of course!”

“Anything interesting?” Apollo asked. “I’ve had twelve clients, myself.”

Phoenix frowned. “I’m...not so sure that’s a good thing. Are you getting enough sleep? I can’t imagine you having that many cases and not mixing them up. Keeping track of evidence alone must be a nightmare!”

“It’s been...a process,” Apollo said diplomatically, trying not to think about the dozens of folders he had on both his desktop and his actual desk that needed to be sorted in a way that made some semblance of sense. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Wright, I-I’m fine!”

“Famous last words,” Trucy huffed. “Polly, you need rest! We want you back home in one piece, after all.”

“At least I’m not accepting odd jobs anymore,” Apollo chuckled. “I don’t mind helping someone set up their internet or move their couch every now and then, but I can’t do everything.” He startled suddenly at the sound of his phone going off. “Oh - sorry, one sec.” His brows knitted together when he read the call display: Klavier Gavin.

“Apollo? Is something wrong?” Athena asked, concerned.

“I - uh…” Apollo hesitated, unsure of what to do. “I’m gonna mute myself for a second, hang on.” He did just that, then answered his phone. “Gavin? Are you...wait. Did you call me by accident?”

There was a long, lingering silence. Then, “Ach, I only just realized what time it is where you are. I should’ve texted first, ja?”

“Yeah, probably,” Apollo said, laughing awkwardly. “Is this, uh, urgent? It’s just - I’m in the middle of a video call, so…”

“Nein, nein, not all!” Klavier’s voice was too loud, too sharp. Apollo didn’t need to see his face to know what that meant. “You know what? Forget I called, it’s nothing.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Apollo protested, frowning. “If you wanna talk for whatever reason, we can - ”

“I have somewhere I need to be, anyway, so, er - Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.” Klavier quickly hung up before Apollo could get a word in edgewise. He stared at his phone, perplexed, before unmuting himself. The others looked as confused as he was.

“What happened?” Phoenix asked.

“...Prosecutor Gavin called me?” Apollo shook himself a little. “I’ll get back to him later, so - anyway, what were we talking about?”

_____

Three days passed before Klavier responded to the inquiring text message Apollo had sent him after he’d finished talking to the others. He still didn’t seem ready to talk about it - whatever it was - but he did suggest they do a video call of their own, to which Apollo agreed. Something about Klavier’s behavior was bothering him, and he was more curious about it than he expected to be.

“Forehead? You’re staring, achtung. I know I’m handsome, but you should really keep those eyes of yours under control. They’re going to get you in trouble someday, I’m sure of it.”

“I - ” Apollo’s eyes narrowed. “Really, Gavin? That’s how we’re starting this?”

“It was you who started it,” Klavier said petulantly, his tone not unlike a five-year-old’s. But really, Apollo couldn’t stop staring - not because of Klavier’s looks; he’d long made peace with how attractive he thought Klavier was and how much he didn’t want Klavier to know, but because of how tired Klavier seemed. Apollo had expected him to be in his usual “uniform”, his silver jewelry and perfect makeup and impeccably styled hair. Instead, Klavier was wearing an oversized sweater, his hair up in a loose topknot, his face completely bare. He still had that lazy, slightly flirtatious smile on his face, but he was slouching quite a bit, his arms loosely wrapped around his propped-up knee. With his cracked lips, acne scars, and hunched shoulders, he looked more human than Apollo had ever thought possible.

“How’ve you been?” Apollo asked, ignoring him. “I’m surprised you called. I haven’t heard from you in, like. Three months? Four? I swear, I’m losing all sense of time here.”

“Well, it’s not like we had a habit of talking in the first place, ja?” Klavier pointed out. “But...to borrow a phrase, I’m fine, though the courts have been so boring without you here. I almost miss the ringing ears I got after every single one of our trials.”

“Har, har,” Apollo drawled. “Congratulations, you and everyone else have broken me down into exactly two personality traits: sarcastic and loud. Are you proud of yourself?”

“You forgot ‘oblivious’,” Klavier supplied helpfully.

Apollo blinked. “...to what?” He blinked again. “Wait - ”

“Too late,” Klavier interrupted gleefully, beaming. “You’ve proven my point beautifully.” Apollo glared; not five minutes in, and he was already prepared to hang up. “Anyway, I’ve been sehr gut, for the most part. Work has been keeping me busy. You?”

“I’m pretty settled here by now,” Apollo said, shrugging. “It’s rough, y’know, trying to rebuild an entire legal system as the only defense attorney in the country, but, uh...at least I’m not completely alone. And as nerdy as it sounds, I’m actually really liking the work. Not the stress - that, I could do without - but the fact that I get to be a part of this big...thing. It’s exciting, I guess.”

“It’s not that nerdy,” Klavier reasoned. “Nerdy is reading law textbooks at night, under the covers. As a child.”

“...is it weird that I actually did that?” Apollo asked, wincing.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to blink, stunned. “Wait, really? I was talking about me.”

“Oh.” Apollo shifted in his seat, surprised. “Never would’ve guessed. I mean, obviously, I know you became a prosecutor at seventeen, but I just assumed you were a musical child prodigy and...I dunno, switched career paths at some point.”

Klavier let out a soft laugh. “Again, you flatter me, Herr Forehead, but I’m not a prodigy of any kind. Just some good old-fashioned hard work, you know?” He then frowned very slightly. “Though...I’ll admit, I’m not sure how much of my standing at the prosecutor’s office also came down to good old-fashioned nepotism. After all, Kristoph…” He trailed off, unwilling to say more.

Apollo shuddered. Even after all this time, he couldn’t get his former boss’s maniacal laughter out of his head. “Right, um...oh, have you had any interesting cases lately? Athena was telling me she had a literal gravedigger as a client - no prizes for guessing where the victim’s body was discovered…”

The next hour seemed to fly by surprisingly quickly, with the two of them exchanging light-hearted anecdotes about work. As it turned out, they’d both had many interesting cases since the last time they spoke. It wasn’t until Apollo could barely keep his eyes open that he realized what time it was.

“Ach, don’t let me keep you,” Klavier said when Apollo yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row. “You have work in the morning, I’m sure.”

“Wait, but - ” Apollo yawned yet again “ - but we never got around to...whatever it was you were calling about the first time. Your so-called ‘nothing’.”

Klavier’s expression sobered instantly, his mouth pulling back into a hard line. “I’m not going to bother lying to you, Apollo. But I’m not interested in telling you, either. So let’s leave it at that, ja?”

“I...oh.” Apollo nodded, feeling somewhat chastised. “Fine. Fine, we don’t have to - but if you wanna, y’know, catch up again sometime, let me know, okay? I’ve got time to talk. Er, I think.”

Klavier laughed, surprised, though his eyes were still wary. “Do you actually...miss me, Forehead?”

“You really know how to ruin a moment, Gavin,” Apollo sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, talk to you later...maybe. Haven’t decided on whether I actually want to anymore, jerk.”

Klavier continued to grin. “Auf Wiedersehen, baby.” Apollo tried not to think about how the last word had made him shiver.

Weeks went by before Apollo heard from Klavier again, a few days after he’d had a two-hour long call with Trucy. Apollo’s voice was a bit hoarse from all the talking he’d done - not to mention how angry he’d gotten in court just yesterday after a particularly smug witness tried to take over the entire trial - but nevertheless, he was surprised at how happy he was to see Klavier, a feeling he was mostly unfamiliar with.

“Do you have a cold?” Klavier asked. “Your voice sounds a bit strained and raspy.”

“My brain feels strained and raspy,” Apollo groaned. He then paused; for some reason, the exchange sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. “It’s nothing, I just got pissed and yelled at someone in court yesterday. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.”

“But isn’t yelling your default?” Klavier smirked. He looked more relaxed than last time, the tension in his face less noticeable. “I hope the rest of the trial went well, at least.”

“Oh, it didn’t,” Apollo said, snorting. “But...past’s in the past. I have too many cases to deal with to bother worrying about one crappy witness. My client was acquitted, I got the real culprit, you know the deal. It’s all starting to blur together, to be honest.”

“It sounds like you need to get out more,” Klavier suggested, not unkindly. “Is there any sort of...nightlife in Khura’in? Recreational activities, maybe? Don’t make me bother Fräulein Detective and get her to drag you to a bar every now and then.”

“We go out to eat or drink sometimes,” Apollo replied, shrugging. “But...I dunno. I don’t really have the time to take up a new hobby or whatever. My free time is for eating, sleeping, and catching up with people back home.”

“Fair enough, though you really should lighten your workload,” Klavier said sagely. “It’s not like you took cases every day when you were here, ja? I know Khura’in needs your help, but what good are you to them if you’re burnt out?”

Apollo’s eyes widened slightly, stupefied. Then, he tried - and failed - to stifle a laugh. “Okay, Dad. Sheesh, you sound like Mr. Wright trying to give me a pep talk.” He sat back in his seat, loosely running his fingers through his hair. “Fine, then, question for you - when’s the last time you took a day off?”

“I went to visit my parents last Saturday,” Klavier answered after taking a moment to think. “They needed help cleaning and packing away some of...some of his things.” He visibly swallowed, though he tried to hide it with a sharp cough. After some consideration, Apollo decided not to comment on it.

“That’s hardly a day off,” Apollo retorted instead. “I mean, it’s technically not work, but - wait. Do you usually work on weekends, too?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, confused. “Do you mean to say you don’t?”

“No, I - I work on weekends more than I should,” Apollo admitted. “But it’s kinda hypocritical of you to tell me to get out more when you don’t have much of a life, either, y’know. Also, are you seriously telling me you don’t have, like. Other things to do? People to see, places to be? Not that spending time with your parents is a bad thing, I-I mean, it’s cool that you do, it’s just...well.”

Klavier averted his eyes, reaching across his desk to pick up his mug of tea. He took his time with it, drinking at a leisurely pace, before finally speaking again. “Do you actually care to know, Forehead? Or are you just asking to ask?” he said evenly.

“I…” Apollo found himself caught off-guard by both the question and his own answer. “No, I actually wanna know. ‘Cos it’s just - it’s not what I imagined. I’ve seen all the headlines and photos and stuff, so…”

“Ah.” Klavier smiled ruefully. “From the early Gavinners days, I take it? Back when I had Daryan around to be my bad influence? Nein, that’s not exactly my style anymore. I already feel too old for that kind of scheisse. Now, I do these things out of obligation, you know? Work parties, family events...nothing too wild. Not when I’ve been involved in too many scandals. Better to lay low than to put myself out there again, ja?”

“I...I see.” Apollo went quiet for a moment, ruminating. He couldn’t help but notice Klavier had neatly avoided the word “friend”; he was starting to wonder how many he actually had. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had ever mentioned anyone outside of people that Apollo himself already knew.

“You’re staring again, Forehead.” Klavier leaned closer, resting his chin in his hands, a wicked grin plastered across his face. “There’s no one nearly as pretty as me in Khura’in, I take it? Don’t worry, I’d be surprised if there was.” Apollo said nothing, instead lifting a hand from his own mug of honey lemon tea to flip him off. Klavier merely laughed in response, delighted.

_____

After that, the gap between video calls went down from a few weeks to a few days. Neither of them knew why, but somehow, they’d come to a silent agreement that they were going to talk once or twice a week about nothing in particular. However, Apollo still hadn’t quite figured out why Klavier had called him the first time. Initially, he suspected it had something to do with Kristoph, given that the Gavins were finally starting to pack up his things. Maybe Klavier had visited him recently, or maybe he’d reminisced a little too long about their shared childhood, whatever that looked like. But when Apollo had asked, Klavier had simply shrugged it off.

“It’s no secret that even thinking about thinking about Kristoph puts me in a foul mood,” Klavier had replied. “But I haven’t seen him lately, nein. I’m done, I’m - I just want to move on with my life, without his shadow lurking in the darkness.”

Not all their conversations were so heavy, though; once they’d finally caught up on everything they’d missed out on over the last several months, their topics turned mundane, even silly. Apollo never expected to spend one of his precious free Saturday mornings arguing with Klavier, of all people, about breakfast, of all things, but here he was.

“Yes, I’ve had instant ramen for breakfast, what of it?!” Apollo had exclaimed defensively. “Add an egg, some bacon bits...what’s your problem?”

“My problem is your sodium intake,” Klavier had protested. “Bitte, tell me you eat actual fruits and vegetables from time to time. Tell me you have some semblance of a balanced diet and your stomach hasn’t just turned into a toxic wasteland.”

Apollo wasn’t sure why he was talking to Klavier so often, so suddenly, in all honesty. Part of him supposed it was because Klavier just happened to be there - after all, he seemed freer to talk than Phoenix, Trucy, or Athena, and he wasn’t bad company when he wasn’t not-so-stealthily insulting Apollo in court. But another part of him, the part he desperately wanted to ignore, felt oddly comforted by Klavier’s probably-fake accent and his too-wide smile. Klavier’s presence in his small, chilly Khura’inese bedroom almost made him feel like he was back home.

“Have you seen the others lately?” Apollo asked one evening, bundled up in the thickest blanket he could find. There was a draft coming in from somewhere that he had yet to take care of, and neither Datz nor Ahlbi were too interested in checking it out, either. “Or...I dunno. Watched any of Trucy’s shows?”

“I’ve only seen them around at crime scenes and the courthouse,” Klavier replied. Apollo couldn’t stop himself from sneaking a peek over Klavier’s shoulders at his surroundings in curiosity. For once, Klavier was sitting on his bed instead of at his desk or in what was presumably his home office. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to have a huge, ostentatious-looking bedroom that was probably bigger than Apollo’s office. “Things have been...busy at the Gavin estate. I don't have much time to socialize with colleagues.”

“Busy?” Apollo echoed, sitting up. “More cleaning, you mean?”

“My parents aren’t retired, but sometimes, they act like they are,” Klavier said wryly. “They want to remodel so many rooms - the kitchen, the conservatory, my old playroom...so I’ve been going home quite a bit these days, helping them with the little things. It was nostalgic, seeing all the toys I used to play with. Feels like a lifetime ago, achtung.”

“What was your thing?” Apollo asked. “Beanie Babies? Barbie Dreamhouses? Legos? Wait, let me guess - you had one of those Fisher-Price piano playmats, didn’t you? Don’t even lie to me.”

“I would never own something so tacky,” Klavier protested; he almost seemed offended. “Nein, Mama was all about wooden toys - blocks, cars, dollhouses, kitchen sets - it’s very aesthetically pleasing. With the occasional soft toy, ja, but we never had plastic.”

“Interesting,” Apollo said, humming. “Same here, no plastic for us. Only, uh - not for the same reasons. More out of...necessity.”

“Oh.” Klavier’s expression softened. “Ja, I suppose in your...situation, you wouldn’t be able to get new things easily.” He then smirked. “Now I’m trying to imagine you and Herr Sahdmadhi as children. I can’t picture either of you with dolls or teddy bears.”

“Try actual frogs and actual bunnies,” Apollo said, sinking down further into his chair. “We were outdoorsy kids, believe it or not. Scraped knees and sunburns and all. But now, uh, good luck dragging me away from air conditioning and indoor plumbing. You couldn’t pay me to abandon my weighted blanket.”

“Picky, picky,” Klavier teased, grinning. “I don’t blame you, though. I’m too comfortable with being comfortable to like change. Though...I suppose that’s not really up to us, is it? Changing?”

“How philosophical of you,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that deep, Gavin, I’m just saying I’m not interested in sleeping outdoors again anytime soon. One instance of me waking up with ants in places that you definitely don’t want ants was enough.” He then chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “And honestly, who does like change? It’s like when I get a new client, right, and every time, something changes on me. Evidence, circumstances, logic...hell, it’s your fault sometimes!”

“When did this become about me?” Klavier chuckled, still smiling.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back. “It’s like you have this...this uncanny ability to turn any normal conversation into an opportunity for you to wax poetic, just so you can sound cool. If you ask me, it’s more dorky than anything else.”

Klavier’s mouth dropped open. “...Apollo Justice, are you calling me a dork?”

“Maybe I am, Klavier Gavin. What are we, Prosecutor von Karma?” Apollo snorted. “Sorry, Gavin, but between you and her, I think I know which one of you is actually German.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m very German,” Klavier protested, wagging an accusing finger at his screen. “Both of my parents grew up in Germany; they only came to the States so they could get their master’s. They had me learn German by watching Janoschs Traumstunde and Die Sendung mit der Maus, and Mama taught me how to make spätzle and schupfnudeln and reibekuchen - ah, and my favorite dessert? Bienenstich.”

Apollo held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. I just think your accent’s a little...questionable. You sound like someone who got too overconfident in their dedication to Duolingo.”

“Ach,” Klavier said, laughing. “Anyway, do you mean it? Am I really...dorky?”

“Wow, you’re even more hung up on that than I thought,” Apollo teased, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing as well. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Image is a big deal to you, after all. Yes, Gavin, you’re a huge dork. How can you not be when you say shit like - like ‘tell me you share my angst, Herr Forehead’ - ”

“And you think my accent is terrible,” Klavier mused, sighing. “So sue me, I like to embellish. I like a little romance in my language - it makes life more interesting, you know? Though I suppose you wouldn’t understand, being the kind of person that you are. You wouldn’t know romance if it asked you to dinner.”

“Ugh, that reminds me.” An involuntary shudder went through Apollo’s entire body. “I had a client ask me out a few weeks ago. Like, seconds after I got him acquitted. As if that was all he was thinking about while the judge declared him not guilty.”

Klavier went still. “...really? What happened? What did you say?”

“I said no, obviously!” Apollo exclaimed, loud enough that he briefly wondered if he’d accidentally woken up his neighbors. “He wasn’t a murderer, but he was still a shitty person. Besides, shitty or not, it’s kind of an unspoken thing to not date clients and co-workers, isn’t it?”

“Ja, of course,” Klavier said, waving a hand aimlessly. “I’m just...surprised.”

“That someone was interested in me? Thanks, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes.

“That someone thought it was a good idea,” Klavier corrected, mouth twisting into a slight frown. “You’re perfect...ly acceptable, Forehead. As a, ah, person to go on a date with, I mean.” He cleared his throat; it seemed to get stuck quite often these days. “Anyway - surely, he didn’t think you would agree!”

“I dunno what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all in the first place,” Apollo sighed, shivering once more. “At least Ema got a good laugh out of it.”

Klavier straightened up, his expression quickly returning to normal. “How is she, by the way? I can only imagine that Khura’in is completely covered in luminol by now.”

“She’s adjusted pretty well, though she’s used to living overseas,” Apollo shrugged. “Her Khura’inese needs some work, though. Er, not that mine’s much better, I’ve been gone for too long. It’s coming back to me...slowly. Very slowly.”

“Sometimes I forget that you speak another language, too,” Klavier remarked. “Considering your grasp of English…”

“My English is fine, thanks,” Apollo huffed; it seemed like he couldn’t go one conversation without wanting to stick his tongue out at Klavier like they were unruly children on a school playground. Or, alternatively, flipping him off like they were fighting over the last parking spot. “Just ‘cos I don’t get all fancy with it - ”

“Here we go again,” Klavier sighed, dropping his chin into his hands. “And you say I make everything about me, hm?”

“Two-way street, Gavin. Two-way street,” Apollo said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Besides, that’s...it’s kind of our thing, isn’t it? Poking at each other until someone gets legitimately pissed? Usually me, but still.”

“I didn’t know we had a ‘thing’,” Klavier said, cocking his head in curiosity. “Tell me more about this ‘thing’ of ours, bitte.”

“See? There you go again!” Now Apollo’s neighbors were definitely awake; he didn’t have to look out the window to know that their lights were coming back on. “You can’t go two seconds without being...smarmy about something. It’s like a bad habit of yours, and I know a thing or two about bad habits.”

“What’s yours?”

Apollo blinked. Klavier had asked so suddenly, so immediately, that he’d barely heard what he’d said. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your bad habit,” Klavier elaborated. “I know you were talking about spotting other people’s tells, but I’m more curious about yours. You’d think that, since I get on your nerves so easily, I’d be able to see it myself, but…” He shrugged, still smiling. It was one of those indiscernible expressions of his that frustrated Apollo so much, the kind of bland, indifferent smile that seemed to mean anything and nothing at the same time. The kind of smile Klavier had in court as he reviewed the facts of the case, or when he ran into Apollo at a crime scene, or even when he talked about not talking about his brother.

“I...I, uh, never really thought about it.” Apollo hummed, thinking it over. “Messing with my hair, I guess? I’ve definitely, literally pulled my hair out before whenever I’m, like. Nervous. Stressed. Worried. Or, y’know, all of the above. I even had a crooked hairline in high school ‘cos I used to do it all the time.”

Klavier lifted his head from his hands, looking at Apollo in awe. He was quiet for so long that Apollo almost asked him if his internet connection had cut out, only to watch Klavier fuss with his bangs, then push them back completely, exposing his hairline, near-identical to what Apollo’s used to look like. It was only then that Apollo realized he’d never seen Klavier with his hair completely up. Of course, he’d seen Klavier do ponytails, braids, even space buns if he was feeling particularly stylish, but his bangs were always swept over his left eye. Now, he could see why.

“...oh.” Apollo wasn’t sure what to say. “I...I see. Is that, uh, recent?”

Klavier nodded shortly, then briefly turned away to grab a hair tie from his bedside table. He held the hair tie between his teeth while he gathered up his hair and twisted it into a neat knot; Apollo tried not to stare at the fullness of Klavier’s bottom lip, sticking out in a perfect pout, as he did. “Can I tell you a secret, Herr Forehead?”

“Oh - er - okay, abrupt change of topic there,” Apollo muttered, more to himself than to Klavier. “I guess so. What’s up?”

“I...haven’t decided how I feel yet about my parents remodeling our family estate.” Klavier’s tone was casual, but Apollo knew by now that it meant nothing. “I know why they’re doing it, I just don’t know why they’re doing it now. Nothing has changed, you know? They’re still working, I’m still working...Kristoph is still in prison.”

“Well, I don’t...know your parents or anything,” Apollo said carefully. “But i-it could be, like, a healing process thing. Starting fresh and all that, you know? But maybe it’s really not that deep. Maybe they literally just felt like, hey, now’s the right time to renovate. You could ask ‘em.”

“Ah - nein, I couldn’t inconvenience them like that,” Klavier said, chuckling awkwardly. He was already starting to mess with his hair once more. “If I expressed anything other than my complete support, they would stop immediately. And they’ve already sacrificed so much for me, I would never...I can’t…”

“Gavin,” Apollo said softly.

“It’s just a few rooms.” Klavier inhaled sharply. “What does it matter? It’s not like I live there. If Mama wants to turn our playroom into a crafting room, it...it makes sense.”

Their conversation, understandably, didn’t last too long after that. Apollo crawled into bed, still wrapped up in his blankets, with over a dozen trains of thought trekking through his mind, more of them about Klavier than he wanted to admit. He’d never thought of Klavier as an inherently private person - at times, he seemed almost too open to speaking his mind - but now, he could see that in some ways, he had been completely wrong.

_____

Unlike before, a few weeks passed before they had another video call. Klavier was wearing a muscle tank this time, his hair scraped back into a messy bun, his bangs perfectly placed. Apollo found himself more than a little distracted by the broadness of Klavier’s shoulders, by the length of Klavier’s neck. “Entschuldigung for last time,” Klavier said smoothly, by way of greeting. “Let’s not have me treat our conversations like my therapy sessions, ja?”

“It’s fine, Gavin,” Apollo reassured him. “One comment about how you’re feeling is no big deal. If you wanna talk, then...talk. Honestly, I’m a huge law nerd, and I could talk about Khura’inese legal practices all day, but, uh, I could definitely use a conversation or two that’s about something completely different.”

Klavier nodded, seemingly thinking it over. “...I like your hair.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “...and I like your shirt. What, are we on a shitty speed date? C’mon, you can do better than that!”

