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gallavictorious · 3 years

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Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

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Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions.

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

#gallavich #gallavich week 2021 #gw2021 #fic #what have i done #my stuff

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vintage-squid · 3 years

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Threading Our Future

Summary: When up-and-coming designer Virgil Psykhe lands an interview with his favourite fashion label, he has no idea that the attention he's drawn to himself is being taken away from someone very important: the Lady of the Summer Court. Scorned and furious, she sends her son to kill the insolent human.

But when Janus lays eyes on Virgil for the first time, his breath is stolen by the fluttering of his heart and he knows he won't be able to follow through with his mother's orders.

A modern fae re-telling of the Eros and Psyche myth!

Pairing: Virgil/Janus (background Logan/Patton) Characters: Virgil, Janus, Roman, Remy, Patton, Logan, Remus Rating: T Warnings: mild violence and blood mention, nonsexual nudity, literal sleeping together Word count: 10 363

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Virgil Psykhe groaned as he stood from his chair, bracing both hands against the small of his back and pressing until he felt a satisfying series of pops from his hips and up his spine. He should know better by now than to spend hours on end hunched over his projects without taking proper breaks, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Once he got focused, his whole world narrowed to sketch, cut, sew, trim. It was like he was possessed by some crazy spirit who deemed his sarcastic, introverted ass worthy enough to use as a vessel for creation. At least, that’s how he described the near-frenzy he would fall into when his worried fathers questioned after his health.

Was he getting enough sleep? (No.) When was the last time he’d had something to eat? (Did the granola bar he had earlier count?) Would he be willing to drink more water if Papa cut up some citrus to add? (Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea...)

He knew their fretting came from a place of love. As the youngest of three, he was the baby of the family. Both of his older sisters had married a few years ago, now living with their husbands in a couple of larger, nearby cities. They had told their parents the distant moves were for their husband’s jobs, but Virgil knew better. His sisters had never seemed to fit with the unique … energy of their small hometown.

Virgil, however, had yet to even move out, let alone find anyone who would want to spend the rest of their life with him. Thankfully, while his dads did want him to eventually find love, they were mostly just happy to support his dreams of becoming a famous designer.

Rolling his eyes, Virgil glanced around his cluttered studio. Like he would ever actually be a big name in the fashion industry. Yeah, sure, he wanted more than anything to get his designs out there for models of all backgrounds and appearances to showcase the beauty that was in every body type, but he didn’t want his first name attached to that kind of attention. Nope. No thanks. He would much rather people enjoy his work for what it was, not just because it came from him.

Maybe a pseudonym would work? Eh, he still had time to think about it anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to be traveling far from his studio in his dads’ basement any time soon after all. Picking up his phone, Virgil glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. Shit, he was late to meet up with Remy, and he had forgotten to plug his charger in. He groaned as he shoved his phone in his pocket anyway and grabbed his wallet, headphones, and house key. That drama queen was probably going to bitch and moan about being made to wait until Virgil finally agreed to pay for his drink. Not that Virgil really minded, but he had appearances to keep up.

With one last glance around to make sure he had everything, he dashed up the stairs to head out.

-----

Jogging down the street, Virgil turned past the Spirits’ Temple, where the town’s inhabitants left offerings to the spirits of the forest on the first of every month. Tradition claimed that each month was to be dedicated to one of the twelve local spirits who held dominion over different areas of day-to-day life, and that by honouring them, the town would prosper. At the height of the monthly festivals, there would be candles lining the marble steps, fake vines and string lights wrapped around the temple’s stone columns, and a wide spread of wine and honey-sweetened foods to be served. Some of this would be up for grabs on the buffet table, but a selection was always saved to be placed in one of the twelve bronze braziers, which one depended on the month, lining the sides of the temple. Each brazier was set in front of a stone statue carved with a symbol that denoted which spirit it belonged to.

At some point during the evening, everyone in town would take a moment to approach the massive fireplace along the back wall of the temple and toss in a part of their meal with a quietly murmured prayer for luck in some strange-sounding language. To this day, Virgil wasn’t sure what exactly he was saying, but his dad had taught him the correct pronunciation, and he was too superstitious not to follow through. Besides, it wasn’t like he could look too ridiculous doing it when literally everyone else was doing the same thing.

Approaching one of the two coffee shops in town, and the only one he ever frequented, Virgil shook his head to rid himself of thoughts of weird small-town rituals. Inside, it was easy to spot Remy sitting at their usual table with his sunglasses tucked into the front of his shirt and a drink already in hand. As he slid into his side of the booth, Virgil was surprised to see his favourite order (hot chocolate with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, and a slice of banana bread) already waiting for him.

“I was gonna apologize for being late, but clearly I don’t have to,” he said, glancing up and narrowing his eyes. “What did you do?”

Remy threw both hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Hey now, why did I have to do something wrong in order to surprise my best friend with his favourite goodies?”

Virgil snorted and crossed his arms, giving his friend a Look.

“Fine, fine!” Remy blew out a sigh and dropped his hands onto the table. “So, maybe I did do something, and maybe you’re gonna be a little mad at me for it, but I promise it’s okay! It’s gonna pay off and you’re totally going to thank me for this one day!”

Virgil dropped his face into his hands with a groan and dug the heels of his palms against his eyelids. “Just spit it out, Remy. What the fuck did you do?”

“Remember that photoshoot we did a couple weeks back with the latest ‘famous-one-day’ designs you sewed up?” Virgil could hear the familiar sounds of Remy typing on his phone. “Well babe, you’ve been making ‘one days’ for too long! So I decided to make ‘one day’ into ‘today’! Ta-dah!”

Bracing himself, Virgil peeked out from the dark safety of his hands, blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision and focus on the phone screen wavering in front of him. Right there, staring back at him from within Remy’s well-manicured clutch, was an email addressed to Penelope with attached photos from their shoot.

“Please, please tell me you didn’t sen-”

“I sent our pics to your favourite fashion label! The one and only Penelope! Known for their breathtaking lines like ‘Faith’ and ‘Fidelity’ that reimagined what it meant to be fashionable! And the best part!” Remy paused for dramatic effect, all but wiggling in his seat. “They emailed me back! They want to do an interview with you next month on the first!”

There was a loud thud as Virgil’s head met the table. If they hadn’t been sitting in public, he definitely would have started screaming too. Instead, all that came out was a muttered, “I fucking hate you. Why would you do this to me? You know I suck at talking to people; they’re gonna hate me and then tell all of the other companies to never work with me and then I’ll definitely never make it.”

A hand settled on top of his head and began to run through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp at the same time. “Don’t be so dramatic, Virge. This is gonna be great for you, I promise. When have I ever led you astray?”

Virgil glared at his friend and opened his mouth, but Remy cut him off.

“Ahp-ahp! Rhetorical question, babes. You're going to thank me for this, I promise.”

When Virgil remained silent, the hand that had been petting his hair slid down to cup his cheek and lift his chin up.

“Hey,” his best friend murmured softly. “If you really, really don’t want to do this, I can email them back and cancel, but I think you should go for it, Virge. This could be your big break!” Remy’s thumb had begun running a soothingly back and forth over his cheek. Virgil didn’t even try to hide the way he relaxed into the comforting gesture, leaning more weight into his friend’s palm. “I’ll even come with you to the interview, okay? I’ll be right there the entire time - gotta make sure they meet your number one model after all,” he added with a playful wink.

Damn Remy and his extroverted influence. Virgil sighed and sat up fully, reluctantly pulling away from the comforting hold and silently relieved when Remy’s hand dropped to link their fingers instead. “I guess as long as you’re there too, then I won’t be the only one making a fool of myself.”

“That’s the spirit!” Remy cheered, ignoring the looks some of the other patrons shot their way at the noise.

Keeping their hands interlocked, Virgil picked up his hot chocolate and took a sip of the sweet ambrosia as he listened to his best friend ramble about his plans for their future.

-----

Somehow, the word got out. Everyone and their cousin’s dog knew about Virgil’s interview and had seen some of the photos that had been leaked. All of them wanted to get a glimpse of not only the representatives of the big fashion label (who may as well have been celebrities to the small community), but also the unobtrusive young man who had brought the attention onto their town.

Virgil clung to Remy’s hand as they approached the café where the interview was going to be taking place. It wasn’t their usual haunt, something Virgil was grateful for; if things went south, he didn’t want that memory attached to one of his favourite places. People were already gathering outside, gossiping amongst themselves or attempting to peer through the front windows. He longed to pull his hood up and hide his face, but Papa had spent all morning helping him make sure his hair and make-up (and everything else) looked interview ready. Not to mention he wasn’t even wearing his favourite hoodie to tuck himself away into.

At Remy’s insistence, he had donned one of the outfits he made last year. The top was made of a flowy material, tighter at the wrists and loose in the arms, wrapping comfortably around his chest to tie in the front above his navel. It was sewn from a high-quality plum linen with a black lace webbing over top. For the bottom, Virgil had pieced together different shades of grey and black fabrics until he had a pair of loose patchwork pants that sat at the hips and left a strip of his stomach visible. He had completed the look with a fresh pair of high-tops that tied the look together despite the discordant styles. With one last look to his best friend for reassurance, Virgil nodded and they waded through the crowd together, on their way to their future.

-----

Singing to herself, Roman stepped through the woods with all the ethereal grace granted to her by her station. As she made her way to the quaint little human town, Roman was accompanied by a pair of mourning doves. While one had alighted on her shoulder, the other fluttered about, and both were cooing in harmony with her otherworldly song.

Her body was draped in a sheer chiffon number, as blood-red as the wine she drank from each year at the celebration of her power and beauty. It was naught much more than a thin layer of fabric over one shoulder and wrapped about her shapely waist, exposing one breast and leaving little work for the imagination on the rest of her body. The finest embroidery coloured the lower hem with twisting rose vines, as if they had sprung from the ground she walked on and reached up for her attention. Her hair was left to tumble free, as wild and untamed as the waves she had been born from so long ago. The Lady of the Summer Court had arrived.

In no time at all, the temple the humans of the village had built for her and her compatriots so long ago came into view. Roman hurried her steps, eager to feast on the delightful offerings she knew would be awaiting her. She hoped one of them left pomegranate; it was her favourite. The plump fruit so easy to tear open to reveal the juicy flesh inside - and the crunchy seeds! Oh!

Grinning, Roman moved around the side of the temple, stepping between the columns to slip inside and make her way towards her ceremonial statue along the right with the other ruling gentry of the Seelie Court. However, when she got close enough to see into the massive dish, indignation began to boil in her blood. Before her, in her brazier, lay half as many offerings as were given to her in the years passed. She looked around, hoping to find something else had been set aside or misplaced, but there was nothing. Seething, she spun on her heel and stalked towards the front of the temple in search of answers.

Outside, two attendants were working to douse the remaining candles to be collected on the morrow after Roman had departed. Well, they were certainly going to be in for a surprise when they returned to find their pitiful offerings still there in the morning. Even with the great distance between them, as a fae, Roman’s sharp ears did not struggle to overhear the conversation between the two humans.

“-believe something like this could happen in our little town,” the one on the right was saying. “Especially from that quiet kid! What’d you say his name was again?”

“He’s the Psykhe’s youngest boy, Virgil.

“No kidding! Sam was telling me the kid showed up for the interview wearing this wild statement piece, like a full fashion runway. I bet his dads sure are proud. I heard half the town was outside Burnsen’s hoping to get a front-row seat. They certainly weren’t here, that’s for sure.”

“Damn shame,” the second human agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a turn out this small for a Spirit’s Night. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

The pair continued their gossip as they finished with the candles and moved onto tidying some of the other nonessential decorations. Roman wasn’t interested in listening any further; she had what she needed. Turning away from the pitiful little temple those putrid humans had so desecrated on her day of honour, the Lady of the Summer Court stormed back into the forest, seething vitriol.

“How dare these humans offer this worthless boy the worship and reverence meant for me! My status is all but set in the very stars and they do nothing more than drag it through the muddy earth!” She screeched, scaring away the doves who had been lingering nearby. “So much for me, the ancient mother of this forest who feeds and fosters the very nature of this place! If nothing lusts, then nothing reproduces! Did they ever consider that before they forced me to associate my status with a mere mortal child?”

As Roman cried out, the very trees parted for her, leaning their trunks away and raising their boughs out of the path of the furious fae. She paid them little heed as she marched down a trail long familiar. “Won’t this boy, whoever he is, be glad to know he has claimed the honours that are due to me by right? Not for much longer, this I swear by my very name! He will regret this beauty to which he has no claim!”

At the climax of her tirade, Roman stopped before the ivy-woven doors of her son’s lofty domain. She would teach this Virgil what happened when you scorned the fae.

-----

Across town, still wearing the outfit and makeup from earlier, though much disheveled, Virgil ran as if his life depended on it. At this point, though, his life may as well have been over, so what was the point in struggling on? Down the street and through the park, he sprinted until he could go no further and crumbled to the ground at the top of the large hill that overlooked the fish ponds. On his hands and knees, he clutched at the damp earth and panted heavily through his heaving sobs.

It was over. Penelope didn’t want to pick him up as a designer. Sure, they liked the selection that Remy had sent them, enough to come talk to him about it, but when the representatives had taken a look through the rest of his portfolio? They hadn’t said they hated it outright, but Virgil was certain his designs were too gothic, too dark, too risky for mainstream fashion. They were going to talk with some of the higher-ups back at the designer studio, but Virgil wasn’t going to be holding his breath. He’d seen their expressions clear as day while they flipped through his work.

Collapsing forward, Virgil buried his face into the crook of his elbow and curled his knees towards his chest, sobbing even harder. He had told Remy after the interview that he needed some space, but now that he was out here alone, he wanted nothing more than a hug from his best friend. Fuck, how was he going to tell his dads about this? It would break their heart!

Virgil shook his head free of the thought; he couldn’t handle any more right now. So he lay on the ground with his cheek pressed against the cool night grass, and cried until he passed out from exhaustion.

-----

In the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, Virgil stirred when he felt a pair of arms slide under his body and hoist him up into a strong hold. His head lolled to the side until his temple dropped against a firm body. Then, a kiss was pressed to his forehead, tickling his skin with...a mustache?

“Go back to sleep, little human,” a high, scratchy-sounding voice said. “Jay doesn’t want you to see anything just yet! We don’t want to ruin the surprise, eh?”

Virgil’s face scrunched in confusion, but before he could crack his eyes open to see who was carrying him, a warm breath blew across his face and carried him off to his dreams like a gentle breeze spiraling high into the air.

-----

When Virgil woke for the second time, it was with far more peace and tranquility than he usually felt when greeting the day. His bed was extra soft and luxurious beneath the swell of his hip and he was comfortably warm, though he couldn’t feel the usual weight of his blanket. Stretching his arms far above his head, Virgil suddenly snapped his eyes open when his fingertips were greeted not with the hard wall behind his headboard, but with a damp, spongy texture instead.

Scrambled to his feet, he looked around to discover he was at the edge of a clearing, carpeted with a thick moss that his feet sank slightly into and surrounded by trees who towered so far above him their canopies seemed lost secrets of the sky. To one side a stream babbled a song, its waters bright as day and clear as glass. Breathless, he turned a slow circle, feasting on the seemingly supernatural wonders with starving eyes. The sight that greeted Virgil as he turned full around, however, could have subsisted him for a lifetime.

At the very heart of the grove, sitting in its focal point, rose what he could only describe as a palace. The trees which made up its supporting columns were an ivory birch, though much wider than any Virgil had ever seen, with leaves seemingly grown from pure gold that glittered in the dappled sunlight they let through. Framed by these otherworldly goliaths, ivy vines had been woven together to form a grand door which opened of its own accord and bid Virgil to enter. Under a spell spun from his own awe and curiosity (and probably some of whatever magic this place had to be made of), Virgil strode forward.

Inside, the palace seemed to emulate its own light, reflecting off the vaulted ceiling and highlighting the polished stone walls decorated with endless silver reliefs of animals real and imagined. Virgil trailed his fingertips along the slithering spine of a snake as he passed, admiring the lifelike detail in each scale, but before he could venture much further, a voice spoke.

“Welcome.”

Virgil jumped, spinning around to search for the source of the voice, but no one was there. When they spoke again, it sounded like they were right over his shoulder.

“You have been invited into the home of the fae as a guest of honour, Virgil.” The man in question felt a strange twinge in his chest hearing his name from the voice. “If you follow the doors to your left, you will find a dining hall in which you may eat your fill; the foods are from your home world and you need not fear consuming them. To your right lay the bathing and bed chambers. Please, make yourself at home. You are safe here, my darling.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Virgil called out into the empty room.

There was a small pause before the voice replied. “You may call me Janus for the time being. It matters not how I know your name, but you need not worry that I will give it to anyone else.”

“Not creepy at all,” Virgil murmured before raising his voice once more. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“Ahh, my darling, take care with your curiosity before it gets you into trouble. Fret not, I am here with you, though you cannot see me. I know it is hard, but you must trust in me, my love. I shall visit you this evening after the light of day has given way to the dark of night. So long as you promise not to look upon my face and let me remain shrouded in shadows, then I shall answer more of your questions then.”

“What? I’m supposed to trust you, but I’m not allowed to look at your face? What the fuck, dude?”

“I understand this may be a cause for alarm, but you must understand my perspective, dear one. If you were to gaze upon me uninhibited, I fear you would not fall in love with me in a manner which would be best for us both. Promise to me, Virgil.”

“Okay, okay, I promise. Why is this so important to you anyway?”

“Thank you. I wish to form a genuine bond with you, beloved, and I cannot do that if you are influenced by my appearance. That is not how I desire to court my future husband.”

“Husband? What do you mean future husband!?”

Virgil stood in place, waiting for any further response from the invisible person, but it seemed his host had vanished into the very air he spoke from. Blowing out a heavy sigh, Virgil looked from left to right and decided the faint grumbling in his abdomen was something he could ignore for the time being; he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach anything right now anyway. So, he made his way towards the baths, hoping a splash of cool water could wake him from this crazy dream.

Unfortunately, even after dunking his head under the cool water, Virgil was still stuck in the extravagant palace with an invisible host. He braced his hands on the sides of the stone bowl carved from the wall, staring blankly at the trickling waterfall that fed into the dish he had rinsed in. How the fuck did he get into this mess? The voice had mentioned something about this place belonging to the fae? What the fuck? There’s no way any of this could be real. Well, that Janus had said he would answer Virgil’s questions tonight, so there seemed little more he could do than wait.

The bedroom he had been given was grand, far larger than even his entire basement suite back home, and all of its drapings were more luxurious than Virgil had ever seen. He ran his fingers down the curtains that hung from the bedposts, marvelling at the quality and the depth of the colour. What he wouldn’t give to be able to create with fabrics of this pedigree. He fiddled with the tie of his shirt around his middle and settled onto one of the plush armchairs by the window. Now, to wait.

-----

Hours later, Virgil was startled awake from a light doze by the sound of footsteps approaching his door. He scrambled to his feet, keeping one hand braced on a bedpost to orient himself as he squinted through the darkness. It was so dark he couldn’t even make out the vague outlines of the furniture around the room.

The door opened.

Virgil tensed, gripping the bedpost tighter and raising his other arm in front of him defensively. From what he could see, backlit from the hall, the figure entering the room was about his height, maybe a little taller. It was difficult to make out in the dark, but the shadow he cast onto the floor seemed to be larger than his body mass would produce. The door closed, leaving the two of them alone in the dark.

“Janus?” Virgil asked nervously, hoping there wasn’t anyone else in the palace who would be coming into his room this late at night.

“Breathe, Virgil, it is only me.”

It was as if a spell of calm soothed over him, easing the tension from around his neck and within his chest. Virgil took a deep, relieving breath. Janus hadn’t come any further into the room, seemingly content to linger by the door.

“Um… hi?” Virgil winced at how awkward he sounded, but continued on regardless. “You said you would answer more of my questions, right?”

“That is correct, beloved. I will tell you as much as I am able to at this time.” There was the sound of shuffling in the dark. “May I join you on the bed? I think we will both be much more comfortable being seated for this conversation.”

Virgil bit his lip, looking between the bed and Janus despite not being able to see either. Eventually, he nodded, and then blushed when he realized what he’d done.

“Yeah… yeah, you can come sit over here, I guess.”

“Thank you, my darling.”

When the pair had gotten settled, Janus was seated at the foot of the bed, leaning up against the bedpost and seemingly unbothered by the strange situation. Virgil, on the other hand, had his back pressed against the headboard with his knees hugged to his chest. His feet were buried in the blankets and he was absently scrunching the soft material under his toes in a comforting, rhythmic motion. It was Janus who broke the silence first.

“What would you ask of me first, dearest?”

Virgil blew out a sigh. “Why did you bring me here? What are you going to do with me? Am I ever going to be allowed to go home? Will you-”

"Sh sh sh,” Janus crooned, “One at a time, beloved, all will be answered. In short, I do not know when you will be able to return to your home, or if you ever will, but it is for your own good!” Janus hurriedly added before Virgil could panic. “You see, there is someone very powerful who is very angry with you. Intentionally or not, you have caused her a great disrespect, and she will not rest until her dues have been met.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Janus sighed. “Because she is my mother, and she sent me to kill you.”

“What!?” Virgil screeched, throwing himself off the bed and slamming against the nearby wall. His nails scrabbled at the stone, desperate to clutch, claw, escape. No, no, no, he didn’t want to die! He snapped his head back and forth, searching for any sort of way out, but he was blinded by shadows and fear. A sharp cry escaped him when a hand suddenly wrapped around one of his own and he whimpered as it squeezed, expecting pain. Instead, a gentle crooning cut through the ringing in his ears.

“Breathe, Virgil, you are not in danger. You must calm down and listen.”

Janus’ voice was surprisingly tender for how powerfully it could be heard through Virgil’s panic. He was able to focus on it like a tether to pull himself into a more relaxed state of mind. At some point, he had begun to time his breathing with Janus’ as well, steady and even to a count known only to the fae holding him. When Virgil had relaxed enough to come back to himself, he tensed all over again, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“How can you say I’m safe, when you’re gonna kill me?”

“Because I have no intentions of killing you,” Janus replied, now cradling both of Virgil’s hands to his chest. Even this close, the darkness was so impenetrably thick that Virgil had no hope of glimpsing his face. He kept his eyes averted regardless. “I brought you here to remove you from my mother’s gaze and conceal you from her misplaced wrath.”

Virgil was silent, processing, as Janus gently tugged on his hands and guided him back onto the bed. There, the fae leaned against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him and carefully pulled Virgil to recline on his chest. Virgil resisted for only a moment before complying. Everything else about this was already way out of his depth to manage, he may as well allow himself to be comfortable wherever he could. Janus was either going to kill him or leave him alive, and there likely wasn’t anything Virgil could do to sway that decision at this point. So, Virgil settled himself against Janus’ chest with his body laying between Janus’ legs and stretching out until their legs tangled together. He was grateful now for the dark that hid a probably searing blush as his cheek pressed flush against the fae’s warm skin; Janus wasn’t wearing a shirt and his nude torso was warm to cuddle against.

“Now,” Janus murmured, shifting Virgil’s focus from his embarrassment to the situation at hand. His fingers ran over Virgil’s scalp and through his hair, carefully brushing out any tangles and soothing in the same motion. “If you will let me continue, I was going to say my mother had ordered for you to be killed, however, I do not agree with her decision. She is acting rashly over a slight you did not directly commit.”

“What did I even do to piss her off so bad?” Virgil murmured from where his face was tucked against Janus’ collar, resting more of his weight closer with each breath.

“I do not know the exact details, only that you were the cause for drawing her worshippers away from the temple on her day of adulation. The fae do not take kindly to being stolen from, especially not my mother.”

“The interview,” Virgil breathed in horror. Pushing himself upright, he clutched at Janus’ arm. “I swear, I didn’t mean for everyone to skip out on the Spirit’s Festival! If it had been up to me, none of them would have even been at the cafe! I didn’t want them there, you have to believe me!”

“Calm yourself, beloved. I believe that you did not intentionally act to anger her. However, you must understand that even a perceived slight is considered very real and serious to the fae. That is why you must remain here under my protection, until my mother’s ire cools or I can convince her to redirect her anger.”

As Janus fell silent, Virgil curled in again and pondered what he had been told, trying to remember anything he could about the fae. It wasn’t like there was one consistent guidebook he could follow, but some of the stories the older people used to tell his grade school classes at the library were starting to make a little more sense now. He had been told the forest couldn’t lie, so maybe that meant the fae were bound by the truth? A stretch, sure, but weren’t all myths rooted somehow in reality? They were also regularly told that the spirits of the forest loved beauty, especially in the form of attractive people, and could bestow gifts on those they enjoyed looking upon. Virgil had always felt so disheartened hearing that. He wasn’t anything special, just a plain-looking boy, so the forest would never favour him.

Why then had Janus?

“So,” Virgil broke into the quiet, “you supposedly brought me here to protect me from your mother, but that doesn’t explain why you called me your future husband earlier.”

