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iwritestuffsometimes · 7 years

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Voicemail. Ropes. Living Rooms.

Content warning; Suicide.

He doesn’t answer calls from random numbers. He used to. But he learned the hard way that it was a bad idea. The last time he’d answered an unsaved number, he regretted it instantly. “Hunter?” The voice was young. Female. Way too excited.

“Yeah. Who’s this?” He frowned.

“Uh! I’m Sarahbeth! I love you so much Hunter. I am a big fan.” She began talking at hyper-speed. He gritted his teeth. He let her finish, even talking to her for a minute politely before he asked where she got his number. She told him she’d found it on twitter somewhere. He sighed and tried to end the conversation. She didn’t want to. He felt like the bad guy when he did finally hang up. She called back. He blocked the number and shut the phone down completely, heading directly to the phone company to change his number.

He doesn’t answer calls from random numbers and he doesn’t have his name on his voicemail either. He let the system be; when it rings through to voicemail, it’s just the electronic voice reading back his phone number. “You’ve reached the voice mailbox for 629- ***-****. Please leave a message after the tone.” Truth be told, he hated the notification numbers hovering over the phone icon on his screen. He wasn’t sure he’d even check his voicemail that often if he weren’t bugged by the notifications.

He sighed and sat at the bar in his kitchen. He flipped open his macbook, flicking through Netflix as he shoved a spoonful of Reese’s Puffs cereal into his mouth. It was his day off. He was excited to do nothing for the first time in a very long time. His plans for the next 24 hours involved a lot of Top Gear and a lot of sugar and caffeine. He pressed play on the next episode and sipped from his favorite mug. He rested his elbows on the counter top and shoveled more cereal into his mouth.

His phone rang. It was sitting in front of his laptop, between his cereal bowl and the keyboard. He glanced at it. Upon noticing the number wasn’t saved, he flicked the sound button off and let it ring silently as he continued with his breakfast. There was a solid three minutes of just cereal, coffee, and British TV. The voicemail icon popped up on minute four. His shoulders slumped as he saw the notification. He shoved in the last spoonful, pressed the spacebar to pause the show, and picked up his phone.

He slid his thumb across the notification, opening voicemail directly; he pressed the speaker button and the play button before he sat the phone back onto the countertop. He slid off his seat and picked up the cereal bowl, walking it around to the kitchen side of the bar.

“Hi.” The voicemail started. “I, uh, I don’t know why I’m calling you.” A female voice. Somewhere on the young side. Maybe 18? Maybe 27? Definitely not more than 30 and not less than 17. She sounded tired. “I’m gonna do it this time. I guess that’s why.” She sighed through the receiver.

Hunter sat the bowl in the sink as quietly as he could, reaching for the faucet but he didn’t turn it on yet.

“I miss you. I miss you a lot, Sis.” The voice cracked. “That’s why I decided that this is okay. Because if I do it, then I can see you again…. Or maybe I wont. Maybe there isn’t anything after all this. Maybe there is and we’ll wind up in different places.” Was that a chuckle?

Hunter turned around, facing his phone now, standing in front of his sink with his arms crossed over his chest.

“But either way, I’ll either be with you again or I’ll never remember any of this.” She continued. “And at this point, that’s all I want. So, that’s why I called, Jaz. I called to tell you that I’ll either see you soon… or I wont…. So… I love you. I’m sorry. I really am. I’m so f***in sorry.” The voicemail ended.

Hunter felt his stomach lurch. He stepped forward, clutching at the phone on the countertop. He knocked into his macbook, pushing the screen closed with a harsher snap than it was used to. He didn’t care. He scrabbled to redial the number. It rang three times. Each ring more sickening than the last. It went to voicemail.

“No no no no.” He muttered to himself.

The electronic voice cut in; “You’ve reached the voice mailbox for 615…”

He hung up and tried again.

It rang once.

“Jaz?” She whispered. He swallowed. This couldn’t possibly be making anything better. She thought she was calling her sister. Naturally, she’d think her sister was calling back. He almost said nothing. “I… I’m sorry for calling you, whoever you are.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t … don’t know why I thought they wouldn’t reassign her number. I’m sorry.”