“Ach, you didn’t let me finish,” Klavier protested, chuckling. “I just meant...I like your hair like this. It looks...soft. Less severe. Something that would be nice to touch, you know?”

“I...oh.” A pleasant tingle went up Apollo’s spine. Klavier’s voice was low, warm, especially through his headphones. He brushed his hair back behind his ears, ducking his head slightly so Klavier wouldn’t notice the heat rising in his cheeks. “Trucy introduced me to some new hair products a while back. Said it was stuff she uses to make her hair look extra shiny under the stage lights. Er, n-not that that’s why I’m using it, just...it’s nice to treat myself every now and then.”

Klavier suddenly perked up. “Speaking of treating yourself, that reminds me - you know the best way to help you with all that stress and tension you’re dealing with? A gut massage. Surely, there are some facilities like that in Khura’in, ja?”

Apollo fixed Klavier with a withering look. “...Gavin, we just had a revolution here, like, six months ago. Getting a massage and a facial is hardly anyone’s priority right now, believe me. It’s not like the legal system is off in its own little world, y’know? The economy, the sociopolitical order…everyone considers themselves lucky that they can go about their day-to-day lives, but luxury goods and services? Not here, not yet.”

“Shame, though I can’t fault Khura’in for having its priorities in order,” Klavier said, frowning slightly. “Well, if I ever get bored enough and feel like hopping on a plane, maybe I’ll come visit and give you a massage myself.”

“I’m not paying for your ticket,” Apollo retorted, his cheeks reddening once more. “And are you even qualified?”

“I always massage Papa’s shoulders whenever I go to my parents’ house,” Klavier mused thoughtfully. “He gets sore from all the gardening he does. You should see our estate garden; it’s like something out of a fairytale.”

Apollo’s nose twitched. “I’m, uh, I’m sure it does. Hey, so - tell me about your parents. You’ve mentioned them a bunch of times, but I don’t actually know that much about them.”

“High school sweethearts,” Klavier said with an almost dreamy smile on his face. “The old-school kind, slipping love letters into each other’s bags between classes and all that. Now, they’re both college professors at the same school. They both act like practical, no-nonsense people, but the truth is, they're both romantisch at heart.”

“And then passed that on to you,” Apollo nodded. “Makes sense. They sound adorable, actually.”

“I never had a high school sweetheart of my own,” Klavier sighed wistfully. “I can’t imagine how...all-consuming that must feel. To be so young, to be so sure that this one person, the only person you’ve ever loved, will be the only person you’ll ever love.”

“I guess that’s where we differ,” Apollo said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, surprised at himself. He wasn’t sure where his comment had come from, why he’d blurted it out loud without a second thought. “I, uh, I had...something like that. Someone like that.”

“...oh.” Klavier furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “What happened?”

Apollo ducked his head, unable to look Klavier in the eye. “...you know what happened to him.”

Klavier’s eyes widened in realization. “Ach - Apollo, I’m so - ”

“Don’t, I - don’t,” Apollo insisted, a lump forming in his throat. “It’s not, uh. It’s not something I really wanna talk about.”

Klavier seemed unable to speak for a moment, his eyes shining with pity. Apollo hated it, hated how genuinely sorry Klavier looked, as if he had anything to do with it at all. Klavier opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “...I’ve written songs about my parents, actually. Not that you’ll find them on any Gavinners’ albums, just little love ballads that I played at their anniversary parties and vow renewal. They were big hits with my extended family - the one I wrote when I was ten years old is an absolute classic.”

“I’m sure it was,” Apollo chuckled, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “How about now, you write anything recently?”

“Barely a tune since the Gavinners disbanded,” Klavier admitted. “I haven’t felt all that inspired lately. Maybe someday it’ll come back to me, but right now...nothing. Nichts.”

“Good luck, I guess,” Apollo offered. “By the way, what’s with the tank top? Is it that hot over there already?”

“I’ve always been hot, Forehead, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Klavier said, grinning victoriously at the almost too obvious bait.

Apollo groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I will hang up on you someday, Gavin, don’t think I won’t.”

_____

The gap between video calls quickly dwindled down from a few days to no days at all. Text messages were constant, to the point where Apollo had to sheepishly ask Nahyuta how to upgrade his phone plan. Even phone calls started to increase in frequency; Apollo was starting to think he heard Klavier’s voice more often than he heard Ema’s, and they often spent entire days in each other’s presence.

“How do you feel about peaches?” Apollo asked, his phone carefully sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he deftly navigated his way through the farmer’s market, nearly tripping over a stray dog as he did so.

“Great emoji,” Klavier replied semi-seriously, though Apollo could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Although...Forehead, if this is your subtle way of asking me for my opinion on Call Me By Your Name, I’ll have you know I never learned how to play Capriccio sopra la lontananza del suo fratello dilettissimo. Now, Zion Hört Die Wächter Singen, on the other hand - ”

“Need I remind you, I only speak English, Khura’inese, and college-level Spanish?” Apollo interrupted, shaking his head. “Anyway, peaches are basically a delicacy here. Sucks for me, since I’m allergic to stone fruit.”

“Same, I can only eat them cooked. I love a good cherry pie,” Klavier hummed. “Did you remember to get kale this time?”

“Yeah, I got a huge bundle of it right here,” Apollo said, jostling his wicker basket loudly enough so Klavier could hear. A few market patrons turned to look at him strangely. “Thanks again for the tip, by the way. I’m still getting used to cooking stuff that’s not instant or frozen, so roasting vegetables is a total game-changer.”

“Glad to hear you’re eating actual fruits and vegetables now,” Klavier replied, chuckling. “So, I had a case go kaput today. Thought you might want to hear about it.”

“Obviously!” Apollo said, lighting up. “What did you do?”

“Achtung, why do you think it was my fault?” Klavier protested, his laughter warm in Apollo’s ear.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back, laughing as well. “Seriously, what happened? Can’t be as bad as...literally anything that’s happened to me.”

“Nein, not quite,” Klavier agreed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t up against Athena or Herr Wright. Some rookie, I think; I was going to go easy on them. That is, until the defendant, apparently overcome with guilt, decided to bring their own decisive evidence to prove that they did, in fact, kill the victim.”

“No!” Apollo exclaimed. More market patrons turned in his direction, glaringly so. He shot them apologetic grimaces, then ducked behind a watermelon display. “Really? Like, are we talking fingerprints, photographs…”

“Everything, Forehead, everything. I couldn’t have convicted them better myself,” Klavier remarked. “Obviously, I take no joy in celebrating crime, especially murder, but ach, I consider that one of the highlights of my career. The only thing that would’ve made it better was if you were there. I can picture your dumbfounded expression now.”

“You’re terrible,” Apollo informed him, with no real bite behind his words. “But...not gonna lie, that’s kind of incredible. I feel bad for the defense, though. I’ve been screwed over by clients before, but usually not that badly.” He then heard a sharp wuff somewhere by his feet; he glanced down to see the dog he’d nearly tripped over before was now sitting on top of his toes, looking up at him with literal puppy-dog eyes. “...uh, hello. Did you need something?”

“What’s that?” Klavier asked.

“Oh - sorry, not you, Gavin. A stray dog just came over to say hi, I guess.” Apollo crouched down, taking care not to tip his basket. “Hey, buddy. I’m not the one to beg for food, if that’s what you’re looking for. All I can offer is, like, a belly rub.”

“Wait, switch to video, I want to see this,” Klavier pleaded, laughing again. Sighing, Apollo turned on his camera, then aimed his phone at the dog, who was now rolling over onto its back, its tail thumping enthusiastically against the cobblestone. “Ah, what an adorable hündchen! Go on, Forehead, don’t make him wait.” Sighing yet again - at Klavier, naturally, not the dog; he could never begrudge the dog - Apollo carefully set his basket down, then began rubbing the dog’s belly, smiling at the adorably goofy look the dog gave him in return, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his eyes closing in utter bliss. “Hold still for a moment, bitte? I want to make this my contact photo for you.”

“Gavin, I swear - ”

“Uh, Apollo? What are you doing?”

Apollo startled at the sound of a new voice; his eyes widened when he looked up and realized who it belonged to. “Ema! He-e-ey, wh-what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Ema replied, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you petting a dog while video-calling Gavin at the farmer’s market?”

“...because I can?” Apollo offered meekly, straightening up. He quickly hung up on Klavier before Ema could attempt to talk to him, silently noting the need to send him an apology text later. “Hey, um - th-there’s a discount on tangyuan today, you wanna go all out and split the cost with me?”

Ema continued to eye him suspiciously. “Sure. But please don’t insult my intelligence - you can’t just distract me with snacks, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Apollo sighed, giving the dog one last pat on the head before leading Ema across the market, towards the aforementioned snack stall. “We just...we talk sometimes. What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing, if you guys just do video calls every now and then,” Ema said. “But here you are, shopping for produce and chatting with Gavin at the same time. It’s...a little domestic, don’t you think?”

“D...domestic?” Apollo echoed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I just didn’t think you and Gavin had that kind of relationship, that’s all,” Ema continued, shrugging as she popped a grape from her own basket into her mouth. “Listen, I couldn’t care less about that guy. But you’re my friend, so...I have to ask. Is something, y’know...going on there?”

“Wh - no, no, no, o-of course not!” Apollo ducked behind Ema the second he felt the glares of the market patrons turn to face him, again. He was starting to think he wasn’t going to be welcome back for a couple of weeks, at least. “I - he - we’re friends! It’s kinda new, b-but we’re friends. Just friends. He’s, like...pretty decent when he’s not being obnoxious in court. Or at a crime scene...or just in general.”

Ema snorted, reaching over to steal a strawberry from Apollo’s basket next. “I think it’s time you hop off that bicycle of yours, Apollo, because you’re obviously backpedaling.”

“Tortured metaphor, but okay,” Apollo muttered, glowering at her.

“How’d you guys end up talking in the first place, anyway?” Ema asked, chewing noisily. “I can’t imagine you were the one to initiate it.”

“It...I’m not sure, actually,” Apollo admitted, slapping her hand away before she could steal his entire carton of freshly-picked strawberries. They were probably more expensive than all the vegetables he’d purchased, combined. “Gavin called me a while back, seemed embarrassed about it, and then hung up. I asked him later what was going on, we started doing video calls and stuff, and then it turned into a thing, but…I never figured out why he called the first time. And I don’t think there’s any point in asking.”

“Fair enough, though I gotta admit, I’m still curious. For scientific purposes, of course,” Ema added, humming to herself. “Maybe he...no, there’s no way.”

“You know something I don’t?” Apollo asked, nudging her. “What happened to ‘I couldn’t care less’?”

“Believe me, I really couldn’t,” Ema retorted, elbowing him back. “Surprises me that you have enough to talk about, though. I mean, it’s Gavin.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested; suddenly, he felt weirdly defensive of Klavier. Again, it wasn’t a feeling he was too familiar with. “We have more in common than you think. It’s not all just - just guitar riffs and hair tosses with him.”

“If you say so,” Ema sighed, clearly uninterested in pursuing the topic any further. “C’mon, let’s pick our flavors already. And if you short me on black sesame, I will be taking those strawberries of yours.”

Later that evening, Apollo was cocooned in his usual plethora of blankets, poring over the evidence for three separate cases - honestly, the autopsy reports were starting to blur together, which explained why, for a moment, he thought one of the victims had somehow ended up with a bullet hole in their stomach from being stabbed with a blunt object - when his phone went off. He immediately perked up when he read the call display. “Gavin, hey. Sorry again about earlier, you know how Ema is.”

“Keine Sorge, you already apologized,” Klavier replied. “That’s not why I was calling, in any case.”

Apollo frowned slightly, putting Klavier on speakerphone and nestling his phone among his files. “Oh? I, uh, I thought you were just calling to chat.”

“Ja, we can talk about whatever we feel like after, it’s just - I had a question for you.” The deep breath Klavier took before speaking again made Apollo nervous. “Are you homesick?”

“...huh?” Apollo wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “Well, I mean. Yeah. Yeah, obviously. Khura’in was my home once, so it’s not like I’m in a completely new place, but it’s...yeah, I miss being back home, traffic jams and heatwaves and all. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Klavier said innocently, in that sort of tone of voice that made Apollo want to reach through the phone and strangle him. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“There’s either no reason, or a reason that I’ll learn soon enough. Pick one, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. All he got in response was warm, throaty laughter that sent pleasant tingles down his spine. “Fine, don’t tell me. So, what’re you up to?”

“Just got back from my morning run.” There was a rustling of sound on Klavier’s end that suggested he was still walking around somewhere, presumably inside his apartment. Apollo could only imagine how sweaty he still was, how his skin glistened in the mid-morning sun - and now, he realized belatedly, he wasn’t sure if it was something he should be thinking about at all. “You know, after all this time - I still hate it. Running, I mean.”

“Then why do you do it?” Apollo said, trying not to laugh. “Though to be fair, I feel the same way. Athena used to make me run laps around the agency’s neighborhood sometimes ‘cos I need to ‘improve my cardiovascular health’ or whatever. Never got any good at it.”

“I do it because it’s good for me, but achtung, I wish I actually liked it,” Klavier sighed. “The fresh air, the endorphins, it’s all gut and well, but you know what I can’t stand? Sweat-soaked hair. Sore ankles and stiff knees. Don’t get me started on the sunburns, ach.”

“Okay, old man,” Apollo chuckled. “You sound like a guy twice your age, you know that?”

“I’m not the one who once said they were starting to prefer blander foods over spicy foods - calling me an old man, mein Gott, the disrespect - ”

A few hours later, Apollo was fully curled up beneath his duvet, head resting on his pillow, eyes closed, with his phone tucked under his ear. Neither of them had spoken in a little while, though Apollo could hear Klavier humming under his breath while he worked on clearing out his email inbox. “...you really should take a day off, Gavin.”

“You first,” Klavier said without missing a beat. “Don’t trick yourself into thinking you have to take every case in the country, ja?”

“Same to you,” Apollo mumbled; he was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. “You’re working, like...stupidly long hours. It’s not like you’re the only prosecutor in the district.”

There was a long pause. “Mama said that to me the other day. She told me I should live a little.”

“And she’s right,” Apollo yawned. “Anyway, I’m not gonna get into this again. And it’s not like you have to do anything major, just...take a day off. Go get a massage or whatever. Hang out with friends, go on a date, I dunno.”

“Go on a date, right,” Klavier drawled sarcastically. “Easier said than done, ja?”

“What, is it the fame thing?” Apollo asked, eyes snapping open in curiosity.

“It’s the, ah. ‘Trusting people’ thing.” Klavier let out a quiet laugh. “After convicting mein Bruder, after convicting someone I thought was my best friend...who’s to say any future romantic partner of mine wouldn’t end up facing that same fate?”

“...oh.” Apollo’s face softened; part of him wanted to see Klavier’s expression, while another part of him had the feeling it was better this way, to only hear the slight rasp, the slight crack in Klavier’s voice as he spoke. He could only imagine the noticeable twitch in Klavier’s eyes, the forced smile on his lips, that he’d seen a surprising amount of times over the past few months. “I see. I-I get it. Not like I’m any good at trusting people, either.”

Klavier went quiet again. “Apollo?”

“I...oh. Yeah?” He couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had called him by his actual name.

“Be honest with me, ja?” Klavier murmured. “When we talk every day, when we text and chat and send each other silly things...is it something you actually like doing, or...or are you just bored?”

Apollo snorted. “Oh please, you know my schedule. I couldn’t be bored if I tried.” He nestled deeper into his pillow, yawning. “Nah, you’re...we’re friends. Talking to you is like...part of my routine now.”

“You mean it?” Klavier asked. He sounded so uncertain that it made Apollo’s heart ache.

“I don’t send stupid memes to just anybody, you know,” Apollo teased. “And look, I’m not pretending like this isn’t weird. If you asked me a year ago if I could see myself talking to you on a daily basis, I would’ve said, y’know, ‘never in a million years’. But things are different now, so...yeah. You’re not so bad, Gavin.”

“Ah, danke. What high praise, coming from you,” Klavier drawled, laughing. “But really, I’m glad to hear it. I...wasn’t sure if I was bothering you. When I called that first time, I suppose I had my answer. Then after that, I never really knew for sure.”

“Now you do,” Apollo affirmed, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling too much.

“Now I do,” Klavier echoed, satisfied. “So, how about you, Forehead? Any clients ask you out again recently?”

“No, thank god,” Apollo said, shuddering. “Besides, I’m, uh. I’m not exactly looking to date right now, either. I’m...I’m pretty good with how things are going at the moment. Maybe after I get back. Thinking about thinking about dating, I mean.”

“Smart.” Klavier’s voice was so clear, so warm, that it almost sounded as if he were in Apollo’s bedroom, too. Apollo briefly wondered what it would be like to have Klavier visit, to wander the farmer’s market with him, to take evening walks along the river and watch the fireflies together, to go through an endless number of cases with him by his side. He had to admit, it didn’t sound half-bad. Better than half-bad, really, not that he was going to say so out loud. “Long-distance is never easy. The time zones, the uncertainty, the inability to truly be together...I can only imagine.”

“Right,” Apollo hummed, his eyes drifting closed once more. “I can only imagine.” When he woke up the next morning, he found a text message waiting for him - a screenshot of Klavier’s home screen; its background was a photo of Apollo and the friendly dog. sehr süß, Klavier had texted, and the hündchen isn’t so bad, either. It was too early, in Apollo’s opinion, for his heart to be racing this quickly.

_____

Almost four months to the day since they started talking, Apollo arrived at the post office with a delivery slip in hand, visibly confused by its earlier presence on his front door. “Was this really meant for me?” he managed to ask in his steadily improving Khura’inese. “I never ordered anything from the United States. Just paying customs would make me broke!”

“It really is for you, Mr. Justice,” the receptionist replied. Apollo watched, stunned, as she dragged a crate-sized package out from behind her desk. “You must have people who really love you back home, sir.”

“I...w-wow.” Apollo didn’t know what to say. “Er, do you have someone who can help me bring this back to my office?”

Twenty minutes later, Apollo was sitting on the floor of Justice Law Offices, embarrassingly sweaty and sore from how much effort it had taken him and one of the post office employees to haul his delivery here. Groaning, he reached for his pocket knife, then carefully sliced through the tape, unwrapping the enormous package layer by layer. When he finally reached its actual contents, he sat back on his haunches, stunned by the sheer amount of items inside.

The package consisted of two sturdy boxes; one was labeled with Ema’s name, so Apollo took it out and set it aside. He then opened the one that bore his name, only to find it was packed surprisingly tight. Boxes and boxes of his favorite snacks that were too expensive to import to Khura’in, well-loved copies of his favorite manga that had clearly been taken from his apartment back home, thick stacks of the most obnoxious California-themed postcards known to humankind with handwritten notes on their backs - before Apollo knew it, his eyes started to well up with emotion. Finally, at the bottom of the box, cushioning the other items nicely, were a few of his sweaters and hoodies, some of which still had a few stray Mikeko hairs on it.

“Oh,” Apollo said faintly, wiping his eyes hastily despite being completely alone. Then, he frowned. “Wait, what is…” He pulled out the only item of clothing he didn’t recognize, an unusually large hoodie in a familiar shade of purple with an embroidered rose on its breast pocket. Stuck to its left sleeve cuff was a sticky note; Apollo peeled it off and began to read what was on it.

herr forehead,

wear this the next time you go out, just in case you run into that hündchen again. It smells just a little bit like my parents’ dog - and like me, if you’re into that sort of thing.

alles liebe, klavier

Later that day - well into the evening, really - Apollo was eating dinner at his desk, rummaging through a hefty stack of police reports, when his laptop pinged, reminding him he had a scheduled video call that was about to start. Grinning, Apollo turned on his webcam, his heart pounding in anticipation. “Hey, Gavin. So, what do you think?”

“What do I think about - oh.” Klavier’s mouth fell open. “You’re...I didn’t think you were actually going to wear it.”

“Is, uh...is that a bad thing?” Apollo asked, suddenly nervous.

“Nein, nein, not at all! You look...achtung, you look good,” Klavier said hoarsely, swallowing. He then cleared his throat; his cheeks were flushed pink, much to Apollo’s delight. “Bitte, stand up for me? I want to see how long it is on you; it’s amazing you haven’t completely disappeared inside of it.”

“Asshole,” Apollo said affectionately, getting out of his chair and taking a few steps back so Klavier could see. He smoothed out the front of the hoodie, realizing belatedly that its hem only just grazed the tops of his bare thighs. “Er, don’t mind my legs. I-I’m wearing shorts underneath, I swear!”

“I don’t mind at all,” Klavier replied, cocking his head. His eyes were darkening, shining with something that Apollo couldn’t quite identify. “Have you worn it outside yet?”

“Nah, not yet. I was actually planning on wearing it to bed since it’s kinda cold, and this thing’s the biggest thing I have,” Apollo admitted, sitting back down. At Klavier’s exaggerated eyebrow raise, he groaned. “Shut up. Don’t make it weird.”

“I said nothing,” Klavier teased, dropping his chin into his hands. “So, did you like our care package? Trucy reached out to me on the same day you ran into that hündchen and asked if I had anything to contribute. I also sent Ema some old Gavinners’ merchandise, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I heard about it from her, alright,” Apollo chuckled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Amazing how you manage to continue torturing her from several continents away. Maybe that’s your real talent.”

“To be fair, I was also the one who got her the beaker shot glasses and the glow-in-the-dark periodic table blanket,” Klavier pointed out, laughing as well. “I think all would be forgiven if she knew that was me.”

“So she gets new stuff and I get hand-me-downs, huh? I see how it is,” Apollo said, tucking his knees into his chest and yawning. “Seriously, though, thanks. This thing smells like that cologne of yours I don’t like.”

“And the backhanded compliments continue,” Klavier said, amused. “I hope you feel a little less homesick, at least.”

“Oh, I’m more homesick than ever,” Apollo snorted. “But I appreciate the care package, really! Having all this stuff here is amazing. It’s just...well. Stuff isn’t, uh...it’s not exactly a substitute for people, y’know?”

Klavier nodded thoughtfully, his smile sympathetic. Apollo took a moment to look at Klavier, to really look at him, and see how he was doing. He looked good; his skin had a glow to it, and his eyes and hair seemed to shine a little brighter than they had the very first time they’d talked. Klavier was bare-faced more often than not - aside from his tattooed eyebrows and eyelash extensions - though he seemed to be experimenting with his hair here and there, occasionally sporting different styles of ponytails, braids, and updos. It almost made Apollo forget how sullen he’d looked four months ago.

“Is that why you’re staring again?” Klavier asked, smirking. “Are you finally ready to admit you miss me, Forehead? That you miss my charming personality and my devastatingly good looks?”

“So what if I do?” Apollo huffed. He then frowned at Klavier’s wide eyes. “...what?”

“Nichts, it’s just - you do realize you just said you actually miss me, ja?” Klavier said disbelievingly. “Do you really mean it, or...or are you just saying that?”

“I-I...well.” Apollo shot him a small smile. “Yeah, Gavin, I miss you. Thought that was, uh. Kinda obvious by now.”

Klavier grinned victoriously; he looked seconds away from pumping his fist into the air. “Achtung, I knew it!”

“And the dorkiness continues,” Apollo said mockingly, rolling his eyes. “I mean it, how did you convince an entire generation of teenagers that you were cool? You go around saying crap like ‘let’s rock with these documents’ and ‘you have to get on up in order to get on down to prosecuting’ - are you an internationally-renowned rockstar, or an awkward dad trying to connect with his teenager through the power of classic rock? What’s next, Gavin, you gonna go buy a lawnmower and some cargo shorts? Fire up the grill and wear a kitschy apron?”

“Mein Gott, you’re vicious sometimes,” Klavier sighed, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ich vermisse dich auch, by the way. I think I've been...a little more obvious than you.”