Janus hummed. “When I set out to observe the human who had offended my mother, I was prepared to be faced with a disgusting example of your kind. What I found instead was the most beautiful face I had ever laid eyes on.” Virgil gasped when the hand that had been in his hair slipped down to cup his cheek and tilt his chin up. He felt a pair of lips brush so lightly against his forehead that he thought he imagined it. “You were sobbing so hard for a deeply rooted pain. I found myself desiring nothing more than to stop your tears and see how much your already breathtaking countenance would shine when lit by a smile.”

“I - you -”

Virgil was sure that he had been kissed before, because now he felt those lips curl into a smile.

“Is it so hard to believe you are so attractive?”

“Well, yeah,” Virgil huffed, his eyes closed as he leaned into Janus’ palm. “It’s not like I heard it all that often.”

“Mmm, I shall have to change that, then,” Janus whispered, resting his cheek on Virgil’s head, cradling him close once more. “Do you have any more questions, beloved? If not, it is time for you to rest, you’ve had a long day.”

The gentle petting and warm embrace were taking their toll on Virgil’s exhausted mind. He let himself rest heavily on Janus, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck and wrapping an arm around the fae’s chest. “Jus’ one,” he murmured, voice already dipping into that sleepy slur. “Wanna make sure m’dads know ‘m safe…”

“I’ll see what I can do, my love. Rest now, Virgil.”

Like a spell had been cast over him, Virgil drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

-----

When Virgil had awoken, he was alone in the massive bed. He was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment in his chest, having hoped Janus would stay despite the fae not wanting to show his face. Sighing, he slid out of bed and got himself ready for the day, slipping into some comfortable clothes he found in a set of drawers. When he came down for breakfast, his host’s invisible voice greeted him and informed him that his dads had been told of the situation and were relieved Virgil was alive and relatively safe.

The next few days played out much the same. Virgil was left to his own devices during the day, waited on by some sort of invisible staff as he explored the palace. He never saw another soul, but whenever he needed something, he learned to simply call out for it and it would be delivered to him by magic.

Each night, Janus would arrive in his bedroom once the sun had disappeared. He never asked for more than Virgil was willing to give, but Virgil found himself cuddled close every night without fail. They would speak for hours - about Virgil’s dreams, his dads, and Remy - nothing was too simple for Janus to inquire about. The fae was fascinated by every aspect of human life, and Virgil enjoyed discovering a sense of romantic joy over the little things he had experienced. There was something about Janus that soothed away the ever-present worries that were always yelling inside Virgil’s head.

There was one worry that couldn’t be silenced, however. No matter how much Virgil was coming to trust his protector, he could not ignore the fact that he had no idea what Janus even looked like. It was eating away at him not to know, and the longer he sat alone, the Janus in his head looked more and more like a monster waiting to prey upon him. This couldn’t go on. He had to know.

-----

During the day before he was going to enact his plan, Virgil spent his time in the massive library he had discovered on the second day, scanning the shelves and making a show of selecting a couple books. He made himself comfortable in one of the oversized cushions piled near the floor-to-ceiling window and pretended to read. Between absently scanning the pages, Virgil looked up and glanced around the room, as if his mind were wandering with the tale he was apparently focused on. In reality, he was scouring the room for ideas.

Countless candles were lit around the library, their wax melting at different stages, some newly pooling while others formed thick layers around the base of the candelabras. They were lit now, but there was no way for him to have an already burning flame in the bedroom when Janus arrived for the night. He would have to find some way to light one on his own. Maybe he could just -

“Excuse me?” He called into the air. “Could I please have more candles, and some matches for them? I want to go read in my room, but, um, the smell is really nice in here.”

Like always, the items he requested popped into existence on a low table nearby: three candles and a pair of matches. Huh, he hadn’t actually thought that was going to work.

“Thank you!”

Hugging both books to his chest, Virgil collected his new tools and jogged up to his room. There, he placed the candles onto the small table between the armchairs and lit them with a match. The second match, he carefully tucked inside the front knot of his shirt, pressing against his breast. Now prepared, he settled in to actually focus on the novel he had picked up. There was nothing but time to kill.

-----

By the time Janus arrived, Virgil had already blown out the candles and crawled into bed. He cuddled in as soon as Janus had laid down, laying his head on the fae’s chest and trying to keep his breathing steady as they fell into their usually nighttime conversation. Janus’ claws delicately traced the bumps of his spine the entire time they spoke.

Once Virgil was sure Janus had fallen asleep, he began the slow process of extracting himself from the fae’s embrace. Janus really was a cuddler, and loved to hold Virgil close while they slept, but thankfully he was also quite a deep sleeper. Virgil was able to carefully pull himself away and tuck a pillow into Janus’ arms. The fae squished it to his chest and curled onto his side, none the wiser.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Virgil went to work. He grabbed one of the candles and fished the match out from under his shirt, striking it against the table to light it. One hand held onto the base of the candle, while the other carefully cupped around the flame, protecting it as Virgil walked around to the other side of the bed where Janus lay. With a deep breath to steady himself, he pulled his hand away and gasped at the sight in front of him.

Janus never wore a shirt, which meant Virgil’s hands had felt the broad expanse of his naked back every night they had slept together. That didn’t explain why there were now a pair of gorgeous, tawny wings sprouting from between Janus’ shoulder blades. The feathers looked softer than anything Virgil could imagine and shined like spun gold in the candlelight. Virgil ached to caress the speckled feathers, to scrunch his fingers in the fluffy down near the wings’ base, but as he reached out, Janus rolled over and Virgil’s breath was punched from his lungs. The face of his protector was carved by the gods. Janus’ skin was a rich, dark brown, reflecting the candle light to accent his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. Virgil could only imagine what colour his eyes could be behind his lids, framed by perfectly shaped brows and a shapely nose. Oh! Those lips! So plump and full! What would they feel like pressed against his own?

Enraptured, Virgil tried to get a better look, but as he leaned forward, some of the melted wax from the candle spilled over and landed on Janus’ cheek. The fae yelped, startling awake and clutching at his face as he threw himself upright. Virgil jumped back in shock, falling on his ass while somehow keeping the candle lit. The clatter drew Janus’ attention and his head snapped to the side to look at Virgil, who saw the moment Janus’ eyes widened with understanding and heartbreaking betrayal.

“You promised!” Janus hissed. “You promised me you wouldn’t look! Does your word mean so little to you!?”

“N-No - I, I just, I wanted-”

“What!? What was so important that you had to break your promise?”

“I wanted to, to make sure you weren’t some sort of … monster … who had kidnapped me to… to eat me,” Virgil muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish. Why did he have to give in to his anxieties so easily? The next moment, his heart crumpled with Janus’ expression.

“Get out.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said. Get. Out.” Janus growled, spreading his wings high above his head as he leaned over the edge of the bed. “Get out of my sight, and out of my home! If you cannot hold to one simple promise, then I will not protect you! You can deal with my mother’s wrath on your own!”

About to protest, Virgil cried out in fear as Janus slashed out him, narrowly missing his face with those lethal claws. He didn’t waste any more time, dropping the candle and scrambling to his feet to run out of the bedroom. The empty halls echoed with his laboured breathing and the slap of his bare feet against the tiled floor as he sprinted through the palace and out the ivy-woven doors. The moment he was out, the doors slammed shut behind him.

Panting heavily, Virgil bent over with his hands on his knees, his entire body trembling from fear and exertion. He dropped to the ground and clutched his head in both hands, curling smaller and crying as silently as he could muster. It was a long time before his breathing evened out and he was able to drag himself back to his feet.

A glance around the clearing revealed what he had known upon his first arrival: he had no idea where in the forest he was, or which way led back home. So, he did the only thing he could and picked a direction to start walking. Through the night he stumbled over roots and around tangled shrubs, not stopping until he finally tripped over his own exhausted feet and fell into the shockingly cold waters of a stream. He spluttered and gasped, miserably dragging himself back up the bank. The sun was rising overhead, the forest waking up around him; he didn’t have the time to huddle here in a ball feeling sorry for himself.

-----

As the day progressed, Virgil noticed the trees beginning to thin and the gaps between the trunks growing wider. Suddenly, the canopy overhead parted to reveal a mountain, vast and tall, that should have been visible long before this moment. Placed at irregular intervals up the cliffside were six palaces woven of different plants woven together with even more grandeur than Janus’ home. Over the edge of the mountain, the tips and edges of presumably more palaces - these ones sculpted and shaped from various stones - were visible against the pale sky.

Virgil squinted, trying to get a better look at the strangely familiar shapes carved into the rock face near each palace. He gasped. The symbols matched those carved into the statues above the bronze dishes in the Spirit’s Temple, more specifically, the dishes meant for the spirits honoured in the spring and summer. That would mean - there! On the left! Beneath a palace of myrtle trees and rose vines, was the symbol belonging to the seventh spirit. That had to be the home of Janus’ mother, the spirit - or fae, rather - who was supposed to have been honoured at the start of this month.

Biting his lip, Virgil looked back the way he came then up at the palace once more. If what Janus said was true, and he wasn’t going to be offering protection anymore, then Virgil would have to face her on his own. It was either that, or cowering away until she tracked him down and killed him. Also not a desirable option, but Virgil would rather have some form of control over the end of his life. Beginning to climb, he just wished he would have been able to say goodbye to his dads first.

While there were worn deer trails to follow, the journey was not an easy one. Virgil had to cling to the rocks, heaving himself ever upwards, trying not to slice his bare feet or palms on the uneven shale. The summer sun climbed alongside him, growing hotter and hotter, sapping his energy and strength. Still, he pushed on until he stood before the lush gates shaking with exhaustion and dizzy from the heat.

Before he could gather his wits, the thorny vines that sealed the palace from the outside world began to withdraw. Where they parted, massive sanguine roses bloomed, as if to cushion a passerby from the sharp thorns. From within the depths of the palace strode out a figure so radiant and commanding, Virgil immediately felt subservient to her will. He quickly looked away, cheeks hot, as both of her breasts were exposed and only a lightweight wrap covered her lower body. His body recoiled when her piercing laugh broke the silence.

“Finally! The wretched beast comes crawling to its master, the Lady of the Summer Court. Had enough of playing at royalty, have you? Look at me when I’m talking to you, Virgil!”

Virgil immediately snapped his head back towards her, paling when his eyes met with her seething ire, but unable to drop his gaze any lower. He gripped the sides of his pants with white knuckles. “I - I’m so, so sorry! I n-never meant-”

“Look at this!” The fae cut in, causing Virgil to flinch again. “The pathetic mortal trying to inspire pity from me with your anxiety and melancholy! I will not be made a fool and relegated to some cheap handmaiden!”

With a shriek of rage, the Lady of Summer darted forward faster than Virgil’s eyes could track. The next moment, he was sprawled on the ground, ears ringing. He brought a shaky hand up to his stinging cheek and felt his stomach drop when his fingertips came away bloody. Rolling onto his back, he choked. The Lady was looming over him, one of her hands dripping with his blood as she pinned him down with a foot on his chest.

“It seems only fair to me, mortal, that I give you some chance to win back my good graces. Therefore, you shall complete a task for me, or else I will take your life as compensation for your disrespect.” The Lady of Summer announced with a wave of her hand. Virgil looked to the side, wincing as the cuts in his cheek dug into the gravel, and watched in surprise as a pile of mixed grains appeared nearby.

“You will sort this mass and disarray of seeds - wheat, barley, millet, poppy, chickpea, and lentil - into individual piles. I will know if a single grain lays with the wrong group. You have until this evening.” With that, the Lady of Summer kicked off his ribs and spun her skirts, vanishing into thin air with a flourish and leaving only the heady scent of roses as a sign of her presence.

Virgil lay on the ground in silence for a long time after she disappeared, barely daring to breathe. When he was finally able to bring himself to move, he slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, hissing at the pain in his ribs - definitely bruised. Crawling over to the pile of seeds, he reached a hand out but hesitated before he could touch the tiny grains. How the fuck was he supposed to sort these? He could hardly begin to tell them apart! Sitting back on his ass, Virgil dropped his face into his hands and burst into tears.

Then, he heard a high-pitched giggle.

Flitting to-and-fro above him were four - five - eight, no - seven? Seven little pixies were spinning, twirling, dancing through the air above him. Their bright, insect-like wings caught the sunlight and sent out flashes of colour like a rainbow in motion. One-by-one they drifted to the ground, settling in a half circle in front of Virgil and his miserable collection of seeds. They stood only several inches tall and were dressed in leaves and petals. A pair stepped forward in front of the rest; they were holding hands.

“Hello, hello!” The one on the right chirped, waving up with his free hand. He had gorgeous light blue butterfly wings that fluttered when he spoke. “We heard you crying and came to see, to see! What happened here, here?”

Virgil sniffled, wiping away his tears and snot on his sleeve. “Well, um,” he hiccupped and took a deep breath. “It’s the Lady of the Summer Court. She wants me to sort all of these seeds by type before tonight, but I have no idea how I’m going to do that so she’s definitely going to kill me!” He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob, tears running down his face.

“Easy now,” a new voice murmured as two little hands pressed against his knee. Virgil blinked his eyes open to see the second pixie - this one with veiny wings like a beetle’s - rubbing his leg soothingly. “You need to take slow, deep breaths to calm yourself.”

Virgil nodded and attempted to follow suit, counting to four on each inhale and exhale until the tears had slowed and he was able to relax somewhat to continue the conversation. “Th-thank you, um, what are your names?”

“You can call me Pat, Pat!” The first pixie announced twirling himself up into the air and drifting back down again.

“Ah, so you are quite new around here,” the second pixie mused, keeping his hands on Virgil’s leg. “You may call me Lo. Names have great power to the fae and it is imperative that you do not give yours away lightly, else someone may have complete control over your will.”

“But the Lady of the Summer Court already knows my name, and so did Jan- her son.”

“At any point did you give it to them, though?”

Virgil thought back over the last few weeks. “No… no, they both just, sorta, knew it somehow. Oh, uh, I guess you can call me Vee, then?”

Lo nodded. “Then it is likely they only heard your name somewhere, but they do not own it. Do you understand? They can exert some measure of power over you, but they cannot remove your free will entirely. Now then. Why is it the Lady wants you dead?” The pixie offered a small smile, nodding his head as Virgil explained how he got into this situation, that he knew Janus (though he referred to him as Jay), and why he wasn’t with the other fae anymore. When he finished, it was Pat who puffed up angrily.

“The Lady has gone too far, too far! You didn’t mean to make those people leave, leave! And it sounds like you didn’t actually make a binding promise, so Jay is acting a bit silly, bit silly. So, we’re gonna help you sort these seeds, and get everything cleared up, up!”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Pat, you stay here with the others to aid Vee. I am going to go have a word with our feathered friend.” With that, Lo leaned in, kissed Pat’s cheek, and flew off down the mountainside.

Virgil watched the glint of Lo’s wings until he was out of sight, then turned back to the remaining pixies to watch as their quick, tiny hands got to work on the grains. “So… how do you know Jay?

Pat grinned widely up at him. “Jay is one of the Princes of Spring, Spring!” He works with love magic, and helped Lo and I get together decades ago in exchange for our help weaving that pretty gate in front of his palace, his palace!”

While they continued to converse, the pixies worked away at the seeds to form six unique piles, sorted from darkest to lightest. Before long, the entire jumbled mass had been reorganized without a single seed out of place. Once their job was complete, the five other pixies twittered their goodbyes and flew off up the mountain. Only Pat remained, sitting on his knee and chattering away as the sun set. Virgil shivered as a chill breeze licked at his exposed skin.

A sudden snap rent the night air, spooking Virgil, who lurched forward to cradle Pat in his hands protectively. Looking over his shoulder, he felt like vomiting when he saw the Lady of Summer standing over the grain piles with her arms crossed. He internally thanked any of the spirits who may be on his side that her chest was covered this time.

“This is not your work,” she hissed. “These were not organized by your hand, but by his!” She pointed an accusing finger at Pat, who had been peeking around Virgil’s arm but quickly hid back against his chest at the attention. “How dare you attempt to deceive me, you cretin!”

With a wordless shriek, the Lady lashed out with her vicious claws, aiming for the unmarked side of Virgil’s face. He scrambled back on his hands and heels, his ass dragging on the ground while Pat clung to the front of his shirt. Before she could take a second swipe, however, the dust and grit kicked up around them, obscuring their vision.

With his eyes covered, Virgil could only hear the flapping of large wings that cut off before there was the thud of a body dropping in front of him. Opening his eyes, he gasped. There, with his back to Virgil, stood Janus, with his great wings spread wide and his claws flexed at his sides. Lo, who had been holding onto the fae’s shoulder, now zipped down to the pair on the ground, holding Pat close and ensuring he was unharmed while the pixies huddled together on Virgil’s lap.

“You will not lay another hand on him,” Janus hissed, standing over Virgil protectively. Virgil felt Pat grip his thumb, but he couldn’t look away from the pair above them.

“What are you doing? Get out of the way, my son.”

“No. You wanted your revenge on him, and you got it. Look at him; he’s terrified, injured, and exhausted. The original disrespect against you was not even intentionally caused by him; it was the doing of numerous others. I do not fault you for your affront, but you are carrying on like a tantruming toddler!”

The Lady of Summer took a step back and clutched at her bosom. “You dare to speak to me like that?”

“I do, and so does the rest of the Seelie Court.” Virgil watched as Janus rolled his shoulders back and stood straighter. The Prince of Spring then reached into a bag tied at his hip and pulled out some sort of wooden charm dangling from a hemp rope. At the sight of it the Lady of Summer gasped and covered her mouth. “I have spoken before the Queen and her retinue, and she has decreed you will leave this mortal alone. In exchange, he will return to his town and gather a proper celebration for you by the end of this month.”

Virgil held his breath, not daring to twitch a muscle as he awaited his fate. The Lady of Summer let nothing show in her expression, but the hard lines of her face had softened attractively as Janus spoke. She shifted, looking over Janus shoulder and directly at Virgil. “You. You will do as this deal demands?”

Nodding rapidly, Virgil held up his hand in oath. “I will, I promise. I’ll go back home and speak with the curator of the Spirit’s Temple. We’ll host another festival and you’ll get the offerings you were supposed to be given at the start of the month.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the Lady of the Summer Court beamed a smile and grasped her hands over her heart. “Well then! That wasn’t so hard, was it! My dear, smart son, finding a way to set things right. I’m so proud of you, my little songbird.” Looking at her son, she cooed and cupped Janus’ cheek to tilt him up to kiss his forehead, smiling at his grumbling. “I won’t linger much longer, don’t you worry. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of my future son-in-law after all! I’ll see you soon, Virgil, dear,” she called, a cool edge to her voice for a moment before she smiled brightly once more and waggled her fingers. With a dramatic wave of her hands, the Lady of Summer vanished once more.

A quiet settled over the remaining quartet, broken by a tinny clearing of a throat. Lo stood in Virgil’s lap, tugging Pat up next to him. “I believe it is time for us to depart as well. I am relieved we were able to arrive in time to prevent any harm coming to you, Vee.” The pixie looked from Janus to Virgil and smiled. “Let us know when you are in the woods, we would enjoy visiting under more ideal circumstances. Farewell, for now.”

“Goodbye, Vee, Vee!”

In a flash, the pair of pixies flew off into the night, their hands held tight together. They flew loops and circles over the others before darting off in the direction the other pixies had traveled hours ago.

On the ground, Janus helped Virgil to his feet. He cooed in sympathy, tenderly touching the tips of his fingers beneath the angry red cuts on Virgil’s cheek. “I am so sorry for what she has done to you, darling. And I am even more sorry that my own actions drove you from the safety of my side. I was meant to protect you from unearned rage, but instead I subjected you to further punishment and drove you towards your would-be killer. If I hadn’t gotten here in time-” Janus exhaled heavily, his wings sagging behind him. “I am so sorry, Virgil.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna say it’s okay, because none of this has been okay, but, I guess I can understand where you were coming from. If I were as attractive as you, I’d also be worried about people taking advantage of me.” Virgil blushed and dragged his big toe through the dirt. “So, yeah, I forgive you, or whatever.” He looked up with a fire in his eyes and jabbed his finger into the center of Janus’ chest. “But don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

Janus hands cupped around his own, cradling it close. “I swear, to the end of my days, I will treat you with the dignity and respect you deserve, my dearest.”

Despite the tenderness of the gesture, Virgil was unmoved. “I mean it, Janus. If you want us to work out, then I can’t be afraid that you’re going to banish me from your home every time you get upset. It’s not a relationship if you’re going to treat me like I’m disposable. I’m worth more than that. If you want more reassurance, or something, on my promises, then we can work something out, but what you put me through was terrifying, and I can’t go through it again. I won’t.”

Janus sighed, holding Virgil’s hands up to his lips and resting there a moment before slowly gathering Virgil into his arms. His embrace was loose enough to break, if Virgil wanted. “I understand, darling, and I will never be able to apologize enough for what I have done. However, it is not my words you want, but my actions, and I will do whatever you desire of me in order to make it up to you.” He cupped Virgil’s uninjured cheek. “I want us to work, too.”

There was a long pause as Virgil searched Janus’ golden eyes for any signs of deception. When he found only an earnest honesty, Virgil allowed himself to be held closer. He wasn’t sure which of them moved next, but they came together as one, lips pressing softly at first before quickly gaining heat. Then he was spun and dipped down, laughing hard as he clung to Janus’ shoulders, the fae’s wings held aloft to keep them balanced.

Maybe ‘future husband’ didn’t sound so bad after all.

#anxceit #healthy anxciet #virgil sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #fae au #eros and psyche #squid scribbles

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tippytopdays · 3 years

Text

Just a Typical Morning

literally slapped a fresh coat of paint on this little thing and did some proofreading, posting here because it's not really a story i feel like belongs on my Ao3

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A snap. A small flare of light. A hiss. The light goes out with a brief spike of pain. The scent of nicotine filling his lungs, sitting there for a moment before being lazily huffed back out. He rolled the cig between his teeth, canines catching the paper.

For once, it was a slow day. Quiet too, if the silent city ruins said anything about it. No howling of some crazy Zed in the alleyways, no rushing of cars; nothing. Then again it’s probably something like, 6AM if he thought about it, since the sun wasn’t high enough yet to count as day.

Well as close to day as it could get, he assumed. It wasn’t like he knew anything else, anyways.

Deimos gripped the cig between his fingers, watching the flecks of tobacco sprinkle over the railing. The balcony was small, granted, but it was enough. Throw on a piece of metal or two along the railing and it even made for some quick cover if there was an attack. Overhead assault was harder to avoid, especially from so high up.

The end of the cigarette glowed dimly as he inhaled, smoke trailing into the air.

He didn’t like being up this early. It was too quiet.

Normally by now he would probably be going downstairs to fetch some grub from the cafeteria with Ford, talk about their evenings or whatever else would come up. Sometimes he’d be scrambling to get his gear on to check whatever combusted in the lower levels. Of course if it was the mercs just screwing around and breaking whatever had gotten mixed up with their roughhousing then he’d get upset. Fixing that shit isn’t easy you know, but it wasn’t worth straining his voice anyways; Ford could do that for him in spades.

He sighed in a soft plume of smoke. Really, what else can you do when the hired help has to be a bunch of knuckleheads, anyways?

Whatever it was, he definitely wasn’t throwing any parties for them that’s for sure. Last thing anyone needed was those guys keeping everyone up all night by being loud as fuck.

Another drag, a slight shake in his fingers as they met his lips.

His arms hurt like Hell from having to spend so long rewiring that at this point he was surprised they were even remotely steady at all. And when he thought about it him waking up at the ass end of dawn because the comms had crashed again was probably a good reason as to why he was up so early. Digging around in cramped crawl spaces was not how he wanted to spend his day; and being tossed into a late night mission on top of it was even lower on that list.

Damn his bed seemed real inviting, early morning or not.

When was the last time he’d slept in? Or just had a day off? Sure they’d had low days along with the high ones, but when did they get an actual break where they could relax? The last time there wasn’t some kind of emergency or chaos outside their doors was at least a decade ago at this point, maybe less. He didn’t really have it in him to care much, since he didn’t keep track of the days anymore. No point to it.

More smoke filled his lungs. He really should just get some extra shut eye, rest until he felt better.

But, for some reason, he couldn’t.

He’d snapped to awareness with a cold feeling of dread weighing down his stomach. It had been so strong he’d shot up, halfway reaching for the pistol at his bedside thinking someone was there. But there wasn’t. It was dead quiet, like the moments after a bad mission.

Maybe that’s why he was outside right now. The casual air helped to mask the intent in his eyes as he scanned the skyline.

A glint of reflected light from a nearby rooftop nearly made him crush the cig in his hands as he tensed. Eyes snapping upwards he focused, but relaxed when all he found was a few familiar faces among one of the many teams patrolling the area. He snorted, smoke curling around his face.

Another pull, the cold wash of nicotine a nice cleanse to the tension in the air.

He was overthinking this.

And after all they’d been through, who could blame him really? Being constantly on the run would make anyone look over their shoulder or keep a gun within reach. Still, it wasn’t like the Agency knew where they were this time. To add to it nothing could get through the blast doors even if it tried. They’d tested those well enough for him to be certain.

It was just a very quiet night and he wasn’t used to it. That had to be it.

The cig smoldered between his lips in one last drag before he flicked the used butt over the railing. Arms raising over his head he stretched with a groan, “Damn,” He muttered, wincing at the series of pops going up his spine, “Ya’d think I’m getting old with how I crack like a handful of spaghetti.”

