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sapphirefallschronicles · 1 year

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- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ Welcome to Sapphire Falls - chapter 13 ❜┊˚̥۪͙۪◌

Basketballer!Chris Evans x Abigail Syverson (plus size!ofc) & Farmer!Syverson x Livia Darmandi (Asian ofc)

Summary: Livia asks Sy to join her to the benefit and thinks about prom night, more than eleven years ago.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Vague mentions of sex, but not too much.

The Advent Calendar (a.k.a. the masterlist)

Okay, I now have to fix that date for the benefit and preferably with Sy. Gosh, that lie just rolled right off my tongue, didn’t it? But, let’s be honest: me and Chris attending an event together? Sure, he was one of my greatest friends growing up and I really like having him around and–for what it’s worth–he is not too shabby to have right next to you, but why on earth would we go together, when there is a much better fit for him named Abigail Syverson?

My continuous knocking on the door of the Honey Bee Ranch finally pays off, because it opens after a good ten seconds and Sy leans in the doorway, appearing unamused. ‘You must have a very good reason to disturb me like that.’

I ignore the wit, knowing he doesn’t mean it. ‘You gotta come with me to the benefit.’

‘And why would I do that?’ he asks, crossing his thick arms in front of his broad chest.

‘Well, Chris is probably going with Abigail and I told him I’m going with you.’ I shrug and add: ‘So, now you have to come with me, otherwise Chris is gonna kill me for lying.’

‘So, because you were dishonest, I just have to go with you to the benefit?’

I nod. ‘Yep, you’re already getting the gist of it.’

He scoffs. ‘Bold of you to assume I have a suit to wear.’

‘I know you do,’ I tell him. ‘And otherwise, we can rent one for you. I found a place not too far from here and you can rent there, even on such a short notice.’

‘Crap,’ he mutters. ‘Now I can’t say no.’

‘So… Does that mean you’re coming with me?’ I hopefully ask.

Sy nods. ‘I guess so.’

‘Great! It’s gonna be like all our homecoming dancings and prom.’ Realizing what I just said, I clear my throat. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

Sy scratches the back of his neck, sharing the same uneasiness as me. ‘I know what you mean,’ he says. ‘Well, Liv, I do have a suit. I’ll pick you up in the truck or do you prefer something fancier?’

‘The truck would suffice. I’ll text you the details later on.’ I break out in a smile and say: ‘Thank you, Sy. I owe you one.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, Liv, this is what friends do. We’re there for one another.’

‘I also need another favor.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Can you drive me? I have to buy a dress.’

●・○・●・○・●

You can say about Sy what you want, but he is a good sport. Without muttering or sputtering, he got the car keys and drove me to the store I had in mind. It was an hour drive, but he didn’t mind. I guess he always really liked driving. I knew my way around here in Sapphire Falls, back when I was younger and Dottie took me out for driving sometimes, but I haven’t driven a car in so long. Besides me never liking it, I also live in New York City.

Feel like I don’t need to further expound on that one.

Together with Sy I walk into the store and let out a deep sigh as I stare at the amounts of clothing. ‘Do you think I should’ve brought Abigail with me?’ I ask.

Sy scoffs. ‘You couldn’t have thought of that an hour earlier?’

‘Well, you didn’t say anything either.’

He smirks. ‘True. Okay, come on, let’s make this quick. Max three dresses for you to try on.’

At first I want to strangle him for suggesting something so outrageous, but I think three dresses is enough. Besides, having a defined idea of what to do here is probably the best way to go. ‘I came prepared,’ I say, ‘because I already brought some shoes.’ I fish the heels out of my bag and hold them. ‘They’re black,’ I say, as if Sy can’t see that, ‘so, they’ll fit mostly everything.’

Sy holds one in his hands and examines them. ‘These are high.’

‘Yeah, and I am short,’ I tell him. ‘Come on, I have to compensate. You are gonna be my plus one and knowing us, we’re gonna hang out with the other giants named Abigail and Chris.’

He smiles. For a second I’m lost in those eyes, in that smile and his handsome features, but I quickly shrug it off and look through the racks of clothing. Nothing is good enough. It’s either too casual, too royal or borderline cosplay and that was not the look we were going for.

But I grabbed two dresses, a red one and a green one. I first try on the red and when I have put on the heels, I look at myself in the mirror.

Oh no…

This isn’t good.

‘Are you gonna show me something?’ Sy impatiently asks, who has taken a seat outside of the changing rooms.

‘No,’ I say. ‘The red one is no good.’

‘Show it to me, Liv.’

‘No, it’s horrendous.’

‘It can’t be that bad.’

I pull the curtain to the side and show him what I’m wearing. ‘You still think that?’

Sy doesn’t want to, but he still bursts out into laughter. The collar and sleeves didn’t look too bad on the hanger, however now that I’m wearing it, I feel like doctor Quinn is gonna barge in the store any minute now to rip the dress off me. ‘That is not good,’ he says.

‘Don’t laugh too hard,’ I mumble, though I have to chuckle too. ‘It’s horrible.’

‘Well, let’s hope the green one is better.’

I hide in the changing room again and after nearly breaking my neck because I tripped in the very tight space, I somehow managed to slide into this other dress.

Oh.

This is a look. The tiny cut outs near the waist line really show off my middle and despite the dress being knee length, the high slit on the side doesn’t make it look frumpy.

I turn around in the mirror and realize I have a great ass in this too!

This dress fits like a glove and that in a little boutique. Is this how people feel when they hit the jackpot? I open the curtain again and walk out. ‘And?’ I ask, as I make a little pirouette.

Sy blinks his eyes, before I see him scanning the entire dress and therefore me. ‘Wow.’

‘Is that a good wow?’

‘More than a good wow,’ Sy notes, getting up from the chair to stand next to me. He holds out his arm and I hook mine though it. ‘You sure you wanna show up with me by your side for the benefit?’ he asks.

‘Absolutely,’ I say, leaning my head against his arm. ‘I’d love that, Sy.’

He can’t help but smirk. ‘Good, me too.’

●・○・●・○・●

Prom was probably one of the most highly anticipated moments of my life. Doing my hair and make-up with Abigail and her mom Dottie, then putting on the red dress I had bought with them. It were moments like this I cherished forever. After Dottie pulled an Abigail and took a lot of pictures, we went to school. Chris and Abigail in Chris’ fixer up. Sy and I in his truck.

But when we arrived at school, Chris and Abigail quickly disappeared, but I never lost track of Sy. The crowd was getting too much and too packed and being my height, therefore unable to oversee it all, I wanted to walk back, however Sy placed his hand in between my shoulderblades, causing me to look up. ‘I’ve got you, Liv.’

Four words, but it was enough to send my heart into overdrive.

My prom was mostly spent with Sy and because I couldn’t persuade him to join me on the dance floor, we remained wallflowers for the majority of the night and to be fair, that was all I really cared about. I liked being around Sy and to be his moral support for events like this–which he absolutely despised–was the least I could do.

And after prom, we went home. We had a lot of dances in the past and it usually ended in us going back to the ranch. Chris however went home, because he had a basketball game the next day and it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to just assume Abigail was staring at the pictures she had taken that night. Because the ranch was big and had a lot of rooms, I slept in one of the guest bedrooms, where I took off all my make-up and the dress. I stared at it for a while, as it was draped over the chair and the last reminder I had of prom night.

I went to the kitchen for one more glass of water, only to see Sy also standing there. ‘Hi,’ I said, causing him to look up. ‘What are you doing here?’

He simply shrugged, before he suggested: ‘Want to come with me?’

‘Where to?’

‘You know how my dad and I were building that shed near the lake?’ he asked. ‘I finished it the other day. I just hadn’t gotten around to show it to you just yet.’

I peeked through the window, realizing how dark it was.

‘It’s not too cold out,’ Sy said, as if that was what I was worried about. ‘So you can just go in your pj’s.’

Knowing with the aftermath of prom still buzzing through my veins, I would not fall asleep anytime soon, I nodded and together we walked into the dark night. I held onto Sy’s arm, not wanting to lose sight of him.

The shed was absolutely beautiful. I remembered clearly when Bernard and Sy were working on it, but after the death of Bernard, Sy hadn’t picked up on working on it. He probably found the willpower to do so again.

‘It’s like a little house,’ I said, as I plopped on the bed. ‘You can rent it out.’

‘I’m probably not gonna do that. I… It’s nice to have my own place so to say.’ He sat next to me on the bed. ‘Liv, I had fun tonight.’

‘Really? You frowned like ninety nine percent of the time.’

‘That’s my default state,’ he retorted. ‘Thought you knew by now.’

I chuckled. ‘Well, thank you for tonight. For the corsage, for the tie that matched my dress and actually mustering up a smile for the picture.’

‘I hope mom’s reflexes are good,’ he joked, ’because that smile was very brief.’

I stared at his handsome face, his jawline more prominent than last year, though I still saw some of the softness left. ‘Maybe we should go back.’

‘Maybe.’

However we both didn’t move. I saw Sy’s eyes descend from my eyes to my lips.

‘We can also stay here,’ I suggested in a hoarse tone.

Sy nodded and told me he would lock the door of the shed. I scooted back on the mattress and snuck underneath the thin covers. I stared at my best friend, as he was locking the door and checking the windows. The moments I got to spend with him were going to be scarce as time went on. Sure, we still had time left before I would officially depart for college and it’s only then I have to say my goodbyes to him, but that doesn’t change the fact I was going away and he was staying here in Sapphire Falls.