“Maybe,” Apollo hummed. “But hey, I’ll take it. It’s nice to feel appreciated for once.”

“When do you think you’ll be coming home?” Klavier asked.

“I’m, er...I’m not sure,” Apollo said hesitantly, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t think I was gonna be sticking around for this long to begin with, and now it’s...it’s gonna be the rest of the year, at least. Maybe even another year on top of that.”

“You...you think so?” Klavier’s voice was small. Nothing about his expression seemed remotely cheerful now.

“It’s not like I can leave whenever I want to,” Apollo shrugged, sighing. “Khura’in needs more defense attorneys before I could even begin to consider it, and that’s not gonna happen overnight. Not with their deeply ingrained feelings towards ‘em.”

“Wait - you’re not still in danger, are you?” Klavier asked worriedly, his voice suddenly filling with urgency. “No threats, no death sentences - ”

“I-I’m fine, Gavin, don’t worry,” Apollo reassured him. “It was a little touch-and-go there for a minute, back at the beginning, but everything’s fine now. Trust me, if something was going on, you would’ve heard about it earlier.”

“Gut,” Klavier said, satisfied. “After all, if something were to happen to you…” An odd expression flitted across his face, too quickly for Apollo to catch, though he had his suspicions. “Well. Trucy would be devastated, natürlich.”

“Right...just Trucy, huh?” Apollo murmured, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. “What about...oh, I dunno. Athena would be upset for sure. Can’t forget Mr. Wright, either.”

“Nein, definitely not,” Klavier said, clearing his throat. He paused before speaking again. “Forehead, do you ever wonder what Herr Wright really thinks of you?”

“Sure, all the time,” Apollo admitted. “We didn’t, uh...well, let’s just say we didn’t start off on the best foot, you know that. Why?”

“Because I do, too,” Klavier confessed. “Ach, I want to go the rest of my life not thinking about mein Bruder and all the lives he ruined, all the lives I helped him ruin, but - ”

“Gavin, that’s not what happened and you know it,” Apollo said gently. “And I’m not exactly sure how Mr. Wright feels about you, but I seriously doubt he still has a problem with you. He probably just feels a little, y’know, awkward. You guys went seven years without knowing the whole truth, after all.”

“Ich weiß, ich weiß, it’s just…” Klavier laughed bitterly. “...I’d like to go at least one day without worrying about what someone else thinks of me. Just one.”

Apollo suddenly found himself wishing he could reach through the screen and pull Klavier into his arms; it wasn’t the first time, and he knew it wasn’t going to be the last. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. You already know what I think about you.”

“Do I really?” Klavier teased, though he still looked somewhat worried.

“Yeah, sure,” Apollo replied, smirking. “You’re the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. And, uh...I wouldn't have it any other way. I think.”

Klavier laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “You have a way with words, Forehead, you really do.”

“Thanks,” Apollo drawled, chuckling. “So, today’s case went about as well as expected - meaning it didn’t go well at all…”

_____

Khura’in was beautiful year-round, Apollo mused as he walked alongside the riverbank, but it was especially picturesque in the height of spring, during the month of May. He’d woken up unusually early today, especially given it was one of his very rare days off, not to mention the fact that he’d stayed up late last night, talking to Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix. For whatever reason, he had felt like taking his breakfast - anpan and a warm thermos of green tea - outside, while the sun was still rising. It was a peaceful backdrop for the start of what he hoped would be a peaceful day.

Yawning and stretching, Apollo dropped down to sit in the long grass, the worn-out toes of his boots grazing the water’s edge. He lifted his saddlebag off his shoulders and set it aside, raking his fingers through his hair. It was getting quite long in the back, he noted, but he didn’t care enough to cut it. Before he could take his first bite of his anpan, his phone started to ring. “...Gavin? What’s up, aren’t you going to bed soon?”

“I just wrote a song for the first time in ages, so I’m too alert to sleep at the moment,” Klavier admitted, his voice deeper and raspier than usual, sending shivers up Apollo’s spine. “I’m surprised you’re awake, too. It was only when I started calling you that I realized you were probably still in bed.”

“Felt like catching the sunrise for once.” Apollo turned on his phone camera, then switched it to the rear-facing one so Klavier could see what he was seeing. The entirety of Khura’in, it seemed, was momentarily bathed in a warm, yellow-orange glow. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s wunderschön,” Klavier remarked, awed. “Almost makes me wish I was in Khura’in.”

“I wish you were here, too,” Apollo said quietly. His eyes then widened. “Er, I-I mean - ”

“...Apollo?” Groaning internally, Apollo fumbled with his phone, reluctantly switching to his front-facing camera so he could shoot Klavier a nervous smile. He could see now that Klavier had turned on his camera, too; he appeared to be sitting on his bedroom floor, leaning up against a window, his face illuminated by moonlight. Somehow, his blue eyes were even brighter in the darkness, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones sharpened by the shadows. Apollo’s breath hitched as he was momentarily rendered speechless. “Achtung, you still manage to surprise me after all this time.”

“I-I said nothing!” Apollo said hastily. “You’re - I - i-it’s early, I don’t know what I’m saying!”

“If you’re planning on staying for even longer, I really should come and visit, ja?” Klavier continued, his grin equal parts sleepy and teasing. “For one thing, I can finally make good on that massage I promised you, get all that stress and tension out of your body. I could also bring you more of my clothes, since you seem to really like that hoodie of mine.”

“What would you even do here, anyway?” Apollo asked, momentarily looking away so Klavier wouldn’t see how red his cheeks had gotten. “There’s no nightlife, barely any recreational activities...not to mention the wi-fi kinda sucks. Besides, it’s not like you’re allowed to prosecute in Khura’in.”

“Let me be your co-counsel,” Klavier offered. “After all, if Herr Blackquill can help Athena, why can’t I help you?”

“That...would be kinda interesting, actually,” Apollo admitted. “And where would you stay?”

“WIth you, natürlich,” Klavier replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “After all, if you want me there, I should be as close as possible. I’d make the perfekt roommate, you know. I can cook for you, clean for you...it’d be domestic, nein? Like I’m your stay-at-home husband or something.”

Apollo shivered again. Despite his distaste for his lyrics, Klavier certainly had a way with words. “You wouldn’t be...I dunno, bored out of your mind? Things are definitely slower here compared to California, you know.”

“The change of pace would be nice,” Klavier said diplomatically. “And I certainly wouldn’t complain about the company.”

“Well, uh, sorry to break up your super-specific fantasy, but I think I’m actually pretty close to getting out of here,” Apollo said, trying not to linger too much on his own mental picture of what Klavier had described. “Another few months, maybe? Six, at most. And since it’s sorta unknown, I wouldn’t recommend booking plane tickets anytime soon.”

“Really?” Klavier perked up. “You’re coming home? Have you told the others?”

“Yeah, I talked to ‘em last night,” Apollo said, setting his phone down by his bag so he could finally take his first bite of anpan. “It’ll be weird once I return, that’s for sure. I’ve been in Khura’in for exactly one year, right down to the day, but...well. It’s definitely grown on me, even with all my...my mixed feelings about it. Though I, um...I guess those mixed feelings are more about a person than a place, and he’s...he’s, well...you know.” He swallowed thickly, reaching for his thermos and taking a generous gulp of his tea.

“Any regrets?” Klavier asked softly.

“About Khura’in, or d’you mean in general?” Apollo asked, his sarcastic tone betrayed by his nervous laugh.

“However you’d like to interpret it,” Klavier said, gesturing aimlessly. “I can be generous sometimes.”

“Yeah, real philanthropist, you are,” Apollo retorted, chuckling. “Well, you know I’ve had days where, like. I feel like I shouldn’t have stayed behind, after all. Like I’m way in over my head, and..like I’m not...not good enough. Like I’m just winging this whole thing, which is scary, ‘cos it’s like the entire country’s future is in my hands, and I can’t just - I can’t improvise. I can’t make it up as I go along, I-I have to know it. Do it, be about it. Make it my whole life, you know?” He stopped to take a breath; the sympathetic crinkle of Klavier’s brow was more welcome this time. “But no, I don’t regret sticking around. I just wish I’d gotten some closure.”

“Closure?” Klavier echoed.

“Yeah, there’s...I’ve got stuff I wish I’d been able to do or, or say before I ended up living here for twelve months,” Apollo confessed. “It’s not like I knew I was moving here when I did, so...it’ll be nice to head back home and settle in and...and get all of that out of the way.” He took a few more bites of his anpan as they ruminated in their shared silence. “How about you? Any regrets about, well, anything?”

“Me?” Then, to Apollo’s surprise - though maybe not to his surprise, given all that had been said and done between the two of them, just the two of them - Klavier let out a bitter laugh. “Always.”

Apollo’s face softened. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly, nein,” Klavier said, visibly shuddering. “Just once, I’d like to not drag our conversation down. Ach, and I used to think you were the buzzkill. Now look at me, ja?”

“Don’t worry about it, Gavin,” Apollo insisted. “I get it, you - you feel things really intensely. I know that now, and, uh. Well, I do it, too. And we hold it all in and we don’t say anything ‘cos there’s bigger things to worry about, a-and then it’s like...like a dam breaks. Like everything just comes rushing at you all at once. There’s no way of stopping it, as much as you want to, and when it’s finally over...you never know how to feel about it. Because it’s not cut and dry, i-it’s not black-and-white, it’s just...it just is. So you move on, ‘cos there’s nothing else you can do about it, and you keep going. And then it starts all over again.” He let out an awkward laugh. “Or, uh, or maybe I’m just describing what a trial feels like.” Apollo glanced back at his phone, only to see Klavier staring at him in wonderment. “...er, too much?”

“Not at all, it’s just...you’re always full of surprises,” Klavier murmured; he almost sounded impressed. “That was incredibly astute, especially for you.”

Apollo wilted. “...thanks. Glad to know you think so highly of my intellect.” Still, Klavier’s warm laughter managed to get him to crack a smile. “So, you said something about writing a new song? How’d that go?”

“I had a burst of inspiration, you might say,” Klavier said, nodding. “Like my muse sat beside me on the piano bench and hummed a melody in my ear.”

“That sounds more creepy than anything else, but okay,” Apollo snorted. “Can I hear it?”

“Nein, not yet,” Klavier replied mysteriously. “When the time is right, ja? Besides, it’s...it’s a bit personal.”

Apollo shifted slightly in his spot. “Personal, huh?”

“It’s about...someone who means a lot to me, and something I’ve been meaning to say to them,” Klavier said carefully. “Because...I’ve been looking for closure, too. And possibly, if I do it right, I might also get a new beginning. Does that make sense?”

“It’s a little cheesy, but, uh, yeah. Makes sense.” Apollo pulled his knees into his chest, resting his chin on top of them with a quiet exhale. “Do I know this someone of yours?”

“Ja, definitely,” Klavier murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they’re not mine, but...I want them to be.”

“I...I see.” Apollo felt his own pulse pounding in his ears, so loudly that he could barely hear his own voice. “Hey, Gavin, I - I wanted to - there’s something I’ve been wanting to say, and...and I…”

“What is it?” Klavier asked, sitting up, hopeful.

“Well, I...no, n-never mind.” Apollo cleared his throat. “Probably should, um. I should probably save it for when we see each other in person.” Klavier leaned back, disappointed. “Anyway, you, uh, you should probably sleep now if you wanna be awake enough for work. Unless you take the day off like I did.”

“I might actually consider it,” Klavier chuckled. “And we’ll talk tomorrow, ja? Or later today for you, I suppose.”

“Definitely,” Apollo confirmed, nodding.

Something in Klavier’s eyes seemed to shift then, something Apollo couldn’t quite understand. It happened more and more with each passing day, with every conversation, and Apollo wasn’t sure if he was ready to figure out what it meant, if it meant something other than what he hoped it meant. “Du siehst wunderschön aus in diesem licht.”

Apollo blinked. “Sorry?”

“Never mind,” Klavier said, a sleepy grin stretching across his face. “Guten Morgen to you, Herr Forehead.”

“And goodnight to you, Gavin,” Apollo replied, waving briefly before ending the call. He sat in silence for a few minutes, finishing his tea and enjoying the sun’s warmth. Then, he stood, stretching his arms over his head, and smoothed out the creases in his pants and what was now his oversized purple hoodie. “Someday,” he mumbled to himself, slinging his bag over his shoulder and turning back in the direction of the bazaar. “Just...not yet.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my fifth entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the second of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. However, as I mentioned in the top notes, day seven is a sequel to this one, so look out for it! This is the second-longest fic of all my Klapollo Week fics, and for good reason - I could've easily included an endless number of random conversations and made this fic twice as long if it weren't for the posting deadline. One of my favorite things about writing Klapollo is their back-and-forth, so I love writing fics where they simply just...talk, and hang out. And I know it's definitely a concept that's been done before, but someday, I wanna write my own version of "Klavier visits Apollo in Khura'in and they fall (more) in love". That might end up being my longest Klapollo fic yet 😜

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#KlapolloWeek2021 #klapollo #kyodoroki #klapollo fic #ace attorney #ace attorney fic #myfic #long post #not sure if this one or day seven is my favorite #i definitely wanna write an extended version of this in the future

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bestie-enthusiast · 3 years

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Chapter 3: Sam Fills in, Zemo is not Impressed (and also has his first therapy appointment)

Hello!! This is the third chapter of my PTA! Dad! Zemo fic. This is the fifth installment of 11, and the previous chapters can be found under the hashtag pta dad zemo.

Fic Summary: After the untimely death of both his wife and father due to a bombing, Baron Helmut Zemo takes his son and immigrates to America. He does not expect to find a family nor a romantic partner, and he especially does not expect to find the ability to heal. To grieve.

And yet, here we are.

This is a story about connections, growing, healing and mourning the past while still appreciating the future and all it has to offer.

Chapter WC: 1731

Fic below cut if you're interested!

Three days later.

Zemo frowned slightly as he listened to Carol’s rant. She had called an “emergency” PTA meeting (and he was fairly certain she paid the principal to let her do it), but there was no real emergency. Instead all Carol was doing was going on and on about how her son was being “bullied” for his lack of potty training. Her child was in fourth grade, of course the other children were making fun of him.

Even worse was that Sarah hadn’t been able to come in, she was at work, and so her brother had come instead. Zemo had met him only once, at a charity event the school was hosting, and he was not at all subtle in his distaste for Zemo. So he sat in silence listening to Carol’s ranting. No one was in the mood to tell her to shut up, so they all just sat there and waited for her to tire herself out.

Once Carol was done seething she looked at them expectantly, but no one said anything. No one dared to move an inch as they waited for Carol to completely calm down. Eventually, Carol stormed out with a huff and everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. A few people stood up, and Zemo stood after them. He started to walk out when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He instinctively tensed up but turned around. It was Sam.

“Sorry to bother you man, but Sarah said your, uh, butler was with AJ and Cass at a park? Sarah didn’t tell me where, so could I tag along with you?” He asked awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he spoke.

“Of course.” Zemo said, nodding. Sam trailed behind him quietly as they began their walk. Zemo almost forgot he was there, with how silent he was being. He thought about all the things he’s ever said or done to hurt any member of the Wilson family, hoping he could think of something to apologise for. He couldn’t think of anything he hadn’t already apologised for or done something to make up for, so he assumed Sam had a different reason to not like him. He didn’t wish to assume it was because of his financial state.

Eventually they made their way to the park, where Oeznik was dutifully watching over Carl, AJ, and Cass. He gave a muttered goodbye to Sam and hurried over to Carl, gently leading him away and following Oeznik to the car.

He absentmindedly listened to Carl talk about his school day as he pulled open his messenger app. He texted Sarah, just to make sure she was okay and not because Sam filling in had reminded him of how lonely he actually was. Sarah texted him back that she was busy with work, and then asked why Sam was so pissed at him. He replied that he didn’t know and she just sent back an eye roll emoji, so he let the conversation end.

He conversed with Carl on the rest of the way back, reminding himself that Sarah was just an acquaintance, and that he shouldn’t let himself get distracted from the only thing that actually mattered, that being Carl.

Sure Sarah was the only person who he trusted outside of Carl and Oeznik, but Carl was the only person that actually mattered to him any more. His consultation with Dr. Raynor was tomorrow, and while he was initially enthusiastic at the prospect, he now regarded the appointment with dread.

After letting out a quiet sigh, Zemo plastered on a large, fake grin, and helped Carl with his school work while Oeznik prepared dinner. He helped Carl get ready for bed, but tonight he did not even bother attempting to fall asleep. He holed himself up in his office, working on things until his hands shook and cramped and his vision grew blurry, at which point he took a cold shower, and resumed work.

Eventually it came time for him to get ready, so he gently woke up Carl to tell him he had an early meeting out of town, but he would be back in time to collect him from school. Carl nodded sleepily and Zemo quietly got dressed, did his hair, and carefully completed his skin care routine.

Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he got into his car and started the long commute to Dr. Raynors office. If he decided to keep her as his full time therapist, he would need to find a shorter way to her office, or perhaps have only phone sessions.

He arrived fifteen minutes early, and spent the time analyzing the decor of her office and fiddling with his phone. Soon enough it was his own name being called. He stood and entered the office, shaking hands with Dr. Raynor when she offered.

“And you are… Helmut Zemo, correct?” He nodded, so used to the mispronunciation of his first name on the rare occasions it was used that he couldn’t be bothered to correct her.

“Yes, but I prefer to be referred to by just my last name.” Mentally he tacked on, ‘because you Americans say it wrong and I can’t be expected to deal with that.’

“Sure.” She said, writing something down in her notebook. “So I’ve looked over all your paperwork, but I want to know, coming from you directly, why you are here.” She said, and it didn’t sound at all like a question, more like a straight fact.

“I suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, you specialise in that.” He said simply, it was the main reason anyway. He did not comment on how he believed their personalities would match, as he was only here for her to consult on whether or not she would take him on as a patient.

“Right,” She said, rolling her eyes. Zemo held back a smile, she rather reminded him of his wife- oh.

She would not work as his therapist. He thought that she would work well, as she could call him out when he refused to do it himself, but no. Talking to her, talking about his emotions to her, would just remind him too much of Heike. Zemo struggled to keep a smirk on his face, or at the very least a neutral look, while she asked him questions. He responded at least somewhat honestly, and then they continued.

“So I’m going to be honest with you, I really only take on patients that peak my interest, and you haven’t.” Zemo held back a wince at the admission, although he supposed he was purposefully making himself that way. He only talked about his time as a Sokovian soldier, not at all about the loss of his wife (or father, but that issue was buried so deep that he forgot about it on occasion), or his obsession over Carl’s schooling and keeping him happy. He did not mention the fact that he felt a rather immense amount of guilt for feeling any sort of attraction, or that he was lonely. And he purposefully kept his face as straight and closed as he possibly could throughout their entire conversation. And so Zemo couldn’t help but relax a tad bit at the statement. No wife-like therapist for him, her death was not an issue he was ready to tackle yet like he thought when he made the appointment.

“Are you- Are you relieved?” She asked incredulously, and Zemo only blinked. She had noticed the slight change in his posture when she had said that. Oops.

“I could tell we were not going to get along.” Zemo replied, and it was the truth. Or partial truth? They would get along, rather spectacularly, according to all the personality assessments the people who left reviews had said. That's what he didn’t want though, he wanted to be detached and unreliant on whichever therapist he acquired, he would become far too attached to Dr. Raynor due to her similar personality to his wife.

“That is utter bullshit. You read the reviews before coming, you knew what I was like before you even came into this room. Why are you relieved I don’t want you as my patient?” Zemo frowned and licked his lips, he was not about to tell her about his wife before they ever had a proper session. “That information is… confidential. And you are not my confidant.” Zemo replied snarkily, who did this woman think she was? She already said no, and yet here she was, still questioning him?

“I’ve changed my mind, you are a very interesting case.” Zemo didn’t know how to feel about that.

“That’s all well and good, but I’m afraid I have not changed mine.” Zemo said, giving the doctor one last, polite, smile before standing up. She stood up as well and he held out his hand for a shake, which she did.

“If you reconsider, you know my number.” She said, before letting go. He nodded and started to walk out the door. Once he was in the waiting room he was surprised to find James sitting in there, fiddling with his phone. Carefully keeping his footsteps quiet, he kept his head down and walked past James, who looked up.

“Zemo?” James asked in surprise, and he turned around to give James a smile, a real one.

“Ah, hello Mr. Barnes.” Zemo greeted back, feeling the all too familiar flutter in his heart at the sight of James. Guilt and shame crashed over him like they did every time he felt that flutter, but it didn’t deter it in the slightest.

“Bucky, please. I didn’t know you knew Dr. Raynor,” James commented with a small smile.

“Y-yes well, I’m just here for a consultation appointment.” Zemo stuttered, that smile made his heart do things, such as sending blood southwards. “Well, Dr. Raynor is the best at what she does.” James responded with a smirk, and a shrug. Zemo gave him another smile, a quick wave, and then he was on his way. As soon as he was out of the building he called Dr. Raynor left her a voicemail stating he had changed his mind, and would like to become a regular client. Seeing James every so often in a non-school setting would be worth it, maybe he’d get to see that smile pointed at him again.

Tagging: @morganbritton132 (Who came up with this AU) and @i-ll-be-the-moon (Who is a great and suportive friend!)

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canariie · 4 years

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A Babysitting Misadventure

Rating: K+ for all the fluff

Synopsis: Momo Hinamori didn’t quite know what she was in for when she was tasked to take care of Ichika.

Characters/Pairings: Hitsuhina (of course!), a little Renruki and our favourite squad 10 vice captain Rangiku Matsumoto

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Notes: This is for @tinaillustrations as part of the Hitsuhina 2020 Exchange! I really was in between this and another fic but I love domestic fluff so this won out haha. It has been years since I have written fanfiction so I hope you enjoy it! I know I’m a little rusty but I cannot wait to share more with the Hitsuhina community! :)

-----

Momo Hinamori was having a good day. She had finished the work that Hirako-taicho had left her before he went to visit Hiyori-san in the Living World. She was almost done reading the book that Nanao had let her borrow. And it wasn’t even past noon.

She stretched her arms in front of her. “I can’t wait to take a break!” She was just about to get started on another pile of documents when all of a sudden the door crashed open—Renjii stood panting, with a crazed expression and a baby carrier in his hand.

“Hinamori!” His eyes filled with relief. “I am so glad you’re here!”

The brown-haired girl walked up to him. “Abarai-kun, what’s wrong? Why are you out of breath?” She bent down to look at baby Ichika who was sound asleep, in deep contrast to her father.

“Rukia—emergency— mission—,” he huffed, “distress call—I need to go!” He only had the strength to force out short phrases as he seemed at the point of collapsing.

Momo looked at him with great sympathy. “You must go then!” She looked down at Ichika. “But why do you need me…?”

He grabbed her shoulders. “You’re a girl— you can take care of her!”

“What!” Momo exclaimed. “Abarai-kun!” But it was too late, the red headed vice-captain had already shunpoed away. Only baby Ichika fast asleep in her carrier remained as proof that the last 2 minutes really occurred.

The petite vice-captain sighed in exasperation, her side bangs fluttering away from her face.

“Mou…what am I going to do now?”

---

Momo wasn’t worried—yet. She had spent some time with playing with Ichika when both Renjii and Rukia were around. However, she had never taken care of the baby by herself. Glancing down at the carrier she placed on a seat next to her desk, Momo felt an apprehension in the pit of her stomach.

Well, Ichika-chan is still sleeping, so I should take advantage of the opportunity to work.

Momo busied herself and was in the midst of starting the third pile when a high pitch wail spooked her out of her chair.

“Oh no, Ichika!” Momo picked up the crying baby, immediately trying to console her. She hopped from side to side, in attempt to soothe her but Ichika did not quiet. She quickly looked around in the back of the carrier for anything that would help but couldn’t find anything. Ichika continued to wail and Momo felt her heart break.