He was done with his morning smoke anyways.

Mobility returned to his spine Deimos rubbed at his neck he turned his back to the city, meandering back inside. Hitting the switch beside the glass door to slide it shut behind him he glanced at the clock on the comically cluttered bedside table he owned. Yep, too early for him to be this awake, if the glaring red 7:37 was anything to go by. Well mostly glaring, since his cap was haphazardly draped over it when he’d tossed it there yesterday. Or last night, he didn’t look at it then because he was too busy flopping face first into bed.

A healthy gurgling from his stomach brought him out of his thoughts.

That’s right. He didn’t eat last night either. Not really any time to when you’re face first into the ugly end of some bastardized wiring job done nearly half a decade ago. He hummed under his breath.

Was it too early to get something from the cafeteria? It was still morning he supposed; maybe some breakfast sausage would be left this time since he’d be able to get there first for once. The thought alone was tantalizing despite the exhaustion tugging at the edge of his conscious.

Did he even change after all that sweatshop work yesterday?

Pulling at the hem of his tank top he took a whiff. Yep, stunk of old sweat and probably a hint of grease; he didn’t. Pants probably didn’t smell too great either but who would check those and not come off like a weirdo? A quick sweep of the cargo pants half hanging off his hips proved them to be good enough with no obvious stains or rips.

Deimos shrugged. It was good enough. At least he didn’t stink of blood or anything, otherwise Doc would be on his ass hard. Though it wasn’t like anyone would be able to tell the difference in this sausage fest anyways. He’d be fine for a quick early morning bite.

Just needed to grab his jacket and boots and he’d be good to go.

Deimos scratched the stubble lining his jawline while he scanned the room. He’d taken off his jacket somewhere mid collapse but he couldn’t place where. He wasn’t one to lose things—most of the time at least—but sometimes it felt like they just up and disappeared. With his luck it would probably end up in a really obnoxious place like behind the bed or something. Not like that would happen since the thing was braced up against the wall in the corner so it had to be somewhere around here.

He paused when he noticed the distinctly leather looking lump laying on the floor beside said furniture.

Oh. There it is.

Approaching the bed he picked up his jacket off the floor. It still had some dust from when he’d been crawling through the vents last night as he swiped a hand over the shoulder. He grimaced at the sticky webbing that stuck to his fingers; a few cobwebs, too. Gross. Shaking it to clear out any excess dust he threw it on haphazardly, adjusting his pants once it was snugly over his shoulders. Belt tightened up again he’d turned towards the table and nearly tripped over his own boots.

Welp, at least those weren’t far either. Glad he’d had half the mind to take those off before crashing.

Cursing a bit under his breath he snatched his cap off the clock. With a quick sweep of his hand through his hair to straighten it a bit he put his hat on and sat on the bed, scooting his boots closer with a foot. Once they were laced up and buckled he got to his feet, ready for the day—or at least, the really early morning.

He glanced at the clock again. It blinked lazily at 8AM.

Eh, early enough. But the call of some sweet breakfast sausage was not to be ignored.

The moment he turned towards the door there was a series of firm knocks. He jumped, nearly tripping again as he cracked out, “Uh, yeah?” Damn that cig wasn’t enough apparently because his nerves must still be fried from that morning.

“Deimos, it’s me.”

His lips quirked a bit, confused. Normally, Doc only went after him when something broke or got jammed up again but a glance at the tablet resting on the table face up didn’t reveal a blinking light for a missed message. Unless something went wrong in the handful of seconds he’d been standing there then why was he trying to talk to him now of all times, “Hang on.” Tromping across the room he swiped his code in, the door opening with a hiss.

Doc was standing in front of his room, arms behind his back and head turned away as he kept his focus down the hall before turning to face him. He scanned him head to foot, “You look like shit.”

Deimos rolled his eyes with a huff, “Good morning to you too, Doc.” Leave it to him to state the obvious. Not like he didn’t already feel like crap in more than a few ways. He propped an arm against the door as he nodded towards him, “What’s up?”

2B stood a bit straighter, and just by his posture alone he had a feeling that whatever he was going to say wasn’t good, “Boss called in this morning, we have another assignment.”

Well he wasn’t wrong.

Deimos sighed, traces of smoke licking at his tongue as he tossed his head back, “Seriously? Now? Doc I haven’t eaten yet.” As if to prove his point his stomach made yet another unhappy glug. Both men glanced down, the tech sweeping a hand towards it with brows raised.

“I can tell.” Doc merely returned his gaze placidly, “Have you seen Sanford yet?”

He shook his head, “Nah. Haven’t left until now.” Though if he were to take a guess, he’d say the demolition’s expert would be working out somewhere.

It seemed they shared the same thought as 2B nodded, “I assume he might be downstairs at this hour. I did hear some commotion from one of the training decks.”

He chuckled a bit. Typical Ford.

“I want you to be ready within the hour, Deimos. You’ll get to eat when you get back. I’ll tell the staff in the kitchen to keep something in the oven for you.” He turned around, fully intending to leave before adding, “And also, get some washing done when you get back. You smell like a corpse.” With that he took his leave while Deimos scowled at his back.

Great. Of course it would be doc who’d notice.

Still he only sighed, punching the code into the panel to lock the door behind him. Getting his gear from the locker he had downstairs would only take a couple of minutes, and Ford should already be up if he was taking up a training room.

Just another day in Nevada, per the usual.

Things never really change.

#madness combat #Deimos #2BDamned #my writing #fun

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introductions-are-a-spook · 2 years

Text

When Smoke Meets the Trees

❁〚 Chapter Three 〛❁

The following Sunday morning was bright, a cold breeze pouring through the window, providing me a mellow wake-up call. I pulled the blankets up closer, before realising that something was new.

The blankets were unusually heavy, the room smelling like sugar rather than the smokey scent of cigarettes and candles I was used to. I sat up in overly silky pyjamas, finding Andrew out cold at the desk.

I slid out of the bed, reassuring myself that we had only talked last night. I put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

“Hang on,” he muttered. “Uhh, whatever it was, Izzy did it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Who?”

He jerked up, redoing his top button and fruitlessly attempting to smooth his scruffy curls. “Oh! Max, uh- my friend. Total mom, that Isabella. Nifty code-cracker, too.Um, anyway, I didn’t touch you, I sat here the whole time. I didn’t look when you changed, either-”

“I believe you. It is Sunday, isn’t it?”

He glanced at a calendar, uttering a short confirmation.

“Then we have a full day to work. We ought to get started sooner rather than later. You seem familiar with the police, do you think you could finagle the records I was denied out of them?”

“Man with a plan, aren’t ya? Maybe you shoulda been a concertmaster,” he chuckled. I gave him a wry look. “Of course I can do it. Who the hell do you think I am?”

“I’m not sure. Everyone seems to have a different idea of you.” I may have grown fond of him, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t willing to use him. Why should I have to choose?

“Who?”

“Ah, there it is. Very concerned with how you’re viewed. No wonder you’re so paranoid. You steal-” I gestured to the locket he had returned to me- “And lie, too, it seems,” I finished by setting the ordinary coin he’d put in my pocket yesterday- instead of whatever evidence he’d actually taken- on his desk.

He stared and me blankly, a slight curve to his mouth. “Not bad, kitten. Really got this detective thing down, eh?”

I looked down, suddenly very interested in his cluttered desk.

“What’s wrong, kitty-cat? You’re red as a rose,” he smirked, reclining leisurely. I hated how smoothly he swayed power back to himself. It earned him a nice, solid swat to the head. “Okay, okay! And what do you plan on doing all day?”

“Easy. I’m going to look for suspects,” I stated simply, turning instead toward yesterday’s clothes and stepping behind the wardrobe door to avoid his pining gaze.

“Hold up- in all seriousness, wouldn’t me stealing files from the fuzz and you going after a killer mandate us being in danger?”

I considered that for a moment, mulling over several carefully-worded responses. “Yes… Well, ‘freedom is no fairy gift to fall into a man’s lap,’” I quoted. “Think of it more as, gathering information. If you find yourself trapped, figure out the best way to regain your freedom.”

He giggled. “You’re as bad as me, huh?”

“Maybe. Difference is that I’m on the right side.”

“Didn’t think you believed in right and wrong, but a’ight,” he mused, standing and going to open his closet. And then opening a hidden compartment in said closet.

“Of course not. Morals are a spook. Being on my own side has always been the best way to go.”

He laughed again, though nothing about it sounded sardonic. “Did you script that?”

“No. Why?”

He pointed to his bookshelf, still fiddling with whatever was in the closet. “Sounds like somethin’ outta one of my books.”

And sure enough, there they were- at least one book for nearly every type of anarchy. “You play all teams, then?”

“Each one’s got something valuable. I don’t bother with specific adjectives. But-” he turned around, holding some sort of tank top and a bag full of trinkets. “-we didn’t come all this way to talk politics. I need to work my way into this thingy and stock it, so you might as well get going.”

“What is that thing?”

“I call it extra pocket space, but uhh, really it’s just a flat sports bra. Point is, it’s the perfect spot to keep contraband!”

I snorted and grimaced slightly. “I’ll let you change, then- and meet you at the benches by four.”

“Sounds good to me. Now unless you wanna see me half-nude- which I don’t blame ya if you do- I suggest you scram,” he winked over his shoulder, tugging up the bottom of his shirt.

I flushed, cursing him again. “I hate you, you know that? I really can’t stand you,” I shook my head, making my way to the door.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that! Maybe someday it’ll be true,” he called.

“Allons-y, Andrew!” I finished , loudly shutting the door.

❁

I wasn’t lying, nor faking being friendly.

Not entirely, anyway.

I’ve liked many people I didn’t trust- it didn’t matter how I felt about them when I wanted information from them. This is what lead me behind Andrew’s back and to his best friend.

“Funny chance running into you here, Maxwell,” Isabella began. Chance. Right, that’s what me popping up in a cafeteria I had gagged at the day before was. Pure coincidence. “Did I see you and Andrew in the same bedroom last night? Anything to share?” she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

I felt my ears go pink in embarrassment, gritting my teeth at the assumption. “Actually, while we’re together, I was hoping you could help me with something,” The insinuation from before wasn’t worth dignifying with a response.

“Mmm, okay. What’s up?” she’d stopped teasing, leaning forward, head slightly tilted. I briefly wondered how someone as crooked as Andrew wound up with someone as kind as Isabella.

I picked at my meagre salad a bit, making sure I was keeping up the act. “It’s about, um, Henry.” I felt a dull pang in my heart at the sound of his name. “Something doesn’t seem right about it. I was told you were good with codes and handwriting?”

Her compassion melted into suspicion. “Told by who?”

I put a hand to my cheek, feigning being flustered. “Just… some boy.”

Something in her gaze changed, it was almost pitying. “Oh, I get it. No need to shoot the messenger, then. What did he want done that made him need a stand-in?”

“Something not to be shown in public. Perhaps if you could teach me what you know, I could solve the rest behind closed doors.” I didn’t want to believe she was this easy to fool.

“I’ll do what I can,” she raised an eyebrow. “What do you need to know?”

“What’s the best way to tell a real handwriting from a forgery by someone else?” I was, of course, thinking of the bullshit ‘too much stress, too little friends’ farewell note that was- according to the paper- dumped on Henry’s desk. I only really needed Andrew to get a copy of it for me. If it had been enough to convince law enforcement, perhaps Henry had been forced to write it in his own hand. If not, there was certainly something that would give it away.

Not that I wanted to drag myself back to the dorms. Grief takes time, I reminded myself, and no matter what, I was still human.

“It’s usually the dots and dashes in t’s and i’s and stuff that give it away. Also, numbers don’t show up as much so they tend to get muddied. You can look at the way their letters string together, too- if at all.”

I quickly snuffed out the idea of writing any of this down. “Thank you. And what about code-cracking?”

“I mean, there’s the common stuff like Caesar, Atbash and Vingere, and then there’s custom codes, which you’d need a key for. Codes are tough, because you can substitute just about anything for anything. It helps to know the code-maker personally.”

I nodded, mulling over what she’d said. As much as I didn’t want to spend my afternoon hunched over paper, I couldn’t get anyone else to do it, either.

“Thank you. I’ll tell Andrew about this,” I stood to leave, leaving the pathetic bowl of untouched lettuce behind.

“Of course. Tell him I say hi,” she waved.

I nodded, but stopped after a few steps. Surely I could use her for more than this.

“One more thing.” She looked up at me expectantly. “You’re good friends with Andrew, right?”

“Of course I am. I’m the only thing keeping that dumbass’s head on his shoulders,” she gestured to a schedule beside her. To one side, it had a list of dates, each one with something like, ‘dress rehearsal,’ or ‘chiropractor appt.’ beside it. Below the planner, a history textbook full of disorganised papers that she seemed to be ordering.

I stifled a laugh. “I see. I was just going to ask if you knew his other friends as well. Jennifer, Cassius-” she started to nod, “-and perhaps Serena, as well?”

She pursed her lips ever so slightly. “I know Cassius is one of his history buddies,” I noted how her brow furrowed at his mention. “But Jennifer is his on-again-off-again girlfriend- currently I think she’s plotting his murder, but give it two months and they’ll get along again,” she dryly chuckled.

I did my best to hide how I felt like I had been stabbed in the chest, swallowing hard and setting my jaw. “Well, thank you again for your time-” I started to go, but she stood to stop me.

“Maxwell, listen. The only thinking Andrew ever does is with his sticky fingers, sweet tooth, and the brain below his belt. If you want to stay out of trouble, stay away from trouble, because that’s all he is.”

I gritted my teeth, more at Andrew than her, and turned to leave.

“By the way,” she paused me. “This little sweetie found me last night. I think she misses you,” at her heels was none other than Phantom, who trotted over to me.

I didn’t know what to say, so I simply thanked her and walked out in my swirl of emotions.

It isn’t cheating, I told myself, if he isn’t mine to begin with. But I knew damn well why it hurt all the same.

❁

Lighting a cigarette, I stewed for a while, checking my watch periodically to see the minutes surrounding half past two crawl by at an agonising pace.

Phantom slowly approached a squirrel, teal and brown sets of beady eyes meeting before she started to give chase. Good. It was the second time I’d seen that same squirrel. While it wasn’t impossible, it was strange.

But I had enough to think about already. I couldn’t stop thinking his name. And then his name. And back and forth, on and on it went. Andrew. Henry. Andrew. Henry. Andrew. Henry-

“Maxwell, hi. I thought I saw you brooding out here.”

I looked to my left, finding the platinum blonde hair and perfect clothes that made my stomach twist. “Oh, hello, Cassius. I was just, uh, waiting for someone.” Of course, he took that as an invitation to stay, once again peeking at the book in my hands.

“Sherlock Holmes? Seems a bit below you, doesn’t it?” he nudged the cover of the book closed, running a finger over the lettering.

“They’re comfort stories. What of it?” I wished for all the world that he would sit even a few inches further away.

His posture straightened, his eyes going hazy. It made my skin crawl. “Oh dear. Did something happen?”

I glared in incredulous disbelief. “Oh, I don’t know. Something about my best friend dying?” I snapped, taking no care to contain my mounting ire.

He abruptly pulled away, standing up and brushing the non-existent dirt from his clothes. “Careful with the tongue, poindexter. People might think you want revenge if you let yourself blow up.” There was a hint of haughtiness in his undue scolding. My heart beat heavy, my hands trembled ever so slightly as I scowled at him.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I certainly don’t need-” I stopped, thoughts flickering back to my first talk with Andrew. ‘Cass isn’t acting right.’ How would Cassius know it was revenge for a murder if everyone was told it was suicide? “Why don’t you just leave me alone. Another storm’s brewing anyway. Wouldn’t want to mess up your perfect,” I gestured to him, head to toe- “everything.”

Cassius seemed to pout for a moment before turning tail and stalking off. I felt a chill run down my spine. If even Andrew was being cautious, maybe I ought to be as well.

I decided the best course of action would be to leave. Snow was coming, and I trusted that my relocating to the library would be and obvious enough choice for Andrew to follow me there. And it was, just not to the man I’d hoped. In fact, my visitor wasn’t a man at all.

This time she kept a respectful distance, twirling firey red hair around a finger as she disinterestedly skimmed a book picked at random.

“Are you the Benoit boy?” she piped up as soon as I was beginning to think she wasn’t here for me.

I heaved a sigh. Could I not get a single break today? “Who wants to know?”

“No need to be so paranoid, Maxwell. Andrew talks a lot about you, so I feel like I already know you,” her smile looked like the kind you’d find at Sunday morning Mass.

“I see. And I take it you’re Jeniffer,” I muttered cautiously.

“I am. I wanted to talk to you about Andrew, actually,” she urged. “I noticed you two talking a few times, and had you over for a night. Is there something between you?”

I rolled my eyes. He’s a sleazy, two-timing asshole. If there ever was, there isn’t now, is what I wanted to say, but refrained. “That’s not your business.”

“Hmm. I should tell you- he tends to fool around. I’ve known him since we were kids, I’ve seen it. The only sure thing he’s got going is me.”

I bit my tongue. “And why should that matter to me?”

She huffed, getting as frustrated as I was. “It should tell you to stay away from him. Our parents already plan on us getting married- he may as well be my fiance.”

“I don’t give a damn, alright? I’m the one who chooses whether or not I want to stay,” I hissed. Two-timer, yes, but I couldn’t deny the way my heart warmed at the sound of his name. And I hated it. I hated how my sole focus should’ve been on Henry but here I was getting caught up in some puerile pennyweighter’s problems.

She leaned forward, articulating each word menacingly. “Then I’ll force you to. I’ll make every moment you spend with him a living hell until I get tired of it and finish the job. Do I make myself clear?”

I backed away, wide-eyed, only simpering out a, “Crystal.” Icy strands of fear trickled into my blood. But a clarity I hadn’t felt in a long time also hit me, head on like a speeding car. I stood suddenly, mind racing with a thousand connections forming with everything I’d heard from and about Cassius, everything about how Jennifer had just threatened me.

“You want Andrew so bad? Take him. The last thing any good detective wants is to make friends with criminals,” I shot daggers at her with my eyes, hurrying off.

I was realising far too late that I’d been in the presence of two potential killers, just today. I needed to be more careful, and I needed to get to work. I needed to do it- for myself, and for Henry.

Henry. Henry, Henry, Henry.

He was the only thing I could think of now.

#Chapter Three #✒️ you write and i’ll read 📖#📖 the detective an the crook 🖋#writing #my writing #tw murder #tw suicide #tw crime #tw kidnapping #tw arranged marriage #tw transphobia #tw homophobia #tw drugs #tw alcohol #tw nudity #tw swearing #tw suggestive #tw weapons

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bittybattybunny · 3 years

Photo

OKAY so here’s the cursed into a dragon story and doodle!!

I wanted to draw the cute knight and the dragon (AKA Ru had an old suit of armor at his brother’s and had no idea the dragon he was asked about was his not GF)

Fic time!! and reminder this idea was suggested by @creepyfuzzymelon!! It did get a lil long for a ficlet but eh it works! Enjoy!

She paused in front of the red door and brushed her hair behind her ear before she walked in. She sneezed as she walked in, the smell of incense making her nose burn. She frowned as her head began to spin.

“Welcome.” Came the shop keeper’s sing song voice. Her green blue eyes twinkled with mischief as she saw the woman.

“Hello.” Eclipse gave a smile but she wanted to leave. Not wishing to be rude she decided to walk around some before she ran from the over scented store. She looked at the cluttered shop shelves and her eyes landed on an ornate dragon mask. She frowned looking at it. She picked it up and turned it around curiously. There was writing in the back. She squinted trying to read it.

“It says to the wearer their heart will become fierce until the knight calms it.”

Eclipse jolted, having not even noticed the woman sneaking up behind her. She felt a cold chill as she looked at the woman’s smile as she chuckled.

“Don’t be so skittish dear.” she cooed and took the mask in her hands. Eclipse watched as she spun it around in her hands, producing a ribbon from the air and tying it on. “I wonder what form you would take?”

Eclipse could only gasp as the mask was shoved on her face and she was thrown from the shop.

She blinked a few times. She reached to remove the mask but it wouldn’t come off. In fact the more she tried the firmer it seemed to stick. She struggled and pulled. She felt a burning sensation starting to grow in her chest. She clawed and shoved at the mask. Her body began to contort as she feverishly tried to get the mask off. She gasped as her face felt the cold chill. She grit her teeth as she felt her face ripping at its own seams. Fangs jutting. She roared as her bones grew and rearranged, horns shoving through her skull as she fell to all fours. She clawed the cobblestone sidewalks of the small village as her clothing fell in shreds.

Wisps began to light up as black scales began to grow and cover her body as her newly formed tail lashed around. Large wings caught between bird and moth spread as she panted and slowly the burning subsided. She collapsed on the stone. Her head was heavy. She sighed.

“Way to go Moony. You walked into that one.” she groaned as she lifted her head to look herself over. She lifted a hand and looked at the claws and whined.

“Great.” she moved to stand. At least a dragon was similar in limbs to a wolf so she had that going for her. The wings were a new feature. She lifted one to inspect it and looked around. She had entered the shop in the downtown of Subcon City but.

Small buildings with no life surrounded the dragon-woman as she walked around. She raised her head to look at the rising moon and huffed. She turned to inspect for her bag among the remains of her clothes but couldn’t find it.

“Guess no phone calls.” she flicked her forked tongue as she jumped on top of one of the buildings. She narrowed her eyes as she saw a church and decided to get a better view.

A wind blew as she climbed up to the steeple and looked over the rolling fields.

She looked at the sky and sighed, “Fierce until the night calms it huh?” she shook her head side to side. “Hopefully this mask comes off soon then.” she ran off, deciding to enjoy the empty fields in the meanwhile.

------

“A dragon?” Snatcher asked as Kaya gave a frown. She scratched her cheek as he stood in her office.

“Yeah. reports of one in the old ruins of Tir na Nocht.” she sighed, “I put SO MANY BARRIERS!” she puffed her cheek annoyed, “I tried to make sure NOTHING would get into Ti Na Nocht when i left!” she fumed, “And this dragon comes WALTZING IN LIKE SHE OWNS IT!” she stomped her foot, “The worst bit is NO ONE CAN GET NEAR!”

“So what does that have to do with me?” he raised a brow, “You know I’m busy watching the kid since Eclipse is working a job.”

“See that’s the thing!” she frowned, “I thought she was home! I was going to ask HER to do this! She’s fought dragons before! And I would ask Jacob since he’s a dragonborn, but he went off on another mission last week with Maki and Tiffny to deal with an issue in the elvish kingdom.” she rubbed her neck.

“Why don’t you go?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she scoffed, “NO ONE can get near!” She groaned and winced as she rolled her sleeves up, revealing bandages all over her arms. “I already TRIED and that bitch roasted me with wisps!” She whined, “And even my healing takes a bit when it’s soul fire.” she sighed, “it’s made to chew up magic in the first palace after all.”

His eyes widened as he looked. He hadn’t ever thought the Solaria Umbra could even be harmed, much less burned. He frowned, “So why me? I’m less resistant than you are.”

“You have a blessing of attraction. It should work on the dragon. If not throw this down.” she handed him a glass orb, “it’ll instantly send you back here.” she explained. “If you’re worried, I saw some Solgarian armor at your brother’s when I was visiting, you could wear that!” she teased, “a knight in shining armor!”

He thought about it and sighed, “Yeah, let’s do that then. Let me just text Cookie see if she can watch Hattie.”

“Oh, right the kid. I’d say i can watch but I need to drop you off, if it takes a bit I can get her from school even if my arms are bacon.” she snickered, “Since I am the one asking you to do this for me.” she moved around the desk and began to shift the shadows. Snatcher sighed and walked over as she used them to send them to the woods.

Marcus jumped as the two appeared on the porch. His potion flying from his hands. Kaya reached to catch it and screeched as it landed on her burned hands and then the floor. Marcus stared at the ruined mix and brushed his hair back annoyed.

“Yes?” he asked, hands on his hips as his tail wisped.

Kata frowned, “Can we take that Solgarian armor?” she asked, “I’m sending your brother to calm and agitated dragon down.”

“Ru? To a dragon?” Marcus deadpanned and rolled his eyes, “Sure I guess.”

“Sweet.” She moved the book shelf to head into the storage room. She grabbed the golden armor with a snicker, “Did you know my dad’s armor actually does have a similar look?” she asked.

“Does it?” Marcus floated over, “Interesting. But it makes sense. Father wanted his approval more than anything.”

Kaya snorted and chewed her lip.

“What?” Snatcher asked taking the suit.

“My dad LOATHES your dad,” she admitted as the two former princes stared.

She laughed loudly, “My dad thinks your dad is a fucking piece of shit who doesn’t deserve his bloodline!” she wheezed. She adjusted her bandages, “I mean he picked a fight with ME!” she snickered, “and my dad is a god of UNION not war.” she pointed out.

Snatcher snickered as he started to pull the armor on. “Yeah sounds right.”

“I pecking LOVE that fact!” Marcus cackled. He looked, “wow you still fit in that.”

“Huh?” Kaya blinked.

Snatcher adjusted the armor and looked around, “my sword should be here isn’t it?”

“Wait--” Kaya’s mouth dropped.