I had lived my life here, got used to the people here and I knew he was always there for me.

Sy walked over to the bed, got underneath the covers as well and I didn’t even have to think about curling up against his strong and protective frame. I placed my head against his chest, wrapping my arm around his waist.

‘High school is almost over,’ I whispered. ‘Do you think we’ll be people who peaked during high school?’

‘Maybe I will be, but you can never be,’ Sy said, as he played with my fingers. ‘You’re going to conquer the world, show everyone what an amazing writer you are.’

I looked up and smiled. ‘Is the farm going to be your forever home, Sy?’

‘I can’t leave this behind,’ he said. ‘Besides, there is a community college not too far from here. I bet I can learn a thing or two there. If I want.’ The second those words left his lips, he chuckled. ‘Well, you know me: I suck at school. I am probably never going back.’

‘You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for,’ I said. ‘You’ve got so much to offer.’

He let out a sigh. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘I’ll miss you too.’

And then it happened. Usually I would insist on us being friends and solely friends, however now I couldn’t. Not when I felt his lips on mine. It was so different than the first times we kissed, because then I stopped us.

I didn’t want us to stop now.

Our kiss deepened and I allowed my body to melt against his. His hand carefully touched my lower back, as it had slipped underneath my pajama shirt.

He rolled me on my back, as he was on his side next to me, not once letting our lips depart from one another. His lips descended to my nape, his hand resting in the dip of my waist. My lips were burning, desperate for more of these types of kisses. My skin was on fire, because of his touch, from both his lips and his calloused hand.

A shaky exhale left my lips, causing Sy to look up. ‘You alright?’

I nodded. ‘I’m okay,’ I whispered. ‘Are you?’

Now it was his turn to nod. He leaned closer to give me another kiss. Sy carefully rolled on top of me, as he kneeled between my legs. He made sure he wasn’t smothering me underneath his large frame, leaning on one of his strong arms.

All the things I usually would do–telling him this wasn’t a good idea, how we were just friends and what not–were all forgotten.

We made out for who knows how long, his shirt disregarded and I allowed my hands to wander over his strong upper body.

Sy carefully let his fingers caress my skin, as his hands were still underneath my shirt. For the longest time, I never thought I’d ever kiss him again, but his lips were attached to mine.

Our lips parted, his forehead resting against mine. His hot breath tingled against my lips. For seconds we didn’t speak, not a word was exchanged between us.

What did I want to say to him? Stop? I want this?

I had no idea.

Everything he did was careful, well thought out. I never wanted him to stop, but deep down I knew that friends didn’t do this.

I whispered: ‘What are we doing?’

‘I’m not sure.’

He was sure. I was sure. We both were.

I pulled him closer, his lips fell perfectly against mine and I said: ‘Do you want this?’

‘With you I do,’ Sy said. ‘What about you, Liv?’

I nodded carefully. ‘With you I want this too.’

●・○・●・○・●

We didn’t speak about the elephant in the room. That was quite the achievement, considering us just losing our virginities to one another on prom night, was probably the biggest elephant ever. We stared at the ceiling after I put on his shirt, since I was a shivering mess. I turned to my side, placing my head on his bare chest as I held his hand in mine. His lips pressed a featherlike kiss on my fingers.

‘Sy,’ I whispered. ‘I am leaving in a month.’

‘I know.’

‘I want us to remain friends. No matter where I am.’

‘I want that too.’

I craned my neck to look up and when our eyes met, he smiled.

‘What’s up?’ he asked me.

I leaned in to give him a kiss on his cheek, before I whispered: ‘I love you, Sy.’

At first I thought he didn’t hear it, but then he said: ‘I love you too, Liv,’ before giving me one last kiss.

And after that, we never spoke about it again. We never said those words to each other. We went back to how it was pre-prom.

Like it never happened.

#Welcome to Sapphire Falls #Welcome to Sapphire Falls Masterlist #diegos-butt & keanureevesisbae advent calender #Chris Evans #Henry Cavill #Syverson #Basketballer!Chris Evans #Farmer!Syverson #Plus size!ofc #Asian!ofc #chris evans x plus size ofc #henry cavill x asian ofc #chris evans x ofc #henry cavill x ofc

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cafeacademia · 3 years

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His Favourite Gal | Part 1

Mob!Bucky x Shy!Reader

Summary: You begin working as a waitress at Bucky Barnes’ favourite club in town. Little do you realise that working on mob territory owned by the infamous King of New York, Bucky Barnes, comes with its quirks and you’re slowly pulled into the mobster life.

Warnings: Fluff, some mentions of drunk people, mentions of crimes (though nothing happens, it’s just mentioned).

Word count: Approx 3700

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A/N: Hi loves!! This is a remaster of my own original fan fiction that I’ve decided to take from my old blog and (hopefully) improve. I’ve been slowly remastering fics that I am particularly attached to and I worked quite a lot to get this one overhauled and rewritten!! There’s actually very little of the original writing left, it was interesting to see how different my style is now compared to three years ago! This was also my first ever series I’d ever written on my old blog, so aside from the fact that I love the story, it’s special to me in that regard. Enjoy! 💕

If you’d like to join my taglist, you can do so using my taglist form HERE

It was raining when you finally finished your shift three hours later than when you were supposed to be off for the night. It was tiring working for the dingy old bar, it looked just as sad on the outside as it did on the inside, the old brick discoloured, old panelling slowly peeling off the sides of the building. It was a wreck and so was your boss too. He couldn’t have cared less if you worked yourself down to the bone, as long as he had staff doing a job, he didn’t care.

“I’m expecting you tomorrow, we’re opening early.” He had told you on your way out and it took everything in your willpower not to groan and roll your eyes and tell him so eloquently to fuck off. It was almost a relief when you heard the heavy metal door slam behind you as you stepped out of the back entrance. The air was just as bad. It was thick with smog and cigarette smoke and something pungent, an overflowing bin or perhaps an unfortunate street animal, you thought.

You were glad when it began to rain harder. At least it seemed to make most of the drunkards along the main strip try to find shelter instead of bothering you on your walk home.

Pulling your jacket hood up, you stepped down from the doorway and made your way out of the alleyway and onto the back street. It was never good to walk home alone, especially at night and especially in the part of New York you lived and worked in. It was on the edge of mobster territory and while Bucky Barnes, the King of New York owned it, it didn’t mean it was safe at all. It was quite the opposite, the district was prone to all levels of crime, from pickpocketing all the way up to armed robberies, arson and shootings.

But, you realised as you walked up the street, spotting a group of drunk men up ahead, drink men with rifles too, that never ended well, that perhaps mobster territory might not be a bad idea, especially when there were people working for Barnes along the entire street and they were known to keep the peace.

You heard the casino before you saw it, but as you rounded the corner you saw the lights, the late night rain distorting some of the huge party lights that lit up the sky above the building. Stark’s was not the most prestigious club in town, but it was the most respected and most feared. And funnily enough, for a place called Stark’s, the billionaire did not own his own named club. As far as you remembered, you’d seen it in the papers a few years ago that Barnes had won it off Stark in a game of poker. You’d never know if that was really true, but it definitely seemed plausible.

As you passed the casino, you glanced over towards the dark tinted windows, watching as people came and went, mostly men in suits. But you noticed a sign from across the road that was taped onto one of the windows, huge bold letters making you stop in your tracks for a moment.

Waiting staff needed. And you stared at it for a moment, contemplating. You… A bar waitress, surely it was not wise for you to sign up to work in mobster territory. That would definitely land you in more dangerous places than you were already in.

But the longer you stood there and thought about it, you began to wonder if it was actually a good idea. You could at least try, what did you have to lose? And before you could even come to a full decision, it was as it was made for you, because a group of rowdy men walked towards you and you immediately took the decision to cross the road, putting you right in front of the casino.

How bad could it be? The worst that could happen was that you just had to return back around the corner to your miserable little bar job. So, with a sigh, you grabbed the flyer and walked towards the entrance.

The bouncer was huge and intimidating. Of course, you had expected as much with the club having the notoriety that it did. It wasn’t long before you were allowed to enter, the bouncer telling you, “speak to Natasha at the bar”, and as you headed through into the casino, you assumed the absolutely stunning woman behind the bar right ahead of you was Natasha.

The club was bustling with people, though it was not as stuffy and loud on the inside as you had expected it to be. There was a clear divide between people dining and drinking at tables around the bar and the casino side of the club which appeared to be behind a velvet rope and deep burgundy red curtains at either side of the bar. It was far more high end than you had expected, seeing as the outside of Stark’s resembled a kind of fancy nightclub, but you supposed the King of New York did happen to own it.

“Are you here about the job?” The woman at the bar asked as you approached her. You wondered if it was your very casual clothing in such a formal setting that gave you away or the flyer in your hand. Either way, you suddenly felt very intimidated and very underprepared. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. You were a girl dressed in the dregs of your wardrobe while trying to get a job in the most respected club in the entire city. Not likely.