“Mou, I need help!” At her wits end, Momo grabbed the carrier in one hand and ran out of the office. She was sure that she looked like a comical sight with a crying baby in tow, but she was determined to find someone to help.

However, as she made it through the divisions, she kept on hitting dead ends. At the first division, Nanao was out on errands, delivering paperwork for the upcoming meeting. At the third division, Captain Rose answered the door with a wary glance at the crying baby, but informed her that Kira was out on a mission. Momo had then stopped by the fourth division but Isane was out in the fields doing healing training.

And even though Momo was slowing down, Ichika continued to cry loudly, inciting shinigami to look at the two with pity. How could one small baby have so much energy to cry? She was so tired that she felt like she could collapse right then and there from all the running.

“Hinamori?”

Momo turned. “Rangiku-san!” The blonde was coming out of her quarters, hair unkempt and rubbing her eyes from sleep. Momo had never seen Matsumoto so not put together—but she was the only person so far who seemed to be available to help. “I am so glad to see you!” Momo exclaimed.

“Well, I can’t say I’m glad to hear you!” Matsumoto covered her ears. “Why’s Ichika-chan crying?”

“I don’t know!” Momo cried. “I’ve been trying to calm her down but nothing is working! Abarai-kun left me with just her carrier so I can’t even do anything!” To add to the point, Ichika seemed to cry even louder.

“Well that won’t do,” Rangiku muttered. “Hmm…I think I have something that might help.” She disappeared and Momo could hear some noises coming from inside. Shortly after Matsumoto appeared with a baby bottle full of milk. “Here, I found some milk in the fridge inside.”

Momo took the bottle gratefully but stopped. “Why do you have a baby bottle?” she asked dubiously.

“It was for a drinking game,” Matsumoto responded dismissively. Momo raised her eyebrow but thought better to ask further. She gestured the bottle to Ichika who eagerly latched on and drank, closing her eyes to sleep again.

Momo sighed in relief. “Ahh, it worked! Thank you so much Rangiku-san!” But Momo looked up and the blonde was already gone. Momo would have been insulted if she weren’t so relieved that Ichika had finally quieted down.

Knowing that there was only one more person she could ask for help, she quickly set out with the sleeping baby in tow.

---

Toushiro Hitsugaya was having a decent day. He slept well the night before and had woken up early to train. He had already completed his stacks of paperwork and was reviewing the report for his meeting with Captain Commander later in the day. It was also far more productive than he could say for his vice-captain who was conveniently late to work though it was far past noon.

He was just skimming the report when he heard the door slide open quickly.

“Hitsugaya-kun! Would it be alright if I stayed here?” Momo asked.

“I have to work,” he responded, not missing a beat and continued reading.

“But Hitsugaya-kun, I need your help!” At this, Toushiro looked up and was surprised to see how frazzled his childhood friend looked. Her hair stuck out in a disarray and she had an urgent look in her eyes. Then he noticed the sleeping baby in her arms.

“Why do you have Ichika?”

“Abarai-kun had to go help Rukia-san on her mission! He left Ichika-chan to me but didn’t give me any of her toys or baby bottles! She started to cry and I tried to soothe her but she wouldn’t stop—only until she drank something! Now she’s asleep but I don’t know when she’ll wake up next!” she exclaimed, clearly at her limit. “I’ve been holding her for so long that I haven’t been able to use the restroom!”

“You couldn’t have asked anyone else to help?” He raised an eyebrow, not used to seeing her so out of sorts.

“I tried! I really did!” Momo cried out. “Hirako-taicho went to the living world, Kira’s on a mission, Nanao-san was busy with paperwork and I asked Rangiku-san.” She sighed dejectedly. “But she left me.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Toushiro responded dryly. Momo looked at him pleadingly, to which he sighed. “Fine, you can stay here.”

She felt an immense wave of relief wash over her. “Yes! Thank you so much Shiro-chan!”

“Hinamori! Enough with that nick name!” he grumbled, crossing his arms, looking off to the side.

“I’m sorry Hitsugaya-kun,” she looked up at him through her eye lashes, with the full intention of softening his annoyance. “Thank you for letting me stay here.” She smiled sweetly for extra effort knowing that her childhood friend could never stay mad at her for too long.

Toushiro’s cheeks warmed up. “Whatever, you’re welcome” he muttered.

Then it hit her. “Ah, Hitsugaya-kun! Can you hold her for a second? I’m going to go use the restroom!”

“Me?” he sputtered. “Hinamori, I have never held an infant in my life.”

She was already handing the sleeping Ichika to the white-haired captain’s reluctant open arms. “Don’t worry! You’ll get the hang of it! Just make sure to support her neck and let her head rest on our shoulder…and hold your arm underneath.” Momo adjusted his arms and hands. “There! You’re good to go!”

Toushiro was most certainly not comfortable at all. He looked like he was staring at a tiny hollow on his shoulder, his turquoise eyes filled with apprehension.

“Hinamori, I don’t think this is a good idea…” He looked up and realized she was already gone. He sighed and sat down on the couch, making sure to watch baby Ichika who was fast asleep despite a seemingly uncomfortable position.

It really was the first time that he had seen a baby so close. He adjusted his arms so he could see her face clearly. She really does look like Kuchiki...

Toushiro remembered how enamored Hinamori and Matsumoto had been with the baby when she was just born. They had all visited the squad 13 vice-captain after she had given birth and was resting at home. Abarai had sat behind her the whole time, supporting her up on the futon. Toushiro couldn’t believe how wrinkled the baby looked, but both Abarai and the young Kuchiki’s gazes down were nothing short of full of love. He glanced to the side to see Momo staring at the trio affectionately, and Toushiro couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.

“Hitsugaya-kun?”

He turned to see Hinamori’s face looking down at Ichika with the same look as before. She had settled herself nicely next to him and was smiling to herself. “You got it!” she whispered gently. Momo smiled up at him. “See, I told you, you could do it!”

Toushiro felt his ears go hot. “H-Here you take her!” He lifted the baby off of him and onto Momo who quickly opened her arms. “Ahh, be careful Hitsugaya-kun!” Momo adjusted her position, but it was no use as Ichika started to stir. A look of confusion and fear passed by her face as she didn’t recognize the unfamiliar surroundings. Ichika’s bottom lip trembled and Momo felt the baby’s reiatsu hitch before she proceeded to wail again—and if possible, louder than before.

“Shiro-chan, I don’t know what to do!” Momo cradled Ichika in her arms, turning from side to side quickly in hopes to calm the baby down. But it was futile as the small baby howled, tears streaming down her chubby cheeks.

“Ichika,” he spoke with quiet authority.

The baby opened its violet eyes as Toushiro leaned over her and started moving his index finger, almost as if he were writing in the air. A blue light started to glow around his hand and suddenly dancing figures of ice emerged. Ichika’s wailing quieted to a coo as she watched the ice figures dance through the air and flutter down in front of her.

Momo stared in awe at Toushiro sitting next to her. Though they were shoulder to shoulder and he was releasing his reiatsu, she couldn’t feel the bite of the cold. She knew it had to do with him controlling his power so it wouldn’t harm her or the baby—that thought warmed her inside.

The ice sprites moved closer to settle on her arms, walking up to move closer to Ichika before disappearing in snow sparkles. The baby gurgled in excitement and reached a little fist to touch the snow.

She then pushed herself forward suddenly and Momo had to tighten her hold so she wouldn’t slip out of her arms. Toushiro sensed this and draped an arm on the couch behind the petite vice-captain so that she and Ichika were supported by his chest. At the back of her mind she registered she was so close to her childhood friend that she could feel the tickle of his hair on her cheek.

The show continued with Toushiro conjuring new characters and figures that enchanted baby Ichika with wonder. The exhaustion from her crying soon slowly overcame her as her eyelids fluttered close again.

“How did you do that Shiro-chan?” Momo whispered softly, as to not disturb the quietness of the moment.

Toushiro shrugged his shoulders, eyes still focused on the now drowsy baby. “I figured that Kuchiki-fuukutaicho would have created something out of ice for Ichika whenever they played together—knowing her penchant for Chappy.” He let out a smile. “She probably just misses her mom.”

“You’re amazing Shiro-chan.”

He turned to retort at her, but stopped at the look of admiration in her eyes.

“Hinamori…”

The two friends both looked down when Ichika started mumbling “Kaa-chan” before settling into a deep snooze. They both unconsciously smiled together.

Momo don’t know how long she and Toushiro sat there watching in quiet fascination at the sleeping baby in her arms. They both didn’t say anything, too wary of disturbing this rare peaceful moment. And though the neither of them had ever dealt with a newborn baby like this, it just felt right.

Momo was so focused on holding Ichika she didn’t notice Toushiro curl his arm around her to tuck her closer to him and that he moved his face towards her’s.

“Captain?”

The two broke apart to see Matsumoto staring at them, which made Momo wonder how long she had been standing there. There was a knowing look in her grey-blue eyes and a soft smile on her face.

“We have to leave in a couple minutes for the meeting with Captain General Kyoraku.”

Toushiro cleared his throat and removed his arm from Momo, which she realized that she missed right away.

“Right, Matsumoto.” He looked away trying to regain his composure. “We’ll leave soon.”

“I should go as well,” Momo said softly, as to not wake baby Ichika and to avoid Toushiro and Matsumoto’s stares. “Thank you for your help Hitsugaya-kun.” She placed the sleeping child in the carrier before hurrying herself off the couch. “I’ll see you both later,” she quickly said as she dashed out leaving the 10th division officers behind.

Once the fifth vice-captain left, Matsumoto turned around slowly with a smirk on her face and raised eyebrow. “Did you enjoy your time with Hinamori-chan?” her voice dripping with implications.

Toushiro straightened his captain’s robe before pushing himself up and brushed past Matsumoto into the hallway. “Let’s not be late Matsumoto,” he said ignoring her previous statement.

“Don’t think this is over Captain! We must discuss this afterwards! I want to hear all the details!”

“There’ll be no such thing,” he replied shortly.

“Well, I think you might want to considering what I have…”

He turned to her as she dropped her soul pager in his hand, walking past with a confident gait. She winked as she looked over her shoulder. “I think you’ll want to save that photo.”

In confusion, he looked down at the photo on the small screen and his turquoise eyes widened. For on the screen was an image of a smiling Momo, gazing adoringly at baby Ichika, tucked in Toushiro’s arms. What shocked him was the soft look on his face directed at Momo. Though there was plenty of room for them on the tiny couch, they were so close together that it looked like a young couple and their child—he could feel his ears heat up.

“Don’t worry Captain, I’ll send it to you later,” Matsumoto called sweetly.

Toushiro huffed. Not that he cared.

But she had better send that picture to him later.

----

Author’s Notes: I hope you enjoyed! I had the end part in my head for days but it took my some time to start it and flesh out the middle.

There’ll be more in the future :)

#hitsuhina #Hitsugaya Toushiro #toshiro hitsugaya #hinamori momo #momo hinamori #hitsuhina exchange #canariie: my fics #hitsugaya x hinamori #bleach fanfiction #also excuse any typos or misspellings as i tried to wrap this up in time!#hitsuhina exchange 2020

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lesmismignon · 4 years

Text

replying to anon messages

In this post I shall reply to the messages that have been sitting in my inbox for a regrettably long period of time. (It is loooooong. Please click “keep reading” at your own risk.)

I’m not a very good correspondent. I’m very sorry. I never know what to say right off the bat, and then during 2019 and 2020 when I was mostly on hiatus, I would just post a chapter or two and poof back out, and on Tumblr I would browse a few things and then poof back out. I do not have a good track record with social media and online presence in general. And with real life problems (mostly due to work), at worst it was impossible to muster even the strength to write. It was maddening.

But there is something about Hellsing and its fandom that reels me back in even when I am far away. Excuse me if this sounds cheesy, but for me fandoms are like the orbit of a comet. If it is something that you loved, and will continue to love even when you are not “active” on it, you will come back to it, someday, somehow. I’ll always be grateful to Hellsing, for being an inspiration to write, for being a bridge to some of my dearest relationships, for some of the kindest messages I’ve ever received in my life.

you freed yourself for a job that was not good for you and related to toxic people (Integra-like – demanding the respect you deserve). That is badass brave – and that doesn’t become less by that fact that maybe the next job you got is not the end of the journey but still part of the way. And you are brave by sharing your work, sharing your stories revealing parts of your emotional world to the outside – that is totally bad as too. I think you can be very proud of you, really. So maybe right now, you might be in situation that does not yet make you happy in way you deserve it. But you know- there is big chance that this is part of your journey to this place – imagine, in some time from now, you may be a successful (brilliant you are already) author and in an interview you say something like “yes, back there in 2016/17 I went through some tough times, that influenced the work very much I got this price for today”. So just in case you maybe cannot see it right now yourself – please allow me to tell you – you are brave and wonderful. And re. the brave decision you mentioned – I know I am not in the position to tell you anything – but please do not do any harm to you. So, thank you so much for your work you share with the world, my life is better with it. Take care for yourself, you deserve the best. (so sorry, I am really not good with words, hope you get my point….)

Anon, this was the kindest thing you could have ever done for little 2016/17 me. Oh God. Time does fly by so fast. I want you to know that I read this message a long time ago, and it gave me strength to go on, even though I’m not sure if I am so brave, to be compared to our lady Integra >< I hope you are happy and safe, wherever you are. I hope you know how brave and wonderful *you* are. Thank you so much.

just wanted to drop by and say I love all your fanfictions! You capture Integra and Alucard's characters so well; I LOVE it. Take all the time you need updating. You deserve it. And good luck at your job! <3

Ah, I probably changed jobs like twice since then. But they have been all good and meaningful in their own ways. I really did not mean to take THIS long in updating but I hope that you enjoyed the recent updates if you are still reading, thank you so much!

Why can I not write here? I just wanted you to know I am grateful for the reading joys that are 'Snow White' and 'Satis'...

Thank you Anon! I am so glad you enjoyed them!

I LOVE SATIS SO MUCH YOUR WRITING IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND FLOWY AND IT MAKES ME CRY PLEASE KEEP UP THE BRILLIANT WORK!!

Thank you Anon! You give me too much praise, but I shall indeed try to keep it up!

Hey so please don't take this as me pressuring you but I absolutely adore Satis! Is there any chance we might know when the next update is coming in? Totally understand if not- it sounds like work is taking a lot out of you and I understand that you're writing fan fiction purely for fun but DAMN IF I DON'T WANT TO READ MORE OF YOUR FIC OMG I LOVE IT SO MUCH ASDFGHJKL!!!

I’m sorry it’s been ages! I’ll tell you my schedule(???) for this year instead! For this year of 2021 I really hope to average maybe at least 1 chapter a month but I don’t know how I’ll fare during the busy months. I hope you enjoyed the recent chapters if you are still reading!

@fierce-little-miana Can you believe that I have just noticed that I had given you any kudos for Snow White or Satis?! Sorry! Your stories are really worth all the praise we can give them. (so I corrected it) Have a nice day!

Thank you! I’m terribly sorry for this late reply. You’ve been so kind and sent so many lovely messages. Thank you again for each and every one of them!

@sinish-tem Hey sorryy for bothering you but. That ALutegra fic was AMAZING!!I LOVE IT!Amazing job sport<3

You’re not bothering me at all! Thank you old sport!

So I don't mean to rush you or be annoying or anything, but is Satis still happening? (plz plz say yes)

You’re not being annoying! I’m sorry it took so long! Yes :)

Hello! So, um, I have to ask... is Satis going to be updated? It’s just that it’s one of my absolute favorite stories by my absolute favorite author!

Thank you! I’m honored! I hope you enjoyed the recent chapters if you’re still reading!

Hi! Are you still around? Are you doing ok?

Yes, I am fine now, thank you :) I hope you are doing well, too!

@aniphine Hi! First off, I want to say that I absolutely love your writing style and am so looking forward to diving into all of your fics! I just finished Satis and it’s definitely in my Top 10 Fanfics ever, which is saying something! Thanks so much for writing it. On that note, I wanted to ask if you had plans to update it? If not, that’s totally cool - what you’ve written already is fantastic. But if so, I’d pledge my life to you in order to get a chance at reading more. 😆 Anyhoo, you’re awesome! 👋

Thank you so much! You are awesome too! I’m honored that Satis is in your top 10!!

@dontfuckingfollowmeifpornblog You still around?

I am now! Thank you!

@comixqueen Hello have I told you that I really love your Hellsing fics? ;u;/ They're among the best out there and I reread them often!

Thank you very much. That means a lot to me from you. Thank you for rereading, I’m always wary of my earlier writing but I’m glad if people still enjoy them.

I have never squealed higher than when I received the notification for the new chapter of Satis. You are a true blessing <3 thank you for your words

You are a blessing! Thank you so much!

Hello! I know you're not very active around here, but I just saw a trailer for a movie based on the letters of Vita and Virginia, and I was immediately reminded of Satis and the quotes you so expertly used in the narration, and I thought I might tell you in case you're interested in the movie (the title is literally Vita and Virginia) <3

Thank you Anon! I did see the trailer! I haven’t seen the movie yet though, but I will, eventually! I am so glad you think I did the quotes justice! It’s such a beautiful quote.

Not sure how to start this, might be a little bold, and yet; let me simply say that I am in love with your written works. In fact, so much so that I read it all again, and again. It never ceases to amaze. And as for you, the person behind it all, you do seem immensely precious as well. I hope that you have the most fantastic day, you deserve no less.

Anon, you are so very kind. Thank you so much for your lovely words. I am just an ordinary person unusually invested in a particular set of fictional characters xD and I am often late to things and a bad correspondent, but I must be doing something right if you’re sending me a message as lovely as this. Thank you again, I hope you are having fantastic days as well.

Honestly ive read your snow white fic years ago but I loved it insanely much and im about to read it again today ^.^

Thank you Anon! Ah, Snow White. I am very glad you still enjoy it. It is so old, and I wish I had the courage to edit it and spruce it up, or even update an extra or two...

Are you ever planning to continue Satis? I’m in love with that piece of work.

Thank you Anon! Yes! I hope you enjoyed the recent chapters!

My literal text to a friend of mine that's also a fan of Satis when I got the AO3 mail about the new chapter was: "NOW THEY'RE FINALLY STARTING TO BE *HAPPY* HOLIDAYS"

I am very glad I was able to bring you holiday cheer. Would it be bold of me if I say I aim to bring you non-holiday cheer as well, now? xD Thank you so much!

HEY JUST CAME HERE TO SAY I LOVE SATIS, OKAY BYYYYE

HELLO ANON! THANK YOUUUUU

#anon #reply

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leahxx129 · 4 years

Text

His Name (demon!Dean Winchester x Reader)

This is a submission for the immensely talented @fvckingavengers ‘ quarantine writing challenge. Also, I’d like to credit @angelkurenai since her soulmate AU imagines provided the main idea for this fic.

My prompt for inspiration was:

You’re all I need when I’m holding you tight / If you walk away I will suffer tonightI found a man I can trust / And boy, I believe in us / I am terrified to love for the first time / Can’t you see that I’m bound in chains? / I finally found my way / I am bound to you - Bound to You by Christina Aguilera

Summary: Nobody knew why or how, but on their thirteenth birthday every person on planet Earth would start feeling this burning sensation on their left lower arm, which intensifies as the day carries on. By the time the sun goes down, the burning sensation would leave a scar, forming a name. It’s believed to be the name of the person one belongs with. The letters on your skin spell out Dean Winchester.

Warnings: angst, mild swearing

Word count: 3.275-ish

Sam Winchester is staring intensely on the map in the War room as if he watched it closely enough, it would show where his brother went from the last place he’d been spotted at. Sam is tired beyond words – he has spent every waking hour searching for Dean, even though he is not sure that the demon curing ritual would work on a Knight of Hell.

„You know we’re gonna find him, right?” Cas speaks up, making Sam jump a little.

„Cas... didn’t see you there... Uhm, sure, I know. It’s just harder than I thought.” his words don’t really comply with his facial expression.

„Well, I do not know if this is helpful, but Crowley sent me a photo a few minutes ago with a text saying ’Show this to Moose’. It depicts a woman I have never seen before.” he hands Sam the phone.

„Oh my God!” Sam’s eyes light up with excitement. „Why haven’t I thought of that?!”

„Thought of what? I think I’m in the dark here, Sam.”

But Sam is too busy looking for something in his pockets to answer. A couple of seconds later a familiar rattle indicates he found his car keys and he claps Cas on the shoulder.

„We have a long drive ahead of us, buddy.”

It‘s 2. a.m. on a Thursday night, you are wiping the bar counter with a cloth. Nothing out of the ordinary happened all evening. You started your shift around 6 p.m. at the local bar, only the regulars came in. The air was heavy with the scent of liquor and cigarette smoke. Even the old jukebox in the corner and the clatter of billiard balls sounded pretty much the same as every night.

Just as you’ve finished wiping and start washing the glasses, the main door opens then closes slowly with a squeak.

„I’m sorry but were closed! Try tomorrow, pal.” you say without looking at the newly arrived guest. It’s not a rare phenomenon that someone wants to stick around for a couple more drinks after closing time, so you don’t suspect anything. Not until the person begins talking, anyway.

’Really? I thought you’d make an exception for an old friend...”

Hearing Sam Winchester’s voice makes your blood run cold, numbing you to an extent that the glass you are holding slips out of your grasp and shatters to a dozen pieces on the floor.

„Sam...” despite your best efforts you can’t muster anything other than his name.

„I mean, I was hoping you’d be excited to see me, Y/N, but breaking glasses is not necessary. Or safe.” he chuckles, sitting down on a bar stool.

„Shut up, smartass!” you intend to look serious, but a smile creeps on your face, nevertheless.

There’s a long moment of silence. Neither of you want to spoil the joy of reunion so you just look at one another, taking in how the other has changed over the years. You pour two scotches and finally Sam clears his throat.

„I see you’re still covering up his name.” he states, referring to your bracelets that hide most of your left lower arm.

Oh, right. His name. Frankly, you tend to forget about those words burnt in your skin quite easily.

Nobody knew why or how, but on their thirteenth birthday every person on planet Earth would start feeling this burning sensation on their left lower arm, which intensifies as the day carries on. By the time the sun goes down, the burning sensation would leave a scar, forming a name. It’s believed to be the name of the person one belongs with. The letters on your skin spell out Dean Winchester.

You can still picture the day you got it crystal clearly.

It was around 10 p.m. when it finished burning and you were able to read it. Your father’s face turned to an ashy color and he drove you to Bobby Singer’s house where the Winchesters were staying at the time. Hearing an engine die, Bobby and John came out to see who the unexpected visitors were.

“Stay in the car!” your father ordered through gritted teeth as he got out and you obeyed.

John smiled when he recognized him, but his smile soon turned to a painful grimace – courtesy of your father’s amazing left hook.

“What the hell, man?!” he shouted in disbelief, wiping the blood off his face with the back of his hand. Bobby was visibly indecisive whether to stop the fight or let it play out.

“I could ask you the very same question, Winchester!” your father bellowed in response.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“I’m talking about the name that formed on my little girl’s arm, John! You have some dark connections, you must’ve got something to do with it!”

“It’s Dean, isn’t it?” you could see the epiphany on his face even in the poor light that filtered through Bobby’s kitchen window. “Look, pal... you and I both know damn well that this cannot be controlled.”

A long silence ensued. Only the crickets could be heard.

“Ever since my girl’s name showed up on your boy’s arm, I prayed every single night for it to be a mistake. For her to get a different name when the time comes, and you know I don’t believe in God, John!” your father’s voice cracked. “I prayed for her to get the name of a lawyer, a doctor or a dentist… somebody that’ll provide for her. And she got a hunter. Out of seven billion people, she got a hunter… I don’t want her to end up like Mary, or her Mom.”

John took a step closer and squeezed your father’s shoulder.

“Dean will take good care of her, I promise.”