“Yeah I have it upstairs though on the wall display.” Marcus explained.

Kaya looked between them confused.

“Oh, cool. That’s easy.” Snatcher looked around, “is my scabbard around too?”

“Should be upstairs as well.”

“WAIT!” Kaya gasped getting their attention. She frowned, “are you saying that’s YOUR armor??? Not random?”

“Yes? It’s a little tighter but, this was when i used to train with the guards. I wasn’t about to get hurt. Estelle kept it here at the cabin after I was engaged as I didn’t fight anymore. Same with my sword.” Snatcher laughed at the teenager who shook her head and scoffed. He sneered, “What did you think I was a laze about?”

“N-No I just thought you were all books! The whole lawyer thing!” she admitted.

“I had no magic, of course I did something to protect myself!” He cackled.

Marcus snickered, “I can fight with a bow and arrow you know.”

She turned red and huffed, “well, I knew that one, i let you use my archery range.” she scowled, “L-Look let’s just get this dragon dealt with! I don’t want it to get more annoying!”

“Right.” Snatcher scowled.

“Kaya…” he stated as she looked at him.

“You said you thought Eclipse was home?” he asked, he’d thought on it for a bit but not too much, “I thought she was working. She had left and said she’d be out of cell service.”

“I called her phone and it said she was home.” she admitted with a frown, “I’ll look into it. Maybe she’s a frog again?” she suggested.

He frowned and nodded. “Please.” he scowled as he pulled his hair from his face, “let’s go get my sword and head off then.” His stomach flipped.

-----

Her claws traced the rocks as she snarled. It’d been a few days and she was starving. Nothing lived in the area that she could hunt. Her eyes narrowed as she felt someone getting near HER territory. She slunk across the grounds. Tail lashed around as she sniffed. She smelt that annoying twig that’d entered her territory a day before. But there was a new one. Sweet. Salty. She liked it. She licked her jaws as she growled.

“So a giant black dragon with weird wings?” he stated with a frown. He sighed as he looked at the barrier and stepped inside the area. Instantly he felt eyes on him. He frowned and reached for the hilt of his sword. He saw a flash of blue and held a hand up, the wisp nudging him. He chuckled. He frowned. His eyes grew wide.

Wisps.

He turned to where he felt the eyes and began to run towards it.

The dragon blinked in shock as the man came barreling at her. She reared up in her surprise and he looked up as she emerged from the grasses. He sighed.

“Guess I don’t need Kaya to look that up.” he reached his hands up.

The dragon whined and lowered her head. She nuzzled against him, chirping.

“What did you do you silly woman,” he asked as the dragon licked him. He snickered as he pet her muzzle. She purred as he rolled his eyes. He kissed the front of her nose and she huffed a small flame.

He frowned, “well. That didn’t work.” he scowled. A kiss didn’t work. He gasped when she pushed her head against him and he laughed as he reached at her horns. He frowned as he noticed an odd line of scales.

“Eclipse…” he frowned.

She blinked. Eclipse. Was that her? Her eyes flickered.

“Eclipse?” he asked a bit more forcefully. Her head hurt. She whined and pulled away from him.

He huffed and put his hands on his hips. She looked at the knight and growled. He made her head hurt.

“Eclipse show me your head again.” he ordered.

She shook her head and sat definitely. He glared and she lowered her head with a small huff of flames escaping her lips. He walked along and reached that odd line of scales. He frowned as his fingers traced it. It felt like an edge. He scowled and gripped it. The dragon lurched. He held tightly. He wrapped an arm around one of her horns as he gripped the edge. As he held it, it seemed to lift. He grit his teeth as she bucked and shook her head. She roared and growled as he continued to work on the edge, the scaling pulling up. He gasped as there was a spark of blue flame and the dragon collapsed to the ground. He winced as he hit the earth when she slammed into it in her collapse.

He pulled and slowly, her body shrank. The scales vanished, the sound of snapping bones as her body reworked to human form. He shifted her to his lap as he pulled the mask fully off. She laid unconscious on his lap. He sighed and looked at the mask in his hands. He lit it up in blue flames, the mask crackling as it burned to ash.

Shaking the remains from his hand and focused back on Eclipse. He brushed her hair from her face as her ragged breathing grew more steady. He felt his cheeks grow red as he realized she was naked.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked up at him.

“Snatcher?” she asked softly. She groaned and moved to sit, falling against him. He gasped moving to steady her.

“Careful… you just were a huge ass dragon.” he snickered.

She whined and buried her face against his shoulder. He sighed and shifted to carry her. He felt her cling onto him and he was doing he best to not think about the fact he was carrying a naked woman with whom he had affections for. He felt his face heat up as he left the barrier.

Kaya stared in confusion. She stared with all four eyes and sighed heavily. She removed her over coat as she winced, handing it over to him.

“Thanks.” he used it to wrap Eclipse up.

“Of course she was the one to burn the shit out of my arms.” the demoness grumbled, “sooo any ideas?”

“A mask. A dragon mask. I burned it.” He scowled, “she didn’t seem to have any recognition.”

“What did it look like?” she asked with a huff. She looked at Eclipse with a scowl.

“Dark black, had a red ribbon on the back, had gold scales on it with ruby inlaid eyes.” he explained, “it was fused to her face.”

“To my love, may your heart grow fierce until your knight can calm it.” Kaya recited with a sigh and rubbed her neck with a groan, “An engagement mask from the dragon king. How odd. There shouldn’t be one in this realm…” She scowled as her fingers tapped her chin, “there’s no Dragon king in this reality so why would one of his engagement masks be here…” she sighed, “well I’m glad you got it off her. If she had it on too long, she’d have been a dragon forever.”

Snatcher scowled. He smiled softly as she moved some more in his arms. She looked up at him tiredly.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Hungry.” she admitted with a frown, “tired… sore… where am I?”

“Near the ruins of Tir-na-Nocht.” he explained, “you were a big dragon.”

“Was I?” she frowned as she shifted how she was in his arms. She squeaked and pulled Kaya’s coat close as she realized she was naked. She groaned and rested against Snatcher, “I don’t remember… I just remember I was in some weird shop and some lady shoved something on my face then it gets blurry. I smelt something really sweet and I just wanted to be near it.”

Snatcher felt his heart race, “O-Oh?”

“It was like… calming. I felt calm so I wanted it. Then I remember pain and I’m just so hungry.” she sighed as she closed her eyes.

“Sho--- OH GODS DAMNIT!” Kaya slapped her face and whined as she hit her own burns, “Red door? Smells HORRIBLE?”

“Yes?” Eclipse turned to look at the demoness who had pulled her phone out and was angrily texting.

“Clockwork Rose” she explained, “I bet you met Belle. She’s finicky like a cat. Says she likes to help people but I swear she makes more messes than not! Stupid interdimensional space witch!” she huffed, “I prefer Briar to her cuz at least Briar only messes with shit in her own territory but nooo Belle makes paperwork EVEYWHEREEE.” she hissed and hit send with a sigh, “Seems you must have been her plaything.

Snatcher froze, “Does she have red hair, like a bright red?” he paled.

“She does.” Kaya admitted, “and eyes that are either green or blue, like gemstones.”

“I-I’ve been in her shop,” he admitted. “She gave me a weird locket! It burnt Eclipse’s hand and made me hear her heartbeat.”

“It made you hear what?!” the woman gasped, red in the face. “I-I remember the locket a few months ago b-but!”

He nodded, “Yeah, it had a weird side effect. I don’t know why.” he sighed.

Kaya frowned as she thought about it and sighed, “let’s go home. I have enough work to do, more so knowing this crosses into spacial law. Damnit I wanted to watch a new episode of Calimari Stage.” she opened a portal and waited for them to enter. She looked back at the fields that were once her home and frowned.

She raised a hand and reached out.

“Kaya?” Snatcher called.

She pulled her hand and looked back. She gave a small smile. She ran towards the portal and shoved them through. Wincing at her burns.

A wisp danced beyond the barrier, giggling before vanishing.

#the little contractor #ahit au #ahit prince #ahit fan character #ahit snatcher #Eclipse Guardian #Prince Arulius #fanart #digital #lines #this was fun!!! interesting but fun!!!#Eclipse's curses are never simple lol she's not as easy to deal with as Ru is #but hey does anyone recognize his armor cuz I've drawn him in it before but as Snatcher for MG

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robinrunsfiction · 3 years

Text

Style

Pairing: Frank Iero x Female Reader Rating: Teen Requested By: None Word Count: ~3,900 Author’s Note: This is the first in a series of stories inspired by songs by Taylor Swift, this one of course being Style from the album 1989. I had intended on holding on to the series until I had all of them done, but I’m struggling to write... anything lately so I’m posting the two that I do have done. Full honesty, this story is one I originally wrote about two years ago for a different fandom and then modified for this challenge. I hope you enjoy.

The vibrating of her phone on the nightstand next to her woke her from her light sleep. She rolled over, bleary eyed, and checked the screen.

From: Frank Iero Message: hey

"Oh for fucks sake" she muttered to herself. She glanced at the clock, just before midnight, no surprise there. 'What's up?' She texted back. She set her phone down and rolled back over, willing it to stay silent.

Until it vibrated again.

'So you are up…' he replied

'Because you woke me up' she replied.

'Anyway, wanna come over?'

'Where's your girl tonight?'

They had an arrangement. They would only contact each other if they knew the other wasn't seeing anyone and they'd hook up, no strings attached. It had been working out pretty well for a few years now. They were each occasionally with a significant other for a while, him more usually than her, but nothing long term, so they weren't ever out of their routine for too long.

'She's gone' he replied.

'At the very least you come to my place' she replied back.

'Already on my way'

(YN) dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom to check her reflection in the mirror before curling up on the couch and waiting for the doorbell to ring. About 20 minutes later, she had almost fallen back to sleep, when there was a knock. Trudging to the door, she opened to find that familiar face.

"Hey" she said, letting him in.

"Hey, glad you were up," he said with a smirk as he took off his coat and tossed it on the couch where she had just been sitting.

"I wasn't, remember?"

"But you are now," he said, taking a step toward her, putting his hands on her hips.

"Lucky you," she replied as she slipped from his grasp leading the way to her bedroom. Frank had hardly taken a step when she pulled off her tank top and flinging over her shoulder at him.

It always amazed (YN) that no matter how long they may have been apart, they were always able to pick right up. She could remember exactly what to do to drive him wild, he remembered all the spots that she loved him to kiss and touch.

When they both finished and were both lying back, catching their breath, he looked over at her and chuckled.

"What?" She asked with a laugh as well.

"I dunno" he muttered.

"So what happened with your girl?" She asked after a few moments of silence.

"Nice pillow talk, (YN)."

"Oh come on, you know how I am" she said rolling over onto her elbow to look at him.

"Nosey?"

“I was gonna say kind of a bitch, but I suppose that’s true too,” she said with a shrug and he laughed.

"She said I wasn't giving her the attention she deserved, so she found someone who could."

"So she starts dating a touring musician, someone who everyone knows is busy as hell, and bails when he's busy as hell? What a bitch."

"Eh, it was fun while it lasted."

(YN) rolled her eyes. "If you say so."

"What have you been up to?" He asked.

"Ya know, the usual" she said with a shrug.

"Been seeing anyone?"

"Why?"

"Making conversation."

"Nah. Been on a few dates, but nothing worth the effort." She said rolling on to her back again. He then rolled onto his side and looked at her.

"What?" She asked again, with a sideways glance.

"Admit it, you missed me."

"Ugh, you are the worst."

"You know you did."

"I missed... parts of you" with that same sly grin from before.

"Well, let's get reacquainted again."

The next morning (YN) woke up with the sun streaming in around the blinds. She was glad she had the day off because Frank had kept her up late. She looked over at where he slept beside her, back turned to her and she couldn't help but smile fondly at his tattooed back. She pulled herself out of bed and slipped into the shower.

Frank woke up and didn't find (YN) next to him, but soon realized he heard the shower running. Even when he was with his ex, he missed coming over to (YN)'s place, or when she would stop by his house unannounced. They were friends first and foremost, but the physical chemistry between them was undeniable. Their agreement had been working so well for so long that he didn't dare say what he had been feeling for a while now.

He heard the shower shut off and a minute later she came back into her room with her plush towel wrapped around herself.

"Oh you're up" she smiled. She thought maybe he would have slipped out by the time she got out of the shower.

"Yea I just woke up. You gotta work today?"

"No, today's my day off. You?"

"We got a meeting this afternoon."

"Sucks to suck" she said with a grin, pulling on underwear from her drawer.

He laughed lightly as he got up from the bed and got dressed. She glanced over at him while pulling on her shirt. It looked like there was something on his mind, but she didn't know if she should pry. "Wanna get brunch? Your treat?" She asked with a grin.

"Sure," he replied with a laugh.

They headed to a diner down the street and ordered their meals and caught up a bit more since it had been a while since they had been face to face.

"I have to go to this bachelorette party for my coworker tomorrow after working all day." (YN) said, rolling her eyes. She was a hair stylist and knew she had a busy Saturday booked. After being on her feet for hours, she knew she'd rather just crash in bed than go out.

"If you don't wanna go, don't go."

"No, I'm gonna go, I don't just bail, but I am gonna hate it the whole time. I'll just have to get a good night of sleep tonight." She said, narrowing her eyes at her friend across the table.

Frank shrugged and put his hands up defensively. "You coulda told me not to come over."

"Oh, you and I both know that wasn't gonna happen."

"Again, you missed me."

"Stop projecting your feelings on to me" she said hitting his arm from across the table and he laughed.

"Anyway, I gotta get home and shower, let's get outta here."

Frank paid for their meals, and they walked back down to her building.

“Good to see you again, (YN),” he said as he turned toward his car.

“Welcome back to the land of living Mr. Iero,” she replied as she let herself into her building.

The next morning (YN) woke up without any text messages interrupting her sleep. She got out of bed, showered and got ready for her day. She had a full schedule that included two of her more difficult clients in the afternoon.

Thankfully the day went quickly, but by the time her last client was done she had a splitting headache. She knew if she wanted to leave Jenny wouldn’t hold it against her, but Susie who organized the bachelorette party for Jenny would never let her forget it. As she cleaned up her station, she heard champagne bottles popping in the back room and decided she could at least go to dinner if it involved champagne.

After pre-gaming in the back of the salon, the group headed out to dinner and (YN) found her patience growing thinner, and the drinks she was consuming weren’t helping. There were multiple conversations happening, but she found herself sitting back, wishing she was anywhere else at that moment.

“(YN), you’re single, what’s up with that? You’re so pretty and feisty, I can’t believe you can’t find a guy who can put up with that!” One of her coworkers asked. She opened her mouth to reply to the back handed compliment, when Susie jumped in.

“I heard she’s got a friend with benefits!”

“Well yes Susie, you’re right! Because I don’t see the point in being in a relationship. I can get laid without all the unnecessary bullshit that goes along with it! Win-win!” She said taking a smug sip of her drink, relishing in the dumbfounded looks and glares being shot at her from her coworkers who were celebrating the idea of long-term commitment and romantic love.

She finished her dinner and glanced at the time on her phone, it wasn’t very late, but waved down the waiter and paid her check. As she left, she gave Jenny a hug and whispered an apology into her ear for her bitchy comment earlier.

“Don’t worry, I understand” Jenny replied with a smile.

(YN)'s uber was outside when she exited the restaurant. She gave the driver the address and rested her head against the cool window.

If she was to be honest with herself, she wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of a relationship, but she was really satisfied with where her life was, especially now that Frank was coming around again. He really was the best sex she had ever had, probably because they had been in each other’s lives for so long.

When she arrived at her destination, she breathed a sigh of relief that the lights in the living room were on and no other cars were around.

“I knew you’d turn up sooner or later, but I didn’t think it would be this soon” Frank said with a smirk when he opened the door.

“Are you gonna chastise me, or are you gonna invite me in?” She asked, rolling her eyes. He stood back and opened the door for her and she came in. The place looked the same as always, kind of cluttered with guitars and horror movie memorabilia all over the place.

“How was your party?”

“It was ok. I like my coworkers at work, much more than that, I’ll pass. They get real catty when they start drinking," she said flopping down on the couch. "I see you have a real exciting evening going on here.”

“Well it’s a good thing you came along to save me from it” he said sitting down next to her, putting his hand on her thigh.

“What can I say, it’s my super power,” she said, turning her body into his, putting her hand on his chest. He leaned in and they started making out. He ran his hand further up her thigh over her tight jeans, the other hand on her back pulling her closer to him. She ran her nails up the back of his neck, raking over his scalp sending goosebumps up and down his body.

He leaned back pulling her onto his lap, and she took the opportunity to pull her top off. He pulled her back down to kiss him, hand roaming over her back, easily undoing her bra and tossing it aside, as she ground her hips into his with an increasing urgency. He sat up and she pulled his shirt off and then raked her nails over his tattooed chest.

Moans and muttered curses filled the room until they both came. She fell forward onto his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. She was surprised at first by the affection of the action, but didn’t care because it did feel nice to be held like that. They stayed like that for a few minutes before she pulled back.

“I guess I should get goin' then” she said reaching down to gather her clothes from the floor.

“Why?” He asked. “I mean, we haven’t hung out in a while, just stay.”

She considered the offer. He had a point, they used to hang out much more. And it wasn’t like she had anything to do that night.

“Ok sure, but I’m still putting on some of my clothes," she retorted.

“You want something to drink?” He asked, getting up after pulling his sweatpants back on and wandering into the kitchen.

“Yea, I’ll take a beer” she said following him into the kitchen in just her bra and panties.

“That’s a good look,” he said, handing her a beer.

“Thanks, I was thinking this bra wasn’t getting enough appreciation for the hard work it does.”

“Well I for one would like to salute it. It truly is doing God’s work.” He replied with a wink.

They went back to the couch and sat on opposite sides while he picked a movie on Netflix. As the movie played, they talked about the party she had been at and some new songs he was working on. As the evening wore on, (YN) could feel herself getting sleepier from her long day. She felt her head getting heavy as she slowly leaned toward Frank.

She woke up the next morning still on the couch, her head was on this chest and his arms were wrapped around her. She didn't move, not sure of how to react to the position she was in.

They had been friends for a long time before that one night when they were at a party and someone suggested Seven Minutes in Heaven. (YN) had been a little worried, but also quite exhilarated when she realized her partner was Frank. They had both been liquored up enough to throw caution to the wind the second the door to the closet shut behind them.

Their lips crashed together, hands in hair and all over each other. The seven minutes passed too quickly, so when the attention of the party was off them and their disheveled state, they snuck off to another room to finish what they had started.

At that point in their lives, (YN) had just gotten out of a shitty relationship and had no interest in getting into anything else serious anytime soon, and Frank was fine with just having fun. She and Frank’s chemistry led them to hooking up a few more times before they officially agreed to do the friends with benefits thing. Over time she warmed back up to the idea of being in a relationship, but she didn’t actively pursue anything because she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to be with Frank. She always had felt jealous when he let her know he was seeing someone, but she was terrified of ruining things with him, so she never let on to how she felt.

Now as she woke up with his arms around her like that, it felt quite intimate, bordering on relationship-y behavior. Even if she did decide to risk it all with Frank, now wouldn't be the time as she'd just be a rebound, so in that moment she decided she just needed to back off for a minute and let things even out a little, and get back to normal.

"Hey," he murmured, waking up.

"Hey" she replied, pulling herself up from his arms.

"You want some coffee?" He asked sitting up and shuffling off to the kitchen.

"Yea sure" she said following behind him, sitting on a barstool at the counter as she watched him make the coffee.

"What are you doing today?" She asked. That voice in the back of her head nagged for even asking the question. They weren't a couple, they didn't just hang out every day they were free, why even bring up the topic?

"I'm gonna go down to record a few of those demos I was telling you about last night" he replied, pulling out a couple mugs. "But you wanna hang out later?"

"Nah" She replied, shaking her head. A concerned look crossed his face. He wondered what he had done as he handed her the mug.

"You got something better to do?"

"Frank, I'm gonna be straight with you, I'm not looking to be a rebound, you know that. That’s not what I signed up for.”

"I'm not trying to use you as a rebound! I just thought you’d want to hang out since it’s been a while. I don't want anything to change what’s going on with us," he lied.

It wasn't completely a lie, he didn't want her to be a rebound, but he did want things to change between them, he wanted them to be more. He did want a relationship with (YN), that's why he never put effort into his other relationships, because they never were with her. But he didn't want to drive her away, so he kept being friends with benefits, so at least he could be with her in some way.

She considered what he was telling her, not completely believing him. "Mmk," she replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Can I at least give you a ride back to your place?”

“You're such a gentleman," she smirked. "But I’d appreciate it.”

Over the next few weeks, (YN) and Frank settled back into their usual routine for when they were both single. They would text regularly, stop by each other’s place to hook up at least once a week, and sometimes hang out if a group was getting together.

Once things had normalized between them, she started to stop worrying so much about whether Frank was using her as a rebound. She did notice though that he still was being more physically affectionate than he used to be, putting his arm casually around the back of her chair when they were sitting next to each other, holding her for a little longer after hooking up, she'd wake up sleeping against him. She realized that maybe she was keeping up the affection just as much as he was, but that didn't change the fact that she just didn't think they should be pursuing a relationship.

On a quiet Tuesday in the salon, Jenny and (YN) were the only two working and chatting about life between clients.

"(YN) , don't take this the wrong way, but I have to ask. Are you still just hooking up with your friend?" Jenny asked

"Yea, but it's good, it's fine! It's what we want to do, ya know? Like for a while I was worried that he was catching feelings, and sometimes I get jealous, but we're just having fun and we're good."

"Yea, but have you talked about it recently? Like you said it seemed like he was getting attached."

"We did talk about it, and he said he wasn't trying to rebound and I believe him, and things went back to normal."

"And what about your jealousy?"

"Damn Dr. Phil!" (YN) retorted. She was surprised at the intense line of questioning coming from her friend. She was even more surprised at the knowing smirk that was on Jenny's face. "What?!" She snapped.

"There's nothing wrong with being vulnerable! Let him crack that hard shell you have around you, I'm sure you have a soft, gooey center in there somewhere!"

"He's found my soft center plenty of times, he's very good at that actually." (YN) said with a wink, getting up to prepare her work station for her next client.

"(YN), ew! But just think about it. What honestly could be the worst that would happen?" Jenny called after her.

"I could lose him and everything we have," she muttered under her breath.

(YN) was crammed in a booth with Frank, Mikey, Gerard, Ray and a few others at the afterparty celebrating another sold out show. It had been a long night of partying, but (YN) was having a lot of fun since it had been a long time since she got to hang out with the whole band. She did notice that Frank had kept his arm around her shoulder for most of the night, but she decided to let it slide.

Eventually the group started to get pulled away into different conversations until (YN), Frank and Ray were the only ones left in the booth.

"Ray, that girl over at the bar has been tryna to eye fuck you for a while now. Are you gonna do something about it?" (YN) asked, as she drew their attention to the girl at the bar.

"I see that," he said, taking the last swig of his drink and sliding out of the booth. (YN) and Frank both laughed as he made his way over to her.

"What do you think his chances are?" She asked, taking a drink.

"Eh, probably pretty good, she does seem into him."

(YN) could feel Frank's eyes on her. "What?" She asked, turning to look at him. He reached up to her cheek and pulled her in to kiss him. She didn't protest as he deepened the kiss, but after a moment the voice in her head started screaming 'What are you doing? This isn't how you two act in public!'

"Frank, what are you doing?" She asked, pulling back.

"I don't know anymore, (YN). I... fuck..." he stammered.

She knew where this was going because she had felt it building for a while now. She grabbed her bag and slid out from the booth.

"(YN) , come on, don't leave like this." He said following her out of the bar into the cool night.

"Frank, what are you doing?" She said putting an emphasis on each individual word, as if saying it more clearly would somehow spark clarity in his mind. She looked up at him, his hazel puppy dog eyes filled with fear and frustration. After a long moment, he still hadn't replied so she turned leave when he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him.

"(YN), I love you, ok? I fucking care about you and I don't give two shits about what we've agreed we're supposed to be, or what we aren't supposed to say. You are the reason none of those other relationships worked out. You're the one I always come back to, over and over again."

"Fucking hell man!" She shouted as she put her hands over her face. Her head was spinning. This was everything she had known deep down all along, it was all she wanted to hear for so long. But now that it was happening, she was panicking.

Frank took her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face, but she pulled her wrists away from him with a jerk, taking a step back and drawing in a deep breath.

"Ok, fine! I'm out of excuses. I've always had feelings for you too. Every time you tell me you have some girl you're seeing it made me so mad, and at first I didn't want anything more with you or anyone, but now I do and now I know you do too, so let's fucking do this Frank. I'm in. I love you too, goddamn it."

"You're mad that you love me?" He asked, laughing.

"Shut up" she said, pushing on his arm. He laughed again and took her face in his hands and placed a kiss on her lips with every ounce of passion he had been holding back for all the years and she wrapped her arms around his neck. When they separated, he took her hand and they went back into the bar to find Ray back at the table alone.

Even though he was dejected from his strikeout, Ray couldn't have been happier to see his plan to play Seven Minutes in Heaven all those years ago had finally paid off.