“I saw the advertisement outside, I hope that’s alright.” You said as you lifted the flyer in your hand and she held out her hand to take it from you. “Are you sure? We haven’t had many applicants because of certain activities.” She told you, but you knew what she meant, it was obvious. This part of town, even outside of mobster territory was swimming in crime. “I’ve got nothing to lose.” You replied. And it was true, you did have nothing to lose. No family, no responsibilities outside of your current job, which this would replace, no children, no pets, no side hustles. Nothing. And that probably made you a good candidate.

The woman smiled at you, her lips curving up into a smirk as she took a moment to look you over before she extended her hand across the counter. “Natasha.” She introduced herself, smiling as you shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.” You mirrored her smile and gave her your name before she let go of you. “Let me just get someone on the bar and we’ll talk.” She told you.

And moments later, you were following Natasha through the casino, passing by all of the business men, mafia family members and rich men and women who were chancing it at gambling games. Suffice to say, you felt even more out of place than you had done just moments beforehand.

“Where do you work right now?” Natasha asked as she let you pass her into an office near the back of the building. “I work in an old bar just around the corner called The Rabid Dog.” It was not a pleasant name, it always made you cringe whenever you had to tell people where you worked and you didn’t fail to notice the way that Natasha seemed amused by the name of the bar too.

“So you’ve done bar work? What about waitressing?” She asked as she gestured for you to sit down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. Natasha didn’t sit behind the desk, instead she just dropped down into the chair next to yours and rested one leg over the other as if she was having a casual conversation with a friend. “My bar serves food, so I do it on a regular basis and I also used to work in a restaurant a few years ago.” You explained, but before either of you could say anything else, the door swung open and you nearly fell out of your chair.

“Who’s this?” Bucky Barnes, the King of New York himself asked as he walked through the doorway. What had you walked into? You knew he owned the club, but you’d never expected to actually meet Barnes. “This is our new waitress.” Natasha said proudly as she stood. You knew better than to interrupt, but you gathered that someone must have noticed the look of confusion on your face because just as a second man entered the room, he said, “Does our new waitress know she’s the new waitress?” The second man asked. He was blonde, just as tall and muscular as Barnes, though he looked at you with less of a poker face and more of an amused smirk.

“Really? You just hired her like that?” Mr Barnes asked as he approached you. “I like her.” Natasha countered, both men giving her pointed looks, though Mr Barnes raised his brows and nodded before turning back towards you. “She likes you.” He repeated what Natasha had said. You couldn’t help but send Natasha a questioning glance. She had just met you minutes ago and she’d already analysed you enough to know that she liked you and you wondered if Natasha was much more than just a bar girl.

“Have you done waitressing before?” Barnes asked. “I just asked her that.” Natasha huffed. “Yes sir, waitressing and bar work.” You responded. “And do you have any family?” He asked next. “No sir, none at all.” You replied. “And you know this isn’t the type of job cut out for ordinary people, right? This club sees a lot of things.” Mr Barnes went on. “I do, sir.” You nodded.

“Buck, maybe we should consider-.” But Mr Barnes casually held up his hand to silence his friend. “You’re hired.” He announced, the entire room falling silent and all you could do was stare at Barnes for a moment, stunned that he had just hired you right there on the spot. “I am?” It came out a little more hushed than you had intended, Bucky nodding as he smirked at you. “Whatever your pay is at your old job, I’ll pay at least double, more if it’s not enough. Natasha will contact your old boss and get you ready for your first day.” And with that, Bucky Barnes and his friend left the room and Natasha looked over at you, watching as the astonishment slowly dissipated.

“I’ll let you know when you start work.” Natasha broke the silence and you glanced over at her. “Just like that?” You asked, still surprised. “Just like that.” She responded. “Don’t worry, Barnes wouldn’t keep me around if I wasn’t a good judge of character.” She winked at you and you wondered again if she was something more than just a bar girl.

The job, you realised after your first couple of days working at the club, was far more interesting and a lot more rewarding than your previous job at the old bar. The club was a scene for all kinds of happenings and while nothing nefarious really went on, especially under Bucky Barnes’ nose, you did overhear an awful lot of conversation.

You learned as well in those first few days, that while this was not where Mr Barnes resided, he used the club as a place to carry out some of his business meetings and discussions as well as a place to relax.

Barely a week into your new job, you were getting ready for your shift in the little back room. Lockers lined the walls with a mirror at the side of the door and comfortable benches in the middle of the room. Dressed in a simple, but pretty black dress, you tied the strings of your little demi apron at the back, though you paused, a little startled when the door was abruptly pushed open and Natasha stepped in.

“Barnes needs you.” Nat announced with urgency and you frowned at her. “He does?” You asked. “He needs someone to waitress him and the family tonight, he’s asking for you.” She informed you. “I thought-.” “Yes, I know normally we have security taking orders to the waitresses, but he’s personally asking for you to waitress them tonight.” Nat told you and you paused with a slight air of confusion about you. “Alright, I’ll waitress Mr Barnes then.” You nodded, quickly fumbling with the ties of your apron before you shoved your jacket a bit more firmly into the back of the locker and shut it properly, letting Natasha walk you through the club towards the private dining space they were occupying.

Nat rushed you into the room and closed the door behind you, leaving you to stand rather flustered in front of a cosy looking dining room with a round table in the middle. Bucky was sat at the furthest end of the room, his chair seeming to have a higher back than all of the others. At his left was Steve, who you’d been properly introduced to on your first day at work and on his right was Sam Wilson, who you understood was a very close friend of his.

“Sugar, you made it.” Bucky enthusiastically greeted you as you approached the table. You hoped that you didn’t appear too flustered and intimidated, but you were aware that there was only so much you could play off with smiles when you knew your eyes might give you away. “Good evening Mr Barnes, gentleman.” You nodded, finally taking a step into the room and approaching the table, receiving polite hellos and smiles from all of them. “Are you looking after us tonight?” Steve asked, sitting forward in his seat and casually leaning his elbows on the table. “I am, Mr Rogers.” You nodded, lifting your notepad and pen as if it were proof. “Allow me to introduce you to everyone.” Bucky waved you over to him and you took a few steps towards him as he went around the table naming everyone. It was quite easy to distinguish that the people sitting closest to Bucky were of more importance to him as he listed Clint and Scott, who seemed to be his security and Pietro who appeared at first glance to be a mentee as well as the rest of the group.

“C’mere sweetheart.” Bucky motioned you to come and stand next to him once they were all done ordering food and drink. You stood where he’d pointed to and he turned in his seat to face you. You felt your cheeks warm intensely as Bucky smiled up at you, his eyes so soft and sweet and you questioned for a moment how exactly this man was the King of New York. He was incredibly sweet looking and for a moment you found yourself melting on the spot. “Is that everything, Mr Barnes?” You asked. “Not quite, sugar. Add whatever you’re having to the list, it’s on me.” He grinned at you. “I – uh, sorry?” You asked, a little confused. “Are you sure, Mr Barnes?” You hesitantly met his eyes though you immediately broke eye contact. “Absolutely, please eat with us, doll.” Bucky’s voice went soft as he tilted his head back a little to see you better, his lips pouting ever so slightly. “As you wish, Mr Barnes. Thank you.” You smiled at him, speaking softly before jotting your meal on the notepad and rushing out of the room.

You nearly bumped into Natasha as you made your way towards the kitchen. “He wants me to eat with them.” You blurted out before even making your presence known. “He what?” Nat frowned. “Mr Barnes wants me to order my food and drink and eat with them.” You repeated, more calmly this time. “Really?” She looked at you wide eyed. “Does he not do that with other waitresses?” You questioned, ripping the order out of the notepad and handing it to the kitchen staff. “No, he’s never done that before, never requested it either.” Nat shook her head. “Are you sure?” You surely couldn’t be the only one he’s ever asked. “I’ve worked here every night for three years and not once has he ever requested that.” Nat said with a single raised brow. It was definitely unusual. “I’ll get someone to call for you when the food’s ready. Let me get their drinks together.” She told you, waving you away before she went to look at the order you’d brought in.

You waltzed into the private dining room with a large round tray balanced expertly on one hand. The glasses on top gently clinked together as you walked. Handing out their orders, you took your drink last. You noticed quickly that all the men around the table had shifted and there was now an empty seat next to Bucky. “Come and sit with me, doll.” He patted the empty chair. Steve hopped up to pull it out for you and you obliged, gently sitting yourself down in the chair and turning slightly to face him. You didn’t want to assume you could speak unless spoken to, so you politely kept quiet while Bucky noticeably studied your face. “Tell us about yourself, sweetheart.” He smiled, sitting back in his chair as he picked up his drink and took a sip.

“I’ve been around and lived in a few different places. My parents passed several years ago and it’s just been me ever since, so I moved back to Brooklyn.” You did appreciate the soft look on Bucky’s face as he listened to what you said, almost like he felt sorry for you. Before you could continue though, Bucky rested his hand over yours and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry about your parents, truly I am.” He spoke just above a whisper. “Thank you, Mr Barnes.” You gave him a tight lipped smile. “Call me Bucky. We’re with family, which means we’re all on a first name basis, alright?” Bucky gripped your hand gently. “Alright, Bucky.” You nodded, mirroring his smile.