You banish the memory as quickly as you can. The only thing you’re thankful for is the fact that none of your dads lived long enough to see how much of a lie John’s promise would prove to be.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cover it up.” you answer Sam coldly and he shoots you an apologetic look.

“What about yours? Have you found your, uhm... what’s her face… Eileen Leahy?” your pronunciation earns a genuine smile from him.

“No, not yet. I’m starting to think she’s a myth.”

“Well then, she’s the luckiest myth in this whole damn world, I can tell you that much.”

You down your drink in one gulp and decide to ask what’s been bothering you ever since he set foot in the bar.

“Alright, Sam, honest talk. Why are you here? What’s up? I gave you this address for emergencies and the fact that we’re having a face-to-face conversation right here, right now is a bad sign in my book.”

He looks like he’s contemplating the way to present the situation to you, but you’re having none of it.

“No need for sugarcoating, hot stuff, just spill it.”

“Dean’s a demon.”

You’re not sure if you’ve heard it right or the scotch you’ve just drunk was spiked.

“Excuse me?”

“Dean’s a demon. He died with the Mark of Cain on his arm and he turned into a Knight of Hell. Gone rogue. I want to fix him, but you know Dean... it’s damn hard to find him when he doesn’t wanna be found.” he flashes you a smile but when you don’t replicate it, he continues “I’m here because he’s here, Y/N. Based on my intel, he’s been visiting this bar to see you. Will you help me cure him?”

With a blank stare you pour yourself another drink, now wishing for it to be spiked.

The next day after closing you don’t get into your car immediately; you decide to light a cigarette first. Sam’s words are still echoing in your ears. A demon? And he’s been visiting the bar to see you? Why the hell would he do that? You’re about to stub the remainder of your cigarette when you hear his voice from behind you.

“I always thought you looked incredibly sexy when you smoked, darlin’. Turned me on so much.”

You spin around on your heels just to bump straight into Dean’s chest. He grabs hold of your arms to steady you. His touch gives you goosebumps, but you compose yourself swiftly. You cannot allow him to see the effect he still has on you, even after everything that happened.

“I know, Dean, you made it clear quite a few times with your actions… what I don’t know, however, is the reason behind your little visit... so, a fucking explanation would be nice. But first, let go of me!”

“That’s such an ugly word from such a pretty mouth… and to be honest, I think you know damn well what I’m doing here. A birdy tells me Sammy paid you a visit and I doubt that he didn’t share a few things about me, Y/N. As for letting you go… sorry, no can do.” he smirks.

“What do you mean ‘no can do’, Winchester?!” you ask sharply, panic rising withing you.

“Well, more precisely, I don’t want to. I’ve missed you.” he leans in closer to your face “And frankly, I don’t want you to put those engraved demon cuffs on me that peek from your back pocket, sweetie.” he whispers against your lips.

“Okay. How ‘bout the ones Sam is about to put on you?” you whisper back, causing him to furrow his brows in confusion and lean away. This gives you enough space to headbutt him and he automatically stumbles a step backwards, allowing Sam to cuff him from behind.

With united forces you manage to hustle Dean into the trunk of your car.

“You know, demon or not, it’s nice to know some things never change. You’ve always let your dick do the thinking instead of your brain.” you tell him condescendingly before closing the trunk.

When Dean wakes up in the Men of Letters’ dungeon restrained, at first, he’s perplexed. Then as realization slowly hits him, his face becomes distorted with fury and he starts wriggling in an attempt to break free, but he doesn’t succeed. A frustrated, unhuman-like growl leaves his throat. You watch this with undeniable pleasure.

„Mornin’, sunshine!” you greet him jovially.

There’s a short silence as he watches you prepare some syringes on the nearby iron table.

„So, you’re the one who’s gonna do it, huh? Or at least try...” he says arrogantly.

„Yup!”

„Now that’s funny ’cause you see I thought you hated needl-„ but you don’t let him complete his sentence as you pierce your skin faster than he could finish it. Your blood fills up the syringe in no time.

You walk over to him and sit on his lap in a straddling position.

„I do hate needles, Dean.” You admit „Kudos for remembering. But I’m pretty sure that you’ll hate what comes next even more than I hate them and that makes it worth it.”

Before he could react, you stab him in the neck with the syringe, completely emptying its content into his artery. The unhuman growl breaks out once again, but this time it turns into manic laughter.

„Wow, that was exciting!” he exclaims as his eyes turn black „Almost as exciting as Jo holding me at gunpoint when we first met. But just almost... You know, there were times I wished it was her name on my arm instead of yours.”

„Interesting. Because there were times I wished it was your brother’s name on mine, but I guess we can’t always get what we want, now can we?” you shrug and walk back to the table, not minding Dean’s pitch-black stare. He thought he could hurt you since Jo was your best friend, but you manage to hit closer to home.

You sit down on a chair, place your legs on the table and put your headphones on.

„What are doing?” Dean asks, clearly upset.

„You didn’t seriously think I was gonna listen to your annoying blabber until the next shot, did you?” he opens his mouth to reply but you turn on the music on your phone and start lip-syncing to ’Dream on’ by Aerosmith.

In the following four hours you administer the next four shots, each at every clock turn. Dean says something insulting each time and you try to ignore him each time - with more or less success.

“Alright, hot stuff, time for the sixth shot!” examining your arm you realize it starts resembling to a needle pillow, but you draw another fix for him all the same.

This time he appears calmer. He’s not trying to pull his head away or even bite you like at some previous occasions. No shouting or growls either. You can see he started sweating, the small drops glisten on his skin like illuminated diamonds. Could the ritual actually be working?

You’re halfway back to the table when he calls you by the nickname he gave you, forcing you to turn back.

“I just want you to know I admire you. I really do, Y/N. Seeing you put this much effort into this makes me wish I put more in our relationship.” he shoots you a sad, crooked smile.

“Careful, Dean. If you don’t stop attempting to manipulate my emotions, I’m gonna punch you in the face. Again. But this time harder.” you warn him.

“I’m not toying with you. I honestly wish.”

“Well it’s kind of too late for that, isn’t it?” you take a step closer to him and pull up the bracelets on your arm. “See these words? They are the sole reason I’m here and doing this. Okay?”

“Who are you trying to fool, sweet thing? Me or yourself?”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Your hands tremble when you get back to the table and put the headphones on. You feared this moment would come and here it is. He’s trying to get under your skin. And it’s working.

Later on when you approach him with the seventh shot, he tilts his head to the side, offering his neck.

“Go on.” he encourages you and you take the opportunity. The ferocious, invincible being Sam chained down is nowhere to be seen – a broken man with beautiful green eyes looks longingly at you instead.

“There’s one more to go and you’ll be your annoying self again, hot stuff.” you tell him softly, relenting a little.

“And you?”

“I’ll be on my way to the farthest place from here.” you decide to tell him the truth, which seems to render him speechless for a minute.

“Why do you hate me so much, Y/N?” I mean, I know I’ve never been the high definition of an awesome boyfriend, trust me, but the amount of resentment I sense baffles me.” he asks, sounding genuinely intrigued.

The ball of uneasiness in your stomach grows two sizes in the span of a minute.

“You’ve lost your right to ask such personal questions four years ago, Winchester. You’ve lost it when you left that letter on the kitchen counter, and you walked out on us!” you say in a strained voice.

Suddenly, all the memories you‘ve worked so hard to suppress flood back in.

When Sam jumped in the pit, Dean was lost. His self-destructive behavior foreshadowed a gruesome end and you just couldn’t let him spiral down like that. You made arrangements and got out of the life. Rented a house in the countryside and started living like a normal couple. Beforehand, your relationship was stormy to say the least, but settling down steadied it a lot. Everything was picture perfect for about a year - then you found that damn letter when you arrived home from work. Dean explained in it that Sam was alive, and he needed some time to figure stuff out. You didn’t even get the chance to tell him what you learned that day… and this was the last straw. You never contacted Dean Winchester again, nor did you speak to him directly. Your liaison was Sam up until that night in the bar’s parking lot.

Dean’s voice brings you back to reality.

“My brother came back from the dead… I was confused, Y/N. Just like I wrote, I needed time! After a while I was trying to reach out to you, but you refused to even-“he stops mid-sentence “Wait a minute… walked out on you… as in… plural?”

You nod mechanically and his eyes widen.

“Wha-what happened?” he chokes out eventually.

“I was pregnant. Then miscarried. Don’t worry about it.”

Is that really a teardrop running down his cheek, or are you imagining things?

“Don’t worry about it?” he raises his voice in disbelief. “That’s all you’re gonna say about it?!”

“I don’t want to say anything else, Dean. Because if I pull on that thread again, my mind will go to a dark, lonely place and I think I deserve better than that.”

“Goddamnit…” he exhales loudly, then continues “When all of this is over, I want you to stay.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I want you to stay with me. Here. I want a clean slate, a-a new beginning.”

You can’t comprehend what’s happening. One minute you were curing your ex-boyfriend from demonism, and the other he wants to start things over despite your history together.

Instead of replying, you fill up the last syringe and administer the eighth shot quickly, then deliver the required incantation. Just as you finish, Sam enters the dungeon and you run past him straight to your car. You open the door but before you could sit in somebody closes it from behind. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is, but you do it anyway. Dean takes your left arm and reveals his own name.

“I remember the night you got this thing. I was in the house when you and your dad arrived at Bobby’s and I witnessed the whole ordeal. I know that ‘til now I did a crappy job keeping the promise my dad made to yours but give me one last chance to do it right, okay?”

You look away, trying to blink back a few tears that want to escape your eyes deperately.

“I don’t know, Dean…”

He gently grasps your chin to make you face him.

“You know, when Sam gave me your message saying you don’t need me anymore, I thought – fine. If you don’t need me, I don’t need you, simple as that. But it was a lie. I only realized how big when I became a Knight of Hell… I enjoyed killing, Y/N. I enjoyed killing so much that it scared the crap out of me. But all this darkness and anger brought on by the mark alleviated one night when I accidentally stopped at that bar and saw you…”

“Damn, Winchester, are we having a chick-flick moment here?” you ask, trying to take the edge off the situation while wiping your eyes.

“Yeah…I guess we are. But don’t tell anyone ‘cause it would ruin my reputation.” he whispers the last part.

You scoff loudly.

“What reputation are you talking about, exactly? I think you lost every bit of it back in the parking lot when I kicked your demon ass.”

“Oh, well, I guess you’re right, sweet thing.” he admits with a breathy laughter.

“As for a second chance… fine. But fail to keep that promise once more and I’ll be gone for good. Understood?”

At first a look of genuine surprise spreads on his face but it soon gets switched up by gratitude. He places a feather light kiss on your lips as confirmation.

Truth be told, you could never leave him just as he could never leave you – at least not permanently. No matter the pain and the misery, you belong with each other. Your souls are bound by an invisible lace that nothing can tear apart.

#dean winchester #reader #dean x reader #supernatural #SPN #spnfic #deanmon

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cancerousjojian · 5 years

Text

cookie dough cupid | steve harrington

summary: robin just like, really wants her two best friends who don’t really know each other to fall hopelessly in love with one another. so far, it’s working.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

a/n: guess who’s back on her steve harrington bullshit! this bitch! i’ve tried to write this exact fic so many times and none of them felt write, but i’m so in love with steve i needed to write for him. also, this might become a series if enough people like it.

Steve finds comfort in monotony. He likes knowing what to expect.

So when Robin shows up to Scoops Ahoy one day blabbing on about you, her best friend who would totally be great for you, Steve, it’s safe to say he freaks out a little bit. She says your name and he freezes. He remembers you from high school. You were pretty, smart, and far out of his league. You never even looked twice at him, but he thinks maybe it was because of the the was when he was in high school. Or maybe you did, and he just never noticed because he was too busy sucking face with your lab partner, Nancy Wheeler.

Whatever. You didn’t like him then, and you wouldn’t like him now.

But Robin is not giving up. “Please, Steve! You’d really like her.” She says. She’s stocking the cookie dough as Steve sits on the counter, mindlessly toying with a broken ice-cream scoop.

He sighs at his over-enthusiastic friend. “It’s not a question of whether I’d like her, it’s a question of whether she can stand me enough to be in my presence for more than ten minutes.”

Robin’s heart aches at that, setting the beat-up clipboard down to have a heart-to-heart in the middle of the Scoops Ahoy stock room. “Is it because of the way you used to be, emphasis on used?” She tries to speak as evenly as possible. The subject of his past-self made Steve cringe, he hated talking about it.

He doesn’t bother answering. But his silence is confirmation enough.

Robin hops up onto the counter next to him. “I’ve told her about you, you know. I told her you’ve changed.”

Still no response. Everyone tells him he should be proud of the person he is today, and how he’s long abandoned that Steve. And he was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still feel awful about it. And it’s not like he’s ever done anything particularly awful to you, he was too scared to even talk to you most of the time.

“She’s… intimidating,” He speaks finally, staring at the blue and white tiled floor. “If I ever meet her I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

Robin’s face grows into a mischievous grin. “Well, you can see for yourself that she’s a really cool and laid-back person when she comes to pick me up tonight.”

His eyes widen, heart rate picking up. As if on cue, Erica Sinclair dings the bell in the front of the store for her daily sample taste test. In a single motion, Robin is hopping off the counter and making her way over. “You’ll like her, Harrington!”

I already do, he wants to say, but the words that come out of his mouth are, “Damn you, Buckley!”

And so, Steve spends the rest of his shift on edge. He’s simultaneously dreading the moment the clock strikes 8 and oddly looking forward to it. To tell the truth, he hasn’t dated in a while. He feels silly for even prospecting that the two of you might become something more than friends, you haven’t even met him yet. His wandering thoughts only serve to make the time pass even faster.

So when the burst through the entrance at 7:50 and flash him a polite smile, he almost passes out.

It takes a moment for you to read his nametag and realize it’s the Steve Harrington. The guy Robin had been talking up all week about how great you two would get along and how she doesn't like men but if she did, she would be all over Steve.

Sure, you told her, you’ll meet him if it would make her happy.

You just didn’t realize that it was Steve Harrington, the assclown you’d known in high school.

You feel like you might vomit all over the rocky road flavor.

Steve realizes he’s staring. “Are-are you Robin’s friend?”

But before you can even get an answer out, the girl in question appears out of nowhere as if she had super-hearing, or could sense whenever her two best friends engaged in an awkward moment. “Yes, she is!”

You’re too consumed by something of embarrassment and shock to react. You try to remember how Robin was telling you that he was a completely different person, and you really would genuinely like him.

A deep breath later and you’re ready to speak. “Yes, I am.”

Steve takes a moment to collect himself, meanwhile he’s hyper aware of everything. (Was his hair okay? Did he forget to put on deodorant this morning? Shit, he was eating cookie dough this morning, did he have chocolate on his face?)

You offer him a friendly smile when he doesn’t say anything. Little does he know, you’re in your head contemplating the entirety of your high school career. You always felt guilty about having a crush on Steve. He really was the worst. Robin never quite knew about your crush, or so you thought. You try to tell yourself that it’s okay now, he was different. But you wouldn’t give in that fast.

Robin coughs.

“Okay, well. I just realized I forgot to take inventory of the toppings in the freezer,” she says with fake disappointment, and you swear you could scream at her in the moment. “Be right back!” She’s so giddy about it, she almost skips back to the freezer.

And alas, he plan to get you and your high school crush alone has proved successful.

Steve sighs, deciding to clear the air straight out of the gate. “Look, I know I was terrible in high school. I just wanted to apologize for anything I ever did to you that made you feel… I don’t know, shitty.”

You shake your head, the apology kind of hurts your heart. But still, you’re glad he’s owning up to how horrendous of a human being he was. “You never really did anything to me specifically. But yeah, you were a shitty person.”

You watch, his dark eyes softening. He looked he might cry.

God, he was so sorry.

“But I’ve heard you’ve changed now, so maybe we should start from scratch,” you give him an apologetic look, stepping closer so that you’re only separated by the obnoxiously colorful cash register, sticking your hand out. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

He grins. He takes your hand and shakes it without hesitation. “I’m Steve.”

It’s a nice moment, and he doesn’t know it, but he’s already taking a huge liking toward you.

Dammit, Robin Buckley, you match-making wizard.

“I know what it’s like,” you speak, suddenly pulling Steve from his thoughts, “to be ashamed of the person you were. To not even identify with your past-self. It takes a lot of soul searching to admit how truly awful you can be. It definitely takes your esteem down a bit, but it’ll all work itself out. It always does.” You give him a genuine smile.

You’re so nice he feels sorry for even doubting your kindness, for thinking you may be one to hold a grudge against him. It was clear to him that any hostile feelings you once had towards him had dissipated since graduation.

“Thank you,” he forces himself to choke down his emotion, “for understanding.”

You’re nodding. He’s watching, and he doesn’t know if its the immense empathy you possess or the way your smile makes you look like you’re an angel sent from heaven, but his heart breaks a little as he watches you survey the room. He’s wondering how it’s possible that he’s developed a crush on you in just mere minutes of talking to you. Maybe that was just the normal effect you had on people. He wonders if everyone falls in love with you upon your first meeting, and he thinks about how he could really use someone like that in his life.

“Um, anyway.” you clear your throat, suddenly aware of the palpable tension between you, “Robin and I were going to go the movies next weekend. I have room in my car for one more, if you wanted to-”

“Yes,” Steve says it like he’ll die if he doesn’t. And maybe he will. “Sorry. Um. Yeah, yes. I’d love to come… if that’s what you were going to ask.”

A giggle escapes your lips and it makes Steve stomach do a flip. “Then it’s a plan, Harrington.”

“What are we talking about, guys?” Robin’s voice breaks you both out of your conversation, and you both turn to look at him.

“I was just asking Steve if he wanted to come with us to the movies next weekend.”

“... And?”

“And, Robin, I said yes.”

Her eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning. “Alrighty then! We’l; see you next week, then, Steve.” She says, her hand grabbing your arm as she’s heading towards the exit. She’s wearing a shit-eating grin that makes your cheeks red.

“See you then.” He says, but it’s so quiet neither of you hear it.

Frantically, you wave to him before the doors close behind you. He smiles and waves back when he sees you pointing to the corner of your own mouth. He’s confused for a moment before he sees his reflection in the glass protecting the ice cream.

A smudge of chocolate.

He shakes his head and wipes it off in one swift motion. You’re grinning from outside the store, giving him one final smirk before disappearing around the corner with Robin.

He can’t wait for next weekend. He thinks about how much he already likes you and how much Dustin is going to get a kick out of this when he tells him about it.

Yeah, he likes you a lot.

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #stranger things

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trashcanmarvelfan · 5 years

Text

Aftermath (A Peter Parker Introspective Fic)

Summary: Peter dealing with the effects of Endgame, pre-FFH.

Warnings: ENDGAME SPOILERS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Word Count: 1821.

Author’s Note: Just processing my post-Endgame feels and working out some headcanons. Takes place post-Endgame, pre-Far from Home.

Requests are always open!

Cross-posted at AO3.

Peter Parker sighed as he slammed his locker shut. It had been a month since the snap that had wiped out half of the universe (including himself) had been undone, a month since Thanos had been defeated for good, a month since… Well. He swallowed thickly. At least it was Friday. He could go home and pretend like a world without Tony Stark didn’t exist for the next 2 days.

His phone buzzed with an incoming text:

Pepper really needs to see you. It’s important.

Peter rubbed his eyes. Happy. He had been texting Peter for the past few weeks:

- Hey, kid, how you holding up?

- Haven’t heard any Spider-Man updates, you patrolling Queens?

- Need you to come by the office when you get a chance.

- Pepper has something to discuss with you at Stark Industries.

- Really need you to swing by S.I. when you can.

He clicked his phone off without responding and walked toward the exit. Mr. Delmar’s bodega was still around, maybe he could stop there–

He burst out the door and stopped in his tracks.

Happy stood waiting in front of the usual nondescript black town car. “Hey, kid. You haven’t been answering my messages.”

“Well, you know…” Peter adjusted his backpack. “Been busy.”

Happy gave him a ‘I know BS when I hear it’ look. “I need you to come with me.” He opened the back door of the car and waited.

Peter sighed. Might as well get this over with. He climbed in.

To his immense relief, Happy didn’t try to make conversation on the way to Stark Industries. He merely parked and escorted Peter up to the lobby leading to Pepper’s office. “Wait here,” he instructed.

Peter thought about bolting, but the nearest train station was at least 3 miles away and he didn’t have his web shooters on him; and besides, even if he had had his web shooters he was sure that the last web fluid he had made had long since disintegrated.

A few minutes later, Happy returned. “Go on in.”

Peter walked down the hall to Pepper’s office and knocked on the open door.

“Hi, Miss Potts – Or actually I guess it’s been Mrs. Stark for a while now, huh?” he said, shuffling his feet nervously. “You, uh, you wanted to see me about something?”

Pepper walked out from behind her desk and pulled Peter into a tight hug. “Hi, Peter,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Come on in.” She gestured over to the couch.

Peter took a deep breath and sat.

“How are you holding up?” Pepper asked, taking a seat next to him.

Peter shrugged, keeping his eyes trained towards the floor. He had a feeling that Pepper already knew - that he had woken up screaming almost every night since that final battle. That every time he closed his eyes he saw the light fading from Tony’s ARC reactor. That he never got to tell Tony just how much he meant to Peter - that Peter saw him as more than just billionaire Tony Stark, as more than Iron Man, as more than just someone to admire and look up to. Tony was much more than a mentor to Peter - he was the closest thing Peter had to a father since Uncle Ben had died. And now he was gone.

Pepper looked at him sympathetically. “Listen, Peter… I’ve arranged for psychiatric and grief counseling for all of Stark Industries’ employees who were affected by the snap.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Including our interns. I already talked it over with your aunt and principal, and you’ll be given an excused absence on Monday to talk to Dr. Lansing.”

Peter blinked back tears. “Ok,” he said softly. “Do they– do they know? About me being Spider-Man?”

Pepper shook her head. “She knows that you were working personally with Tony before the snap and that you two were very close. Anything else you tell her is up to you.”

She took a deep breath. “Peter, the main reason I had Happy bring you here today is because Tony included you in his will.”

Pepper got up and walked over to a table, picking up a silver case and placing it on the coffee table in front of Peter before sitting next to him again.

Peter hesitated. He knew what that had to be.

“Go ahead, open it.”

Peter glanced at Pepper before placing his thumb against the sensor. The case beeped once before opening to reveal a new red and black Spider-Suit.

“Tony had made this before the Snap and was hoping to give it to you once you graduated from high school,” Pepper explained. “After the Snap he kept updating it in case we were able to bring everyone back.”

Peter just stared at the suit. “He… He kept working on this? Even after… after I…” He trailed off.

Pepper nodded. “And there’s something else. Education was extremely important to Tony, so in his will he founded the ‘Stark Industries Educational Scholarship for Technological Advancement of the Sciences’, or the ‘SIESTAS’ grant for short. It offers full tuition including room & board, plus a stipend for books and food to a student studying technology or science to the college of their choice, with an option to renew the scholarship for a masters’ program & Ph.D. as well.” Pepper paused. “He named you the recipient.”

“Wow, that’s– that’s amazing.” Peter was at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

Pepper smiled softly at him. “Tony talked about you a lot, you know.”

Peter looked up at her in surprise. “He did?”

Pepper nodded. “I wish you could’ve heard him sometimes. He was so proud of you and everything you’d accomplished.”

Peter’s eyes filled up with tears again. He sniffled. “And I always thought Mr. Stark barely tolerated me,” he joked weakly.

Pepper shook her head. “You were so much more than just a mentee or an ‘Avenger-in-training’ to Tony, Peter. Even though he never got to tell you, he loved you like a son. You made Tony realize that he wanted to be a father, and for that I’m forever grateful because although Tony may be gone, the best part of him lives on. So thank you.”