“Hunter.” His throat was dry. “My name’s Hunter.”

“Well, Hunter. I apologize for bothering you.” Her voice sounded more strained than it had been on the voicemail. “I wont do it again.” Her voice retreated, as if she was pulling the phone away from her ear as she spoke.

“Wait wait wait-“ He tried but the call ended. He chewed his lip and dialed the number one last time.

“Hunter, this is a little more than strange.” She answered.

“I know.” He swallowed. “But I, uh, well, I am worried.” The line was silent. He kept talking. “Are you going to be okay? Do I need to call someone?” He tried.

“There’s no one to call.” She had almost no intonation in her voice at all. She sounded as electronic as a voicemail. “I called the only person I wanted to. They gave away her number.”

“Where are you right now?” Hunter asked, working off instinct rather than thought. He wasn’t sure where any of this was coming from.

“Uh…” She started.

“I just mean,” Hunter tried again. “Are you like… in your house? Are you in public? Are you on a bridge?”

She laughed that same chuckle from her voicemail, the one that had no humor in it. “I’m not on a bridge. I’m…. I’m in my closet.” She said honestly.

“Well…” Hunter breathed deeply. “How about you go out of the closet and go to the living room instead?”

“Because the ropes here.” She sounded like she barely opened her jaw.

“I know.” He nodded even though she couldn’t see him. He grabbed his keys and started walking out of his apartment. “Go to your living room anyway.” She didn’t make a sound. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t want to tell you my name.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I could hang up right now if I wanted to.”

“Please don’t.”

The line was silent. He opened his car door and slid in but he waited to put the key into the ignition before he shut the door again, avoiding the dinging sound. He flinched when the engine roared. “Are you driving?” She asked.

“No.” Hunter said instantly. “Not yet.”

“I’ll go now.” She started. “I don’t mean to bother anyone.”

“No no no no.” He sputtered. “You’re not bothering me. I’m not driving. I just started my car is all. I’m not going anywhere yet.”

“I don’t want to keep you from wherever you’re going.” She tried again.

“Well if you want the God’s Honest truth;” he started. “I was going to try and find you.” He held his breath, not sure what effect his statement would have.

She laughed her unfunny chuckle again. “You were going to drive blindly until you found me?”

“I know you’re somewhere around Nashville.” He sat back in his seat. “The area code gave me that much. I was hoping to work out the rest.” She was quiet for a long time. He heard nothing in the background, not for lack of trying though. “Are you still there?” He asked finally.

“No.” She muttered. “I’m not there anymore. I’m in my living room now.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good! That’s good.”

“Not for long though.” She sighed. “I can change my mind any time I want.”

“Yeah. You can.” He nodded. “But I’m just glad you’re in your living room.” She went quiet again. “So,” He tried. “What do you do for a living?”

She laughed The Laugh again. “I don’t want small talk, Hunter.”

“Okay.” He relented. “What do you want then?”

“To die.”

He felt the wind leave his lungs. “I know that. But that’s not what I want. That’s not what your sister wants.”

“How would you know what Jaz would have wanted?” Her voice was harsh but it wasn’t yelling. That was a good sign.

“I don’t.” Hunter said cautiously. “But anyone with a right mind wouldn’t want you to do what you’re planning. She sounds like she was a nice girl. A smart one.”

“She was.” The voice pinched off.

“Do you want to tell me about her?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was small and squeaked over the word. She sniffled. “I do. But I don’t want to talk on the phone any more.”

“That’s okay.” He held his breath. “Why don’t you tell me where you are and you can tell me about her in person.” She was silent again. “You don’t have to.” He said after a beat. “You don’t have to. I just thought it was an easier solution to both our problems.”

“Our problems?”

“You don’t want to talk on the phone and I don’t want you to be alone.” He chewed his lip.

“You promise you wont call the cops or something instead?” She whispered.

“I promise.” He lied. He very well would call the police if she hung up on him before he got there. “I’m already in the car. Just me.” That part was true.

She sighed. “My names Crysta.”

“Hi, Crysta.” He swallowed. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m in my living room.” She whispered.

“That’s good.” He nodded. “I’m glad.”