You told him more about yourself and for a moment, Bucky seemed anything but a mobster. He asked you about the books you liked to read and talked to you about the subjects that seemed to make your eyes light up and your smile a little wider. As the evening drew on, you became comfortable enough to share a few timid little jokes, which elicited chuckles and laughs from even some of the most scary looking men around the table. One of them, Drax, who was terrifyingly huge and angry looking, clapped his hand over his chest and roared with laughter the first time you told a joke, which completely took you by surprise. What surprised you more was how easy it was to make Bucky laugh and how down to earth and sweet he was.

By the time everyone had eaten and spent some time drinking and chatting and enjoying themselves, you had warmed up to all of them, especially Steve, Sam and Bucky. All of them though, were soft and charming on the inside, showing you a side to them you were unsure anyone else in the club was ever going to see. They were intimidating on the outside, exuding a terrifying confidence, but on the inside they were all sweet and gentle and caring and it absolutely melted you.

And after you had said goodbye to all of them and made your way back to the locker room, Clint, one of Bucky’s closer family members, followed you in. “Barnes wants me and Scott to make sure you get home safe.” He told you. “He’s requesting we give you a lift back in his SUV.” Clint added, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his middle. It definitely seemed unusual, especially to be personally driven home. As far as you were aware, not even Natasha, who seemed very close to the family was ever given a lift home. But then again, judging by her reaction to Bucky wanting you to dine with them earlier, you supposed this was all rather new for them, just as much as it was for you. “Alright.” You nodded as you opened your locker, pulling off your apron and putting it away before you took out your jacket and bag, quickly getting them both on before letting Clint escort your towards the back exit.

“Hey doll, hope you don’t mind the spontaneous ride home.” Bucky grinned, far too pleased with himself that he was having his men not only drive him, Steve and Sam home, but also you. Of course it meant he had a longer way home, but Bucky didn’t care. Seeing you all off to your houses was important to him and why seeing you off specifically was important, Bucky was starting to wonder why.

After sliding into the SUV and getting comfortable on the soft, plush seats, you were driven home with gentle, quiet chatter between Bucky and Sam, Steve joining in occasionally until you arrived at your apartment building.

“See you the day after tomorrow, sugar.” Bucky smiled, leaning towards the open door to speak to you as you got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride home.” You waved at all of the men in the car, Scott getting out to escort you up to the front door of the building, the car waiting until they had seen you safely into the building and the door shut behind you.

Sitting down in your bedroom, safely back in your apartment you laid down in the soft blankets, replaying the evening in your head, realising you were smiling to yourself when you remembered that Nat had said no one had ever been asked to dine with Bucky and his family before. It brought warmth to your cheeks as you settled in for the night, looking forward to your next shift at Stark’s.

Bucky Taglist (OPEN):

@losers-official @barneswidow @megantje123 @anchoeritic @struggling-bee

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mobster!bucky #mobster!bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #marvel #marvel fanfic series

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aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

Text

BO SINCLAIR X TRANS MAN / MAN ALIGNED READER COMING OUT - Pt. 1 - Under Your Skin

This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2, Over the Moon, will be NSFW. I'll link that here when it's written!

You met Bo while you were still presenting as a woman. Suffice to say things have changed, and you can't keep your secret from him any longer. You have no choice but to tell him or leave ... but what if he makes you leave anyway?

CW: descriptions of dysphoria that get very intense, deadnaming/misgendering, mentions of murder and mortal peril, it's 2005 and Bo is from the south so just be advised it's not all fluff and rainbows (but there is payoff, this isn't straight angst, it's just a journey)

Soundtrack: x

Words: 4,175

Part Two

Masterlist

***

Your shoulders were stiff. Your throat was dry. Your leg was bouncing, the only thing you could do to release the nervous energy juttering through your body.

You were going to tell him.

You'd put it off for months now, not quite sure how to say the words. Then, when you'd arranged them in your head, fear had kept you from saying them out loud. But you couldn't wait anymore. You couldn't live like this any longer.

You'd been hiding the secret for too long. Every time Bo called you by your birth name or made some quip about you being his girl, your heart shriveled just a little more. It had gotten to the point where you didn't even want compliments from him ... you didn't want to talk. You didn't even really want to sleep with him, didn't like to think about him looking at you as a woman during sex.

He didn't know, of course. But that almost made it worse. He couldn't stop hurting you and you couldn't yell at him for it. It was always the same: you lost control, you got frustrated, wouldn't tell him why, he'd get frustrated, you'd fight ... it was a mess. You knew all that was putting a strain on your relationship.

So it had to be tonight.

It had to be tonight.

You had everything planned. You'd already gone into town with Lester and picked up some stuff for a nice dinner; there was a fresh, cold six-pack of Bud in the fridge; and Rocky III was sitting in the VHS player, ready to go. Once he was relaxed, you'd talk to him.

You'd convinced yourself so fully that you'd stick to the plan that when you heard his truck pull up and your heart leapt into your throat, you nearly cried. Fuck, not again. Not another night. You were supposed to be stronger than this.

Stomping boots on the porch. You heard the door swing open from the kitchen. "I'm home."

He didn't sound like he was in a particularly good mood, but it didn't sound like a bad one, either. That was good news, at least. Things must have gone okay down at the shop. "I'm in here!" you called back.

Bo appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, tracking a little gravel into the house as always. He leaned against the doorframe with one hand on his hip, gesturing with his chin. "Hey, sugar. What you got there?"

You looked down at the meal you were plating. "I thought I'd try a pot roast? I dunno. I don't think it came out very good, but I guess we'll see."

He didn't say anything. You glanced over your tense shoulder to see him simply staring at you, like he was trying to read your thoughts. You could sense the gears in his head turning behind those clever blue eyes of his. He knew there was something wrong; you were guarded.

For a moment, you thought he might say something. That familiar little bit of irritation was beginning to creep into his face, right around his neck and jaw. But after a few seconds, he simply said, "A'right," and straightened. "M'gonna go change."

"'Kay." As he stomped up the stairs, you finished getting the food ready and brought the plates to the living room. Bo usually ate at the table—"I ain't a savage"—but you could tell he liked eating on the couch. It was like a special treat. And clearly, you were short on charm at the moment, so you'd have to use your environment to your advantage.

You pulled up two tray tables and set the food down, then fetched the beer. By the time everything was set up, Bo was coming back down the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to look at him. He was wearing jeans and a red flannel, sleeves rolled up. At this point, he didn't care about you seeing his scars. You hardly noticed them anymore.

He came closer and slowed to a stop, forehead wrinkling as he eyed your set-up. "What's all this about?"

"I was thinking dinner and a movie." You paused. "I thought Rocky might get the taste of my cooking out of your mouth."

You succeeded in making him laugh a little, crow's feet crinkling, but as he took a step closer, his smile faded. "Did you do somethin'? Is somethin' broken?" He glanced quickly, running his gaze over the clutter his parents had left behind.

"Nothing's wrong," you reassured him quickly, stepping back into his line of sight in the hopes of distracting him. "I just thought, you know, we could have a nice night. Like ... romantic?"

He stared at you for a moment. Then, his gaze lit, a toothy smile appearing. "Romantic, huh? Well hell, sweetie, why didn't ya say so?"

He clearly thought you meant sex. In fact, the way he was looking at you, you thought he'd jump you right up against the pool table if you let him. Your dysphoria made sex so unbearable that you'd been avoiding it when you could lately, and you were sure he missed it.

You were lucky he hadn't gotten mean yet. You guessed that was a testament to how much he must like you. But who knew if he'd like you after tonight?

Quickly, you shoved a beer into his hand, redirecting his attention as you slid onto the couch and clicked play. He slid into place beside you, relaxing back with his legs spread.

You both picked at your food—you because you were way too nervous to eat, and him because ... well, you assumed it was because he was waiting for you to initiate the "romance." He did eventually finish his meal, though, complimenting you with one of his "So good, baby"s and a boozy kiss.

The movie droned on, and eventually, he wrapped an arm around you. As he did, you relaxed, if only a little. You wanted to settle into him ... you wanted it more than anything in the world. You did love him. But who did he love? The woman he thought he was putting his arm around wasn't you.

"What's wrong?" His tone was firm and sudden after such a long stretch of silence.

You blinked at him. "Nothing."

He wasn't buying it, and he didn't look impressed. "There's no point in lyin'a me, darlin'. I know when somethin' ain't right." Then, with a little edge to his voice, "You know I get pissed when you brush me off."

"I'm just..." You sighed, setting your beer aside and rubbing your forehead. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Let's go to bed, then." In one fluid motion, he stood and turned off the TV. "Hope you're not too tired," he added quietly.

It was equal parts insult, warning, and come-on, and it exhausted you as much as it panicked you. You weren't ready to tell him just yet. You'd figured you still had a few hours, but ... well, if you pissed him off now, all this nice set-dressing had been for nothing. Then you'd either have to tell him while he was in a bad mood or spend another night as someone you weren't.

Biting back a sigh, you stood, too. He was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, and let you go up first.

"Nice view from back here," he said smoothly. "Almost wanna tell you to start runnin'."

Shit. You needed an excuse to buy yourself a little time. "Can you shower first?"

You knew the question ticked him off because he didn't answer it. He followed you to your shared room, grabbed a towel, and left for the bathroom in heated silence.

The shower would make him feel better. It always did. He'd scald himself like he liked, then come out much calmer. Hopefully. You changed and took your place in bed, sitting under the blankets with your pillow propping you up. Waiting.