#frank iero x reader #frank iero fan fic #frank iero fan fiction #frank iero imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction

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fics-n-stuff · 4 years

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Becoming Number Eight - Pt2; Klaus

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: A little nail-painting bonding session between Klaus and Y/N.

Word Count: 1k

You were wandering the halls of the house, still not familiar with the layout of the huge building after your first week staying there, when you heard quiet muttering from behind a closed door. You knocked lightly, but when you got no response you slowly began to push the door open, worried about the person who was inside.

You found Klaus, sitting curled in on himself on the floor of his bedroom and gently rocking back and forth. He continued to mumble incoherently, not noticing your presence with his head tucked to his knees and his arms wrapped around his head.

“Hey, Klaus?” You said softly but loud enough for him to hear, crouching down in front of him. He jumped, immediately opening his eyes and uncurling his limbs. “What's going on?”

“Oh, nothing.” He said, forcing himself to seem relaxed though you could easily see that he wasn’t. “I’m fine.” You sighed at that, sitting down.

“I know that you guys don’t really trust me.” You nodded, crossing your legs. “I get that. But I’m not stupid, and I can see that there’s something wrong with you right now. And I don’t think anybody else is home.” Klaus bowed his head, his fingers tapping erratically on his legs as he let out a long breath. “Is it about Vietnam?”

“Yeah.” He muttered. You noticed him absentmindedly grab at the dogtag around his neck as he did so.

“I don’t know much about that war.” You told him. “But I’ve heard that it was ugly. Though, I suppose you could say that about all war.” You continued to watch the way that he fiddled with the dogtag, smiling just slightly at the way that it calmed him down. “Can I see that?” You asked, gesturing to it.

When he let go of the dogtag you leaned forward and took it very carefully in your fingers.

“David Katz.” You read out loud. “He must have been special.”

“He was.” Klaus whispered, a ghost of a smile on his face and tears glazing over his eyes. “I’ve never loved anybody like I loved him.”

“Do you talk about him much? With your siblings?”

“No, not really.” He sniffled, taking hold of the dogtag again when you let go of it. “I mostly talked to Ben about it, and he’s gone now too.”

“You can talk to me about it, if you want.” You replied softly. “I know what it feels like too. Loss. Loneliness.” You smiled sadly, your eyes downcast as you both fell into silence. You heard Klaus sniffle again before you felt him gently take hold of your hand.

“Maybe we should trade stories some day.” He mumbled, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. You held his hand in both of yours, glancing up to see him mirroring your sad smile. When you looked back down you noticed the chipped black polish on his nails.

“Can I repaint your nails?” You asked, causing him to look down at his hand.

“Yeah, sure.”

You smiled, releasing his hand so that you could produce a bottle of nail polish remover and some cotton wool out of thin air. He let go of the dogtag so that you could do both of his hands, the two of you settled into silence as you cleaned his nails.

“Where do you keep your nail polish?” You asked, letting go of his fingers as the nail polish remover and cotton wool disappeared again.

“In one of the drawers somewhere.” Klaus answered, pointing vaguely towards the chest of drawers against the wall. “Can’t you just magic some up though?”

“Well, I could, but everything I create disappears when I fall asleep.” You explained as you searched through the drawers. “So your nails would be plain again in the morning.”

Eventually you found an old plastic tub filled with a cluttered array of nail polish that was tucked into the corner of an equally disorganised drawer. You sifted through it, impressed by the assortment of colours and making a mental note to borrow some of them later.

“What about this silver one?” You suggested, holding it up for him to see.

“Yeah, I like that one.” He nodded, and you smiled as you shut the drawer and went to sit back down in front of him. “You know, Alisson used to paint my nails when we were kids.”

“Really? Was that because she wanted to and you let her, or because you wanted her to and she indulged you?”

“Eh, a bit of both.” He answered, and you both chuckled a little.

You hummed absentmindedly as you painted Klaus's nails, the two of you just taking the small amount of time to relax, and when you finished you set the nail polish bottle down on the floor beside you with a contented sigh.

“I think I did a decent job.” You commented as Klaus lifted his hands to look at his nails more closely.

“They’re great. Thanks.”

“No problem. I figured it might cheer you up.” You shrugged, standing up to leave.

“Hey, Y/N.” He called quickly as you were about to leave the room, and you lent against the door frame as you turned back to face him. “With this family... it takes a long time for us to trust people. Don’t take it personally.”

“Don't worry, I don’t.” You smiled with a nod.

“I think you’re gonna fit in really well around here – I really like having you around – you just need to give us all the time to adjust. Even Luther will come around eventually.”

“Thanks, Klaus. I really hope we can be friends.” You gently patted the door frame in an attempt to alleviate the serious atmosphere that had suddenly surrounded you. “Don’t mess up your nails. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

With that you left the room, heading down the hallway towards the stairs when you heard Klaus call after you:

“Ben would have really liked you too!”

It made you smile.

#the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #tua #tua season 2 #tua x reader #tua klaus #klaus hargreeves #umbrella academy klaus #klaus hargreeves x reader

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scullysexual · 4 years

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Time Can Heal (9/ )

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | AO3 |

Mulder realises his request for the truth costs too much.

Tagging: @today-in-fic @bevh78 @mypanicface @weseeusinthefall @impulsive-astrophile @enigmaticxbee

This is probably my favourite character I’ve written so far!

- - -

Mulder’s apartment in Minneapolis is a lot bigger than the one in Virginia. Bigger apartments costs less here, he tells her but Dana already guessed that.

“Want something to drink?” Mulder asks as he heads towards the kitchen.

Dana shakes her head, hanging her coat up on the rack.

“Suit yourself,” says Mulder disappearing through the doorway.

Dana surveys the room. In many ways it’s a similar layout to the one back in Hegel Place; couch against the wall, TV opposite it, coffee table in the middle. The only thing missing is the fish tank, the fish given to the Lone Gunmen maybe.

She feels a tug in her chest at the absence of the fish. If they were here, maybe she could believe nothing had changed.

She does manage a smile, however, upon seeing a blanket folded on the back of the couch and the pillow tucked between the wall and the armrest.

Not everything changes.

“Still haven’t got a bed?” she asks when Mulder re-enters the living room carrying a glass of orange juice in one hand and a bag of sunflower seeds in the other.

Mulder shrugs and takes his place on the far side of the couch. Dana stays standing, watching as he places his drink and snack down and pulls out the report.

She plays with the strap of her bag and watches. Mulder thumbs through bits of papers, past autopsy photos and eye-witness accounts. It dawns on her in this moment that apartment visits were rare. Work would be done alone in their respective homes or together in their office. He came to her apartment more times than she ever went to his and in this moment she feels like a stranger, her eyes casting across the TV unit to the VHS’s stacked in a pile, bits of clutter that cover his desk and coffee table, unwashed dishes in the sink. All evidence of a man who lives alone. All evidence of someone who is lonely.

“You can sit down,” Mulder’s voice cuts through her thoughts. Her attention is brought over to him by the sound of it, he’s looking at her smiling. “I don’t bite,” he jokes.

It eases her how comfortable he is around her, even after all these months. It’s like nothing has really changed for him. Time apart, a bumpy start, but she is still his Scully, his partner, ready to crack jokes with any time, ready to infuriate with his theories or look at her with concern when he knows something is bothering her.

She begins to see his leaving her in a different light. It was his quest after all, he must feel some guilt towards everything that happened to her.

The movement is spontaneous, an action before the thought. Mulder would often ease his way into her personal space, touch her arm, touch her hand to get her attention. Dana’s always tried to maintain a sense of professionalism, they were co-workers before they were friends, two agents before they were people. A hand through his hair to check for injury but nothing more.

Now her hand lands on his knee, the feel of it having Mulder’s attention diverted from folder to his knee, to her.

Dana wills herself to keep it there, tells herself that it is nothing more than him in her personal space or touching her arm.

“I don’t blame you,” she tells him. “For the abduction. It wasn’t your fault.”

For extra sincerity she squeezes his knee before bringing it away and reaching into her bag to pull out her laptop.

“I always…” Mulder begins and she turns her head towards him again, halting her action of switching on the computer.

He’s searching for the words.

“I blamed myself for it,” he admits not quite looking at her. “I thought I should’ve done more to protect you. I thought you were really gone.” He looks away completely now, putting the folder down to stare at his hands instead. “My mom always said she didn’t blame me for Samantha but I could see it…in her eyes. And when you were gone…I saw it again in your mother’s.” He chances a glance at her before adverting his eyes away again. “And I always thought I saw it in yours.”

Dana begins furiously shaking her head. She can’t speak on behalf of her mother, on behalf of his, but she can speak on behalf of herself.

She reaches for his forearm, bringing his eyes back to her.

“I’m sorry I made you think that,” she says willing her gaze to make him believe. “It was never true.”

“It was Duane Barry’s fault,” Mulder says, his tone having a hint of scepticism behind it.

“Yes, it was,” Dana confirms, her voice strong. “Nobody else’s.”

It has some affect on him and Mulder begins to nod. He reaches back for the folder and takes out the profile he wrote, handing it her way. She goes to take it but he doesn’t quite give it away.

“Are you sure you’re okay reading it?”

This case still shook her, for reason she didn’t quite want to think about, but she was here to do a purpose and that purpose was to bring justice to the victims- dead or alive.

“I have a job to do,” she answers, taking the report from him.

Mulder nods but he doesn’t quite believe her.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“You amaze me,” Scully says after a while of just staring at him. Mulder takes a swig of his beer as he waits for her to continue.

A while has passed, the awkward murky beginnings long gone. They ordered food, he even convinced her to have a beer. Their reports and file lay on the coffee untouched. Scully sits in the gap between the couch and table, legs crossed and rolling the neck of the bottle back and forth between her fingers. He’s never known her to be so…relaxed.

Scully had been concerning him lately. He was worried for her, it’s not like her to run out of rooms after all.

Of course, the case was a difficult one, nobody should be expected to walk into something like this and not react, especially somebody as green as her but underneath all that Mulder was certain there was something else.

“It’s just…” she continues and shakes her head as if to discourage herself from saying anymore.

“No,” says Mulder with a chuckle. “Tell me. What were you gonna say?”

She moves onto her side, resting her arm on the seat of the couch and her head in her hand, looking at him.

“Okay,” she starts. “For arguments sake, why isn’t it aliens? Why is it not some…hair devouring slug that preys on dead people?”

He leans closer to her with false curiosity and a smirk.

“Do tell me more about this hair devouring slug theory of yours.”

She punches him in his leg and rolls her eyes. Her weak attempt has him falling into fits of laughter which just leads to frustrate her more, her eyes narrowing and a cute little pout forming on her face.

“I will shoot you.”

He doesn’t think she’s joking.

Mulder brings himself to stop laughing and goes back to his upright position. He plays with the label on the bottle as he talks.

“Certain cases have a distinct smell to them.” He shrugs. “This one doesn’t.”

“This one, out of 40 other cases, doesn’t have a distinct smell?”

Mulder chuckles again. “They’re rare but it’s been known to happen.” He glances her way. “What do you think? Do you think it’s a hair devouring slug?”

Scully grows sombre. She places her beer on the coaster on the table and hoists herself up onto the seat next to him.

Without looking at him, she mumbles, loud enough to for him to hear. “I’d like it to.”

“Why is that?” he asks as quietly as she spoke.

Mulder watches as she takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Because it’s easier to believe that monsters and aliens are the only ones capable of these things.” She looks down at her hands, fingers tangling together. “Not other human beings.”

She pulls her hands away to sit beside her, her head pointed towards the ceiling as she lets out a deep sigh.

“Scully, Duane Barry—”

“Duane Barry was insane!” Mulder feels himself physically jump back at the loud tone of her voice.

“You think it wasn’t aliens.” He realises.

“I know it wasn’t aliens.”

He looks at her with amazement.

“Scully, how? How do you know? Your memories…are they returning?”

He watches as her eyes shut almost immediately, her face crunching up as if she’s trying not to see what she’s seeing. When he looks down at her hands, the one closest to him is balled into a tight fist.

He reaches out to hold her hand, to comfort her through whatever it is she’s remembering but the moment he makes the slightest bit of contact, she’s jumping; eyes bursting open, vaulting her hand away.

“Scully—”

But she’s off the couch before he can finish his sentence.

“It wasn’t aliens.” She looks around the room, trying to remember where she is. Her eyes land on her laptop and folder and she rushes to pick them up.

“I need to go,” she says beginning to pack her stuff away.

But no, she can’t go, she’s remembering. Remembering her abduction or remembering something.

“Scully,” Mulder starts, getting up from the couch himself and walking towards her, trying to stop her from packing away her things.

“Stay,” he says. “It’s late, you don’t even have your car.”

She pauses at that, realising, before she shakes her head and resumes her task.

“I’ll book a cab.”

Mulder has nothing more he can say to her. Nothing more that wouldn’t make him sound like a selfish bastard for trying to get her to stay. Instead he nods and heads towards the telephone.

“Let’s get you back to your partner, eh,” he tries to joke but it lands flat. No response from Scully.

They fall to silence. Scully packed away and standing by the door in her coat. Mulder on the phone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks when the call is over and her taxi is booked.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She turns to leave and Mulder busies himself with tidying up.

“Mulder,” she calls and he stops what he’s about to do. Maybe, just maybe…

“You’ll always be my partner,” she says instead.

It’s not what he wanted but it warms his chest up anyway. A slight smile crawling it’s way across his face.

“And you’ll always be mine,” he answers back.

It earns him a smile of his own before she turns and disappears through the front door.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She tosses her bag onto the bed as she enters, unconcerned for the contents inside it. She kicks off her heels, leaving them in a heap at the foot of her bed and heads towards the bedside drawer.

Just as her hand touches the pack of cigarettes and lighter, there’s a knock at her door. Dana rolls her eyes, slamming the rickety drawer shut and marches her way towards the door.

“What do you want?” she asks upon opening.

Davis leans against the doorframe.

“Not a nice way to greet your partner,” he says. He barges his way into the room and Dana is not in the mood to deal with this right now.

“We’re not partners,” she retorts, closing the door. There’s a thought to keep it open but no, her gun is at her side. She’ll use it if she has to. There’s no reason for the door to stay open.

Davis sits on the edge of the bed and studies her.

“Where have you been?”

“Excuse me?”

“First time I’ve heard the door go all night. Where have you been?”

“What’s it to you?” She crosses her arms in front of her.

“I’m your partner,” Davis answers. “Do I not get to know where you’ve been?”

She’s too exhausted and angry to deal with this. She wants him out.

“Please go.”

But Davis is up quicker than she thought he would be. He moves towards her and she flinches, moving herself, her lower back colliding with the edge of the desk and sending a brief bout of shooting pain rippling through her nerves.

She let’s out a surprise breath.

“Alcohol,” Davis observes. He backs out of her personal space and Dana feels her heart beating loudly against her chest. “Drinking during a case is grounds for suspension,” he tells her as if he’s a follower of the book.

“I wasn’t drinking,” she argues. “It was one beer.”

“With Spooky?”

Her face gives her away.

Davis smirks. “So now you’ve come back all pissed off. What happened? Spooky got you all hot and horny then left you out to dry?”

The unexpected crudeness of his words shocks her, a small gasp falling out of her mouth before she regains herself. Her eyes turning to steel, she asks:

“Is there something you wanted, Davis?”

He does nothing to hide the leering look he gives it. A cold chill runs down Dana’s body, her stomach and throat tightening. She tries her hardest not to let these reactions show to Davis.

“Nothing you could give me,” he says. “I’ll show myself out,” he calls backs as he walks to the door and Dana feels the urge to throw the nearest thing to her at the back of his head.

Once he’s gone, she runs over to the door and locks it. With no adjoining door and Davis’ room one down from hers she feels safer knowing there’s no real way he could enter.

With her unwanted visitor gone, Dana resumes her task. She grabs the cigarettes and lighter and stalks over to the window, yanking it up and hurrying to light the cigarette.

Her anger slowly drifts away with the smoke. What wound her up, she’s unsure. Maybe Mulder’s pushing? Her outburst was sudden but she knew what he was going to say about Duane Barry.

Aliens didn’t take him, Mulder. I think, deep down, you know that.

Her memory had been just as sudden as her outburst. They’ve never came to her conscious before. There was a light and men were talking. It was briefer than her dreams- or felt briefer- less paralysing.

Aliens didn’t take me, either.

She flicks the cig away, watching it falls down towards the street below and debates having another one.

Instead, she brings her head back inside, shuts the window, and decides sleep would be the better course of action, the time already approaching midnight.

She drops her bag onto the floor, strips herself of her clothes, leaving them in a heap at her feet. She takes the t-shirt she packed, her usual silk pyjamas at home needing to be washed (a task Dana hadn’t had much energy for anymore) and climbs into the bed, foregoing anything else, telling herself she’ll deal with it tomorrow.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She knows it’s happening before it’s happening.

A weight on her chest. Her body frozen.

It’s dark, at first, much like it is when she wakes up in the night and her eyes have yet to adjust.

Then there’s a burst of bright, white light coming to life. Her eyes shut tight in response to it before they slowly open again.

She tries to move, to sit up, but when moves her eyes, wire is binding her wrists, pinning her down. Panic begins to grip her, her heart beating wildly against her chest. Instinct tells her to clench her fist but the best her finger can do is tap frantically against her palm.

There’s the sudden sound of movement near her feet and Dana chances a look down with her eyes.

She’s spread-eagled on the table, the way they had her during the experiments.

She tries to fight against her restraints but she can’t move, the binds too tight it begins to cut into her skin of her wrist. The gasps at the deep red blood against the pale white of her skin as it begins its descent downwards, pooling below.

There’s heavy breathing, not coming from herself, and when she moves her eyes to the other side a yelp is released from her mouth, her body growing cold as a devil stands over her, his skin as red as her blood.

He leers at her body, eyes moving south before he begins to follow. Dana follows him, her eyes trained on him as she fights to control her breath, fights to even breath. She swallows and gulps when his red arm slowly begins reaching towards her ankle. His finger is cold when it touches her skin, sending shiver up and down her body and gooseflesh forming.

She tries to fight it off but just as like her wrists, are ankles are restrained, too. Unable to run, unable to fight, she shuts her eyes as the devil man’s finger begins tracing up her leg, a hand joining when he reaches her knee.

He moves to the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh and fear grips her, her eyes shooting open, darting towards him.

“Please…” she just about manages yet the devil’s hand still makes his way towards that place.

He looks at her, sadness or pity in his eyes and, with his other hands, reaches out to brush a tear away from her face with a finger. With the other, he strokes her outer lips.

Her body reacts, begins to respond and Dana wants to cry and scream and run. She begins fighting against the restrains again, not caring for the pain as they cut deeper into her wrists. Maybe it will snag a vein and she will die, ending all of this.

She stiffens and stops at the feeling of a finger entering her. The devil man is looking away from her now, focused on his task and there is nothing Dana can do to stop him.

She stills, facing her fate, facing the fact that this is about to happen, that they’re about to take something else from her, as well. Her eyes loll to the side, vision blurring as all sensations but the sensation of the weight upon her all fall away.

In her clouded vision, a figure approaches, the smell of cigarettes, and a voice.

“What are you doing?”

Mulder…

Dana blinks a few times, forcing her eyes to remain open but her vision is still blurry.

“She is mine,” Mulder says.

“Mul…Mul…der…”

Mulder’s face approaches hers, his hand in her hair stroking.

“Shh…” Mulder says. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

#txf #txf fic #season 2 #canon divergence #abduction arc #irresistible fic #time can heal 9 #i write

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

A/N: Iwaizumi domestic AU!! I am here to quench your Iwaizumi Hajime father-of-three thirsts.

On another note: Haikyuu manga ends today :(( Guess who’s gonna fucking DIE. Anyways, this manga has left so much of an impact to me, I feel like it’s already imprinted in my heart. Thank you so much to Furudate for making such a wonderful story, and may their stories flourish! I’ll still make content though, I’m really waiting on that new light novel and the second cour of the anime pspsspsps 👁👁

ménage. | iwaizumi hajime episode 1 – haimish.

summary: in which your oldest son is about to begin elementary school, but your husband misplaces the documents while in a frenzy.

word count: 2215

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(adj.) homey; cozy and unpretentious

At seven and four, Kazuki and Isao were at the age where they couldn’t keep their messy doodles confined into the sketchbooks you’d bought for them.

The first victim to their mischief was the wall in the kitchen beside the door leading to your backyard. It was a small parade of animals, with streamers and party hats. Tiger-san with his jagged crown, the dainty family of rabbits, and the hefty Bear-san (“No, Mommy! That’s Cat-san!” your second oldest had huffed indignantly at the clutter of crayon circles) who was at the very front of the entire crew. Your boys were lucky enough that it had been you who’d walked into their little streak of artistry. An understanding glance had been enough, seeing that you probably weren’t so different back then. You’d clean it up with a secret trick your mother had taught you and everything in the Iwaizumi household was back in business. Easy-peasy.

But had it been Hajime who’d encountered their mess... let’s just say you wouldn’t hear the end of the boys’ shrill wails until the next week.

Unfortunately for you and your trusty washcloth, Kazuki and Isao’s artistic escapades didn’t stop at the kitchen wall. Next, it was the floors, the windows of the entrance and even on the door to your bedroom (with a side of elephant stickers that you’d admit were pretty cute). Thus, it didn’t take very long for your husband to finally be faced by their “little” temperament. And not very long for the boys to be faced by their father’s wrath.

But there was simply a stubborn rock settled somewhere in your sons’ heads—they get it from Hajime, you’d kept telling yourself—and for simply the reason of being boys in their early youths, they kept on drawing. Everywhere. Anywhere.

At least the both of you were thankful enough for Hina-chan. Still a tiny ball of warmth curled up cozily against in your arms, Hina was the youngest and the only daughter in your modest family of five. And the least likely source of your daily hurdles.

“By the time Hina learns to hold a pencil, should we just introduce our home as an art gallery or something?” Hajime had asked you rather comically after seeing the colorful family portrait Isao had drawn in one of his reference books.

Though Kazuki, your first child, was completely aware of his responsibilities as an older brother, it was concerning enough that he still hadn’t let go of his childishness. He was seven now, and in a few months, delving into April, he’d be in first grade. Maybe he was simply rowdy in nature... who knows? With a gruff husband like Iwaizumi Hajime, anything was possible.

Elementary school... you pondered, gazing softly at your family in the living room. Hajime cradling Hina in one arm while he and the boys cheered wildly at the service ace that was displayed on TV. How exciting.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

“Remember to ask for ‘Ichimura-sensei’, alright? She was the teacher I talked to when Kazuki and I checked the school. She’ll know the details I asked her about in the last meeting so you just have to give her the application form.”

Hajime suppressed a chuckle at your adamant ramble. “You’ve only been telling me this all week. I won’t forget, you know.”

“Sorry,” you sighed, bouncing your sleeping daughter in your arms. “I just want to make sure nothing goes wrong. This is our firstborn we’re talking about.”

“Trust me, Y/N,” he smiled. “It’ll be fine.”

You could only nod quietly. Was it the maternal instinct within you that was acting up? It all felt too soon, too quick. If you blinked, Kazuki would’ve already gotten married already... You weren’t ready for that.

But the least you could do was get used to the changes that were going to happen around the house. Starting with this.

“You’ve brought the form with you, right? You didn’t forget it?”

You felt bad that your husband was being held up at the entrance to your little home, but it couldn’t hurt to be just slightly careful. Unclasping his bag, he scrabbled through it, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, I’ve put it in a folder here last night, so there’s no way it would—Eh?”

More rummaging.

“Hajime, is everything alright?”

He was pulling things out of his bags now. 2000-yen bills, crumpled receipts, his packets of protein shakes, Hina’s diapers. But no application form. Nothing.

“I-It’s not there.”

“Huh?!”

“H-Hold on, I’ll check our bedroom,” his voice was in the least reassuring tone he could muster and you felt your heart drop a million feet into the ground.

Why would this happen now of all times? The document was already filled and sealed with your inkan*, payments documented, crucial information written on that single sheet of paper. Crucial information you couldn’t afford to fill in twice... and it was missing?

You really didn’t want to think about how today was the last day to submit applications—

“Kazuki!!” Hajime’s thunderous voice cut through the silence.

A tiny echo of pattering footsteps and Hina shifted against your chest but did not wake. You were thankful enough; anymore ruckus and your sanity would snap.

Yawning, your eldest scratched his dark bedhead and sauntered over to his father who fisted a sheet of paper in his hand. “Daddy, you’re too loud...”

Putting the paper onto full display, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head at what was on it.

Had the form always been so... colorful? You could barely see any writing on it, covered by the persistent doodles your son had scrawled over. Mixes of hiragana he’d been practicing, completed with small side drawings—Anpanman*, some horses and a purple paddy field. All in all: it was a mess. But it was clearly the form you’d filled in. And it was clearly Kazuki’s mess.

Hajime scowled, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling. “Did you do this?”

“...No.”

“Well it couldn’t be Isao or Hina, couldn’t it?” he seethed. “Don’t take me for an idiot. Isao’s been having playdates all week and Hina can’t draw yet. What did I tell you about drawing outside of the papers and books we gave you, huh?!”