She picked up a framed photo of herself, Tony, and the little girl that Peter had learned was Tony and Pepper’s daughter, Morgan. Pepper caressed the photo softly before setting it back down. “Before Tony and I found out that we were having a girl, he said that if we had a boy, he wanted his middle name to be Peter.” She paused. “So instead, Morgan’s middle name is Petra.”

Peter’s Greek wasn’t too advanced, but he did at least know that ‘Petra’ was the feminine version of ‘Peter.’ He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Pet– Petra?”

“Tony wanted you to know just how much you meant to him – to us.” Pepper took Peter’s hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re part of this family, Peter– you and May both.”

She stood. “I’m so sorry I have to cut this short - I have a meeting with the shareholders to go over some projects for next quarter. We’re going to do an official announcement of the SIESTAS grant at a later date with a presentation and everything, but I did want you to know about it as soon as Tony’s will was read.”

As if on cue, Happy knocked on the doorframe to Pepper’s office. “You ready to go, kid?”

Peter nodded numbly.

Pepper hugged him once again.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stark,” Peter replied.

“We’re family, Peter. You can call me Pepper.” She released him. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? I mean it. Morgan’s been wanting to meet her surrogate big brother properly.”

Peter smiled sadly. “Thank you, Pepper.” He picked up the case with his new suit and followed Happy out of the office.

Once Peter arrived home, he opened the case and took the suit out to examine it. Stark tech had always been way more advanced than most technology, but this… Tony definitely had made some upgrades to Peter’s suit in the past 5 years.

Peter hadn’t worn his Spider-Suit since the day the Snap had been undone and they had defeated Thanos. Even though they had won, he still felt like he had failed because he couldn’t save Tony.

He sighed and hung the suit up.

He was working on his homework when May arrived home. “Hey, Peter!” she called out.

“I’m in here, May!” Peter called in reply.

May knocked on his door then opened it a crack. “Hey, how was your day?” she asked.

“Fine,” Peter replied. He bit his lip. “I, uh… I went by Stark Industries after school today. Mrs. Stark - I mean Pepper - she wanted to see me.”

“Oh?” May asked nonchalantly.

“She mentioned that she arranged counseling for Stark employees, and I… I have an appointment on Monday.”

May visibly relaxed. “That’s wonderful, Peter. I’m proud of you for accepting help.”

Peter nodded. “But that wasn’t all she wanted to talk about. Mr. Stark… Tony… left me some things in his will.”

“He did?”

“He gave me a 4-year scholarship to any college I choose, with the option to renew the scholarship for a Master’s degree and Ph.D if I choose to pursue them.”

May’s eyes widened. “Wow, that’s so generous.”

Peter gestured toward his new suit. “He also left me a new Spider-Suit.”

May put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He obviously cared a lot about you.” She paused. “Have you tried your new suit on yet?”

Peter shook his head. “Not yet. I…” His voice broke. “I just miss him so much, May.”

“I know, sweetie,” May replied, sitting next to Peter on his bed and wrapping her arms around him. “I know.”

She held on to Peter for a few more moments. “Just remember that those we love are never truly gone, ok? Tony would want you to continue on.”

Peter sniffled.

May kissed the top of Peter’s head and stood. “Now, I’m going to go make us some dinner and you join me when you’re ready, ok?”

Peter nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

May exited Peter’s room and shut the door behind her.

Peter sat quietly for a few more minutes, just staring at his suit. Finally, he thought, May’s right. Tony *would* want me to continue on. The world needs Spiderman.

He stood and picked up his new suit. Here goes.

He stripped down to his boxers, pulled the suit on, put on his mask, and pressed the spider on the front of his suit to fit it to his frame.

He took a deep breath as he waited for his AI, Karen, to boot up and greet him.

Instead of Karen, however, the updated AI voice was one he had never expected to hear again.

“Hey, Underoos.”

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #avengers endgame spoilers #i said monday but you know what 20 minutes till is close enough #peter parker imagine

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moonraccoon-exe · 5 years

Note

Hello my lunar flower, long time no speak hehe how you been? Sorry I'm all ghosty with my presence ^^;.. as of lately Yuu can barely can keep herself awake long enough to be on the internet. Ahh i misses you, your stories and your energy, it's all so breathtaking. I've been keeping up with reading em, sadly I just never enough time to properly comment as I usually do. Still doing amazingly I might add. I made a few friends and gods know they love to keep busy but i still miss my fluffball.

*V I BR A TIN G*

*V I BRA T ING A TT HE F R EE QUE NC Y OF THE U NI VE R SE*

*H YP ER VE NT ILA TES *

YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SHRIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

HNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

eDIT: I’M SORRY I GOT TOO EXCITED I’M GOING TO GO WRITE TO YOU INSTEAD BECAUSE IT FEELS EASIER/LIGHTER SOME WAY TO DO THAT I HOPE U DON’T MIND nO WAY I CHANGED MY MIND I’M GOING TO ANSWER HERE AAH PLS HAVE MERCY ON ME I’M S O H Y PE D A ND T H RIL LE D ASDLGJ DJ IT MY YUU IN MY INBOX Y’ALL THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE I’VE BEEN VERY EXHAUSTED AND GETTING EVEN MORE TIRED BECAUSE ON THE 5TH I START SCHOOL BUT THEN THIS BLESSING HAPPENED AND FUELED ME FULL AND HA S ME E C ST AT I C ASLDJFKGLJFGLKFJ

KASHFLJKAJFLADKGJALKGJADLKGJADLKGJDALKGJADLKGJADLKGADJGLADKJGLADKGJADLKGJADLKGJADLKGJDAGKAJDGLKAJGLAKDJGLDAKGJDALKGJDALKGJADLKGJALKGJALKDJGALKDJGLKADJGLKADJGLADKJGADLKGJADLKGJADLKGJADLGKAJDGLKDAJGLKADJGDALKJGDALKJGALKDJFALKJDLSKAJFGALDGJALKGJADLKGJADKLGJ DALKGJALDKJADLK GJDLAKJ LKFJ DALKGJHA

*d RO WNS*

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YUU, IT U IT U IT U!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I DID SEE THAT YOU REPLIED TO THE PM BUT I DID IT LIKE EVERY FUCKING TIME, I AM A DISASTER, WHERE I GO “I JUST ANSWER TO THESE QUICKER ONES FIRST THEN GET TO THIS ONE” BUT THEN I STAY STUCK IN THE SAME ONES GODDAMMIT PLS SMACK ME I’M TERRIBLE YOU TOOK THE TIME TO REPLY AND HERE I WAS NOT ANSWERING BACK FUCKGODDAMMITGODDAMNFUCK DON’T TELL ME IT’S OKAY JUST KNOW THAT I DID SEE IT AND FAFHKDF JLADGKJH ALKDJFDAKL HAJKLH

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YUU

IT’S YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

YUU

IT’S YOU

MY HOOMAN IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Well, technically never gone, but it’s been so long since I heard better about you, and I’m ECSTATIC, ABSOLUTELY HYPED to read you in my inbox again!!!!!!!! YUU, MY FAVORITE PERSON OF ALL THIS SITE, YOU WONDERFUL CREATURE, FANTASTIC MUFFIN, YOU SWEET....ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!

*SHNUGGLEZ*

It’s okay that you’ve been ghosty!! U busy! Lookie, you’ve been very silent because of school, sleep, and friends, WHICH HONESTLY COULDN’T MAKE ME ANY BIT HAPPIER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUU, U BEEN BUSY IN REAL LIFE LIVING AND DOING STUFF AND ASLKDJLKAGJDAG EVERYTHING IS FANTASTIC TO KNOW!!!!!!!!! School equals learning, which always does good to the soul, and sleep is SUPER VITAL and I’d be more offended if you forced yourself awake to be on the internet, AND NEW FRIENDS!?!?!? DATS FANTASTIC, THAT’S ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

Of course u been busy and quiet, Yuu!! I HOPE EVERYTHING’S BEEN FOR GOOD AND TAHT YOU’VE BEEN DOING ABSOLUTELY WONDERUFL AND THAT EVERYTHING IS TREATING YOU AMAZINGLY AND FOR GOOD!!!!!!

How’s school? I hope it’s all been ok and that you’re happy in it despite how much it can wear you out. Also sleep, u been slepingz better? I SURE HOPE SO YOU WONDERFUL COOKIE

I MISS U TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LASKFÑLAGDKALDÑKSLGHÑLADLADÑKLHJDLAFKAÑLDKHLÑDJJÑLADFKALDFKALÑDGKDALADKJFLKSJDLHAGDKLADJGADKLGJADKLGAJKADJD

I MISS U LIKE CRAZY U WOULDN’T KNOW, IT’S NUTS, U MY FAVE HOOMAN SO OFC I MISSES U AND YOUR ART AND YOUR PRESENCE IN GENERAL YOU BEAUTIFUL RED PANDA

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh reading u miss me makes me feel SO HAPPY AND IT FEELS SO WHOLESOME AND MY RACCOONIE HEART DOES THE THING!!! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

THANK U SO MUCH FOR THINKING ABOUT ME AND MY STORIES AND MY ENERGY YOU BEAUTIFUL CREATURE, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING THE WONDERFUL ATTENTIVE HOOMAN THAT U ARE AKSDJLSKAGJDALKGJA

ALSO I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’VE MADE TIME TO KEEP UP WITH READING THE FICS!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

SHHHHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

*EXPLODES INTO A THOUSAND SNOWFLAKES*

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ARE YOU FOR REAL!?!?!?

OH NO THIS IS SO

WHOLESOME

THIS IS SO WONDERFUL IN WAYS I CNA’T EVEN DESCRIBE, I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE READING THEM??? AND IT’S LIKE OMG IT’S SO WHOLESOME IT FILLS MY HEART SO MUCH IT’S GOING TO EXPLODE AND I CAN’T HANDLE ALL OF THIS JOY ON MY OWN AKSDJAGKJADLKAJD

YUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DESPITE HOW BUSY YOU’VE BEEN, DESPITE WHAT TINY SCARCE TIME YOU GET ON THE NET...YOU’VE DEDICATED TIME TO READ MY STUFF!!?!??!?!?!?!

OH NO

YUU

THAT’S SO

HEARTBREAKING IN THE MOST WHOLESOME AND BEAUTIFUL WAY EVER OH NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! ｡･ﾟ･(ﾉД`)

*GOES TO CRY TO THE CORNER*

OH NO YUUA SKDJ FGKALGJDALKGJ ADLKGJADLKJADFLKADJFKLADJGDLKAJGADKLGJADLKGDJAGLKADJG ADKGJADKLGJDA GKLADJGLDAKJGLAKDGJAKLGJ MY HEART IS A DISASTER RIGHT NOW I’M ALL MESSED BECAUSE OH NO THAT’S SO SWEET SO AMAZINGLY IMPOSSIBLY SWEET FROM YOU HOW DARE YOU ATTACK ME WITH ALL THIS WHOLESOMENESS ASDJLKFGJHK OAHAD FDG AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAHHHHH, YUU

WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO SAY!?!??!?! (ಥ﹏ಥ)

NononoNO, don’t even say a thing of hwo you haven’t commented on my stuff as you usually do I MEAN!?!?! YOU STILL

I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PUT EMPHASIS ENOUGH ON IT OHMYGOD I’M MINDBLOWN AND OUT OF THIS WORLD, YOU SHOOK THE CARPET FROM UNDER MY FEET AND I’M ALLA SDKLAGDJADKLGJA IT’S CHAOS THANK YOU WHAT I MEAN TO SAY IS HOLY SHIT DESPITE HOW BUSY YOU ARE YOU STILL TAKE THE TIME TO READ MY FICS????

THAT’S. HONESTLY TEN TIMES MORE THAN NECESSARY, YOU’RE NOT EVEN ENTITLED TO DO THAT IF YOU DON’T WANT YET THERE YOU ARE KEEPING UP WITH THINGS AND...?? HONESTLY I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU GOING MISSING FROM THE COMMENTS BECAUSE AS MUCH OF A TREASURE AS THEY ARE, YOU COME FIRST, YOU AND YOUR REAL LIFE, AND KNOWING YOU’VE BEEN DOING FANTASTIC IS TH R I LL IN G AND SO EXCCITING AND THE HAPPIEST NEWS I COULD HAVE, AND YOU ADDED EVEN MORE AND YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT YOU’RE READING THEM!?!??!?!?!

YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LKASJSDLKAJGKLADJGDALKGJADGKLDAJADLKGJADLKDAJG

YOU’RE DOING SO MUCH FOR ME, IT’S OKAY AND PERFECLTY FINE YOU HAVEN’T COMMENTED BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’VE BEEN BUSY, PLUS YOUR COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS SO KIND AND THOUGHTUFL AND LONG, OF COURSE YOU HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO WRITE THEM AGAIN, IT TAKES TIME AND EFFORT AND SO MUCH OF EVERYTHING THAT YOU CURRENTLY CAN’T GIVE BECAUSE TIME OR EXHAUSTION AND THAT’S PERFECTLY FINE AND I UNDERSTAND IT BUT YOU’RE READING THEM, YOU’RE READING AND THAT’S SO MUCH MORE THAT I COULD ASK FOR AD I CRY

OH NO YUU HOW DARE YOU THROW THIS AT ME WITH NO WARNING AKSDJLAKGJKDALJGADLKJD KFGDJAKHLDJ DKLFJDAGLKJ

Aaayy, Yuu...

You’re honestly so nice to me. So, so, so immensely, profoundly kind to me, even with “little things” like reading my stuff, especially with how busy you’ve been...that’s so kind and I don’t know if you can see the depth of it... ;^;

Really, thank you so much. Thank you for dedicating time to my stuff despite the tight schedules and the scarce free time. Dedicating time to my stuff is dedicating time to me and I value that a lot, especially so when you’re not entitled to it and you’re busy and yet you still do it.

Thank you, Yuu. Like I’ve never been able to say every time? Like that, again. :’)

I MISS U TOO, YUU, BUT YOU KNOW I’D WAIT YEARS TO HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!

What makes me the happiest and what matters the most is that you’re doing alright in real life and being happy, AND HECK I’M THE ABSOLUTE HAPPIEST KNOWING YOU’VE BEEN DOING FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING LOTS OF FUN WITH YOUR NEW FRIENDS, IT SOUNDS SO GOOD AND SO NICE AKSDJSLAKGJDAKGADJG OMG I’M SO HAPPY TO KNOW ALL OF THIS AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YUU, THE TIME YOUVE BEEN SILENT, YOU’VE BEEN SILENT BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN MAKING FRIENDS AND DOING STUFF AND DOING FANTASTIC AND THAT’S EXACTLY WHY I COULD WAIT YEARS, JUST SO YOU’RE DOING HAPPY REAL LIFE STUFF AND YOU DROPPING THE NEWS IS LIKE MY REWARD FOR THE WAIT AND I SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE TO ME, I’M AN ECSTATIC HYPED BOL OF FLOOF AND YOU’VE MADE MY NEXT MONTH SO HAPPY, ALL OF IT, THANK YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO THINK ABOUT ME, WRITE TO ME, AND ASK ABOUT ME DESPITE YOUR TIMES, DEAR WONDERFUL YUU, CREATURE MADE OF ANGEL DUST AND MUFFINS AND SWEET COOKIES AND EVERYTHING THAT’S DEAR AND KIND AND BEAUTIFUL AND WONDERFUL IN THIS UNIVERSE

THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING YUU I’M SO ALKSDJFLKGDJLKAJAL

I WUV UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#yuu-be-good #coonreplies

2 notes · View notes

idiopath-fic-smile · 6 years

Text

Fic: R

Fandom: Les Mis

Pairing: Enjolras/Grantaire

Prompt: Enjolras fights for android rights. Grantaire is an android being mistreated by his current “owners.”

Notes: Commissioned by Vee, for Vee’s BFF. Hope you enjoyed it!

Fic:

Enjolras and Courfeyrac were clear about their budget, but the robot-seller is still yammering on about his latest models and their various special features, as if he can smell the privilege wafting off Enjolras like stink from a junkpile. Enjolras lets his eyes drift away from the counterfeit luxury ‘bots in their slightly dubious packaging. There’s a work table in back littered with spare parts--a kind of bloodless carnage, backlit by the blue buzz of a neon sign. Hired muscle by the back door, a sure indication this place isn’t legal. As if that wasn’t clear enough.

If his parents knew he was here--well, it’s just as well Combeferre finally managed to remove the tracking chip from Enjolras’s ankle.

He’s glancing around, trying not to look like a man casing the joint, when his eyes land on a raggedy off-brand Model R. The ‘bot is staring right back at him with blue, blue eyes. Probably not a display--not flashy enough, except for those eyes. A worker drone, maybe. Shabby clothes, a nest of tangled dark hair that probably hasn’t seen a comb since the date of manufacture. No shoes.

No shoes.

Robots are programmed to feel pain, to discourage them from dangerous activities that might lead to injury, or otherwise violate the warranty. The shop is cold and the rough concrete floor is full of debris, but the ‘bot is barefoot.

It’s hard to watch, and Enjolras instinctively looks away for a second. When he looks back, the Model R is still watching him, whirring a little the way a ‘bot does when it hasn’t been properly rebooted in a long, long time.

Enjolras must make a face, because then Courfeyrac is following his gaze.

“Excuse us,” Courfeyrac interjects to the seller--Enjolras didn’t catch his name, and doesn’t care to.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras step to the side, out of earshot. The ground is sticky with what looks to be old oil. Enjolras thinks again of those bare feet.

“Are you sure about this,” says Courfeyrac in a low voice. “He’s in bad shape, we might have more luck picking something in better condition--”

“What about our goals,” Enjolras whispers back. Buying and rehabilitating robots is expensive, time-intensive, inefficient. Until the Amis de l’ABC have the people and supplies to mount a proper rebellion, they must be careful with their resources. That means stepping in for the direst cases.

Courfeyrac nods once, decisive. “We’ve made our decision,” he announces to the seller. “We’d like the Model R, please.”

“Sirs,” the seller stammers, “really, we have any number of better specimens available today, for only a simple down payment plus--”

“The Model R,” says Enjolras in his most commanding tone.

The ‘bot is silent on the way outside, except for that terrible whirring. Up close, it sounds more like a fork caught in a garbage disposal. His movements are jerky and stiff, like a wind-up toy--or like every joint hurts. He is silent on the sidewalk, silent as Courfeyrac unlocks the car, silent until they’ve climbed inside and the car doors have shut behind them.

“Am I going to be scrapped for parts,” he says in a low, scratchy voice. He’s only half-asking, must have come to the conclusion back in the shop. “‘Cause I should warn you, I’m already a chimera. You’ll have a hell of a time finding compatible pieces.”

Enjolras studies the ‘bot’s face in the rearview. No expression. No expression, but he waited until Courfeyrac and Enjolras were strapped in and out of arm’s reach to mouth off. It’s got the air of a survival tactic. Enjolras feels sick.

“We’re not scrapping you,” Enjolras tells him. “We won’t hurt you. I know you have no reason to trust us yet, but we’re here to help.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” the ‘bot deadpans. In the whirring, grinding pause that follows, he blinks jerkily, as if shocked at the lack of repercussion, and Enjolras wants to murder everyone who has ever owned him.

“That reminds me,” Courfeyrac says cheerfully. “You need a name.”

“R,” says the ‘bot.

“Not your Model, a name.”

“Like a human.” The ‘bot sounds wary.

“Like you, the way you were meant to be,” says Enjolras. “Society acts like servitude is just part of the natural order, but inequality is man-made.”

“I’m man-made.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted a name?” Courfeyrac tries. “And don’t say R, I mean a real name.” The other ‘bots the Amis have freed all volunteered a name right away, as if they’d been holding it in secret for a while. This one just blinks again, slowly.

The pragmatic approach seems best. “If you don’t want a name, what should we call you?”

“You’re just trying to trick me into naming myself,” the ‘bot fires back. “How about… Zero-One-Zero-One-Zero-Zero-One-Zero.”

“What’re the odds that’s a capital R in binary,” mutters Courfeyrac.

“It is,” says Enjolras.

“Wait,” says the ‘bot, “I’ve got it!” The edge of a smile creeps into his voice. “Grantaire!”

The same thing but in French, but it’s also the first flash of real life from him.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras exchange a look.

“Why didn’t they give you shoes?” Enjolras blurts out, and Grantaire does the blinking thing again.

“Why would I need them?” says Grantaire. “I wasn’t allowed to leave.”

Enjolras makes a mental note: first order of business: to allow Grantaire to recharge and restart at least twice. Second immediate order of business: get him some goddamn footwear, the sturdiest available.

It takes three different complete reboots for the whirring noises to stop.

It takes two sessions with cream rinse, detangler, and combs before Grantaire’s hair will lie down into relatively orderly curls, Feuilly reports grimly from the bathroom. As one of few freed robots among the Amis, it’s his task on the theory he’ll go about it with the most sensitivity. Enjolras had pictured poor Feuilly trying to coax Grantaire into the warm suds like making a cat take a bath, but Feuilly shakes off Enjolras’s gratitude, laughing,

“Oh no, he loves the bathtub, that’s not the problem. I’m not sure how I’ll get him out, frankly.”

Enjolras remembers then that most robots below a Model H are cleaned, if ever, by a quick hosing-off in the garage.

“Tell him he can stay in as long as he wants,” Enjolras declares, and Feuilly nods, smiling.

It takes nine separate arguments to make Grantaire accept his new boots, donated by Bahorel and yet still in surprisingly good condition.

Despite the initial protests, Enjolras later sometimes catches from the corner of his eye Grantaire perched on a kitchen counter or the arm of a sofa, swinging his feet and admiring the scuffed black imitation-leather. They’re well-made, thick soles, strong enough to carry him away from anywhere.

For the first five or six months, Grantaire waits to say anything snarky until he’s clearly out of hitting distance from any human.

The first time Grantaire leans into Enjolras’s space and announces, “I’m sorry, but your logo is terrible. It looks like something one of you sneezed,” Enjolras wants to hug him.

And well--that’s the problem, isn’t it.

By that point, Grantaire’s every motion is impossibly, inhumanly smooth, like a dancer but moreso. All those resets. He must’ve gotten used to compensating, as much as possible, for the rough control he had over his own body. Now that those limitations are gone, he’s left with a surplus of grace. Knowing this does not detract from the effect. If anything, it only adds to it.

Enjolras catches himself watching Grantaire all the time. For a while, he thinks it’s only aesthetic appreciation.

Then comes the day Grantaire laughs--actually throws his head back and laughs--and Enjolras thinks, ‘...oh.’

Damn.

It’s not fair to come to Grantaire with this. The power imbalance between is immense, hard to even resolve into words. Grantaire’s not legally a person.

It’s an impossible problem.

Then comes the night Grantaire catches Enjolras watching. They’re halfway through a meeting, Grantaire milling around in the background, and their eyes connect, Grantaire staring right back at him again, like back in the shop except this time the steady gaze doesn’t read as low memory but intensity. Enjolras doesn’t remember a single point anyone makes for the rest of the two hours. Grantaire stands in the back of the room and looks back at him, knowing.

The arguments really start in earnest, then.

(That night: “But if you feel the same way--”

The same way. Everything would be easier if Grantaire could just hate him. Enjolras swallows. “It doesn’t matter.”

Weeks later, an hour before dawn: “What do you mean, I can’t consent? Do I strike you as terribly obedient, Apollo?

Noon, with all their friends around them: “Humankind brought robotkind into this world,” Enjolras is saying. “We, all of us, have the duty, the responsibility, to fight for their equal treatment under the laws, to do right by them, to listen to their demands and answer them--”

A withering glance from Grantaire. “How’s that working out?”)

Grantaire prods, Grantaire provokes. Grantaire makes a scene at meetings and mealtimes. Maybe Grantaire thinks he is daring Enjolras not to want him. That’s not how it works.

Enjolras is miserable.