You were wrong about the calm. When he came back into the bedroom—red-skinned and completely naked, towel occupied in his hair—he was scowling at the floor. You waited for him to yell. It was inevitable.

When he did finally say something, his tone was quieter than you imagined, though simmering. "Why are you doin' this to me?"

You didn't respond, mostly because you had no idea which this he was talking about.

"Hurts my pride, y'know." He began toweling his body. Rather roughly, you noticed. "My girl don't wanna fuck me. You know how that feels as a man? You think I wanna have to— hurt you?"

A pause. "Bo..."

"Am I gonna have to get it somewhere else? Fuck, Deadname."

You shrank in bed. That name made you feel rotten to the core. It was like poison slowly choking your veins. You had to do this ... but you couldn't. But you had to.

Bo was unaware of the war going on inside of you as he turned, leaning against the dresser, arms back to clutch the edge. "Is it someone else?" You could tell he was murderous just thinking about that possibility, gaze aflame, jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break teeth. "Is it Vincent?"

"What? No!" Why he'd think that when you'd only ever expressed mild concern for Vincent's well-being, you had no idea. "There's no one else, Bo, I just—"

"Then what's a matter with you, huh?" He raised his voice. "Am I too rough, am I too— Jesus Christ, you gotta at least tell me what the damage is!"

Your conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You yelled back, "It's not you!"

"Then what the hell is it?!"

"It's me!"

He opened his mouth to shout back, but only managed, "What in the f—" before he lost steam, searching your face helplessly. Something about the way you looked must have given him pause. You meant what you said. Desperately, desperately. It was you. You were the problem.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, glare pointed. "You been off all night. Hell"—one of those incredulous laughs that betrayed his genuine anger—"you been off for a while. Least you can do is tell me what the fuck is goin' on."

He was right. No turning back now. You took a deep, grounding breath. "Okay."

A moment of hesitation. Did you want him close or across the room like that, just in case? Eventually, you decided you needed him close. You patted the bed beside you.

Bo grabbed a pair of boxer-briefs, stepping into them on his way over. His expression was still twisted sourly, but you could sense him relax as he sat in bed next to you. He didn't meet your eye, simply looking down at the sheets. Beneath the anger, a begrudging expectation simmered. Did he think you were going to break things off?

That thought spurred you into taking his hand, squeezing lightly. "I love you so fucking much."

He glanced to the side. At length, he mumbled, "You, too."

You took another deep breath, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "There's something I haven't told you about me. And it's really been stressing me out lately. That's why I've been acting so weird." When he didn't reply, you continued, "It's been making it ... hard to be close to you. I don't like the way lying to you makes me feel, and I've been ... scared, so fucking scared, Bo."

He glanced at you again, brows drawn, this time with confusion rather than anger. "So what is it? What the hell can be so big an' important that you can't stand bein' around me?" A pause. "I mean shit, Deadname, you know I kill people for a livin'. My fucked up twin turns 'em into wax. You know about the fuckin' dungeon—what could be bigger'n that?"

That fucking name. You couldn't take it anymore. Your voice cracked as you whispered, "You need to stop calling me Deadname."

"What? Why?" He frowned deeply. "That's your name, ain't it?"

"It's not the name I want to be called."

You could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Okay ... so it ain't your real name. Why you goin' around using a fake name?" His gaze turned flinty and cold. "You're a cop."

"No!" You held up your hands. "No, I didn't lie about who I was, not ... not in the way you're thinking. I was born with that name; everything I've told you about my life and where I came from, all those things were true. I never lied about any of that."

"Then what is it?" He was getting angry again. "Spit it out!"

Well, since he asked... "I don't want to use that name because ... it's a woman's name. And I'm not a woman. I'm a man."

Bo stared for a few seconds, then scanned you up and down once. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. "You were ... born a man? Then how come your name—"

"No, no." You pursed your lips, taking his hand hesitantly again. "I was ... I guess for simplicity's sake you could say I was born a girl. I was born with a vagina, I developed breasts and started my period naturally. But I'm not a girl. Like, in my head. In my brain, I'm actually a man."

He didn't believe you. You could see it in his face. But you weren't planning on giving up that easily. You knew what he'd be thinking; you'd planned this whole thing out so carefully, chosen your words so precisely.

"It's not ... a delusion or anything. It's actually more common than people think. It's called being transgender. When you're born one gender but you want to be another."

He frowned, obviously completely lost. He wasn't getting it. He just didn't fucking understand. And you were growing desperate.

"Bo." Your throat was raw, tears threatening your eyes. "Every time you call me your girl, or you refer to me as a woman, or you use that name ... I fucking hate it. It hurts. It hurts so goddamn bad to know you're not seeing the real me. It makes me not see the real me. I look in the mirror and I just want to ... tear my skin off. Sometimes I just wanna take a knife and— and fix me. Cut out whatever part of me makes it hurt so bad. I just want to be seen as who I am so bad."

"Okay." You didn't like the way he was looking at you, but the anguish in your voice had at least moved him to speak. You could see in his eyes that he was working overtime to puzzle this out. "So, what? What're you gonna do? What's it mean for us?"

"Well..." You had to break eye contact, staring down at his hand. "What I'd like to do is start living as a man. You know, dressing like a man—which I already pretty much do—going by a different name, maybe cutting my hair. You could call me 'he' ... I might even get medicine later on down the line, like hormones, to make me look squarer. Maybe even surgery."

"You gonna get a dick?" The almost mocking tone of his voice made you want to shrivel up and die. He seemed to pick up on the change in your body immediately and shifted his tone. "I'm askin'."

"No, that's not a thing. But I'm gonna be a man regardless." Finally, you released his hand, though you still couldn't look at him. "What that means for us is ... up to you, I guess. It'd mean you were dating a guy. I mean, you have been this whole time—"

"I didn't fucking know," he cut in firmly.

A jolt of fear lanced your heart. "I know. That's my fault; I didn't tell you. I was ... scared."

"Scared of what?" he pressed, tone growing aggressive.

"I don't know. Of you being mad. Or not loving me anymore." You glanced up. "I love you. Seriously, I do. More than anything. I still want to be with you, just ... as a man."

There was silence. A horrible, stretching, heavy silence that made you want to hang your head and cry. After a while, Bo rose from bed, going to the dresser and pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, all in that silence.

Was he ... leaving you? No, he wouldn't leave his own house, he'd make you leave. Or kill you. But he certainly wasn't opening his arms to you. Waves of sadness crashed over your chest, so intense you thought you'd throw up.

He seemed to contemplate the dresser for an extended period. Then, he glanced over his shoulder, just barely. "I need ta' think."

And with that, he was out the door. He didn't come back to bed that night. The next morning, you found his pillow on the couch.

***

Vincent was next on your list of people to tell. It turned out he was a big help, bigger than you could have ever realized he would be. You had to explain yourself, but he took it in stride, calling you by your new chosen name and even helping you come up with a sign for it.

« Did you tell Bo? » he eventually asked you.

"I told him last night." Your eyes were still puffy and red from your night alone, and the morning following it. You still hadn't seen him, but you could hear music blaring from the garage, so you at least knew where he was.

« How did he take it? »

"He isn't speaking to me."

Vincent paused. His wax face was blank as always, but you could tell he was considering something. « Did he yell? »

"No ... he just said he would think about it."

A low grunt, and Vincent nodded. « Then let him think. »

And he did think. He thought about it every night from then on. You could see him thinking during meal times, when you brought him lunch down at the shop, when he was watching TV. You noticed him zoning out in the middle of reading sometimes: paperback crunched and folded in one hand, other hand pressed to his grim mouth, those blue eyes glassy and staring at nothing. Thinking.

He hardly ever spoke to you outside of necessary communication. Before bed, he told you goodnight, but it was ... heavy. He didn't roll over to touch you or hold you anymore. The distance was yawning and heartbreaking, especially when you were alone. The silence was so pregnant with unsaid words and all his damn thoughts.

You wanted to ask if he was mad, but you didn't dare. He didn't seem mad, and you knew a thing or two about his moods. This seemed ... different. So you simply didn't say anything.

And then, one day...

"Hey, handsome."

His voice practically made you jump out of your skin. You, Vincent, and Bo—and sometimes Lester—divided who would have to go into the houses in Ambrose to dust and clean, and today was your day. He'd snuck up on you in the middle of oiling some of the rigs like he'd taught you.

"Uh. Hey." You managed a hasty smile, uncertain you'd actually heard him call you what you thought he had. "What're you doing here?" After a week of him barely speaking to you, it seemed odd that he'd start now.

Bo took a few steps in, looking away and reaching to fiddle with a knick-knack on a nearby side table. "Just thought I'd come check up on you. You are my, uh ... boyfriend, after all."

You stopped dead in the middle of spraying WD-40, staring over your shoulder. What?

When he felt you staring, he lifted his gaze. There was an uncertainty there, discomfort, along with a challenge. "What?"

"Nothing." You turned back to your work. After a few seconds, you added, "Thank you."

He didn't respond, but he eventually sidled up to you, surveying your work. "Not half bad. Yeah, you're doin' real good." He reached up to adjust his hat, and you could feel his gaze on you. "We'll make a man outta you yet."

You couldn't help it—your face burned. "Girls can maintain machinery, too, Bo."

"Yeah, I know that, but you—" An edge of irritation entered his voice. "Now you're just confusin' me."