She gave the address. He breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t too far. Maybe 10 minutes if he followed traffic laws. He wasn’t going to.

“I can change my mind though.” She reminded him. “I might not let you in.”

“That’s okay.” He threw the car in gear and raced down the road. “I can talk to you through the door.” He put the phone on speaker, syncing it with his car so her voice came through the stereo-system. “Do you want me to bring something? Food? Are you hungry?” He tried.

She laughed. And though he had no way of really knowing; this time, it felt like a real laugh. “Is this protocol?” She asked. “To deliver take out to suicidal strangers?”

“No.” He whirled around a corner at a speed he probably shouldn’t have. “I just thought you might not have eaten.”

“You’re right.”

“I can get anything you want.”

“I don’t want anything.” She insisted.

“Okay.” His tires slid as he lurched around another corner. He gritted his teeth as he slowed his car enough to catch grip on the road.

“You’re driving like a maniac.”

“No, I’m not.” He lied.

“I can hear you, Hunter.”

“This is just how I drive.”

“Well, you drive like a maniac.”

“I just drive with a purpose.” He countered.

“And your purpose is?”

“Right now, it’s finding your apartment number.” He shut the engine off and slammed his door shut. “I’m outside the building.”

“That was fast.” She sounded nervous.

“I wasn’t that far away.” She went quiet. He found her door. He knocked but he didn’t hang up the phone. “Are you going to let me in?” He asked when she didn’t open the door.

“I don’t know.”

He heard rustling on the other end of the line and shifting from the other side of the door. He nodded. “That’s okay.” He rested his forehead on the door. “I can talk to you from out here.”

“This is one of the strangest moments of my life.” She whispered.

“It’s up there on my list too.” He said honestly. The phone clicked off. His heart ached. “Crysta?” He knocked on the door harsher than he’d meant to. “Crysta? Open the door please.” He said with his face pressed into the wood. Everything was quiet. He held his breath. He knocked again.

The lock turned. Hunter stepped back and watched as the door swung open. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t look at him, her face aimed at the floor. He slid his phone into his back pocket. “I’m sorry that I called you and I’m sorry that you’re on my doorstep and I’m sorry that I feel this way and I’m sorry that-“ Her voice disappeared under the strain of too many tears.

His arms wrapped around her protectively; pulling her into his chest. He stood in the entry way to a strange house, holding a girl he didn’t know, and he wasn’t planning on letting go any time soon.

a/n he does answer unknown calls though btw. I don’t know how often he does but he had to have because Elton John called him from an unsaved number and he answered it. I don’t know why I felt the need to point that out but it was bugging me enough that I wrote this authors note before I even finished the 3rd paragraph of this story… so theres that information Feedback? You dont have to. I know how stinking intense this was for a random wednesday fic. I dont quite know why I wrote it or why I posted it without really editing it at all but there ya go.

#iwritestuffsometimes hh #hunter hayes #hunter hayes fanfiction #hunter hayes imagines #oneshot #hurt/comfort #dark warning

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sinkingcanoe · 7 years

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A Scene From The Past (where we look back and laugh)

Summary: Pidge wasn’t allowed to go shopping by herself for two reasons: number one, she’d live off sandwiches and microwave corn dogs if left to her own devices, and number two, she couldn’t reach the bottom of the cart to unload without climbing into it. She had no problem with this, but for some reason the store employees did.

As such, it was mostly Shiro shopping while Pidge ‘supervised’, at least at the beginning. The problems started in the cereal aisle.

Warnings: None

Pairings: Gen, Shiro & Pidge/Katie Holt

Characters: All paladins (briefly), Shiro, Pidge

Complete, chapter 1/1, wordcount: 1464

Series: The Frat House AU no one wanted

On AO3

“I need someone to go shopping with me,” Pidge said blandly.

Predictably, no one answered. Shiro probably would have normally, out of a sense of duty; at the moment, though, Shiro was making blam blam noises at the first person shooter game every time he killed an alien.

Never one for patience, Pidge crept silently up behind the couch, easily hidden under the sound of the explosions. She paused for a moment, observing the scores and player positions. Then, she mercilessly reached out and tugged the white chunk of Shiro’s hair.