“B-But I was just trying to help!” Kazuki exclaimed. “You and Mommy are always so busy taking care of papers. So I thought if I helped you write in it... you’d come and play with me again.”

Suddenly, a lump rose in your throat. You were always so busy taking care of Hina and Isao and their immeasurable demands, and your husband was either at work or out playing volleyball with the neighborhood team. You wondered how lonely it was for him the entire week you were taking care of the registrations.

How lonely it was, despite being surrounded by so much people.

Your husband, however, was completely unfazed. “Go to your room.”

“But Daddy, it’s not—!”

“Kazuki.” Each syllable he drew out sent a shiver down your spine. In a split second, the Iwaizumi household’s living room grew cold. “Go. To. Your. Room! Put your arms above your head and keep it that way until I come back!”

As if on cue, the waterworks emerged.

“I hate you, Daddy! I hate you! You never listen to me!” and that was the last thing you heard from the tear-streaked boy before he stumbled through the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

“...Mmn,” Hina roused, her tiny button nose flaring, and you instantly knew what was to come. Oh no...

Sighing in defeat, your husband crossed his arms and ambled back towards you and the bawling baby in your embrace. Pressing your lips together, you mumbled to him. “You could’ve been a bit nicer to Kazuki. Now look what happened.”

“He’ll never learn his lesson if I don’t get strict,” he said, the guilt crossing his eyes. Swimming. Settling. “I’m going to go ahead to the school before they close for the day. Ask if they’ve got anymore forms I can fill in there.”

You nodded, hands coming to rub gently against your daughter’s back as your husband kissed your forehead—a daunting ritual you did before whenever he left the house.

Then, he bent down to softly coo at the red-faced infant. “Hina-chan, how about a kiss for Daddy before I go?”

The result: Hina only cried louder. Repelled by the sudden change in volume, Hajime scratched the back of his neck remorsefully.

“I get it, I get it... I’m the bad guy today,” he rustled. “I guess I’ll be off now. I’ll leave the house in your care, Y/N.”

You smiled at him, your hard-working husband with a weak spot for your little family. “Be careful, Hajime-kun.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, you were left to your terror again. A crying seven-year old, a crying baby, and if all the noise were to wake up Isao from his afternoon nap... Geez, what a mess...

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Hajime really felt like he knew this guy somewhere... High school? A volleyball match? That refreshing aura wasn’t really difficult to tell apart, either...

“You’re number 2 from Karasuno High, ain’tcha?”

“Uwaah... Seijoh’s Iwaizumi Hajime...” Sugawara twinkled, the grey cowlick on his head standing up straight. “The atmosphere of an powerful ace really is hard to miss.”

Hajime blushed. When was the last time someone called him a ‘powerful ace’? He had you to call him that whenever you were feeling nostalgic, but otherwise, that label was a shard of the past.

“Sugawara-san, right?” he recalled. “You work here at this school?”

The man chuckled. “Yep! I’m a teacher now. How about you, Iwaizumi-san? What are you up to here?”

“Oh, I’m looking for Ichimura-sensei. I want to talk to her about the registration for my son.”

Sugawara shook his head for a moment before replying.

“Unfortunately, Ichimura-sensei is out with the flu. That’s why I’m covering the weekend shift for her. You can just give the forms to me, and we can look over the terms and conditions.”

What luck, Hajime thought. But at least having this guy around wasn’t going to be as bad of an experience.

“Ah... about that...” he started. “My kid drew all over the application form and I don’t remember making any copies. So, would it be a problem if I did it again right now? Me and my wife are in a bit of a tough spot at the moment.”

By the grace of God, Sugawara said, “I don’t think it’d be a issue. Let’s go to the office and discuss it together. Before that, can I ask for your ID, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Ah, yeah, sure, let me just get my wallet...” filing through his bag, Hajime rifled through the stacks of paper, looking... searching... And when he got to his wallet: “Huh?”

There it was. The application-payment form he’d filled in last week, in its pristine glory. And with absolutely zero drawings on it. There was his family seal and everything. Down to both of your signatures, in the blue ink you’d insisted on using (Hajime never really bothered to make out the different uses of different inks).

“The form...” he muttered. “It must’ve slipped from the folder or something. Then that means the one at home was probably a copy...”

Freezing, Hajime realized. Crap. What have I done?

══════ ⋆��⋆ ══════

By the time Hajime got home, the house was already quiet again. Isao and Hina were asleep in your bedroom—Hina in her crib and Isao laid spread-eagle on the limited expanse of your queen-size bed. Taking the opportunity of a silent home, you decided to use the time you had to eat some sweets you’d secretly stashed in the fridge away from your children’s eyes.

“What a ravenous wife,” he’d teased, only for you to smear a dollop of whipped cream across his face in retaliation.

It didn’t take him long to realize the muffled sobbing from Kazuki’s room had subsided too. Curiosity getting the best of him, your husband stepped inside the danger zone.

Hajime always thought that Kazuki was a peaceful sleeper. He could sleep anywhere and still look like he was having the time of his life. During times like this, where Hajime was drained empty at the end of the day, he couldn’t help but feel jealous of his son.

Gingerly picking him up from the carpeted floors, Hajime rested Kazuki’s head on the crook of his broad shoulder, his gentle breathing blowing faint breezes next to his nape. Looking down at the smattering of papers on the ground, he reached down to read one that Kazuki had presumably written right before he was knocked out cold.

I’m really sorree Sorry Daddy :( I promise to never draw on your things ever again. Kazuuki

Below the large lopsided text he’d written in crayon was a smudged drawing of (what seemed) to be him. Well, if Hajime was a stickman with prominent eyebrows that stuck out of his face.

“I’m sorry too, kid. Guess I was being unfair, huh?” he murmured. “I’ll make it up to you once you wake up. We’ll all play together. Me, you, Isao, Hina and your mom. We’ll use as much time as we have left.”

And Hajime never backed down on a promise.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Glossary:

inkan - personalized seals used in lieu of signatures in paperwork

anpanman - a Japanese children’s superhero cartoon character, looks like this

#bruh haikyuu writing #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #domestic au #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu #hq #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #seijoh x reader #aoba johsai x reader #iwaizumi hajime imagine #iwaizumi hajime scenario #sfw #hajime x reader

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tiredcowpoke · 4 years

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TITLE: Of Waters PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Reader REQUEST: I had a couple people wish for a follow up to my other college/university au, “Of Lines”, so here we are. WARNINGS: Some angst, mentions of cheating (in reader’s past, not on each other.) NOTE: I hope this holds up to expectations. lol Also, I’m sorry for the quiet, between a wedding and university starting this week, I wanted to get something out before things really pick up. Again, the reader can be seen as gender neutral as there isn’t a focus on it.

It was starting to eat you up a bit.

It hadn’t been so present in the beginning, sharing the friendly, albeit awkward messages to figure out where you both wanted to eat for that first date. You both had settled on some sort of little diner in the city--homey and relaxed, decent food. There had been an inkling in the back of your mind during that whole meal, something that tried to scratch at the surface of your mind, but you had pushed it down.

It had been nice, relaxed. It was a little odd to see Arthur outside of the office and what little memories you still had of him in the classroom, but he seemed more at ease at that table in that lightly populated diner. You two had settled on some sort of breakfast for dinner thing, picking at a skillet as you both exchanged little tidbits of stories about your lives. No work, no past relationships.

You knew he could have easily broken into that, and you knew you would have to address the lingering anxieties about how your last one had ended. Yet, it had just been the first date, so you let those topics lay.

Arthur managed to surprise you with his humor and the odd story about the people he used to live with, something you wished you could have matched, but you had to argue that you hadn’t lived the most interesting life. Still, things were nice, and you knew you were at least pretty interested in seeing where this would end up.

Though, with the end of the break and classes picking back up, it left room for those drops of doubt to sink in.

With the semester picking back up at the university, it was easy just to let things lay where they were. Arthur was pretty good about leaving his home life out of the office hour you two shared, at least when it came to you. There was the odd lingering touch when you would pass by each other, or a look you’d share, but nothing that would seem unprofessional should anybody walk into the room.

Going out together had been getting a little more complicated, juggling the approaching end of the semester. Projects needed to be marked, lectures that needed to be wrapped up. Still, you managed to share lunches, sneak in a second date, a third. All the while, the unexplored thoughts and doubts seemed to get heavier the more you saw of him.

It wasn’t fair, the way you were starting to compare.

You hadn’t thought about your ex in years, that whole situation put in the past with time but you hadn’t really addressed the pain that lingered. You knew Arthur couldn’t possibly be beyond the effects of his divorce only a couple months out from it, and with those two things lingering, it made the whole situation a lot more complicated in your head.

It made your stomach twist in guilt over the idea of Arthur being a cheater, yet there was always that worry in the back of your mind. If his ex-wife started to miss him, if she changed her mind, you couldn’t help but worry that this whole thing was him just trying to fill a hole until he realized he didn’t need you anymore.

Christ, you hated thinking like that, but it was hard not to.

Yet, all of that seemed to just bubble just below the surface when you both had managed to find a day and time to have dinner at his home.

It was a first for you, the both of you tending to keep to rather public spaces and restaurants. It had your gut twisting somewhat with everything had been piling up, along with stress from work. Still, you tried to push that down for the moment as you approached the home, Arthur greeting you at the door after a couple knocks before letting you inside.

He had a decent house, much as you tried not to judge too much on that. The space did seem a little bare, but you could see bits of clutter and pieces of his own taste. Considering what had happened with him recently, you couldn’t really expect much more than that anyway. The thought had you somewhat tense, feeling those thoughts starting to push forward somewhat. You really should just let him into your head a bit at this point, tell him what’s going on and your concerns.

Still, it was hard to bring up, making you further distract yourself as you looked around his home somewhat while making some small talk.

However, you paused as you came across a small book open on the desk near the hall. You had been ready to dismiss it as some assignment he was looking at before you noticed it stuck in a whole book. It looked to be some sort of park landscape filling one page and spilling out onto the next.

Yet, you didn’t get to examine it all that closely when you heard a small chuckle from behind you.

“Ah, Christ, I forgot I left that out,” Arthur muttered, stepping by you to scoop it up from the table as he flipped it closed, “Don’t usually let people see my drawin’s, at least not unless I’m usin’ them as some piss poor example.”

“You use your own art as examples but call them ‘piss poor’?” you asked, turning to glance back toward him as Arthur shrugged lightly.

“Eh...usually just show the odd one to prove I’m not talkin’ out my ass,” he returned, tucking the sketchbook into a drawer.

“Well, sorry for looking,” you said, “It’s good, though.”

“Well...thanks,” he muttered, sounding much more like he was just saying so to move on from the moment instead of taking the genuine compliment. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, I left it out.”

“If it means anything, seeing that makes me believe you had more of a right to being rough on me when I was in your class,” you continued around a soft chuckle, earning another in return when he turned back around.

“...I gotta be honest, I don’t remember what you submitted to me.”

“Well, gee, thanks!” you returned around a small laugh, raising your voice in (somewhat) mock offence.

“No, no, c’mon, you can’t tell me you remember every essay you’ve ever graded,” he returned, at least picking up on the lighthearted tone behind your response as you let out a soft exhale.

“...Not unless there is something particularly special about it, I guess,” you relented, “I’ll have to see if I can find my final project again, might see if I can get a more recent opinion.”

“Well, I’d just be bias now.”

“You weren’t back then?”

“I don’t know where you got the impression that I hated you,” he said, the touch of a grin on his face but you could see a touch of genuine curiosity in his gaze as you let out a small huff.

“...Maybe I was looking into things a little too personally,” you returned, glancing down as you placed a hand against the dinner table, “Though, you did kick me in the teeth a couple times.”

“Back then, you probably weren’t the only one,” he said with a small shrug.

“You have mellowed out over the years,” you returned, causing him to glance up at you.

Really, it was hard to miss the warm feeling that settled in you, despite the teasing, something that had become all the more common the more you saw of him outside of work. You found a small grin touching your face, tilting your head somewhat.

“Though, you could make that up to me,” you continued, not too sure where the burst of courage came from, but it was on the mark enough that you saw the shift in his expression. Something softer, an expression that put a small flutter to your stomach, growing hunger aside.

Yet, as he seemed like he was about to say something, the moment was broken by a couple of quick knocks on the front door.

It wasn’t hard to miss the tightening of Arthur’s brow as he glanced toward it, confusion setting for a few moments before a look of realization crossed his expression. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line before letting out a whispered curse that wasn’t hard to miss from where you were standing.

“I, uh--I’m sorry, hang on.”

You lingered back as Arthur headed toward the door, letting out a small breath as you ran a hand through your hair and glanced around yourself somewhat awkwardly. You could see Arthur digging something out of a drawer near the front room, and you found yourself taking a couple of steps forward despite yourself as he removed what looked to be a folder--some papers.

Realization took a moment to dawn on you as he moved to open the front door, hearing a woman’s voice as Arthur greeted her and exchanged a few words. You let out a small sigh through your nose, almost wanting to laugh.

Of course this was happening right now.

“Well, now ain’t really the best time for--” you heard Arthur start to explain before he shifted back.

“--Oh, it will only take a moment, Arthur. Please.”

You stiffened as the woman at the door stepped into the house, glancing around herself a moment before stilling when her eyes landed on you. She was a pretty woman, dark hair piled up on her head, the folder Arthur previously had in her hands as she looked you over a moment before offering a small, somewhat stiff smile.

“...I didn’t know you had company,” she said, glancing back toward Arthur, the look lingering a moment. It caused you to let out a slow exhale, glancing down as you shifted somewhat on your feet.

“That’s why I was sayin’ this ain’t the best time,” Arthur returned, the tension in his voice and between the three of you really not all that hard to miss.

“I see,” she returned with a soft nod, glancing back toward you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I guess I’ll come by tomorrow for all of that, then?”

She had glanced back toward Arthur near the end of that, causing him to nod and give her a quiet ‘sure’ before she glanced back toward you to give you another tight grin, almost apologetic before she turned to exit back out of the door. She and Arthur shared a quiet word before he closed the door behind her, Arthur not turning to face you for a few moments as he ran a hand across his mouth a moment.

“This is my fault,” he said, turning to glance back toward you, “Completely slipped my mind she was comin’ by today, wouldn’t have had you comin’ over so early if I had remembered.”

“It’s...it’s fine,” you returned, taking in a slow breath as he moved back toward you, gesturing toward the table.

“Dinner’ll still be a bit, but feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

You gave him a small nod. Really, the whole interaction had been short, but it was hard to not feel tense with how tense Arthur had become. Separating himself from you by heading into the kitchen, it had broken whatever warm bubble that you had been wrapped up in and it was a hard feeling to shake.

***

Dinner really would have been nice, had it not been reduced down to small talk and awkward silence. You had been ready to just set aside the earlier hiccup and have a nice night with him, but Arthur had locked himself up and you could only feel yourself distancing from him in light of it. Really, it had you just eating what you could and trying not to keep an eye on the clock, your stomach tightening as the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind started to circle.

You really think dating a recently divorced man is a good idea? His ex shows up and now he can’t even look at you.

You’re just setting yourself up for failure again. If he can’t handle a quick conversation with his ex and continue this, you really shouldn’t even be in it.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, his voice pulling you momentarily from the spiral that was happening in your head, “Christ. I didn’t want tonight goin’ like this.”

“It’s…It’s fine--or, I don’t know. Maybe we can…” Just leave. “I don’t know. Shit.”

Finally, that small anxious part of you managed to get its claws into your head, causing you to stand abruptly from the table. All you really knew was how to avoid, you could think clearly if you were just left alone. You caught the somewhat surprised look at crossed Arthur’s face at the action, raising from his chair as you found your things. You heard Arthur saying your name, trying to get your attention, but it was hard to focus.

Though, you paused as the weight of his hand on your shoulder stopped you from just bolting for the door.

“C’mon, it doesn’t have to be this, alright?” he said, causing you to shake off his hand somewhat. Much as you could turn to leave, you knew you had to say something, yet…

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you said, letting out a shaky breath.

“Do what?” he asked, his brows tightening in confusion as you waved your hand somewhat.

“This,” you said, looking over at him as you dropped your hand back down. You knew you should stop the words, but you could feel your thoughts starting to race and tumble out.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you continued with a bitter laugh, “Getting into relationships with people who eventually just...move on to greener pastures, should they even tell me. That or it’ll be through odd articles of clothing or unexplained hotel bills.”

“The hell’re you insinuatin’’?” Arthur snapped, pulling you into the moment to realize what you had just said. “You think I’m gonna cheat on you?”

“No. No, I…” you paused, that sinking feeling in your gut tightening as you could feel your heart start to hammer away in your chest. “This isn’t coming out right at all. I just...Christ, Arthur, you see your ex for a couple minutes and you can’t even look at me for the rest of the night.”

That got some silence from him, Arthur’s expression tightening with the anger from what you had said and a hurt that touched his gaze that told you more than you needed to know. You really didn’t want to hurt him, not like this, yet…

“I...I’m sorry to waste the dinner, but I’m going to go,” you said after a moment.

Arthur didn’t say anything outside of letting out a low sound from his throat, not stopping you as you turned back around and opened the door to make your way back out toward your car in the evening’s darkness.

You knew you would have to settle the tightness in your chest and shaking in your hands before you could make the drive back home.

***

Really, it had completely slipped your mind that you would have to deal with this throughout the week. It wasn’t just some bad weekend date, no you had to sit with him in a room for the same hour for a couple days.

A workplace romance, another great idea.

As expected, there was tension as soon as the beginning of the week rolled around. Short greetings with minimal eye contact, trying to work in silence with his presence lingering at your back like he was sitting back-to-back with you. Really, you had turned the whole event over and over in your head, kicking yourself for your reaction, still seeing that damn expression on his face. There was a part of you that wanted to apologize, at least for not explaining your worries better or running off like you did. However, you couldn’t quite seem to find the words and if Arthur was having the same struggle, he was being pretty quiet about it.

Still, with how things were at the university, it was easy to throw yourself into your work. Really, you could at least pride yourself on how well you managed to keep it together, you didn’t want a repeat of a couple years ago when personal issues pushed into your work life. Still, it was always there during that hour when you didn’t have questions to field and the nights with no messages or phone calls.

However, you knew this whole thing would have to be addressed eventually.

Much as there was a part of you that wanted to just bottle everything, file it under another reason as to why you shouldn’t get into another relationship. Yet, you knew you wanted this. There was a part of you that couldn’t deny the hopefulness you felt upon pushing beyond the friendliness of colleagues, even of friends, and yet...well, you were scared.

You just needed to talk to him, it was just waiting for a good opportunity or making it yourself.

Still, a week of the distance seemed to pass despite your resolve to sort that out. A couple times you had thought about cornering him during quieter moments, but you couldn’t be sure someone wouldn’t walk in on however that would go. Plus, he had work to do as well, the both of you seeming to deal with the awkwardness in similar ways. However, eventually you managed to find your chance at the university’s car park one evening after you had lingered behind to work on some semester end papers.

You saw him making his way toward his truck as you did toward your own car, watching him for a moment with a small, anxious flutter in your chest before you paused.

“Arthur?”

He stopped at the sound of your voice, hand resting against the lip of his truck’s trunk as he turned to glance back toward you. The expression on his face was...impassive, you supposed. It was better than angry or irritated, much like you feared it might have been, or it would be quick to shift into.

“You need somethin’?” Well, perhaps he was a little more bitter than you had been thinking.

“Yeah…” you started, walking closer to him as you let out a small sigh, “We need to talk.”

“What about?”

“I think you know,” you stated, trying to keep some frustration from your tone. Perhaps not at him, but born out of the tightness in your chest.

Arthur watched you for a few moments before he glanced away to look around the rather empty car park, tapping his fingers against the metal of his truck.

“Was under the impression there wasn’t anythin’ to talk about,” he said, glancing back toward you with an indifferent expression, “You said you couldn’t do this, so I figured that was it.”

“...I know what I said,” you replied around a small sigh, crossing your arms as you glanced down toward your feet. “It was...childish how I handled that. I shouldn’t have ran off instead of saying what I really meant. I’m sorry I implied that you would be anything like my other partner, that wasn’t right.”

“...That whole dinner was a damn mess,” Arthur replied around a sigh, leaning back against the side of his truck. “Guess Mary showin’ up just...threw everythin’ back in my face. Everythin’ I was doin’.”

“What I…” you started, pausing a moment as you bit the side of your cheek a moment as you tried to find the right words, ignoring how what he was saying was speaking heavily into the doubt you had been carrying. “What I was trying to say was that...I guess I’m scared to be doing this whole thing again. Dating, letting someone in close again. There’s my whole trust issue with that, but...I guess I’m just worried I’m just something to fill a hole until everything with your divorce is settled.”

“I...I know I’m not handlin’ this whole thing very well, seems fast but...Christ, I was dreadin’ this semester but you made it worthwhile to come into work. Seein’ you outside it makes me happy, too.”

“See, that’s…” you started, leaning your shoulder against the back of his truck, “That’s what I’m worried about. Seeing you makes me happy, too, but...I can’t get invested again if this is going to end up where you’ve confused that for something romantic.”

There was a pause after your words, Arthur looking over your expression before he glanced down, crossing his arms as he leaned against the side of his own truck as well. Really, you knew you weren’t sure if you were just talking yourself out of something good, it felt like it at points, but you just had to get that out in the open. Get him to understand.

“...I thought Mary was the one,” Arthur stated, shaking his head lightly, “When we decided to get married, I thought that was it. I was set, but...well, somethin’ changed. If it was somethin’ in her or somethin’ in me, I don’t know, but...well, much as there’s a part of me that’s torn up about that, I know I’m not really lookin’ for somethin’...temporary. Fill a hole, as you said. If I didn’t want somethin’ beyond that, I wouldn’t have bent my own professionalism to date you if I didn’t think there was somethin’ there. So...no, no I’m not gonna use you. Not after all this and what you’ve been through.”

“I...fuck, I want to trust that.”

“Why not?” he asked, stepping closer to you as you looked into his face. Much as the question was tense, you could see the hopefulness in his gaze. After all he had say, you couldn’t blame him, but…

“I had someone for a while,” you said, shaking your head, “It was good. Really good. Almost too good, maybe. I don’t know what happened, maybe it was all a front or if I just...wasn’t good enough, but that relationship gutted me. We moved in together, there was talk of engagement, and then I discovered the sleeping around. The...odd pieces of clothing and unexplained motel bills, as I said. I was lied to over and over when I got confrontational enough, and then...I was just done. I moved out and after that I didn’t see anyone for a long while, not until you. So...knowing what was going on with Mary and how scared I am about this happening again…”

“...Christ,” he said once you had trailed off, causing you to glance up at him, “I’m sorry that happened. I guess...well, I remember you tellin’ me about bein’ cheated on, should have realized that’s goin’ on under everythin’.”

“It’s not your fault,” you replied, “The thing is, I really do want to be with you. I do. That’s why I’m probably so scared about all of this. I...wish this damn conversation didn’t have to happen in a damn car park, but I guess that dinner was just the boiling point for everything. I should have just told you this instead of insinuating you would use me or cheat on me.”

“I’ve never been like that. One night stands when I was younger, sure, but that was mutual. If I’m not happy in a relationship, I wouldn’t do that. You deserve better than somethin’ like that.”

“...Thank you,” you replied, giving him a soft smile, “I...I need to know this is serious, that I’m not some rebound.”

“You’re not,” he stated, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I know the timin’s terrible, but I want to be with you too.”

“...Okay,” you said with a small nod, “Okay, I’m going to trust you.”

At that point you stepped forward to wrap your arms around his middle, placing your head against his shoulder as Arthur returned the embrace. You took in the feeling of him solid against you, holding tight as you let your mind settle. Really, you knew you could have left it at that, but...you knew you had been wanting to do it for a while, long before the whole dinner. You had been too doubtful, and perhaps just waiting for the moment.

Still, you said you would trust him.

So, you found yourself leaning back in the hug, Arthur’s hold loosening somewhat. However, instead of stepping away, you slipped your arms out from around him to lift your hands toward his face. You cupped his jaw for a moment, taking in his expression as he seemed to take in your own before you leaned into him, pressing your lips against his own as Arthur pressed back into the gesture himself. He shifted to press you against the side of his truck somewhat, your hands moving up to press into his hair as you pressed back more into the kiss.

There was some relief in there in finally letting yourself do this, but also starting to work on putting aside your doubt and worries that you had been shoving down. You could feel that warm feeling settling in your chest, dropping your hands down to trail against his neck before resting on his shoulders as you parted somewhat for air. Much as you knew you wanted to stay in the moment, his hands on you and your mouths against each other, you also knew you were in the underground car park of the university.

“I need to drive home,” you said around a somewhat breathy chuckle, Arthur letting out a small one of his own as he pulled back somewhat to give you more space.

“Yeah, yeah so do I.”

“Call me,” you said, giving him a quick smile, “Hopefully we can keep the issues to a minimum until I’ve got my finals sorted out.”

“Sure…” Arthur remarked around a chuckle, “Just...you’re gonna have to let me redo dinner some time once the semester’s out. No Mary, nothin’ like last time.”

You gave him another smile along with a nod, letting out a small breath as the tension was leaving after a week of it. “I’d like that.”