You set down the WD-40 and turned, searching his face. By god, he really was trying, wasn't he? It was almost cute how bad he was at it, but he was trying. Vincent had been right.

"You never asked my name," you eventually muttered.

"Vincent told me it. Y/N." He said it again, rolling it around on his tongue. "Y/N ... in'erestin' choice. I guess it suits ya." A pause, and he lowered his voice. "Gonna take me some gettin' used to."

"That's okay," you said quickly. "As long as you're trying."

"Yeah, well..." Bo paused before reaching out, brushing his fingers through your hair. "Gonna miss all this."

You leaned into his hand. "I might not cut it. I haven't decided yet."

He grunted, continuing to brush his fingers through your hair. You could see his expression drift back to that thoughtfulness you'd gotten used to seeing. Eventually, he said, "Guess this makes me gay."

He sounded so begrudging and yet so decisive that you almost laughed in his face. Thankfully, you were able to bite back your reaction. "You don't have to be. You can be whatever you want. But ... if you stayed with me, it would mean you were attracted to at least one man, yeah."

"Fine." He pursed his lips, huffing through his nose. "Bi-sexual or whatever."

"You don't have to put a label on it right now. You've got time." You hesitated before taking his large hands in yours, bringing them to cup your jaw. "This ... you know ... it isn't something that has to happen overnight. I'm not asking that. It's a process for both of us ... a lot to get used to for both of us."

"Sure the hell is." He scoffed and shoved his hat up his forehead, scratching his hairline. "Now I want you to tell me somethin'. Why were you so damn scared of tellin' me?"

You took a breath. "I mean ... Bo."

"What?"

"I'm in the south ... alone, no family ... in a town where you could kill me if I pissed you off and no one would ever know." He made a face, but you pressed: "You know where I come from. Things are dangerous there, and things around here are even—"

"You think just 'cause you're in the country folks are gonna treat you different?" He sounded offended.

"Bo," you said again. "Let's not kid ourselves. How many guys do you know who would beat my ass if they found out? If they found out I liked other men, even."

"Couple assholes. But they ain't gonna bother you with me around. B'sides, plenty a' gays around here, like any other place ... they're just drillin' and weldin' and workin' the factories." He fixed you with a look. "Country don't mean stupid."

"Did you just quote The Stand?"

"No," he said hastily, taking his hat off and shoving it in the back pocket of his Dickies. "All I'm sayin' is ... I'm not some dumb animal."

Your shoulders sank, heart softening. "I know you're not, baby. But you have been known to, y'know, murder people. You can understand why I was scared, can't you?"

His mouth twitched, but reluctantly, he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." A pause. "I can't promise I won't never hurt you, Deadn— Y/N. I know I can be real careless with my words on occasion. But I won't kill ya. Don' know if I could reconcile that shame. And, uh ... I love you."

Your heart swelled, and you leaned forward, hugging him tightly around the middle. It wasn't long until you felt his strong, warm arms enfold you in return, one hand tangling in your hair. His heartbeat was steady and comforting beneath your head, and the heat radiating from him relaxed every muscle in your body.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, hugging tightly while the TV droned in the background. Eventually, he shifted and spoke, his voice rumbling deliciously against you.

"Now if you don't mind," Bo started casually before dropping into a purr, "I'd like a kiss from my handsome lover."

You couldn't help but grin up at him. "You sure?"

"Lay it on me, big boy."

Maybe you were evil for loving him despite it all. Maybe you were complicit. Those weren't your judgments to make. But as you craned your neck to kiss him and euphoria exploded through your chest, you knew one thing for certain:

You were you.

***

Part Two

Masterlist

Tip Jar

#bo sinclair imagine #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #house of wax 2005 #slasher fic #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #written #vincent sinclair

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rkived · 3 years

Text

━ CHASING PAVEMENTS 04 │ JJK

↳ PAIRING: dad!jk/married!jk/bff!jk x reader

↳ GENRE/TAGS: f2l, angst, unrequited feelings, cheating, future smut

↳ WARNINGS: (for this chapter) angst as per usual what’s new, jk is sad, reader is sad, sunhi is sad, everyone’s just SAD

↳ RATING: (for this chapter) PG

↳ WORD COUNT: 4k

↳ SYNOPSIS: Jungkook’s been feeling a little weird lately. Maybe it’s got something to do with his crumbling marriage and the way you seem to care for his daughter more than his own wife.

↳ A/N: ehem let’s pretend like i didn’t ghost this story for like half a year aha i’ve written more than this for cp but i decided to just divide it and leave the juicy stuff for the last chapter !! sorry for making u wait so long </3 anyway hope u enjoy still n i’ll see u in a couple months for the final chapter of cp!! (i’m jking…..or am i?)

01 02 03 04 05 (coming soon)

Minji thinks you’re starting to get better.

Well, she hopes you are because it’s been two months since you broke the news on her and anyone would think that’d it be long forgotten by now. She tries to stop as often as she can to check up on you, even though you assure her that you’re fine and that a simple text would suffice instead of having her come over every day in between.

Which is why she’s unsure if giving you the invitation Jungkook had handed her about two weeks ago was a good idea, considering that it’s been a few days since you had last even mentioned him to her like you usually did before. In fact, today you look like you’re at peace for the very first time.

‘‘I did yoga!’’ You explain when she mentions that you look different, ‘‘I still can’t face going back to Namjoon’s class, but I remember a ton of positions he taught us!’’

Minji has to force herself to smile, her hand lingers inside the purse she’s carrying as her fingers fiddle with the cardstock paper waiting patiently to be handed.

‘‘And then I stopped for some yogurt at the place down the─’’

‘‘I need to give this to you,’’ Minji stops your ramble and you’re taken aback by how urgent her voice sounds, very unlike her. ‘‘I promised I’d get this to you, so…’’

You’re about to ask her what she’s on about when she abruptly hands what you could make out to be a colorful piece of paper. Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight, completely confused until it suddenly hit you what it is that your friend’s talking about.

‘‘How did you─?’’

Minji gives you half a smile and shakes her hand so you can take the card instead of just staring at it, ‘‘Just─take it.’’

Your hand reaches out to grab it from her and your eyes quickly focus on the unicorn and sparkles themed birthday invite. It reads that it’s Sunhi’s birthday and that you are invited! You recognize the handwriting that filled the party’s information details, you always thought he had really nice penmanship.

‘‘I think you should go,’’ Minji’s voice sounds like she’s faraway, but she’s just a few feet away from you, ‘‘for Sunhi.’’

You’re still staring at the invitation, memorizing every single detail. There’s so many unicorns, when did she start liking the mythical creature? She had never mentioned a liking towards them to you ever. You assume it must’ve happened during these few months of your absence.

How many moments have you missed? How many unanswered questions must Sunhi have by now? How many new toys has she had to wait to show you? How many kindergarten stories has she been saving to tell you?

You’ve been counting. Sixty days have passed since you last saw Sunhi. It’s been seven Fridays since you last had her in your arms.

Sixty days and seven Fridays since you kissed Jungkook. Fifty-nine days since you blocked him.

Minji is still waiting for any sort of reaction from you. You’re stoically analyzing the piece of paper and she wonders what is it that you’re thinking or feeling. Is it good, bad or all in one? Whatever it is, her small deed is done.

‘‘Y/N?’’ She calls out, you slowly nod and take your eyes from the invitation from the first time since she gave it to you. ‘‘Do you mind if I go? I have some stuff to─’’

A small gasp escapes your lips, ‘‘Yes Minji, of course!’’ Your friend smiles slightly and you proceed to escort her out your apartment. She actually doesn’t have anything to do, but she thinks it’s best if you get some space to take everything in.

Minji notices how you’re still holding on to the birthday invite and she has to suppress a chuckle because she knows you’re most likely doing this absentmindedly.

Before you’re able to thank her for coming, she stops you to say one last thing. ‘‘If you don’t want to go, then don’t,’’ she begins and your eyebrows raise at your friend’s comment. ‘‘Whatever it is that you decide on doing, I’ll support you either way,’’ Minji offers you a genuine smile and you can’t help but hug her tightly.

You’re alone again. Loneliness has come in waves as of lately. You’ve lived alone for years now, you’re used to being the only person present in your apartment ─ but that fact hasn’t felt more obvious than since you shunned Jungkook out.

Good days eventually turn sour. The times where it seems like you can go on about your life without thinking about him and what he might be up to quickly change because your mind makes you feel bad about feeling good.

Why did you cut him off knowing his daughter idolizes you like no other? Why did you selfishly decide to block him when you could’ve just talked it out? Why didn’t you stop him that night if you knew things would change between you two? Why did you let him kiss you knowing it was going to hurt in the end?

You know Sunhi’s fourth birthday is coming up. It’s one of those dates you can’t simply forget, it comes naturally to you. You had settled with the idea that you weren’t going to be invited this time around, it would’ve been okay since you think it’s what you deserve anyway. If Jungkook had taken you off the guest list, he was in his total right to do so.

You want to be mad at him right now.

Why would he invite you? Why couldn’t he just leave things the way they were? You wish you were angry, but you’re not. You feel slightly comforted with the fact that he had decided to include you even with everything that went down. In fact, not inviting you would’ve been selfish knowing that Sunhi must want you there.