It takes a full year for Enjolras to run into Grantaire in an unguarded moment--the middle of the night, hot as Hell, AC broken, nobody’s asleep--and realize: Grantaire is miserable, too.

“Listen,” says Grantaire, quietly. “Just--please, listen.” No irony. No sarcasm. It’s worrying.

“Yeah?”

Grantaire takes a deep breath. He doesn’t need to; his air circulation doesn’t involve anything like lungs. It’s a habit picked up over the weeks and months from his friends. Enjolras waits.

“Either you think I have a soul or you don’t,” says Grantaire.

It’s Enjolras’s turn to blink at him. “What?”

Grantaire continues, resolute. “You can argue for our rights and our--complexity, our capacity for emotion, our freedoms, or you can say, ‘Poor little Grantaire, he can’t really make any decisions on his own. Poor Grantaire, he thinks he’s in love, like a human--’” He breaks off, shaking his head. He’s vibrating a little. Not like a stuck fan. More like there’s more inside of him than can fit.

“If you were a human,” Enjolras says, gently as he can, “an organic human that had spent his whole life as somebody’s property, I would absolutely still be saying no to you--”

“But I’m not,” Grantaire snaps. “I’ve had seven full resets, I have literally erased my trauma. It’s not present in my mind anymore. You can’t apply human rules to me, and I don’t mean that how those assholes do when they say we shouldn’t be allowed to--drive, go to school, eat at restaurants, whatever--I don’t believe that the likes of Feuilly or Cosette are worse than you, less than. But we are different. And I am fine. I am fine, and I am standing here, telling you I have feelings for you. Now, you can do with that what you want. But at least stop pretending you’re protecting me, because you are not.”

There’s a pause. For a second, Enjolras thinks Grantaire’s overheating again, but it’s just the ceiling fan overhead.

“That’s--quite a speech,” says Enjolras weakly.

Grantaire shrugs a shoulder with that familiar, easy, inhuman grace. “Feuilly helped,” he says.

“Thank him for me,” says Enjolras vaguely, and then he steps forward and they’re kissing. His fingers are in Grantaire’s hair, and Grantaire’s hands are solid and steady at his waist and they’re kissing. Enjolras breaks apart to smile like an idiot at Grantaire and ducks back in again. Grantaire tastes like the sour-sweet candies he’s always stealing from Joly. He tastes warm and alive.

#fic #robot adventures!#i had a devil of a time trying to stay at the wordcount AND make the relationship feel fully consensual #a problem i cleverly solved by going WAY WAY over the wordcount

303 notes · View notes

clevercatchphrase · 6 years

Text

You Monster Chpt. 32

You know what? I don’t really feel like cross posting my chapters to tumblr very much anymore since it’s such a hassle. The whole reason I did was to get more exposure, but I can’t really do that now with tumblr’s hatred of posts with links in them. I guess I will continue to post for the rest of this fic (since I only got, like, 5 chapters left), but I won’t link the chapters anymore since I would like for them to show up in the search, and from here on out any stories I write will be exclusively on AO3. Sorry to anyone who preferred reading my stories over here for what ever reason, but I just don’t want to deal with tumblr’s bs anymore :/

“Excellent work today, team! You were all beautiful, darlings!” Mettaton says, rolling into his trailer. “I’m going to take a quick one hour power nap to recharge! Everyone take a break yourselves! You’ve earned it! Please do not disturb me while I’m in sleep mode darlings!”

Once behind closed doors, the robot wastes no time getting ready to recharge. He opens a port and pulls out a USB on a long chord, attaches it to an adaptor and plugs into an outlet. Once situated, he retracts his arms and wheel and settles in his docking station.

As a robot, he had sleep mode, but didn’t exactly dream. Shutting down more or less was a lapse in consciousness--an instantaneous jump between being awake from one moment to the next without that pesky drowsiness or grogginess that organic beings had to suffer with. A highly preferable option in his opinion. Why waste time living out your dreams unconscious, when you could dream while being awake and make them come true while you were at it?

‘System updating. Please do not unplug your device or force shut down.’ Computer code says in the ones and zeroes on the inner side of his monitor screens. ‘Installing 1 out of 3105 updates…’

“Oh, for the love of…” Mettaton whispers. By the time the new updates finished installing his hour power nap would be over. Well, maybe sleep mode wouldn’t be as instantaneous as he thought…

There was a knock at the door. Normally Mettaton would have turned the intruder away for blatantly bothering him when he had made his demands clear not to, but since he was feeling generous (and since he knew he wouldn’t be getting any good rest for at least forty more minutes) he decides to let it pass just this once.

“Yes darling?” the robot says answering the door.

The monster that stands before him is stork like, yellow with legs as thin as twigs and skinny feathery arms. On its back was a huge postal bag overflowing with letters. “Special delivery for Mettaton!” the monster says, hefting the huge mail sack over its shoulders as it tries to keep its knees from buckling under the weight.

The robot’s speakers squeal with delight. “Fan mail? For me? Hand it over!”

Snatching the bag of mail away from the carrier and slaming the door in their face, Mettaton wheels back into his docking station, pulls out the first letter, tears it open and begins to read.

“Dear Mettaton; I love your shows!” it begins. “I am a HUGE fan of the boss monster kid who keeps showing up on your newest programs.” Ha ha, well of cour- what. “Please tell me you plan to keep them around! Your shows haven’t been this interesting since the controversial robot zombie survival show of yours!”

They like his shows... For the human? But… But he was supposed to be the main attraction! Well! No matter! That was just one letter! Tossing it aside, Mettaton reaches back in the bag and grabs another;

“Dear Mettaton, I love your new boss monster cohost!”

COHOST?! Why the insult! Mettaton, the number one star of the Underground would never share the spotlight with some… some underling! Dropping the letter on the floor, he pulls out another, and another after that, but all the fan mail says the same dreadful thing; ”The boss monster kid is adorable!” “Can you give this letter to them to let them know how much I love them?” “It’s nice to see you mix it up and bring in some fresh talent. The old programs were beginning to get stale.”

Oh, of all the insolent! Mettaton was always top billing! He wasn’t going to let some child take away HIS adoring fans! The brilliant red giant wasn’t about to be upstaged by some little white dwarf! By some… some human!

“No… no! This will not stand!” Mettaton mutters angrily to himself. Worked into a tizzy, he paces his room, rolling over all the discarded letters and leaving tracks in the rug. “I have to do something about this. I have to!” Rolling over to the phone, Mettaton picks up the receiver and hits the speed dial. “Hello, yes! There has been a change of plans! I need you to do an overhaul for the final showdown. I’ve made a last minute executive decision, and we’re going to end this finale a bit differently than anticipated. It’s time to break out the big guns…”

The massive hotel dawns on the horizon long before the royal scientist and boss monster child reach it.

“What’s that?” the human asks Alphys when the multistory sky scraper comes into view.

“OH, that? That’s the MTT-resort.” Alphys explains. “I-it use to be an apartment complex years back before Mettaton’s rise to fame, and…. W-well, anyway, there’s a couple elevators in there th-that should t-take us straight up to New Home.”

New Home. Just saying the two words sends a sharp pang in Alphys’ chest. Only now was the actual gravity of her situation starting to sink in, acutely reminding her what she’s doing to this child who relied on her, trusted her now. They’re both only one elevator ride away from the end, and yet here she is, passively letting it happen, not even attempting to dissuade her new friend from their inevitable fate.

But… but she’s doing no more than what she’s promised, hasn’t she? She agreed to help them get to New Home and nothing more, right? And delivering them straight to Asgore was what they wanted, yes? S-so, by that logic, trying to stall them, to keep them from the king would be hindering them, which was the opposite of helping, correct?

But… but does knowing they would be hurt and allowing it to happen considered helpful? If… if she continued to just let them go, fully aware of the consequences…

Alphys shakes her head in frustration. Slowing them down would hurt them and possibly ruin their trust in her… but letting them go would also hurt them in a way far worse. She didn’t want either but felt she had come too far to turn back now… but she would also never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to deter them before their inescapable end. Now if only she could think of something clever enough to buy them some extra time.

The child gasps in awe when they breach the rise and they can truly take in the resort’s immense size. The building is built directly into the volcano’s wall; a stark contrast of a smooth perfectly geometric shape against the rough uneven mountainside, like someone had shoved a toy model into a mound of dirt. The hill they had climbed had only made it look closer than it was, but now at the top of the arc, the pathway winds back down before stopping off at a large flight of stairs.

The rest of the way is clear. With no more road blocks in sight, the kid can’t help but quicken their step. Alphys hastily speeds up her pace to keep up, keeping an eye out for any distraction to help chew up time and delay the worst. There’s a pair of monsters loitering outside the building. One is tall and green with a distinct reptilian form about her, while the other is short and round and purple with prominent cat features. They chat idly to one another, giggling in unison over some inside joke only they know, when the cat monster glances your way, does a double take, then frantically waves at the traveling pair.

“Bratty! Bratty look! They’re like, totally here! I told you they would come this way!” The cat monster says.

“Like, you’re totally right, Catty,” Bratty giggles, before casually joining Catty in waving the pair to come closer. “Heeey Alphys! Like, long time no see!”

“Oh my,” Alphys hesitates, her social awkwardness telling her to fight or flee. She blinks her panic aside and considers. This could be just the diversion she was looking for.

“Oh, do you know those guys?” the human asks.

“Y-yeah. B-Bratty and C-Catty. Th-they use to be my old neighbors.” Alphys states, trotting closer to them, and waving at the child to follow. “Uh, H-hey girls! H-how have you been?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Catty giggles. “The economy still, like, totally sucks, and the Hotland populous vastly out numbers the amount of available jobs, so finding employment is, like, near impossible.”

“Pursuing higher education is now more of a risk than a necessity,” Bratty adds. “With no guarantee of job placement after graduation, you’re more likely to wind up in more debt than you would have just trying to apply without a degree.”

Alphys gives a little gasp. “Does that mean you two dropped out? Oh I’m so sorry to hear that guys.”

The caiman and cat monsters exchange a look and bust out laughing.

“L-O-L, Alphys!” Catty snorts. “You are, like, so hilarious!”

“W-what?”

“Yeah, girl,” Bratty explains. “You can’t, like, drop out of something you never joined.”

“Bratty and I skipped the whole school thing and just, like, started our own business!”

“R-really? That’s… great?” Alphys congratulates them with a bit of uncertainty.

“Yeah, it’s, like, greater than great,” Bratty says.

“It’s literally the BEST!” Catty adds.

“We’re like, actually doing pretty well for ourselves and we can actually afford rent for the MTT hotel!”

“Like, thank god for the free market economy or making a living here would be impossible unless you know someone already on the corporate ladder.”

“You don’t say!” Alphys smiles, genuinely happy for them. Crossing her arms, she settles back while the human reluctantly joins her at her side, doing their best to hide their impatience at the sudden detour. “What’s your secret?”

“Oh my god, Alphys!” Catty chuckles. “We can’t just, like, give away our business model!”

“Yeah, girl. We gotta, like, keep that trade secret close to the vest.” Bratty adds.

“Oh, I understand,” Alphys says. Bratty and Catty trade looks, their grins growing wider and threatening to burst.

“We just take all the junk we find in Waterfall and sell it!” Catty exclaims.

“We make a one hundred percent profit on everything we sell,” Bratty chuckles. “Mostly because we didn’t have to pay a single cent to get this stuff in the first place.”

“Yeah! And since, like, all the food and stuff is totally wicked expensive inside the resort, people constantly come to us for snacks instead!”

“It’s, like, the perfect set up.”

“It’s LITERAL junk food!”

Beside her, the child clears their throat and inconspicuously tries to signal for her to move on with a pleading smile. Not wanting to get on their bad side, Alphys caves at once. They’re both so close to their end goal, she can’t refuse them now.

“Well! I’m proud of you two!” Alphys says, politely trying to leave the conversation. “It looks like you’re both doing pretty well for yourselves. See you around!”

“Woah, woah, woah, Alphys! You can’t leave just yet!” Bratty says, sticking out an arm to cut off your retreat.

“Yeah, like, where are our manners!” Catty says. “We were, like, totally camping out here waiting for you to show up!”

“Y-you were?” Alphys asks nervously. “Why?”

“Because we haven’t heard from you in forever, girl! And suddenly you’re all over TV with Mettaton and this adorable little one.” Batty coos, bending down to pinch the human’s cheek. Reluctantly, they let her, not wanting to be rude.

“So, Alphys, are you gonna introduce your new friend to us?” Catty says.

“Oh, uh, um.” The royal scientist turns to them. “Bratty, Catty, th-this is-”

“I’m Chara,” The human cuts with practiced politeness to speed things along. They offer a hand to shake.

“Heeey there, you little cutie!” Bratty says, ignoring the hand completely and kneeling down on their level to ruffle their hair. “You were so great on TV! You’re like, the Underground’s newest superstar!”

“Oh! Oh! Tell us! What’s it like working with Mettaton? What’s he smell like? Is it true his glove hands are as soft as angora?” Catty asks, her eyes lighting up like stars.

Alphys can see them debate letting these girls know their true feelings on Mettaton, and how they thought he was a time waster and an annoyance above anything else, but even they couldn’t find it in their heart to crush the vision of their idol in their heads.

“He certainly is…. A hindrance,” the child says at last.

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Catty agrees. “His game shows are known to be, like, wicked tough with all the physical challenges.”

“So tell us all the details, girl!” Bratty demands, straightening back up to look at Alphys.

“Yeah! What’s it like working with Mettaton? Does he give you any discounts on his merch, since you, like, created him?” Catty asks, crowding closer.

“Do you think you can get us an Autograph from him?”

“Do you think you can get him to sign my face?”

“Do you think you can get us tickets to his next show?”

“I-it’s really not that glamorous,” Alphys shrugs, trying to put some space between her and the inquisitive monsters. Mettaton and I hardly hang out, s-since I’m always so busy working for the king. Soul research a-and what not.” She does her best not to look at the human, but thankfully they don’t seem to notice.

“Oooooh!” Bratty and Catty sing in unison.

“No wonder we haven’t seen you around!”

“Spending all your time with Asgore, I see!”

“How’ve you been working with the king?”

“Have you two gotten any closer?”

“W-w-what? N-n-no, it’s nothing like that!” Alphys says defensively. “H-h-he’s my boss!”

“Um, am I missing something here?” The human asks.

“Alphys here has the BIGGEST crush on King Asgore!” Catty says. “She used to tell us how she was going to date him when we were younger!”

“But, like, who can blame her?” Bratty says. “The king’s a total hottie.”

“A big, fuzzy, bara hottie!” Cattie adds.

“Alphys always wanted to work close to the king, so she like, totally made Mettaton to impress him-“

“And it totally worked. Now she gets to see lord fuzzy buns whenever she wants!”

“GAH! Will you guys stop?!” Alphys shouts, her scales turning a lovely shade of Embarrassment Pink. “A-a-after working with Asgore closely for the past few years, I was able to learn more about him and re-evaluate my feelings towards him!” she exclaims. “A-Asgore is a great guy, but he’s also my boss, and since I started working for him I realized my feelings towards him were only based on infatuation. I’ve since learned that he’s a great friend and coworker but not someone I’d want to be in a romantic relationship with. Besides, he’s not my type.”

“Is that so?” Bratty asks, teasing. “Well then what IS your type now, Alphys?”

“Th-that’s none of your concern!” Alphys says blushing.

“Wait, are you no longer into muscular guys?” Catty asks.

“Like, get real, Catty. Everyone knows that’s old news. Alphys is, like, totally into buff fish chicks now.”

“W-w-what? Who told you that?!” Alphys demands, her face growing from pink to bright red.

“From RG 02. He was here yesterday.”

“Impossible! That guard never reveals his secrets!”

“Aww, please don’t be mad, Alphys,” Bratty says apologetically. “You know we’re just messing with you. But if you got a crush on someone, you gotta tell them before life slips you by.”

“Yeah! That’s why I tell Bratty I love her every day!” Catty cheers.

“Aw, I love you too, girlfriend,” Bratty blushes.

“Th-that may be easy for you to do, but it would be pretty pointless for me,” Alphys murmurs. “Undyne’s great and all, but I know for a fact I’m not the kind of person she’s looking for either. Undyne probably wants someone who can keep up with her. You know, someone who can run twenty miles in two minutes or bench press ten times her own weight like she can.”

“But don’t you two, like, always have movie nights together?” Bratty asks.

“Y-yeah but that’s different! We have a common interest in anime, but not much else.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alphys can see the human studying her strangely. They’re no longer hopping from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for her to wrap it up so they can keep going forward. Instead they’re looking at her quizzically, as if trying to decipher a riddle. They graciously don’t say anything, but now it’s Alphys’ who feels the desperate need to move on away from these two.

“W-well, we should really be on our way,” Alphys says, trying to side step the caiman and cat monsters. “It was n-nice catching up with you! You two take care!”

“Same to you, Alphys!” Catty says, waving farewell.

“And if you need any snacks you know where to find us!”

Alphys gently pushes the child along until they’re close enough that the hotel’s automatic doors let them both in. The royal scientist blinks several times as her eyes adjust to the blinding fluorescents that reflected off of nearly every surface in the foyer. The interior of the MTT hotel is bright with brilliant golds and dazzling amber fixtures and gilded trim, and everything her eyes laid on sparkled. Ugh, this place always gave her a headache.

Gentle xylophone and acoustic music floats on the air. The lobby is filled with lively chatter and in the center of the room is a giant fountain with a statue of Mettaton, gracefully spewing an arc of water. Perhaps the spray is a little too strong, or maybe the centerpiece is off balanced, but either way the arc of water is making a giant puddle on the floor. A dozen yellow wet floor signs mark the perimeter of the puddle, warning civilians of the slipping hazard. The smell of hot cooked food wafts from a café near the back.

“Oh man, look at the line for the elevator,” Alphys says in fake regret, pointing to the right at queue that snaked halfway around the hall. “Ah, figures. It’s rush hour right now. Everyone is leaving work from New Home and heading to the other regions and vice versa. We could be here a while.”

“So what do we do?” The child asks her.

“W-well, nothing to do but get in line and wait our turn.” The royal scientist shrugs. “It would be rude to cut to the front, wouldn’t it?”

The human reluctantly nods and joins her at the end of the line. They sigh in mild annoyance at this new hurdle, while Alphys secretly sighs in relief. This was perfect. The line could take hours to go down, and maybe by the time they reached the front it would be too late to visit the king, granting her at least one more day to figure out how to keep them from getting to New Home all together.

Maybe she could convince them to come back to her lab with her? No, this was a hotel, they’d probably just want to stay here. Perhaps she could get Mettaton to intervene again somehow? Unlikely. That robot was far too self-obsessed to help anyone unless it directly benefited him in the process. What if she went ahead of them and talked to Asgore first? Possibly… But what if things went wrong, and he decided to come out and look for them?

Minutes tick by and the line slowly inches its way forward, but they don’t move very far when Alphys hears a stomach rumble.

“W-was that you?” the yellow lizard asks, casting a glance back at her companion.

The human blushes. “Y-yeah, guess it’s close to dinner time, and those smells from the restaurant certainly aren’t helping.”

“Do… do you want to go get something to eat? It’ll b-be a while before we get to New Home.” Alphys asks, jerking her thumb towards the little burger shop. The human opens their mouth to argue, but the royal scientist interrupts, already knowing what they were going to say. “D-don’t worry about losing your place in line. I’ll st-stay here and hold it for you.”

The child hesitates for a moment, before flashing her a grateful smile, and darting off towards the burger emporium. Once out they’re out of her sight, Alphys lets out a quiet moan.

Oh, what was she to do?

You take up Alphys’ advice and head into the tiny restaurant. Inside there are a couple of plastic booths with a few patrons. The air smells like grease and salt, and behind the register is an orange… cat… hamster… bear monster. His smile is wide but his eyes look dead. You approach the counter cautiously.

“Welcome to the MTT-brand burger emporium, home of the glamburger. We’ve proudly sold over a hundred thousand burgers across the Underground! What can I do for you, o’ customer?”

You blink hard at the little speech. Although there is clearly pitch and timbre in his tone, the words sound rehearsed and lifeless, as if it was a recording that had been replayed on a loop too many times to count. His vacant stare and stressed expression concerns you more than your quest for food.

“Are… are you okay?” you ask him gently.

“I’m sorry, (ha ha) it’s against company policy for me to talk to customers who haven’t bought anything.” The cashier tells you.

Your eyes scan the menu items. Everything is exorbitantly priced. Scooping out your money from your pocket, you count your change. Two fifty pieces and two ten pieces. Just enough for one burger off the menu.

“I’ll take one glamburger please.”

You place all the money you have on the counter. The cashier swipes it away and hands you a small cardboard box festooned with purple plastic rhinestones. You take the box and hold it close to your chest, and look at the cashier again.

“Thanksy! Eight gold pieces is your change! Here you are! ” He says with false, but practiced enthusiasm. “Have a FABU-FUL day!”

“You can keep it,” you tell him. There wasn’t much, if anything, that you could get in the ruins for only eight gold. You push the change back over to the cashier. He looks at it wide eyes, and then to you.

“This is for me?” he says dreamily. “A… a tip?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll need it anymore.”

The employee gently cradles the coins in his paws; still staring at it, disbelieving it was real. Suddenly his whole being begins to shake.

“Hey, are you alright?” you ask.

“No one’s ever given me a tip before… This is… this is the nicest thing anybody’s done for me all year!” He says. Looking up, you see his eyes are glossy with tears and his nose is running.

You look around the room. There’s no one else in line, so you dare to strike up a conversation.

“Seriously, are you okay?” you ask him again. This time the cashier blinks at you, and a spark of panic and confusion ignites behind his eyes when he realizes you’re still there.

“What? Why do you keep trying to talk to me?” he says in a harsh whisper behind clenched teeth, desperate to maintain his smile. His whole body begins to simultaneously shiver and sweat. “Why are you being so nice? I’ll get in trouble if I get chummy with the customers! I’ll probably get in trouble just for accepting this tip! Mettaton will fire me! Is that your aim? Is that your goal? Is that what you want?!”

“I’m sorry. You just… look a little stressed out.”

“A little?” The cashier repeats sardonically. “Little buddy, this place is anxiety incarnate, and all those unlucky enough to get a job here are destined to spend the rest of their natural born lives attending to a grease trap and having patrons yelling in their face, demanding I make changes to our business practices that are out of my control, and blaming ME as the problem and not the corporate tycoons! So I think it’s fair to say, I am more than just a little stressed out here!”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again because you’re not sure what else to do. “I just… I wish I could do something to help.”

“There is something you can do, little buddy,” the cat monster says. “Run. Run away before they get you too. You don’t want to end up like me. Just look at me; I’m getting on in years. Nineteen good ones behind me. Wasted! I don’t know how much time I got left, but I just know the heads up top are already hunting for a replacement for me when I inevitably bite the dust.”

“I’m sorry, uh,” On the right pocket of his shirt, a name tag sticker reading ‘Hello! My name is:’ proudly adorns his right breast. The original name seems to have been crossed out with sharpie, and has been replaced with the title “Burgerpants” in thick black letters instead.

“Sorry… Burgerpants?” you say. “That’s a… unique name.”

“Don’t patronize me, kid,” Burgerpants says hollowly. He slumps over, depressed. “You and I both know that no loving parent would ever name their child something so degrading. Burgerpants is just a cruel nickname I’ve been blessed with.”

“Wow, that’s mean. How’d you get a nickname like that?”

“Well,” Burgerpants chuckles, straightening up. His whiplashing mood swings are starting to make your head spin. He smiles, pulling out a cigarette and lighter, and takes a long drag. “That’s actually a pretty good story with a good lesson at the end, but it’s kind of long. You don’t want to hear it.”

You turn around and spy Alphys through the café windows, still waiting in the line for the elevator. “I’ve got time to kill,” you tell Burgerpants.