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader

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thewalkingfanfictions · 4 years

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Softly, Barely a Whisper -- Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (part one)

Softly, Barely a Whisper — Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (pre apocalypse) (part one)

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three

Description: (Name) moved in with her uncle, the Sheriff of a little town in Northern Georgia, to escape an abusive household. While living with her uncle, she meets Daryl, a redneck with a heart of gold and a life very similar hers. Fluff and angst and awkward shy Daryl Dixon ensue.

⚠Warning⚠: great amounts of bad language, past mentions of abuse, past mentions of rape, there's probably more, this'n's kinda a mess. Don't read if you get triggered easily.

Genre: angsty fluff?? Hurt/comfort?? I've no idea. Is awkward Daryl a genre?

Pairing: teen!Daryl Dixon x teen!fem!abused!reader

A/N: hey, sorry I've been gone for forever, I suck at commitment. I also suck at naming things, hence the title. I wrote another long motherfucker of a "oneshot" and therefore am breaking it into chapters like I did with Impromptu Cuddles, so look out for the other chapters soon enough. Enjoy.

Words without A/N: 3242

<—————————————>

"Sure thing, Daryl. You can use whatever ya'd like, just make sure you put it back afterwards. The doors unlocked and yer more than welcome to go in for a drink or anythin' if ya need it." Bill Coleman, or Sheriff Coleman, as most knew him by, called out as he moved to open the door to his cruiser.

The Sheriff was an interesting character to the youngest Dixon. He had hardened features and a voice like a gravel truck that immediately implied a harsh disposition, his eyes were constantly squinted into a look that resembled judgment, and the vibe he gave off was just generally unpleasant; but, in all reality, Bill Coleman was probably the gentlest man Daryl had ever met. He understood the workings of the Dixon household without ever having to be told, and did what he could to make life any bit easier for the teenager. Whether that be arresting the senior Dixon whenever he found possible, or offering Daryl a place to stay in his home over the weekend. Bill was, all in all, a genuinely kind human being. Something, Daryl found, was rather rare in his life.

But, even though the Sheriff had his trust, and he knew the Sheriff trusted him the same, it still came as a bit of a shock to him to see the officer willingly let him, a Dixon, have open access to his house while no one else was home.

Everyone knew not to trust a Dixon. Nobody in the town was willing to make eye contact with him, let alone trust him to their house and belongings while they were away. Will, his father, had done a fine job of destroying the family name in his drunken escapades, and his brothers addictions did nothing to help. This, combined with the confusion and disbelief that coursed through his system, explained the gawk the boy's eyes held as he stared in awe at Mr. Coleman's retreating figure.

This had to be some kind of trick, right?

"Oh," the Sheriff called. There it was, the part where he'd laugh it off and say "just kidding. Like I'd let a freak like you into my home without supervision."

Once again surprising the young man, his expectation was the farthest thing from what the greying man actually said.

"I fergot ta mention my niece, my sisters kid. She'll be here soon enough, gets off work in a half hour or so. She's been stayin' with me since, ah–" he trailed off a bit, one leg up in the cruiser, the other still planted firmly on the ground as he looked at Daryl over the door's window, looking mildly uncomfortable "–well, she's jus' stayin' with me. She's real sweet, you'll prolly get along with 'er. Jus', eh, just be soft, ya hear? She's a bit skittish, and real shy, too, so don't be too offended if she avoids ya, she don't mean it rude like."

And what on earth could he mean by that? The avoiding that he'd done when describing why she was here, what had happened that he didn't want to talk about? Daryl had a few theories already.

"'Till later, Daryl. Take care, and remember what I told ya, boy." With a wave and a caring (or warning, he could never quite tell with the old man) smile, the grizzled man pulled out of the small driveway and onto the road leading out of the trailer park to go do his civic duty, leaving a still heavily confused, and now slightly concerned, Daryl Dixon standing outside of his garage.

This man, knowing his family's history with bad habits, was not only willing to let the teenager into his home without a watchful eye, but was also perfectly okay knowing he'd be there, alone, with his (skittish and shy) niece?

Maybe the old man is finally losing it, he thought.

Still in shock, the young man turned on his heel, and began the short trek back to the shedd to continue working on the pickup that he had been working on fixing up. Though it was really nothing but a shell sitting on bricks right now, he knew that someday it'd be his pride and joy.

Some uncounted amount of time later, Daryl was finally pulling himself out from under the hood. His throat itched with dryness, and he was covered in sweat from the never-ending harshness of the Georgian sun, but, nonetheless, he couldn't help the little spike of pride that ran through him as he looked down at the beginnings of the new-made guts of his pickup. Allowing himself the luxury of a small smile, he decided he'd finally take the old Sheriff up on his offer, and moved to head into the house to grab something to wet his throat, and maybe even a rag to wipe off his face, if he was feeling risky.

He found, upon entry, that the house was relatively clean. Cleaner than it had been the last time he'd been in there, at least, and only as clean as an old trailer house could really get.

Still, where before there had been newspapers scattered, now there were none, and in place of the cluttered kitchen was a clean countertop and a basket of fresh apples. He didn't dwell on it a whole lot as he moved to the sink to fill up a plastic solo cup, though he did wonder if Bill would mind if he stole an apple. The young Dixon couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten.

Filling his cup, he was quick to chug it down, the cold a dramatic (but welcome) shock against the harsh dryness of his throat. He let the water run into the sinks basin as he filled the cup up again, again, and then one more time, and only on his fifth return to the water did he realize the difference in sound. A few inches of water was backed up in the bottom of the sink, refusing to go down the drain like it should, and completely changing the sound the water pouring from the faucet made as it headed downwards.

Quickly setting the cup aside and turning off the faucet, he watched the water make its incredibly slow decent into the drain, and decided he needed to pay back Sheriff Coleman's hospitality. It was the least he could do, after all.

Opening the doors that lead to the plumbing beneath the sink, Daryl set himself to work.

~~~~~~~~~~×~~~~~~~~~~

"Good night, (name)!" Mr. Sennet's overly cheery voice called to the young woman as she moved her way through the front doors of the diner.

Calling out a quick goodbye to him as well, she hurriedly climbed into her rig. A shitty little Honda though she was, she still got the young (name) from a to b, and (name) would be forever grateful to her uncle for gifting it to her.

Dusk was just beginning to settle as she took off towards her new residence, and she worried slightly if her uncle would be angry that she was out later than usual. The diner had been busier tonight than normal, and instead of getting off at seven, as per usual, it was now closer to nine.

Taking a calming breath, she reminded herself aloud:

"He's not like they were, he won't be mad at you. He's not like them, he won't be mad."

Though she really did believe it, she still repeated it aloud to herself the entire way back to the house, as if she thought she could will it into existence if she hoped hard enough.

It was silly, she knew, but she didn't really care. After all she'd been through, she thought she deserved a little self reassurance.

The drive to her new home was short lived, though she didn't much mind. She hated to be alone now, it gave her too much time to think, and far too much time to overthink. A regular pastime of hers, it seemed.

It was odd, really. Before, when it was just her and the chromed glass house and the bruising voices, before she was taken away by her uncle, she loved to be alone. She cherished the times of peace she had between the hurt. Now, if she was alone for more than thirty minutes, it was likely she'd be found having a mental breakdown in a bathtub.

But, enough of the depressing stuff.

As the scarred girl pulled into the driveway, she didn't notice the second pair of tracks that accompanied her uncles, as she was far too wrapped up in her head. Something she'd be sure to kick herself for at a later date. She didn't notice the single light that was on in the kitchen, either, nor did she pay mind to the tools that lay neatly around their box as she passed the shedd that functioned as a garage, and she simply put the shell of a pickup truck that sat just outside off as another of her uncles pastimes. Opening and stepping through the front door, she didn't even notice the smudge of mud off the sole of someone's shoe that was left on the carpet.

She did, however, definitely notice the way the hair on the back if her neck stood to attention at the sound of a voice that most definitely wasn't the Sheriffs cursing angrily from the kitchen. Metal clinking to the ground and a tapping on something that echoed like tubing followed behind the exclamation, and (name) felt herself seize up in fear.

"It can't be them," she reminded herself silently, "it isn't them, it can't be."

Swallowing her fear, trying desperately not to let the tears that branded the backs of her eyes build enough to fall, (name) forced herself to move farther into the room, grabbing the aluminum baseball bat that resided behind the door and dropping her bag by a table near the door as she did.

Thinking back to the little bit of self defence that Bill had taught her upon her moving in, she pulled the bat to her side to keep it close enough that no one could easily pull it from her grasp, but could still cause some damage if shoved forwards hard enough.

Sneaking around the corner of the refrigerator that hid the person from view, she took a deep, calming breath before poking her head around to take a peek.

He was young, she could tell, likely not much older than herself. Shaggy, brown-blond hair nearly reached broad shoulders, and even though he was hunched over beneath the kitchen sink, she could still tell he was much larger than her. Muscles flexed under a sleeveless button-down shirt as he twisted a wrench against the plumbing under the basin, grunting lightly as he did.

He didn't seem like he was there to cause trouble, she figured. Who in their right minds broke into a house just to fix their backed up sink? Oh dear, maybe he's not in his right mind? What if they sent him and he's here to kill the girl? What if he was there to bring her back to them somehow? But they were away, they couldn't hurt her, could they? Even from the depths of prison, or the entrapment of the psych ward, the girl didn't really doubt that one of the two could get a word out to have her hurt (killed?) for getting them put away. She was going to die now and she wouldn't even be able to fix the meatloaf that she had planned for tonight's dinner. She felt her body begin to tremble (or perhaps it was already, and she only just then noticed) and her eyes glazed themselves with tears, to her dismay.

Could she swing and knock him unconscious? Could she at least discombobulate the man long enough to escape? Could she really even hurt somebody like that?

Before she could come to a decision, however, the decision came to her.

Away in the living room, a phone rang. The shrill tlrrring! making both bodies jump slightly, and causing the boy bent beneath the kitchen sink to take notice of young (name).

Blue eyes widened as he caught sight of her, baseball bat clutched in hand, and he threw himself backwards and away, slamming his body into the ovens door. Instinctively, his arms moved to guard his face and torso.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!" The loud exclamation startled the girl, and she jumped again, shoving against the refrigerator hard enough to make it rattle dangerously.

~~~~~~~~~~×~~~~~~~~~~

Fixing the plumbing turned out to be far more difficult than Daryl had originally assumed. The bits holding the stuff to the things was rusted on, making it difficult to loosen the thingy mabob and clear anything clogging the that thing.

Putting all of his focus into wrenching the bits away from the stuff, Daryl completely failed to notice the other presence in the room with him, and when the phone in the other room shocked him out if his thoughts, he found his mind immediately assuming it was his father standing there with a weapon in hand.

As his back hit the oven and his arms moved to guard his head, he caught full sight of the person, and quickly came to realize his mistake. His heart beat harshly against his ribs, and he couldn't help but exclaim his dislike for the situation.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!"

At his shout, the girl flinched away from him so harshly that he thought the refrigerator was going to come crashing down on top of him, and he immediately felt guilty, for some odd reason.

She looked absolutely terrified. (Eye color) eyes big as saucers, glazed with fear and glossy with tears, shaking hands gripped the metal of the baseball bat so hard her skin turned white, and her entire body was shaking like a leaf. Her eyes never left his form as he slowly stood up from the ground, one hand still held out in front of him, whether to ward off an attack, or to show he meant no harm, neither really knew. The girl was down right terrified of him, and he hadn't so much as said a word to deserve it yet.

This had to be the niece the Sheriff was talking about, he decided. The scared look she was giving him as she slowly backed away from him made him feel downright awful, and he knew he needed to do something to show her he meant no harm. So, remembering her uncles words, Daryl worked to make his voice a bit less gruff than usual, and tried to keep the edge out of his tone.

"Uh-uh, I ain't here ta hurtcha, girlie–" she took another quick step back "–I'm a friend of Bill's. I was jus' comin' in ta get a drink, I ain't here ta hurtcha."

There was far more that could be said, he knew, but words never really were his forté, and he wasn't sure how much he could talk before he made her more uncomfortable. However, the little bit that he had said, mostly naming her uncle, he thought, had made her shoulders un-hunch a bit, though she kept her distrusting posture. Smart girl.

Slowly lowering the bat until it pointed at his chest she grabbed it with both hands and hesitantly backed out of the kitchen, beckoning him to follow her. Keeping him safely at the end of the bat, and moved to pick up the still-ringing phone and gingerly press it to her ear, her eyes never leaving him, and the bat never wavering (though it did shiver along with her tremors.)

Her eyes relaxed a bit more at the voice on the other end of the line, and though Daryl couldn't much hear the words that were being said—aside from the mumbled tone—he could still tell it was the sheriffs deep voice that spoke.

"Yeah? Uh-hm, good, I uh, I guess... I did. Of course," as she spoke to the formless voice, Daryl couldn't help the small spike of fear that ran up his spine. What if the Sheriff didn't want him there now that he'd scared the girl? He had warned him, he thought. What if Bill made him go back to his shit-hole house and wouldn't let him come back again? This place was one of the few he had to escape that hell, he didn't want to lose that. What if the officer freaked and called Daryl's dad to come pick him up? He'd have hell to pay if he let that happen. He was sure he'd end up with a few more scars at least if his dad were to find out that someone knew of what went on behind closed doors. The Sheriff, no less. What if he–

His spiraling thoughts were disrupted when he caught the sound of his name coming from the other end of the phone line and immediately tuned back in.

"Uhm, uh, yeah, I–I guess. I mean, yeah, yes, he's still here... Oh, no, he's, uh, he's been nice enough," was she even still talking about the red-necked youth? "Yes, of course it's okay, uncle Bill. Sure-sure thing, yeah, that's okay with me. I was thinking about making meatloaf tonight, anyway, that usually makes enough for more than just you an' me."

Wait, what?

The girl had lowered the weapon, though she still kept a tight grip in it, and gave him a shy, almost apologetic smile, before finally letting her eyes dart away. Daryl stayed frozen in his spot. What was even happening?

"–oh," she suddenly looked dejected at whatever had been said on the other side. Scared, almost. "Yeah, no, no, that's-that's okay, uncle Bill, sure thing. It's okay, promise," she suddenly donned a small smile, and though he knew imediately that it was fake, he still found himself startlingly light-of-breath at the sight.

"Yeah, of course, see you tomorrow, uncle, stay safe." Tomorrow? What? Why was all this so confusing to the youngest Dixon? Why was the disappearance of her smile making him feel so hollow?

The sudden change in the expression that the smaller figure wore was dramatically startling to Daryl. Going from sad and scared and sorry and a bit regretful to blushing and wincing and all together uncomfortable in the blink of an eye, the girl shriekingly exclaimed:

"Uncle Bill! No! Ew, gross! Don–Don't say things like that, ya nasty!" Daryl couldn't help but find her blush and stutter quite endearing.

Even from the few paces away that he was, he could still hear the loud laugh that erupted from the other side of the phone.

"Alrigh–alright, uncle Bill," the girls face was still flushed intensely, "I'm hanging up on you now... Yeah, yes, okay—thanks for that." She winced again at whatever he'd said, and she somehow flushed even harder. In a softer voice, now, "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Stay safe." Her last words were barely a whisper.

Slowly pulling the phone away from her ear, the girl placed it gently on the receiver before turning to glance at Daryl, though he took note that she never once fully looked at him again.

"I'm, uhm, I'm sorry," she whispered, grimacing softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~×•×~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#young!daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #pre apocalypse daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader fluff #daryl dixon x reader angst #daryl dixon x reader hurt/comfort #daryl dixon x female reader #softly barely a whisper

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bbnibini · 3 years

Text

PSISLY: An Obey Me!CYOA – fifty-eight🔖

{ OPEN STATUS : YES

> approved

> displaying capture targets

Mammon: 85♡/100♡

Satan: 85♡/100♡

Barbatos: 0♡/100♡

Lucifer: 5♡/100♡

@#&)(@)€RR0Я : ∞??!@????♡/10000000000♡

CLOSE STATUS : YES

>approved }

[ Let him sleep for a bit more. ]

(Satan’s affection -5)

You suppose a few minutes on the snooze button wouldn’t hurt anyone. Satan had been working hard in the student council and barely had any time to take care of himself. Adrenaline also does marvellous things to someone in precarious situations. He may scold you about it later, but he’s rather cute when he’s angry anyway (totally worth it). Excuses continued to pile in your head as 2 minutes had passed—a poke on his cheek, then a whisper on his ear only earned you his half-asleep nuzzling on the hand that prodded him to wake up.

“Satan…” Almost a whisper. There was temptation in your thought, some mischievous nickname you’ve been wanting to call him urging to be uttered. Holding back a laugh, you strained your ears to the sound of the warning bell, keenly aware.

“Kitten~” An annoying tone that sounded similar to the sugary enunciation of Levi’s many waifus. Satan hated the fake accent with a burning passion. Deep green eyes squinted at you, now awake—a frown on his face.

“Your voice is fine the way it is.” He muttered (rather annoyed). Minor complaints is always a good sign of complete consciousness; you just hoped the extended sleep lessened his fatigue. “You should have woken me up.”

“I tried.” You took his outstretched hand and stood up, dusting your pants. “Will we make it?”

“No, but the janitor should still be around.” He said, matter-of-fact and checked his DDD. “I already texted Beel we’re going to be a little late.”

“Not Asmo—oh.”

Satan sighed. “He should really stop partying. Exams are nearing.”

“Maybe Solomon is tutoring him?”

“Makes sense. Oh, there’s the janitor.”

You have no idea how Satan does it. Even the surly RAD janitor looked almost cheerful when he was talking to him. In your weeks of being in that weird, unlabelled relationship with him, you went to several dates that you were vaguely aware of being impossible to book or access. But no. It always turns out he’s friends with the owner, the owner’s wife or the owner’s son’s friend’s favourite aesthetician or some variation. You weren’t the most sociable person you know, but his charismatic pull on people was influencing you as well. Positively. Asmo had noted that you were smiling more, you were easier to talk to, more patient and understanding, even earning Lucifer’s praise. The “understanding” you was wise enough not to gloat about it to your favourite (read: only) Avatar of Wrath. He may have mellowed down on his Lucifer Complex, but it didn’t mean that it was completely gone.

“What were we talking about before?” He asked you with a smile as he jogged over to you.

You smiled back. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think:

I’m glad you’re the one I like.

With how he squeezed your hand and chuckled at your side, you were sure you said your thoughts out loud.

Oh well. Maybe you wanted to be heard.

💌💌💌

Walking home was pleasant. Stars illuminated the sky amidst Devildom’s eternal darkness. The few conversations with Satan had been mundane, but comfortable. A promise of Lucifer’s rare dinners was intriguing, but you pretended to take no interest in it for your pouting companion’s sake. The only dead air you had was understandable: final exams were often not a very favourable topic, even to one as studious as Satan. He offered to teach you instead of answering Lucifer’s impossible reviewers and you readily agreed, bias be damned. Satan laughed at your antics.

“By the way, I kept your gift in a vase.” You said, swinging your intertwined hands as you walked along the pavement, pacing yourself with his strides. You knew he could walk a lot faster (he had long legs AND he’s a lot taller than you), but he seemed to be thinking the same way. You felt your face warm at the thought.

“Oh? I’d love to see it. Maybe we can study in your room after dinner.”

“Really?!” You couldn’t help but exclaim. “Studying with you is soooo much better. I could barely understand Lucifer’s notes T_T.”

Dinner was ready when you arrived, but it seems that Lucifer’s sermons had become your appetiser instead. You pretended to listen along, with Satan following suit. At least the fancy French-named meal you had that you couldn’t even spell was delightful.

“Don’t rush now—we’ve just eaten!”

Satan’s warning fell on deaf ears as you dragged him along, giddy and excited to show him his gift that brought you together.

Or so it should be.

“Huh?”

You looked around your room, seeing your personal belongings in a clutter. You just tidied up your desk this morning so it doesn’t make sense.

“Is something wrong?”

Satan was concerned over your sudden paleness. “It’s not here…” A whisper, echoing louder as you repeated (by his request). “Your gift…it’s not here.” You showed him the empty glass vase; the corner of your eyes wet with tears. “It was here just this morning…” You started to tremble, and Satan held you gently in his arms to soothe you. “I changed the water often, and…and made sure it gets enough light. I even asked Asmo to help me! But…I lost it!” Your vision was getting blurry as Satan pried the vase away from your hands. He felt really warm, and his familiar cologne made you comfortable enough to air out your complaints.

“I can buy you a new one.” He said, kissing the top of your head. “I’m sure you really took care of it. I believe you, dearest.”

“T-then…”

“Shh, it’ll be fine.” He loosened the hug and wiped your tears with his thumbs. The kind way he smiled at you was almost unfair. “I think I have an idea on where it went, actually.”

He was still holding you as you sat on your bed, fiddling with his DDD. He did not speak, but he didn’t let go either and even stroked your head occasionally.

“Satan?”

“Mhm?”

You nuzzled his chest and sighed. “You’re really not angry at me?”

“For what?” He turned to you, as if the thought never crossed his mind.

“Nevermind,” It was difficult not to let it get to you. Even if he said he wasn’t blaming you for the misplaced flowers, it was still your responsibility to take care of them. “No…that’s wrong. I shouldn’t…keep secrets from you.” You scrambled over your words, noticing he already put his phone down and stopped frowning. You had his undivided attention, and he was clearly concerned over how...sad you are. You decided to tell him how you feel. “It really mattered a lot to me,” you explained, and looked up at him. “And, I feel bad I lost it. And feel even worse I’m overreacting—“

!!!

His lips were soft against yours—gentle and almost feather soft. You returned his kisses with your cheeks warm, and (you) laughably out of breath. He only smiled at you as your lips parted, your foreheads leaning against each other’s.

“It just means you love me.” He said as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, ironically followed by a more doubtful, “You do love me, don’t you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh in reply, his anticipated “Of course.”

Content with your answer, he pressed his lips against your forehead, a generous supplier of kisses and affection compared to his prim and proper self. “Just making sure.” Then again, that was typical Satan behind closed doors.

“Your culprit should have been apprehended by now.”

“Eh?”

“Surely you have some suspects in mind. Or maybe suspect is a more accurate moniker for him.”

You do admit that you had some dark thoughts looming about. And even if you were fond of the demon in question, there was disappointment there also, betrayal if you’re being dramatic enough. “Must he really time his heist when Lucifer is around?”

“You’re way too nice, you know.” He said. “You’re spoiling him too much.”

His jealousy may be cute to you, but you were concerned about Mammon right now. Standing up, you wiped your eyes and jogged over to the bathroom sink.

“I hope Lucifer didn’t hang him upside down...” You said out loud as you washed your face to remove the puffiness of your eyes. Satan waited for you outside the door and shook his head. You splattered some water in your rush and wet a portion of your clothes in the process. “I’m fine now!”

“Your appearance says otherwise.” Satan, an eyewitness to your tears thoughtfully recounted to you.

“!!!”

“Still cute though.”

You puffed your cheeks and made light punches on his chest. “Let’s go down before something bad happens.”

He didn’t budge. Instead, he looked at you with a smirk.

“What if I want something to happen?”

"Sataaaaaan.”

He made a tsk sound, but let himself be pulled along this time.

This time is the nick of time.

“IT’S YOUUUUU!!! YA GOT TO HELP ME!”

…for Mammon looked at you as if you were an oasis in the middle of a desert. The blaring heat of the sun, which was the irate firstborn, already had a rope in hand, and the dunes, which were the passive onlookers that were his brothers (most of them; Asmo was visibly absent) only looked at the sight as if it were a typical day.

His pleading eyes were too pitiful to ignore. Satan already promised to give you a replacement bouquet, and isn’t this punishment a little too harsh?

“It’s okay, Lucifer.” Your words caused most of the brothers to express their disapproval. “It’s no harm done.” You mustered up your best smile to make your point. However, they only seemed to frown even further upon seeing your expression.

“You’re the worst Mammon,” said Levi, your ever supportive best friend who seemed to have forgiven your recent blunders.

“They’re clearly not okay,” added Belphie, clutching his cow pillow to his person.

“It looks like you made them cry,” or so you thought what Beel said. You couldn’t really be sure because he was talking with his mouth full.

“I can confirm.” Satan glared at Mammon and held you close to him. “I had to calm them down since they were crying so much. Clearly it’s more than just a gift to them.”

No. But you really are fine!

“GUYS-“

“I understand why you’re trying to defend Mammon, but you are obviously upset about the situation.” Lucifer finally spoke after his long moment of silence. “Your smiles are forced, and you’re going back to your old habits again.” Habits? Before you could ask him what he meant, he continued speaking.

“He had already sold it, and it could never be returned, along with its sentimental value. If he would not be punished or reprimanded for his actions, then he will only do this again, all because you tolerate him. And before you open your mouth, I am not done talking.” Lucifer put the rope down and let Mammon go. “Would a lighter punishment suffice?”

Mammon, who was about to make a run for it, was blocked by a concerned Beel who placed him back on the hot seat. It reminded you of police investigations—only that the said “culprit” did not have any chair or table to sit on, and the fluorescent lightbulb hanging overhead was instead a fancy chandelier in the common room. Mammon looked at you again with pleading eyes.

You really could not ignore him!