And if the invitation wasn’t enough of a sign that you should go, two days ago you got an email that the gift you had preordered for Sunhi some time ago was on its way to your place. Just in time for her birthday party.

That’s life for you.

You’re quick to remind yourself of Minji’s last words to you. You’re not obligated to go and if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to. But you’d be lying if you said that because you really want to go, but there’s still some things that are holding you back. Your brain starts breaking down the pros and cons of going.

The pros: You’d get to see Sunhi again, who you missed terribly and a tiny part of you was wishing that she didn’t hate you for suddenly leaving. It’s too much to ask for, but you do hope that Jungkook had come up with something instead of telling her upfront that you had left.

The cons: You’d have to see Jungkook. Having to face the awkwardness of knowing you had blocked his number, prohibiting him from contacting you and discussing what happened like adults would do.

Oh, and you’d see Jiwoo too and pretend like you didn’t have any romantic feelings for her husband.

Whatever decision it is, you’d only have two days to decide.

Jungkook smiled warmly as he looked at Sunhi twirling in her green and purple dress in front of the long length mirror in his bedroom. Ever since he got the garment in the mail, he had to hide it from her curious hands because if it were up to her she’d be wearing it day and night.

‘‘Daddy, I look so cute!’’ Sunhi said with an excited tone, hopping in her place. The tull of her skirt followed her movements, making the glittery details sparkle brightly caused by the natural sunlight slipping through the curtain cracks.

He chuckled, ‘‘You do, Pumpkin, but you need to settle down.’’ Jungkook placed his hands on her tiny shoulders, making his daughter’s bouncing cease. ‘‘You gotta be fully energized for the party, alright?’’ She nodded quickly, but he could still feel the excitement radiate from her.

‘‘Gramma will do my braid, daddy.’’ Sunhi let him know once she noticed her father take a brush in his hand. The little girl much rather have her hair tangled in knots than having him attempt to do any sort of hairstyles on her.

Jungkook pouts, but nods understanding. He’s thankful that his parents had made the trip from Busan this year. He knows his mother knew he would have a hard time setting everything up by himself this time around. His parents would normally miss Sunhi’s parties due to the distance, but he’d make it up to them by visiting the following weekend and doing a smaller gathering at their house instead.

Things feel different. One could say that this time, everything is exactly where it should be. Sunhi’s growing older, his parents are here and not far away like usual, Jiwoo’s no longer in the picture, he’s picking back up the things that used to make him happy. There’s just a missing piece that doesn’t allow him to declare the puzzle’s finished.

And his daughter hasn’t really been helpful in allowing him to forget about it either.

‘‘Daddy, is Auntie Y/N going to come?’’ She asked for what seemed the thousandth time that week alone. The younger girl only wanted to make sure you’re coming even though her father had reassured her that you might be making an appearance.

Jungkook hummed, pursing his lips together, ‘‘Well, I don’t know if Auntie Y/N will manage to catch her flight in time for your party, but hopefully she’ll come,’’ he painfully lied and Sunhi nodded with a pout, she was hoping she’d get a different answer this time around, but still settles with her father’s explanation.

Ever since you left, it had been part of her daily routine to ask about you and your whereabouts. Jungkook hated lying to his daughter, but he knew that even if he were to explain the ending of your friendship, she wouldn’t be able to understand. He had foolishly hoped that after telling her, repeatedly, that you had been out of the country because of your job, Sunhi would get the clue that you showing up at her birthday party was very unlikely.

He can’t blame her because he’s also been hoping that you’ll show up for whatever reason. Jungkook’s aware that Minji had made no promises of you attending, but that little bit of faith he still had, clung onto you tightly.

He’s let go of so many things recently, but he refuses to add you to that painful list.

‘‘I miss Auntie Y/N,’’ Sunhi mumbled to herself, but Jungkook heard her clearly and his heart shattered at the longing in his daughter’s voice.

That’s why he’s relieved that she’s now running around the yard with her friends from the kindergarten she attends, screaming in glee as they all chase each other around the grass. The PinkFong playlist he had put together earlier that week has been a hit with the children, who danced and sang along to the lyrics; although some parents might’ve gotten tired of hearing the infantile music after a while. Jungkook himself is part of the people who much rather listen to something else, but it’s worth it if it means he catches Sunhi humming along to the tunes every once in a while.

Having to entertain the parents has taken his mind off of knowing you’re not there. The party started two hours ago and you’re never late for anything, especially his daughter’s birthday celebrations. He’s settling with the idea that you’re no longer coming while he dabbles in serving food and refilling drinks, all the while having to make conversation with the parents of the invited kids.

He can feel just how bad they feel for him, the word’s gotten around the PTA committee that he’s in the process of divorcing while taking full custody of his daughter.

‘‘Jungkook, how are you doing?’’ One of the invited moms asked him with a tactful tone, accompanied by a gentle smile that made him feel like a child for a mere moment. With a smile that could put anyone’s worries at ease, Jungkook assured her ─and the rest of the worrying mothers─ that he was doing just fine.

It’s Sunhi’s day, it’s her party, a few more hours and you can cry all about it when she’s sleeping, had become his mantra as the party goes on.

‘‘What’s with the long face?’’ His mother suddenly asks him after he finishes placing the candles on Sunhi’s unicorn themed cake.

Jungkook furrows his brows, ‘‘The unicorn’s face looks pretty alright to me,’’ he comments looking at the fondant shaped mythical creature at the top of the cake.

Mrs. Jeon rolls her eyes, shaking her head slightly at his son’s obliviousness, ‘‘I’m talking about your long face. Is everything alright?’’ She asks in genuine concern, making him sigh as he scratches the back of his neck. ‘‘It’s not because of Jiwoo, right?’’ The woman cautiously asks, afraid the mention of her son’s ex partner might be too sensitive.

The news of the divorce had surprised his parents, but they weren’t completely heartbroken about it. They had known her for years, but it had never been a close relationship at that. His mother had made a couple of comments here and there before concerning his ex partner’s behavior, but were always overlooked by Jungkook.

Jungkook’s eyebrows raise in surprise and he quickly shakes his head no, ‘‘I’m fine, mom. I’m just kinda tired.’’

For someone who hates lying, he’s been doing it a lot recently.

His mother doesn’t seem so sure about his answer, but decides not to interrogate him any further since she knows her son has been dealing with too much recently and she didn’t want to add her nagging to the list.

Eventually the party guests all sing happy birthday to Sunhi as she sits behind her cake clapping alongside them, mumbling the famous song as she waits for everyone to finish so she can blow the four candles out and make a wish. She closes her eyes with force, putting her hands together as the guests watch her silently mouth words out.

‘‘What did you wish for, Sunhi?’’ One of the kids excitedly asks her, fingers curling around her arm as he waits for her to answer.

Sunhi hmphs and turns her face away from him, ‘‘If I say it out loud it won’t come true!’’

Jungkook can only hope his daughter had asked for something he’s able to buy. The newest Barbie doll, a trip to the zoo, that pretty tutu she saw at the store. Anything that is at arm’s reach from him to give her. But Jungkook knows his daughter all too well, those things don’t really matter to her right now.

Sunhi’s wish is something he can’t obtain ─ someone that’s no longer a call away from him. His daughter doesn’t know, but he’s wished for the same thing too.

You to come back.

The small pieces of confetti on the ground, paper decorations pasted on the wall and hanging from the ceiling of the house are enough to give away that a party had happened the day before, and that someone had been too tired by the end of it to even attempt to clean up.

Even the thought of having to deal with all of the mess that his living room currently looks like is already making Jungkook regret not accepting his mother’s willingness to help after the party had ended yesterday, assuring her that she had done enough that day and that it was only fair he took care of the cleaning.

Sunhi’s birthday had gone smoothly for the most part.

And as Jungkook scrolls through his phone’s gallery, smiling warmly at the small clips he managed to capture of his gleeful daughter running around the yard with her friends and the multitude of pictures his mother took of her blowing the candles of the cake out, granted, majority of them blurry, he is reminded that, although the party had been a success, the aftermath hadn’t been as pretty.

The party was over when he started hearing the first goodbyes and thankful comments of the parents for inviting them over, wishing Sunhi a final happy birthday before they took their sleepy kids in their arms. He had hoped his daughter would be drained too, despite the amount of sugar she had a few hours before.

‘‘Auntie Y/N didn’t come.’’ Sunhi had stated, a pout on her trembling lips as she looked up at her tired father. ‘‘Why didn’t she come?’’ She asked in genuine curiosity as her eyes started glossing with tears.

Jungkook sighed, ‘‘Pumpkin, I told you she’s not in town. I’m sorry she─’’ It didn’t matter what excuse he had given her, the waterworks had begun. He hadn’t seen his daughter cry like that in a long time and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do to get her to stop.

Even if he tried to coax her with distractions, like the number of gifts she had received from the guests or telling her he’d let her have another slice of cake if she stopped crying. He knew that what his daughter wanted wasn’t toys or food. She wanted you. And as much as Jungkook wants you just as much, he’s lost on ways to make you come back.

Sunhi cried for what seemed like hours, his parents had even tried to cheer the little girl up by promising to take her to their house the very next morning for the rest of the weekend, to which she merely nodded as she fell asleep from exhaustion on her father’s chest.

He envied her as he remained awake for most of the night, tears streaming down his face as guilt ate him away for his daughter’s heartbreak.