“In that case little buddy, I’ve got a bit of life advise for you…”

You chat with Burgerpants on a myriad of topics, from never dating attractive people, to his aspirations on being a method actor, even to Mettaton’s business practices.

“It’s strange,” you tell Burgerpants. “I’ve had a couple of run-ins with Mettaton now, and he never struck me as the kind of guy to run a fast food restaurant.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been a minimum wage slave to him for months, and let me tell you, that robot will try his hand at anything to spread his image as far as he can. But! The good news is, little buddy, we just need to get one more human soul then I’ll be free from this actual cage of brimstone and hellfire. The only way to go is up! Literally!”

You chat a bit more, relieved to see the tension and stress slowly melt away from Burgerpants’ face, and only when you see an actual, genuine smile on his mouth do you consider your work done and decide to take your leave.

“Bye, Burgerpants! Take care!” you wave heading out the door.

“Take care, little buddy,” Burgerpants grins after you, taking another drag. “Come back anytime.”

Once you’re a good deal away from the little burger shop, you open the box to find a sandwich with a neon purple bun and vibrant purple patty. The whole thing sparkles like a geode from waterfall. Well. It certainly is pretty, you’ll say that. You dare to take a test bite, and force yourself to resist the urge to gag.

You have no idea what hamburgers are made of, but you are certain they’re not made out of plastic and paste. The patty is cold and bitter, with a thick consistency of congealed glue. You spit, spewing glitter, though half of it stays firmly coated on your tongue.

Sneering in disgust, you toss the burger in the trash, magically not hungry anymore, and return to Alphys' side. As far as you can tell, the line has moved a whole three inches since you left it.

“Oh! Y-you’re back!” Alphys perks up nervously upon your return.

“Did the line stop moving?” You ask in concern. “It hardly looks like you’ve moved at all.”

“W-w-well, that’s because I’ve got some terrible news,” Alphys says, her forehead running with sweat. “While y-you were gone an employee came by to say that the elevators have t-temporarily gone down for some unknown reason a-and they say it could take hours to fix.”

“Can you fix it?” You ask hopefully. “We’ve fixed the other elevators in Hotland.”

“I w-wish,” Alphys shakes her head. “B-but these elevators run on a different operating system out of my jurisdiction. I c-can’t interfere.”

“Well, there has to be another way, right?” You plead in desperation. You are so close to getting home, you can’t give up now, you flat out refuse to give up now. “A dumbwaiter? An emergency stair case? I’ll even climb a ladder if there is one!”

“I… I d-don’t…”

You gently take Alphys’ claws in your hands and look into her eyes. “Alphys, please tell me there’s another way. I’m so close to the king. I can’t turn back now.”

Alphys winces, but sighs in defeat.

“There is… one other elevator,” she admits. “I-it’s in the core and off limits to everyone except royal personnel, b-but I can get you to it…”

Hugging her tight, you whisper in her ear. “You’re a life saver, Alphys.”

Alphys flinches, but steps out of line and guides you to a non-descript door against one of the back walls. Thick red letters read “AUTHORISED MONSTERS ONLY” on smoky glass.

Alphys pulls out an identification card and swipes it through a reader on the side of the door. There’s a single beep! and a red light turns green. The handle clicks as it unlocks, Alphys opens the door, and you’re greeted with a vacant corridor and a strange, chilling breeze. Warm light from the hotel lobby spills in from behind, mixing with the cold blue light that waits for you up ahead.

“W-well. Nothing left but for us to tackle the Core now, huh?” Alphys says with a smile, though her voice sounds unenthusiastic.

You march forward, unafraid. Alphys dutifully follows you.

The hallway leads up to a single elevator that seems to be waiting for you, its door already open and beckoning you inside. The second you and the royal scientist board the lift the doors close behind you, trapping you in darkness. There’s a quick feeling of vertigo as the elevator starts to move on its own, and you feel yourself moving horizontally instead of vertically. The trip is so smooth, you can’t tell how fast you’re going, or even what direction after a while, but before the blackness that surrounds you begins to feel oppressive, the elevator comes to an air-cushioned stop and the doors part. The air around you smells so thick with ozone, that you can taste it on your tongue, and it crackles across your skin, making your arms tingle and hair stand on edge. The room smells sharp, like electricity.

All your senses are on high alert; all your nerves feel tense with energy. You shudder.

“You okay?” Alphys asks.

“Sorry. This room. It makes me feel… full of energy, but also on edge. Like something bad is about to happen.”

“Ah, th-that could be the effect of stray residual magic,” Alphys explains. “We’re right above the epicenter of the Core. Almost all of the m-magical energy the Underground uses is being processed right now beneath our feet. Th-this way. The last elevator to the capital is just through here…”

You follow Alphys through two imposing metal doors into a vacant room with a platform suspended over a pit in the middle. It’s uncomfortably dark in here, even more so than the elevator, and when you peer over the edge, you can’t see the bottom. You make your way forward, and only place one foot on the platform when you hear the doors slam behind you.

“W-what?” Alphys jumps, spinning around. “Why did that happen?”

There’s a loud ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk! as six spot lights illuminate the platform, with one every familiar looking rectangle sitting in the middle.

“Well, well, well, darlings. I see you’ve finally made it to the Core.”

“M-M-Mettaton?!” Alphys stammers. “What’s the meaning of this!?”

“Yeah! I thought you said our previous encounter would be the last!” you add, that extra adrenaline in your veins making you itching to move.

“It was supposed to be, darling,” Mettaton explains. “But then the reviews come in and you know what they said?”

“They still didn’t do well?”

“On the contrary! They’re through the roof! They’re higher than they’ve ever been in my entire career!”

“But… but that’s a good thing?” Alphys points out. “If your shows are doing so well, why are you still trying to get in our way?”

“Yeah! You should be thanking us for improving your ratings! What’s your problem?” You shout.

“You’re right, darling. You are the one to thank. But!” Mettaton stretches up on his wheel, and extends one arm upward, his pointer finger high. With no words, he lets his arm fall forward in a half arc, until he’s pointing it right at you. “You’re also the problem.”

“That doesn’t make any sense! I participated in all your dumb shows! Against my will, even! Why are you blaming me?”

“It’s true! My shows are more popular than ever because of you! And when I asked my focus groups what their favorite parts were, the reports came back that YOU’RE popularity has far surpassed mine. (And that’s why you are to blame! No one’s popularity will out shine my own. I will be second rate to no one, and that is why I must now eliminate you!”

“D-d-don’t worry, we’ve beat him thrice before, can beat him one more time!” Alphys said, squaring up.

“Ah! Ah! Darling!” Mettaton says and snaps his fingers. “I’ve realized why all my other attempts at stopping you failed, and it’s because you had Alphys here to help you escape! But not anymore!” Without warning, lasers of blue magic shoot up from the floor around Alphys, trapping her in an inescapable cage. “Two against one isn’t’ fair! Besides, you’re not the one trying to out shine me!”

“Alphys!” you shout, and jump towards her cell.

“N-no! Don’t! I-if you touch the lasers, you’ll get zapped!” Alphys warns. “I’m fine! D-don’t worry about me! I won’t get hurt if I just stay still. B-but you’re gonna have to beat him on your own!”

“Well, darling! Looks like it’s time for your last curtain call! Prepare to be cancelled!” Mettaton raises his arms. His hands retract into his sleeves, and get replaced by circular saws that whine at a shrill, threatening pitch.

Without hesitation, the robot lunges forward towards you, and you barely have the reflexes to jump back in time. The spinning blades hit the ground with a shower of sparks as they slice two deep gouges into the floor. Oh god, this wasn’t some campy hoax for a tv show anymore, he really was trying to kill you this time!

“Mettaton! What are you doing?!” Alphys screams also recognizing the spike in the danger.

“There’s only room for one of us on the top of the chart, darling! Ta-ta!”

“A-Alphys! What do I do?” You desperately beg her, evading Mettaton for dear life.

“Uh! Uuuh!” Alphys panics, chewing her claws down to the beds. She suddenly straightens as if struck with an idea.“H-hey! Get behind him!” Alphys commands as you narrowly avoid another razor blade to the head. “There’s a switch on his back side! Get to it and flip it!”

Whirling blade in one hand, flame thrower for the other, you can’t afford to stay in once place for long. The flamethrower’s range forces you to keep moving while the circle saw doesn’t allow you to get close. Mettaton keeps their front to you at all times, giving you no opening to sneak around to his back side.

Taking a risk, you dash towards Alphys’ laser prison, the whirling blades hot on your heels. At the last moment, you feint to the left and run behind it, while Mettaton’s arm hits the cage at full force.

Detecting movement, the lasers react instantaneously, sending a paralyzing zap up the robot’s body, making him short circuit. You waste no time getting behind him where you find the alleged switch and forcefully slam it down.

For a moment, Mettaton freezes, then his screens go dark and his limbs flop to the ground as if they were made of limp pasta.

“Man, thank god that’s over,” you pant. “Now let’s see if we can get you out of that cage.”

“N-no! Don’t turn your back on him!” Alphys warns. “This isn’t over yet!”

“What do you mean? I turned him off, didn’t I?”

“Um, technically, no you didn’t.” Alphys says.

“Oh, foolish child,” A ghostly voice echoes in the still husk of the robot. “Do you think I could be defeated so easily?”

Terror creeping up your spine, you slowly turn back around and watch in petrified horror as Mettaton’s body rises up and begins to shake. His rivets rattle, steam hisses as it escapes between his plates, his screens flash white and red, and suddenly he’s transforming, his metal plates bending and folding back into itself like origami. His screens flip over as his top half widens and his wheel contracts only to be replaced with legs. His casing straightens, and on his black screen you see lines of white code scrolling past and you get the sinking feeling that the switch you just flipped is now executing a code you wish you hadn’t . The top of his chassis opens and from it sprouts a head. His arms brace himself on the floor, and then, with jerky movements, he stands up.

“That was just a warm up,” The newly transformed automaton says, tossing his head back and fixing you with a cold, robotic eye. “Now that you’ve flipped my switch, the real showdown will begin!”

“Alphys, what’s going on? I thought you said that switch turned him off!” the human hisses in her ear.

“I-In my defense, I never claimed it would do that!” Alphys says. “B-but this form of his is still a prototype! It’s a lot weaker than his other one, so you might have a chance at beating him!”

All around them, the air begins to thrum with a deep pulsing beat as if the bass had been amplified to the max, hijacking their heart and setting the tempo of their pulse. Spotlights flash in time with the beat, yellow, blue and green.

A fog machine sets the ambiance, carpeting the stage with a dramatic layer of mist. Over the sound of the music, Alphys hears an excited murmur of many voices, and as more spot lights come to life, it’s then she notices the grandstands bordering the arena, packed to the brim with spectators.

Cameramen sit on all corners of the stage to get every angle of the action, and the human cranes their head up and spot a giant flat screen broadcasting every one of their movements, a hundred times bigger than life for the audience to see.

“This is it, darling!” Mettaton says, running one hand through his newly formed synthetic hair and striking a dramatic pose. “The ultimate show to once and for all decide who deserves the title of the Underground’s top superstar!”

“I- I don’t want to fight for the title! You can just have it!” The human declares, though their voice shaky and uncertain.

“Fight? Heaven forbid!” Mettaton says. “That’s no way to settle an argument! We’re going to duke this out my way! With a charity dance off!”

“Charity… dance off?”

“Yes! A charity is for the promotion of underprivileged robots! Right now we are being broadcasted live across the Underground! Thousands are tuning in and are making pledges to the dancer they think is better! The first one to reach the goal of one hundred thousand gold in donations will be declared the victor! And the other shall be shunned from the lime light indefinitely! There’s only one rule in this competition!”

“What?” The human dares to ask.

“Dance… or DIE!”

“Y-you can do it!” Alphys urges. “I believe in you! Plus, you don’t really h-have any other choice!”

“I-I can’t!” The human argues. “I don’t know how to dance!”

“Th-that doesn’t matter! Mettaton’s not as energy efficient in this form! If you can just hold out long enough, his batteries will wear down enough for you to escape!”

“But what do I do?”

“A-anything! Copy him, do a twirl, strike a pose! J-just fake it long enough until he shuts down!”

The human looks unsure, but they nod, trusting her, then step up to the plate.

“Excellent, darling!” Mettaton says when he sees them ready to face him. As if on cue, the music begins to pick up in a snappish beat, reverberating in their bones. “Let the dance off begin!”

Confetti cannons explode to emphasize his point. Spotlights dance and the crowds roar.

Mettaton approaches the human, marching to the beat of the music. Behind him a screen lowers from the ceiling, and illuminates a bar graph with two columns. Under one is Mettaton’s face and under the other, the human’s in a cartoonishly drawn caricature. A line marking the 100k goal lights up near the top. He stops a ways off, tosses back his hair and blows a kiss to the camera.

The crowds roar and Mettaton’s bar stretches up just a bit.

The human’s head turns towards one of the giant TV screens zoomed in on Mettaton’s face, before the camera switches to them and they find they’re looking at their own clueless expression enhanced for the viewers.

Straightening up, the human does their best to copy the pose, but they lack the grace and confidence Mettaton has, and the attempt looks clumsy. Weak claps of encouragement are drawn from the stands. Their donation bar raises only one line of pixels out of pity donations.

Smirking in satisfaction, Mettaton does a sophisticated two step, bringing his arms into the mix. The human is desperately trying to keep up, when out of nowhere, the robot does a swinging high kick and nails them in the back, sending the kid flying across the stage where they land in a crumpled heap. His donation bar jumps to the 2k goal.

“Ow! I though you said f-fighting was beneath you!” the kid protests.

“Fighting? This isn’t fighting darling! It is the art of the dance, sweetheart! Keep pace or perish!”

Mettaton lunges at them, pointy boot aimed for their center. Abandoning all attempts at dancing, the kid springs forward like a frog to dodge out of the way. They turn their momentum into a summersault and skid into a freestyle stop.

The crowd goes wild at the maneuver, and their donation bar jumps to a thousand gold.

“Hey! They liked that!” Alphys shouts from the side lines. “K-keep doing more moves like that!”

The human nods once, short and sharp, and pushes themselves to their feet.

Sneering, Mettaton twirls toward them like a ballerina, and tries to strike them with a coordinated hand and foot.

The human responds with a chasse, casually sliding out of the way as the robot spins past.

The crowd gasps at such beautiful timing, and such expert evasion. Both donation bars rise, but they’re now neck and neck.

The human finishes their move by adding insult to injury by bowing as Mettaton misses.

The robot eyes the scoreboard with contempt, before forcing a murderous smile at their dance partner.

“Oh, finally figured out how this works? Very well, darling! Let’s see you dance past this!”

The robot busts out into flamenco, chasing the kid around the stage and trying to stomp on them like a bug. The human responds with an evasive tango, snapping their fingers for good measure when they strike a pose.

The crowd screams at the show, and the human’s donation bar pulls into the lead. Mettaton’s jaw dropped in disbelief. No… No! The little show stopper couldn’t best him! He had to be number one!

If Mettaton was holding back before, he certainly pulled out all the stops now, but the human was quick and light on their feet, and the longer they dance, the better the kid gets at predicting his moves and patterns, making it harder for him to hit them. And once they can comfortably evade him with ease, they start to break out every dance move they know. They did the bunny hop crossed with the Macarena and a square dance all at once. The audience howls and claps with laughter. Mettaton fumes when he sees them clutching their bellies and wiping away tears. Phone lines can be heard ringing off the hook as callers flood the lines with their incoming donations and pledges, and bets on the winner, twenty to one with the little scene stealer in favor.

Pushing on, Mettaton pushes all his circuits to the limit, dishing out as much fancy foot work as he can to every camera all at once, but the tiny show stopper just cartwheels around him, well out of his reach. Well then! If he couldn’t trip them up with his dance moves, then he could trip them up with words!

“Darling, allow me to let you in on a little secret!” He shouts over the booming music. “You remember all our encounters up until now? They were all STAGED! A collaboration between Dr. Alphys and I!”

The little show stealer shoots him a sarcastic look that says they think he’s lying through their teeth. And why should they believe him? As far as they’re aware, Alphys had been helping them this entire time.

“Why you may ask?” Mettaton filled in for them when he sees their unmoved glare. “Good question! Alphys was honest for the most part- I admit wanted to steal your face to pull in the views, but do you know why she went along with it? Because she wanted to STUDY you!”

“Mettaton! Please d-don’t!” Alphys shouts from her prison, and the little show stopper stumbles, picking up on her unease.

Together Mettaton and the human dance with increasing fervor, and despite being opposing forces, there is nothing but grace in their impromptu choreography as each side dodges and strikes all while sticking to the rhythm, yet the more Mettaton speaks, the more uncertain the human’s steps become.

They were listening to him, doubtful he was telling the truth, but unsure if he was lying either.

“Alphys used you like another one of her test subjects! Another one of her lab rats! Why? Because you’re-!”

A fire bell rings signaling the 50k mile stone had been reached, but it’s not Mettaton who has reached it first; it’s the little white dwarf who’s passed the mile marker, practically making steam whistle out his perfectly welded ears.

No longer in the mood for games, Mettaton took a swing to their front, and the kid bent themselves backward is if being assaulted by a limbo stick before prancing away out of range.

Doubling down on his efforts, Mettaton threw all his focus into his dance moves, but the little show stopper always seemed to stay two steps ahead of him. When he did the salsa, they did the samba, when he waltzed, they did the swing, when he tap-danced, they quickstepped, when he hustled, they shuffled, and the crowd couldn’t get enough of it.

Sometimes the human would get cocky, striking a taunting pose after each of his failed hit, but viewers who couldn’t stand impertinence tasted sweet justice the few times Mettaton did manage to land a blow. But nevertheless the human didn’t falter. For every knockback they took, they’d stand taller and dance harder, and the crowds went nuts at their passion.

The robot craned his neck toward the score board and his vision went red. Not once had the kid tried to throw their own punches at him, and the few times he had managed to land a hit, his pledges increased, but they were getting down to the wire now. With both of them less than five thousand gold away from their goal.

Mettaton felt his internal battery beep. An alert flashed across the back of his eyes in computer code. “Battery capacity at 50%. Please dock to recharge, or switch into power saving mode.”

“No! Not yet!” he though frantically, and selected the second option without giving it much thought. He had to win, dammit!

“Power saving mode initiated. Rerouting power from superior lateral appendages… Detaching extremities.”

Wait- detaching what???

“Wait! No, I changed my mind!” But the command was given too late. With a sharp pop and a puff of smoke, the robot’s arms fell from their sockets.

“Ah! M-my arms!”

The crowd gasps. Alphys covers her mouth in shock and even the human looks alarmed, worried and wondering if they accidentally hurt you without noticing.

Desperate to save face, Mettaton scoffs to play it off. “W-well! Uh… who needs arms to dance anyway? With legs like these, I’m still going to win!”

And to prove his point, Mettaton launches into an armless kazatsky. In his head, the alerts continued to buzz, warning him of his battery was critically low and that his system was in danger of overheating, but he pushed on, ignoring the cautions and landing in the splits to finish. Beside him the human also started to show signs of fatigue. Knowing they both couldn’t keep this up much longer, they straighten up to make their last stand.

“Mettaton!” the kid huffs, sweat running down their nose. “Ready for my final move?”

It’s a rhetorical question and he knows it, but before he even has a chance to insert something witty, the little show stopper twists their torso and throws themself into a spin. They twirl and they twirl, pulling in their arms tight, and then squatting down low before stretching out on their side with a wink and finger gun.

“Ha! Break dancing?” Mettaton scoffs. “That’s for street performers! Anyone can do it! Watch!”

Kicking off one foot, Mettaton spun and spun into a pirouette, picking up speed. Using his internal gears he pushed himself to keep spinning. His motor revved until it whined and on the outside he was nothing but a blur.

“Warning! Battery at 12%!” His internal computer voice cautions. “Initiation power saving mode phase two;”

“Phase two??”

“Rerouting power from inferior lateral appendages-”

“Wait, don’t!”

“-Detaching extremities.”

And with little warning to onlookers, Mettaton’s legs come flying off. The one he was balanced on spills out from beneath him while the other one gets launched towards the stage lights, leaving Mettaton to fall hard on his back, completely incapacitated, and forced to stare up at the heels of his opponent’s glorious finishing move. The metal projectile explodes into the lights like a missile, sending down a shower of sparks. The little scene stealer strikes one last triumphant pose against the background of fireworks and the audience completely loses it.

The show stopper’s donation bar hits the goal then just keeps going, steadily climbing to the 110, 120, and even 130k mark before slowing down as bouquets of flowers and rose petals rain down from the audience.

Despite not having lungs to breathe, Mettaton takes a breather, allowing the crowd to cheer themselves out while his internal fan cools down his processers.

“Well, darling,” he says on his microphone once the audience had quieted. “It looks like you’ve proven your worth. You really are deserving of the title of the Underground’s number one star. I guess my time has come then.”

“No, don’t say that,” the little white dwarf says. “Just ‘cause you lost doesn’t mean you have to give up being an entertainer, much less die.”

Mettaton eyes the human with a look of bemusement and gentle affection. This little human. This curiously, amazing little show stopper, breathless and battered still urging him to stick to his dream?

“My, darling you really are something else.” Mettaton sighs. “I have no plans to quit the life of Show Bizz, but… if I am being honest with myself… today you made me see just how amazing and surprisingly fun having a co-star could be. I’ve never had this much excitement or attention from my adoring fans in months! From here on out I might even consider expanding my casting call to include more monsters than just me to play all the parts. Thank you, darling, for bringing me down a peg and knocking some sense into me. And thank you all my beautiful, fabulous, glorious watchers! You’ve been an amazing audience!”

Through some remote control in his Wi-Fi, Mettaton cuts the power. The lights go out and the lasers from Alphys’ cage click off.

“Mettaton!” Alphys yells, rushing over to her invention’s side. “Mettaton! Speak to me!”

“Alphys, darling,” Mettaton says. “Sorry for being so mean to you all day. You and your little protégé here really didn’t deserve it.”

“Mettaton, shh. Please, save your battery.”

“Your little friend here… they really are something, aren’t they Alphys?”

“They sure are, Mettaton.”

“It’s such a shame,” the robot sighs. “That you’ll be going soon. After your display here today? I could never have dreamed of a better dance partner. I wish I could have gotten to know you better instead of just using you on each of my sets. What a wasted opportunity… but you know what they say, a white dwarf is destined to go super nova.”

“Oh, Mettaton,” Alphys sighs sadly. “That’s not a saying.”

“Shh, darling. You’re ruining the moment.”

“Alphys is he going to be okay?” the human asks.

“I’ll be fine darling, though you may want to get me to a docking station as promptly as you can. My battery has been crying at me the whole shoe to recharge, and I think it’s time I started listening to it. I might go into emergency shut down mode at any minute, and if I do, my RAM might get wiped. If that happens, I won’t remember anything that’s happened today, which won’t be ideal... I could go back to trying to destroy you.”

“GAH! That’s not good!” Alphys interjects. “There’s a lot of code on your prototype body I haven’t had the chance to back up yet! I-if you shut down now I could lose months of work!”

Alphys looks the human hesitantly. Her face isn’t expectant or pleading, but the human knows what question is on her mind.

“Do you need help carrying him back to the lab?” They ask for her.

“OhmygodifyouwouldbesokindIwouldloveyouforever!” She says without taking a breath or a pause, clasping her hands together and bowing her head. “I know we are literally feet away from the last elevator to the capital, but this is really really important to me, and I would be in your debt forever.”

“Alphys,” the human interrupts her by placing a hand on her shoulder, and says eight words that would have sounded utterly ridiculous out of context, had anyone walked in at that exact moment.

“You get the torso,” the kid smiles warmly. “I’ll get his limbs.”

#Undertale #Fan Fiction #undertale fanfiction #My writing #You monster #frisk #alphys #mettaton #burgerpants #bratty and catty

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