“What kind of punishment?” You tried to smile at Mammon, relieved to see he looked a lot less tense with you as his backup.

“He hasn’t even apologised to you yet.” (Levi)

Incensed, Mammon shouted. “Well, how can I when y’all are talkin’ over me?!” He turned to you. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I needed quick cash and didn’t have any choice! I didn’t know it meant somethin’ to ya!”

Wrong answer.

“Get the rope, Beel.” (Belphie)

“Tie him up nice and tight—no maybe I should, as I was the one who purchased their gift anyway.” (Satan)

“Children.” Boomed Lucifer’s voice in the common room, holding Mammon by the shoulder. There was a terrifying glare in his eyes, a cold atmosphere about him that you could feel though you were standing across from him, protected by Satan’s own warmth. Thank Satan. No, hail Satan.

“As you can already tell, remorse is an alien term to him. Expecting any from Mammon is impossible.” Second-hand embarrassment perhaps? There was definitely shame there with intent of inflicting bodily harm. You heard Mammon yelp in pain as Lucifer’s gloved fingers dug into his clavicle, intent on not letting him go. Mammon was understandably skittish. Everyone except you seemed to have him on their hit list, and you were not in the most stable state of mind at the moment to defend him properly. In fact, the harder you tried, the angrier his brothers become. If he weren’t in this situation, he would have reacted the same way.

“…however,” Lucifer continued, the already bone-chilling atmosphere becoming even more ominous as his lips curved up into a smile. “Out of respect for your affections for my dear little brother, I shall modify my punishment into a more…productive one.”

“Productive?” you parroted.

“Ahh, of course. By productive, I meant academically productive.” Mammon’s face paled at the firstborn’s words. “As long as he scores 75% and above in all of his tests, I will let this little incident slide. Any lower than that, and he will get the rope AND clerical work for a month.”

“W-What?! I haven’t even hit a 50 in 500 years!”

Smile. Poor Mammon was petrified.

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

A piercing cry echoed in the room. Mammon, with tears on the corner of his eyes held you by the shoulders and shook you. Satan attempted to pull you back to his side to no avail.

“He’s mad! Like, crazy mad! I couldn’t score so high even if Devildom freezes over!”

You were a diligent student at RAD—the novelty of almost everything around you had been a wonderful learning experience, so more often than not, studying (at least Devildom-related subjects) had been more of a hobby to you than an obligation. Satan had been encouraging you in your scholarly pursuits as well, so you couldn’t really understand where Mammon was coming from. Not completely, at least. You may love learning, but exams are another matter. That at least, you can get a sense of.

Lucifer’s words are final—it was an unspoken truth. He rarely ever compromises on his decisions, believing his way of doing things is the only correct one. The fact that he listened to you and considered your feelings was already miraculous. You didn’t want to push your luck. Doing so might only worsen Mammon’s punishment. Instead, you chose to calm your friend down by placing a hand on his own shoulder. You looked at him, hoping your willingness to help him and support him as your first shined through the glint of your eyes.

“Don’t worry, Mammon! I’ll help you study!”

However you wish to placate him however, it didn’t necessarily mean it could be conveyed to the concerned party. Satan didn’t seem amused about the situation either, acting as a barricade between you both, green eyes flickering the flames of his sin you were vaguely aware he was keeping at bay.

“You have some nerve to ask someone who you have stolen from.” You saw his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, lips smirking as if calculating something in his head. “Actually, I have an idea!”

Whatever that idea was, it's totally malicious, Levi muttered to himself (enough for you to hear).

“Y-Your ideas are stupid!” (Mammon)

“So is stealing and making the human I love cry.”

!!!

Levi looked at the both of you in disgust, disgusted even more at himself for his prophetic words. Beel almost choked on his French fry. Belphegor jolted from his half-asleep state, and Lucifer…Lucifer didn’t stir. In fact, it seemed like he anticipated the compulsive love confession. His face hinted no ounce of shock nor disgust—only the comfort of indifference. You wanted to ask if that is a consequence of his complicated relationship with Satan; you closed your mouth instead. But closing your mouth only made you entertain Satan’s bold declarations. Your face felt warm all over, your heart palpitated as if it’s ready to jump out of you. Conscious of the eyes peering at your embarrassing reactions, you hid behind Satan, seeing his reddened ears from your peripheral.

If Asmo was around, you were certain he would be teasing you right now (that or snapping some pictures for Devilgram). Thank goodness he’s not around.

Sadly, you could not see how Satan’s face flushed upon realising what he said. “What I was saying before I was rudely interrupted.” No such attempt of interruption was ever committed, but everyone was too dumbstruck to retort. “I can help you. Since I have already promised them we will study together anyway. In fact, I want to propose a study group. So everyone can bear witness to my dear older brother accomplishing something for himself, and contributing to Devildom’s increase in morale in the process, especially with the current political unrest. I’m sure you already know.”

The only thing you were privy to witness/hear from your current hidden state was how scary he sounded. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle with his sarcasms anymore.

“Sounds delightful. Doesn’t it, Mammon?” Lucifer responded with sarcasm mirroring Satan’s. “A willing tutor and a chance to right your wrongs. I trust that everyone will invite themselves over as well? I quite like the sound of it—increasing Devildom’s morale. Everyone will go, won’t they?”

The bloodlust directed at Mammon only increased as Lucifer dropped his silent warnings. And the oblivious you, still afloat in your pink-themed shoujo manga fantasy was blanketed by the foreboding reality of your future. You only grew aware of it once Mammon asked to talk to you privately. He knew enough that going through the study session was an intent to ridicule him. He was bothered about how he made you cry, but he felt it unfair to be treated like this anyway and you couldn’t help but agree.

“I’m sorry, Mammon. I tried my best to negotiate, but Lucifer’s words are final.”

“…m’sorry too.” He muttered quietly, and only shouted his words again when you asked for it to be repeated. “I really meant it when I said I didn’t know it mattered to ya.”

“I know. I trust you Mammon.”

“…”

“Mammon?”

“AHHH! To hell with this! Why are you so nice to me?” He shook your shoulders again, much like how he did earlier at the common room. “Anyone ever called you a pushover? Cos you are! Get angry at me, dammit!”

Angry? Sure, you were sad, but…

“You’re the Avatar of Greed and you couldn’t help it, can’t you?”

Mammon stopped shaking you, dumbfounded. “Satan already promised to replace my flowers, and sure I’m still really sad about it, but in the end…everything worked out. There’s no use beating myself up over it anymore. Not if we have exams to pass!

Mammon?”

He was red as a tomato. He backed away from you and faced the nearby wall, pounding it one, two, three, four…the fifth and final one the strongest, causing the paintings hanging nearby to shake a little.

“…glad…didn’t…misplace…locker…” You couldn’t really hear him. He seemed to be muttering something for his ears alone. And when you thought the long-spanned silence meant he was ready to talk to you again, he let out a lifetime’s worth of sighs. Ah. He’s facing you. Not as flustered anymore.

“Look…the Great Me is touched you’re such a good human! But…”

“But?”

Mammon hesitated. “I need a miracle to get 75% in all of my subjects. Satan? Nah! He’s out to get me! A target on my back, no offense! But yer boyfriend’s crazy!”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“No? Then whaddya call that cozying up to you for? I ain’t stupid, y’know?”

“!!!”

Mammon shrugged, feigning indifference but his gestures had been awkward. Almost sad. “Point is, I need a new tutor. And Satan won’t let you tutor me. Not alone, at least.”

“I still don’t see your point?”

“Patience’s a virtue. A virtue! You’re all buddy buddy with Asmo, aren’t ya?”

“I…guess?” It isn’t like Mammon to drag his point across. It almost felt like you’re connecting the dots. “What about Asmo?”

Oh.

You don’t like that grin on his face. That’s his ‘I have a genius plan!’ look. None of said plans ever worked, its genius equally questionable.

“Oh c’mon! It’ll work this time! He’s some wise old, king from some ravioli country, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll even help me score higher! That’ll show Lucifer!”

“It’s Israel.”

“Israel, Ishmael. Whatever! So, will you help me out?”

Realistically speaking, it was the best option for Mammon to consider. Belphie another, but Belphie barely remembers even going to class. How he manages to pass (with flying colours even) despite that was a mystery in itself. “I’ll try texting him. He said he’s with Solomon right now…so it might work out.”

Mammon smacked your back, letting out a hearty laugh. “That’s my human for ya! I knew you had it in ya!”

Asmo’s messages reeked of drunk: numerous stickers and typo errors that you decided to call him instead. Mammon looked over your shoulder and shared an earbud with you. You felt his muscles tense.

“Hello, Asmo?”

Loud was your first thought as party music blared on the receiver. There were muted conversations also, along with incomprehensible shouting. You heard Asmo’s voice much later, a hiccup or two before slurring out a “Helloooooooooo?”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Darliiiiiing!♡”

“You know that alcohol isn’t good for your skin.”

Asmo sniffled in understanding, touched by your concern. You heard him move over to a quieter environment, hearing the name Solomon uttered before placing the phone back to his ear.

“You HAVE to go to the spa with me this weekend! This much damage to my skin is offensive! Offensive I tell you!” You didn’t speak, knowing he had more stories to recount. Mammon grew impatient from behind however, and you only shook your head at him. “Sure! The usual place, right? That aside, what happened?”

The words Asmo was waiting for! He poured his heart out upon your verbal signals. “Remember that super important thing I have to go to? It’s this party~♡ I already told you, didn’t I?”

“Mhm. Something about being summoned?”

“Exactly, exactly!~” Asmo was happy you remembered. Not that it was surprising. With someone as beautiful as him? He’d surely be a hard face to forget. Your genuine interest in him however was special. It felt like you really meant it, that you weren’t just after his beauty (even if he couldn’t quite understand and didn’t mind in the slightest, if you were interested in him solely for his looks).

“Solomon summoned me and said his mage friends were fans of mine~ And who am I to deny them?~ They invited me over to their exclusive party~! It’s teeeeeming with mages here and they’re all, like…hot. Can you believe it? When someone says, wizard friends, you’d automatically think of wrinkly old men, right?~”

“Surely not everyone there is hot.”

“To see is to believe, darling!~ Beauty is meant to be surrounded with beauty~! Isn’t it soooooo thoughtful of him to introduce me to his friends? His hot friends?”

Mammon placed the bud back on your ear, making a cross mark with his arms and shaking his head. He knew what kind of discussion was coming, and he’d rather not hear it. He sat next to you though and leaned on the wall, pretending to be interested over a painting from three centuries ago.

Needless to say, you had a blast talking with an inebriated Asmo, blushing occasionally over some details he shared with you, and blushing even more when he asked about your current standing with his fourth-born brother. You saw Mammon’s eyes roll on occasion, feeling like a father dragged by his wife and teenage daughter as a glorified trolley on their shopping trip. You managed to get a yes from Asmo however, convincing him not to get too carried away to attend the first group study session tomorrow along with Solomon. It hadn’t been as easy to convince him however, especially when he said,

“I’ll try asking him~ But I can’t make any promises.”

“Why not?”

“He’s busy with something. He always is. Sometimes he tells me, sometimes he doesn’t. That’s how pacts work, darling~♡.”

Fair enough. He did offer for you to talk to the man in question himself to ask him directly, and he had been unexpectedly gracious.

“Sure.” Was Solomon’s curt reply, making you raise an eyebrow. Not that he could tell.

“That’s it? No catch?”

“You want it to have one?” You shuddered at the thought. Your silence was already telling for him. “I take that as a no.”

“It must be the alcohol, huh? Getting in your head much?” You heard him laugh at the other end.

“Oh, definitely. Lady Luck had smiled upon you.”

“…I’ll have Satan push it back a few hours. Tell Asmo to take care of himself for me!”

“Yeah. Bye.”

And that was it. Mammon was safe. Everyone’s happy!

Until they’re not. There were a mountain of complaints and you haven’t even started yet!

Belphie fell asleep on the study table, Beel ate all the snacks. Levi was busy ignoring everyone else, intent on playing “just one more round” of Mononoke Land (it had been 15 rounds and counting). Lucifer was absent, saying he would arrive late for a reason he refused to elaborate, and Asmo was throwing up last night’s Demonus bombs. Satan was the only “sane” one as always, drumming his fingers on his crossed arms and holding back his anger.

To add insult to injury, Mammon kept pestering you about Solomon’s whereabouts. The more I don’t knows you said, followed by I’m not really close to him only made him ask more. And truthfully speaking? Much like Satan, you felt like you were running out of patience as well.

“MAMMON, SHUT THE @#@#@$$@ UP!”

It looked like Satan finally snapped.

You closed your eyes and ducked your head, successfully dodging the blackboard’s debris. Judging from Levi’s loud cries of pain however, his efforts of dodging had been a failure. The door creaked in that awkward calm of the aftermath, revealing Solomon, greeting everyone with “Hi.” in singsong, completely oblivious of what occurred before his arrival.

“Did we come at a bad time?” You were curious at his we, and focused your eyes at the door to see Simeon and a dumbstruck Luke (currently processing what transpired) standing behind him.

Seeing as you were the only one who was…okay enough to reply, you muttered out,

“Maybe we should do this at Purgatory Hall.”

The three of them agreed in a heartbeat. Yeah. Awkward.

💌continue to next scenario

💌masterlist

💌tag request: @lilliansstuff

#psisly #hamartia series #obey me #obey me x reader #interactive fiction #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #shall we date obey me #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #secret admirer #love letter

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

Text

Midnight Striga: Owl House/Fairy Tail Crossover Episode 1 Part 2

Hello everybody, time for another part of my Fairy Tail/Owl House Crossover, Midnight Striga!! Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

“So, since when can humans do magic?” Eda asked with a sniff, shooting a wry grin towards her passenger.

Luz arched an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “Since always. I’ve kind of gathered by now that you aren’t human, and that very few, if any, of the people here are human either. But I’m getting off topic already, why are you asking?” She leaned forward, expecting an answer.

“HA!” Eda barked in humor at Luz’s boldness. “Kid, it’s been an accepted fact since forever that humans can’t do magic. I think that warrants a little curiosity, doesn’t it?”

Luz huffed, tilting her head back and forth in thought. “Eh, fair enough. I have no idea where you got your info that humans can’t do magic, but since I’m guessing this place is pretty closed off from human contact, info from outside of it falls through the cracks. I can give you a more informed answer when we land, but the long and skinny of it is that every living being has some potential for magic, but not everything has the power needed to actually do anything with that potential. I’m one of those that can.”

Eda blinked, glancing up in thought. That… was more than what she thought she was gonna get. In the short term, this kid basically more or less flat out confirmed that what witches know about humans is about as accurate as a portrait made by a blind man with no sense of touch. Purely guesswork based off of extremely limited input, in other words. Still, while this may upset some of her plans, this girl had some serious moves back there. She still had no clue what exactly she did, but it was impressive! And- what was that thumping she felt on the back of her head?

“-da, Eda, Eda, Eda,” With each repetition of the Witch’s name, Luz lightly thumped her knuckles against the back of her head. What could she say, when Luz got bored, she tended to get a little mischievous.

“GAH!” With a yelp at the small but incessant pain, Eda shot Luz a quick glance of annoyance. “Titans, kid, I’ve only got the one head! What do you want?”

Luz shot Eda a Cheshire grin, before subtly pointing down. “I think we’re here, if the fact your staff stopped and has been hovering over this place on its own is anything to go by.”

As Eda glanced down, she flushed in embarrassment as, yes, they were hovering over her house. Man, she really got sucked into her own head there, didn’t she? Eda, ignoring Luz’s snickering, guided Owlbert down for a landing, hopping off as they touched ground.

As Luz finally got her laughter under control, she noticed something Eda had left behind on the staff: her hand. While admittedly curious about how it was still moving while visibly detached, and with no apparent magical connection to Eda’s body, Luz decided discretion was the better idea. Lightly snatching the hand off the staff, she sauntered up to Eda, and very much deliberately tapped on her shoulder. When the older woman turned back towards her in question, Luz cheerfully grinned and held up the missing appendage.

Flushing once again at having missed the fact that she had lost a limb again, Eda gratefully took her hand back, snapping it back in place upon her wrist. Deciding now was the best point to start saving face, Eda pulled up a smirk, gesturing to the door. “I was wondering where that went. Anyways kid, I’d like to welcome you to my place. It may not seem like much, but I’ve got a killer security system!”

Luz was skeptical. Not surprising, when you’ve been running as much as she has, it’s practically second nature after a while. But still, she couldn’t detect anything overtly magical with this house, as amazingly weird and bewilderingly breathtaking it may be, in a creepy shack in the woods sort of way, aside from that odd Door Knocker in the shape of an Owl’s face. A face that had just blinked.

“PASSWORD PLEASE!” It shrieked in what Luz could honestly say was the most annoying voice she had EVER heard in her life. Also, when did she raise her hand to punch?

Before she could attack the strange creature, Eda beat her to the point, jabbing her fingers into the Face’s eyes. “We don’t have time for your games, Hooty! Open up!”

“Fine! Jeez! You never let me have any fun, hoot.” The Face, Hooty apparently, complied in a much softer, but still irritating, voice, swinging the door open on its hinges without Eda touching it.

Stifling a snicker at the odd by-play between the two, Luz followed Eda into her home. The first thing she noticed was the massive piles of junk scattered about, an odd mix of toys, books, tools, clothing, anything you could possibly find legally in either a sleepy town in the countryside or a bustling major city. The second thing she noticed was how prominent the Owl Aesthetic of the place was, with Owl themed decorations covering pretty much everything that wasn’t cluttered by Eda’s junk. Yet, in spite of the messy, dysfunctional feel of it all… Luz could honestly say that she found the place almost like a home, just from the energy of it all.

Smirking, Eda preened under Luz’s silent awe of her house. “Yeah, this place is great. A nice spot to hide away from the pressures of life.” She plopped down onto her couch with a content sigh. “Also the cops. Hmm, and also exes. Ha!”

Luz cracked a smile at the joke. Okay, it probably wasn’t really a joke, but it was still funny! “I can’t say I’ve had issues with the third one, but I’m very familiar with the first two. So, you’ve got questions for me?” She settled against the counter, relaxed, but ready to spring if things went ugly. She didn’t really expect them to, but you could never be too careful sometimes, especially with a near-total stranger, battle bond or not.

Eda leaned forward, eyes sharp. Now they were in familiar territory. “Questions, and a small proposal, if you’re up to it. Firstly, just what kind of magic were you using back there?”

“Huh, getting right in it, eh?” Luz grinned, pleased at the opportunity to brag- she meant inform! Inform someone about her skills. “At the start, that was what we in the bizz call Molding Magic. In my case specifically, Light-Make Magic.”

Eda blinked, not understanding. “Okay, gonna need a little more than that kid.” She grinned. “But I will say this, I think I like where this is going.”

Luz snorted, agreeing with the woman privately, and started complying. “Well, to simplify it, Molding Magic is a form of Magic that can be applied both for combat and utility.” Luz made the same gesture Eda had seen earlier, pressing her closed fist against an open palm, soft light building at the point of contact. “Molding Magic allows one to gather magical energy, and shape it into different forms based on the element or material used. In my case, I use light.” With that said, she pulled her closed fist away, revealing a miniature sculpture of Eda, seemingly made entirely of light held into a still image. Luz smirked at Eda’s look of amazement. “Anything I can visualize, I can make, and the better I can visualize it, the more powerful and stable it turns out.”

Eda was stunned. This? This was a form of magic she had never even heard or dreamed of. And, if she was reading between the lines right, while it may not be common for humans who can use magic, and wasn’t that still a strange thought, it wasn’t truly rare by any means. The ability to make ANYTHING you can think of, so long as you can spare the energy? Eda could already think of all the ways she could’ve used something like that over the years.

“Okay, since when have humans been able to do something like that!?” Eda seriously wanted to know. If she could figure out how to replicate a spell like that, it would make some of her escapes far easier later on.

Luz shrugged. “I don’t know. A few hundred years maybe? I mean, the base form, Molding Magic itself, is pretty ancient, but most modern variants have only been around for a few centuries at most. Like, it’s older, but not ancient.” What else could she say? Luz may have a serious interest in magical history and theory, but she wasn’t an actual scholar.

Eda slumped. That wasn’t the best news, but it wasn’t really the worst either. Still, if humans have had proper magic for centuries, then the info the Boiling Isles had about humanity was even more off than she had thought. “Damn. I won’t ask you about those other spells and stuff you were slinging back there. They didn’t look similar to what you started with, but they seemed closer to magic that I know of at least.” Her gaze brightened, lips curving up into an excited grin. “But hot dog, what you were doing back there was impressive, kid. So, you want to know more about what’s going on?”

Luz nodded, serious. “Absolutely. For starters, where am I?”

Eda smirked, glad she had anticipated that initial question, though her own made it so she should probably adjust her prepared answer a little. “You, my new friend, are in the scenic Demon Realms, specifically, the Boiling Isles! A colossal collection of Islands joined by the corpse of a long-dead magical being known only as the Titan. For centuries, it’s been accepted among Witches that we alone had magic, and humans who we knew of, but knew nothing real about beyond our own assumptions, did not. Another common belief was that the Demon Realm was the source of all human myths and legends from our world seeping into yours, but if you guys have actually got magic, that’s probably false. Or, at least, it’s less true than what we had believed for so long.” Eda slumped, suddenly drained. It made sense, in her mind, to feel tired. Sure, she was excited, but having your entire understanding of how the world actually works going under a sudden shift wasn’t easy.

Luz nodded, processing the information. “Okay, so I’m in another dimension primarily populated by demons and magical beings that refer to themselves as Witches. Got it. Do you have any questions about my world?”

Eda quirked an eyebrow. “Honestly, kid? No, not really. While having my whole world view undergo a massive shift was fun, I’m not really a scholar, so this doesn’t affect me all that much.” She bolted up, suddenly brimming with energy. “What does affect me, though, is what you and I can do for each other!”

Luz smirked, slightly confused, but mostly excited about where this could go. “Oh?”

“Yup. But first, you’ll probably want to meet my roommate.” Eda grinned. She just knew she was gonna love the kid’s reaction. Turning towards the stairs, she shouted. “Hey King! Get your keister down here!!” Out of view from the kid’s eyes, Eda subtly twirled up a spell, distorting the sounds of King’s voice and footsteps as he descended.

“WHO DARES DISTURB I?” Eda smirked at the human’s reaction, seeing her shift into a battle stance at King’s admittedly intimidating (at the moment) voice, and the perception-shifting shadows adding to the illusion, she just knew this was gonna be funny. “The king of Demons!?” As King finally stomped into view, clad in his bath gear and clutching a Rubber Ducky, the spells having worn out and revealing his true size and voice, she was not disappointed.

“QUE LINDO!!” At the adorable sight of the little doggy demon, all of Luz’s hard-earned self-control decided that surrendering to her adoration of cuteness was preferable to keeping her tough girl image. Abandoning her attack stance, she rushed to the skull-headed cutie-pie of a demon, smothering him in cuddles. “Who’s a good boy? Is it you? Is it you!?”

“N-No, NO!! I Don’t know who your good boy is!?” Squirming in the strange individual’s grasp, King turned to his friend, roommate, and (even if he didn’t like to admit it) foster mother. “Eda! Who is this monster!?”

Eda laughed, genuinely enjoying the sight of the small demon struggling in the human’s grasp. “Okay kid, you can drop him. He’s not really fond of the whole cuddling thing.” As Luz grudgingly released King, Eda continued. “This, King, is Luz. She’s going to help with our little Warden problem, if you know what I mean.”

As King finished dusting himself off, he finished processing Eda’s words. “Oh. Hooray!”

Luz was far less enthused. “Whoa whoa wait, since when did I agree to anything?”

Eda chuckled. “Well, kid, if you ever wanna get back to the Human Realm again, I’m the only one you can do it through, as I’ve got the only known portal there.”

Luz grumbled, but didn’t challenge the claim. Smart girl.

Ed decided that it was time to get into the nitty gritty.

“King, here,” She began, motioning to the demon in question, conjuring up the story of his “fall from grace” as she talked. “Was once the mighty and powerful King of Demons. Feared and admired by all. Until, one day, the Evil Warden Wrath stole his crown of power, reducing him to… this.” She finished, motioning to the sight of King chasing his own tail.

Luz’s love of cuteness took over. “You mean this little guy?” She cooed, scooping King up into her arms. He tolerated it for a second, then flailed enough to break free.

Eda grunted, leaning against her wall. “Yup. We need you to help us break into the vault the Crown’s being stored in, and in exchange, we’ll get you home.”

“We’re your only option!” King piped up.

Eda sent a fond smirk at the little demon, before continuing. “And besides.” Eda pulled King up to Luz’s face. “Can you really say no to this face?” Eda cooed in a slightly babying tone.

As King’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, he yelled, “No! Don’t encourage her!!”

Fighting her impulse to agree immediately in the face of cuteness, Luz mulled it all over. She was stuck here for the moment, and she honestly didn’t have anything better to do. Plus, if anything went rotten with this, she could always defend herself…

Luz beamed. “When do we start, and where do we go?”

Eda grinned, happy that Luz was onboard. “Now, and somewhere super fun!” She promised, giving Luz a double thumbs up.

#the owl house #owl house au #owl house crossover #fairy tail #fairy tail au #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king the owl house #magic

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