Shiro jerked, prosthetic hand clenching on his remote with a worrying crunch. Keith looked over, startled, and lost track of the game.

And, just as Pidge predicted, Lance took both of them out immediately.

As soon as their attention was drawn back to the tv, Keith and Shiro realized her trick.

Hunk screeched, ducking his player under a building overhang before he could be killed as well. “Lance, we said no sniping! Sniper no sniping, sniper no sniping!”

“This isn’t Dora, dumbass, that won’t save you!”

“Pidge!” Keith hissed, to all appearances mortally offended, “how could you? I was going to win this time!”

“Shut up, Mullet, you were not!” Lance retorted, raiding Keith and Shiro’s characters for dropped items.

Shiro simply looked down at his mangled controller in frustration, half-heartedly trying fit the broken casing back together.

“Dude,” Hunk said, peering briefly across Keith at Shiro, “you really did a number on that thing, geeze.” At Shiro’s apologetic eyebrow scrunch he shook his head, backpeddling, “Not that Pidge and I can’t fix it, no biggie!”

That brought the focus back around to Pidge, standing there watching the chaos like a smug cat knocking knick-knacks off the shelves. “ So, who wants to go shopping with me?”

“Ooh,” Lance said, pausing the game and perking up. “Me, definitely me! Can we hit Sephora?”

“Grocery shopping, Lance. For food.”

“Oh. Yeeeeeah, I’m out then.”

Hunk squinted at Pidge, confused. “I went grocery shopping, like, two days ago?”

“Yeah, but some people ate all the sandwich supplies. And we’re out of soda again.”

“Who ate all the ham already?” Keith demanded.

Lance raised a hand, shameless. “Me. It was delicious.”

“Of course,” Keith muttered, crossing his arms.

“Focus, guys,” Shiro cut in. “Regardless of who ate it, clearly we need more.”

“Agreed,” Hunk said easily. “But I already did my duty this week, so I’m out.”

“Fair enough,” Pidge said. “So. Are you three drawing straws or playing rock paper scissors?”

As usual, it was rock paper scissors. As usual, Shiro lost.

The man had a killer poker face, but whether he used his left hand or his right, his reaction time on hand-shapes was too shoddy--which meant he always used paper, which everyone knew .

Keith and Lance both threw down scissors and high-fived.

“Have fun, space dad,” Hunk called out, grinning.

Shiro rolled his eyes, grabbing his vest from the overflowing coat rack--the closet would flood feather boas if he opened it for his jacket--and searching for his wallet. “Lance?”

Blindly, Lance tossed over Shiro’s wallet, back to playing against Hunk. Pidge grabbed it mid-air before Shiro could, unfolding his string of cat pictures.

“Uh, Pidge? I need that to drive.”

Pidge waved a hand, studying one she hadn’t seen before. “You’re fine as long as it’s in the car with you, man.”

“I…” Shiro shrugged, helpless. “C’mon, then.”

***

Pidge wasn’t allowed to go shopping by herself for two reasons: number one, she’d live off sandwiches and microwave corn dogs if left to her own devices, and number two, she couldn’t reach the bottom of the cart to unload without climbing into it. She had no problem with this, but for some reason the store employees did.

As such, it was mostly Shiro shopping while Pidge ‘supervised’, at least at the beginning. The problems started in the cereal aisle.

“Okay, Mini Wheats or Fruit Loops?”

Pidge looked at Shiro, appalled. “Um, neither? Reese’s Puffs, man.”

“Wait, you seriously eat those?”

“Yes. They’re great,” she insisted. As Shiro stared in concerned disgust Pidge grabbed a gigantic family-size box.

“No, no way. If we’re getting something weird, we’re at least getting Cookie Crisp,” Shiro argued.

Pidge hovered hers over the cart, unswayed.

He pulled the cart out from under the cereal, backing away. “Nuh uh.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not paying for that stuff!” Shiro denied, dodging her again. “We’re getting Cookie Crisp, case closed.”

Pidge feinted to the left and managed to slam-dunk her choice into the basket with a needlessly dramatic jump.

Shiro had no clue why he didn’t just remove the cereal, or even add his own to get both.

It would’ve saved them a lot of trouble down the line.

***

By unspoken agreement, the rules were thus: whoever got their version (flavor or brand) of something in the cart first won.

Shiro would argue that items shouldn’t be removed once they were put in; Shiro would only argue this because, unable to compete with Shiro’s height for certain items, Pidge resorted to sneaking his stuff out behind his back.

Pidge would argue that this tactic--”Cheating, Pidge, it’s called cheating!”--was a perfectly reasonable attempt to level the playing field because certain giants had unfair genetic advantages.

The store employees would argue that cart racing through the aisles and climbing the shelves were both against store policy.

***

After all the racing and the back-tracking and the sabotage, Pidge and Shiro ended up at check out two hours later with an overflowing cart of stuff they really didn’t need.

Pidge stared at the rising price as items were scanned, wincing. “Keith is gonna kill us.”

“Forget Keith, Allura is gonna kill us.”

“Nah,” Pidge dismissed, “Allura likes most of this crap. Keith is the one with the carefully balanced budget we just screwed over.”

“Oh. True. Fuck.” Shiro scrubbed his hands over his face, carefully avoiding his eyeliner but messing up his left eyebrow.

“Did space dad just curse?” Pidge gasped, using every ounce of drama in her body.

Shiro gave her a look. “Pidge. I’ve known you since I was thirteen. I’ve cursed in front of you before.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she sniffed, pushing her glasses up. “You have to set a good example for the children.”

“You’re nineteen,” Shiro deadpanned.

“Exactly, Shiro, exactly.”

“I give up.”

"Uh,” the poor overwhelmed cashier broke in, actually raising their hand, “is someone gonna pay for all of this?”

“Yeah, sure,” Pidge said, handing over Shiro’s credit card.

“Where did you--! Shit. You never gave it back.”

“Nope.” Pidge popped the P, hopping up on the cart as she gave it a push toward the exit.

“Pidge! Pidge? Come back!” Shiro collected his card and the receipt, deliberately avoiding the total.

“Excuse me, who knocked over the shelves in aisle seventeen?” crackled through the speakers, and Shiro blanched.

“Pidge, wait up!”

***

“Y’know, this is a really good get-away car.”

Shiro hung on to the oh-shit bar for dear life as Pidge cut another corner.

“It’s an SUV, Pidge, and we’re not on the run from the law so please slow down!”

“Oh come on, you drive like this all the time.”

“I’ve been driving longer than you have! I can drive like seven different things, including fighter planes! You can hardly reach the ped-- PIDGE!”

Pidge groaned in exasperation, cutting off another car and avoiding an accident by inches. “Okay, most of the time you drive the world’s smallest moped, shhhh. This car deserves better than to be driven like a grandma’s behind the wheel.”

“I do not drive like a grandma,” Shiro protested. “You just said I drive too fast!”

“Not the point,” Pidge sputtered.

“You mean you had a point?”

“Rude.”

“It’s not rude if it’s true, isn’t that your motto?”

“I only like it when it’s not turned against me. And to think I trusted you, space dad.”

“I, for one, will never trust you again. Don’t think I didn’t see you putting my stuff back on the shelves, Katie.”

“All’s fair in love and war, Shiro,” she said cheerfully.

“I’ve seen both and this is neither.”

“True. Y’know what it was? Fun.”

Pidge pulled up in front of the Castle, parking the SUV flawlessly in complete opposite of the whole drive back.

Shiro blinked over from the passenger seat, still holding on. “Fun?”

“Fun,” she confirmed, grinning.

After a moment Shiro cracked, laughing breathlessly. “I guess it was, yeah.”

They climbed out of the car and stared at the large trunk, full to the brim of unnecessary stuff. “Wanna make the guys take this stuff in?”

“Sure,” Shiro agreed easily, “but you get to give Keith the receipt.”

“Fuck,” Pidge breathed.

“Language, Pidgeon.”

“Oh shove it, space dad.”

#Katie Holt #Pidge Gunderson #Shiro voltron #Takashi Shirogane #pidge and shiro #voltron fanfiction #college AU #my writing #Frat House AU #oneshot #crossposted to ao3 #gen #no warnings apply #Cute and fluffy #ensemble cast #voltron legendary defender #VLD #voltron

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