It’s his fault after all.

Jungkook isn’t upset you didn’t show up, you didn’t have to. Not even Sunhi could make you come back. Selfishly kissing you that night had changed the course of your relationship forever and that meant that his daughter would have to pay for his wrongdoings.

With the absence of Sunhi, he’s reminded of just how big his house feels when he’s by himself. Ever since Jiwoo moved out, the only company he’s had is that of his daughter and it’s more than enough. With her dancing around the hallways and singing songs to the top of her lungs, Jungkook doesn’t feel as lonely.

He must’ve missed the knocking at the door or the ringing doorbell ─if there even was one─ because of the earphones he had on while he swept the confetti paper scattered on the hardwood floor of his home because by the time he opens his door to get a run around the neighborhood, he notices there’s a gift placed in his front doorstep.

Jungkook’s brows furrow with confusion, unsure of why it was there in the first place. He’s sure Sunhi had opened all of her gifts last night, lazily and not very excited about them after her big cry, but she had made sure to leave them all unwrapped.

The medium-sized box is wrapped with a white and pink polka-dot paper, a cute golden ribbon placed right in the middle of it. Jungkook picks it up, bringing it closer for better inspection. Maybe it was from one of the kids that couldn’t make it? Although, they could’ve just gave it to Sunhi when they saw her at school again.

His eyes widen and his heartbeat races up when he reads the sticker tag with the name of the person responsible for the gift.

‘‘To: Sunhi ♡

From: Auntie Y/N’’

His eyes scan the tag over and over again, just to make sure he’s reading the name correctly. When he manages to take his attention away from it, he looks around the street in hopes that he’d find you.

How long has this been out here? Could he have caught a glimpse of you had he been less distracted?

Although it feels wrong to open his daughter’s gift without her consent, he feels the urgent need to peek at what’s inside. His mind even tries to reason with himself, telling him it’s probably only a doll or a clothing item, like the other gifts Sunhi had received from the birthday guests yesterday.

With a click of his tongue, he forgoes doing the right thing and tells himself that he’ll just wrap the gift again before Sunhi comes back from his parent’s house.

The cute wrapping paper is thrown over his shoulder carelessly as he quickly unveils a white cardboard box, tilting his head slightly at what could possibly be inside. When he takes the top off, a soft gasp escapes his lips.

A pink and white digital camera aimed for children lies inside, there’s decorative paper placed around it and a note inside. Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat, taking it delicately in his hand as he reads the words written in the familiar handwriting that hasn’t changed from all those years back in college.

‘‘Happy 4th birthday, Sunhi! Since you’re growing older, I wanted to gift you something different this year around. Your daddy loves taking videos and I thought you should start doing it too, maybe he’ll pick his camera back up again haha. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to see you blow your candles out, I hope all your wishes come true! I love you and miss you so much,

-Auntie Y/N’’

Jungkook blinks back the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes. He places the note back inside the box and breathes in deeply, exhaling slowly as he stares at the gift. No one but you could come up with an idea like this. It hurts him, but he smiles slightly at your thoughtfulness.

A different feeling arises inside him as he holds the gift in his hand, looking at it like this is the sign he had been sent from above. The last thread of his string of faith. He doesn’t even think twice, placing the gift gently inside and rushing to step outside to close the door.

He’ll go on that run, just not around his neighborhood.

As he runs past rows of houses and stores, the voice inside his head tries to tell him that he should think rationally. There’s a reason why you didn’t show up yesterday and another for you dropping the gift in front of his house without a sound. You don’t want to see him and yet he’s running straight towards you even if he knows this is hopeless.

He manages to shut that voice off as he maintains his rapid pace, rushing past the rows of buildings he’s familiar with and the street names he’s memorized by now. It all feels so different when he’s not behind the wheel, he usually always has to depend on his GPS to help him reach places. Your address, though, is one he proudly knows by heart.

As Jungkook stands outside your apartment building, he stares at it with the sound of his heart drumming inside his ears. Catching his breath, he’s reminded of the many times these past few months he’s been here, with Sunhi fast asleep in her car seat at the back.

He always pictured going up, knocking at your door, and begging for forgiveness, all for you to turn him down in the end with a gut-wrenching I don’t want you in my life anymore and a door closing on his face. That’s why he always drove away, deciding that uncertainty is better than hearing you reject him.

This time, though, nervous and unsure as he usually is when he comes here, Jungkook breathes in deep and ignores the familiar knot formed inside his stomach.

He decides that uncertainty isn’t a feeling he wishes upon you.

#heartsforbts #bangtanhq #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #btsghostie #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine

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vex-bittys · 3 years

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In Your Dreams: A Horrortale Story

Raffle prize for @purplesangel. When your life is a living nightmare, is it any surprise that your dreams are just as bad? Thankfully a dream-walking human has arrived to help, but will she still want to help Axe when she finds out what he’s done to stay alive?

WARNING: character death mention, language, blood mention, some disturbing imagery including cannibalism (no details)

READ ON AO3

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Life in the Underground was an endless nightmare for Axe. During his waking hours, he checked his traps and hunted in the forest, often returning home empty-handed only to see the disappointment and desperation in his brother’s sockets. Supply trains became frantic riots as too many monsters competed for their share of too little food, and the sharp pain of hunger lingered even after the skeleton brothers’ meager meals.

Madness seeped in through the hole in his skull, distorting reality. He clawed at his skull, trying to release the pressure of the frenetic energy that consumed him. He could feel the darkness lurking, waiting for him to make a misstep, some seemingly trivial mistake; that’s when it would strike, shredding his thoughts and shattering his focus. There was no escaping it, and Axe knew that one day it would swallow him up.

Sleep provided no reprieve. In his dreams, Axe continued to suffer. He watched his brother fade away to nothing from starvation. He felt the gnawing emptiness of his own unsatisfied hunger. Feasts appeared before his single working eyelight only to transform into grains of sand that slipped through his fingers when he reached for it. He ran through the shadowed forest outside of Snowdin, fleeing an unknown terror in the night while thorny tendrils of a deeper darkness caught him, slowing his progress, dragging him down, and allowing his madness to suffocate him.

Days dragged on into months, and months melted together into years. Waking life remained bleak with monsters still struggling (and at times failing) to survive. Food sources dwindled, and the gathering of other resources fell by the wayside as every creature in the Underground focused on filling their stomachs as best they could. Everything stagnated in its state of destitution and decay… everything except Axe’s dreams.

Axe’s nightmares repeated themselves night after night until slowly, they began to change. It started with the appearance of a new character- a human that Axe didn’t recognize, though he thought it might be a female. At first the human only observed the horrors that lurked in the sleeping world of Axe’s mind. Gradually, though, she began to interact.

It all started during one of Axe’s nightmares about his brother. Crooks would turn a pleading gaze to his brother, mouthing a soundless plea for food. Axe would fall to his knees, sobbing and pounding his fists into the ground. Crooks slowly collapsed, and the gradual dissolution of his body sent his dust drifting towards his brother, filling Axe’s mouth and nasal cavity until he choked himself awake… usually. This time things turned out differently.

“I’M SO HUNGRY, BROTHER,” Crooks’ voice came from the air around them and not his mouth, the teeth there long since broken or knocked askew from gnawing away at non-edible items simply to assuage the need to chew.

The human appeared, but instead of observing the unfolding scene, this time she glanced around until her eyes fell upon Axe.

Since the very first time you’d stumbled across this heart-breaking nightmare scenario, you’d worked hard to return to it. Dream-walking involved focus, practice, and a bit of luck, and in this venture, the fates were on your side. You’d walked this collection of now-familiar nightmare images many times, slowly working out which participant it belonged to and why the skeleton with the broken skull kept replaying these torturous situations in his sleep.

Now, you were ready to interact and hopefully restore some peace to the sleeping world of the monster in front of you. You extended a tentative hand towards him, unsure if he would welcome your touch as a form of physical comfort. He just stared at your outstretched hand as if it would bring some new and unfathomable horror to his disturbingly familiar nightmare. You let your hand drop. Words would have to suffice then.

“It’s not real,” you told the stocky skeleton firmly.

His sockets narrowed suspiciously. “what do ya mean, ‘not real’?”

“This-” you gestured to the vague, nondescript surroundings and very crisp, well-defined figure of the tall, starving skeleton behind you, never breaking eye contact “- is not real.”

The skeleton with the broken skull laughed, a harsh and humorless sound that grated against your ear drums. You sighed, frustrated but determined. It rarely improved a situation to reveal yourself while dream-walking; most dreamers forgot their nightly travels when they returned to the waking world anyway. Those who didn’t merely discarded your presence, along with any advice you might give, as part of a nonexistent scenario that could not influence their waking lives and should thus be ignored.

Normally, you resigned yourself to this and walked through dreams as a silent observer, but this skeleton’s torment tore at your heart and brought forth a tenacity within you to help him in the only way you could: by walking through his nightmares and defeating them, one by one, until nothing remained but peaceful slumber.

The skeleton with the broken skull scoffed. “you don’t know nothin’,” he growled obstinately.

“I know that your most frequent nightmares involve food, madness, and losing this other skeleton-”

“my bro,” the skeptical skeleton clarified.

“Losing your brother,” you amended with an edge to your voice, “to starvation.”

“it’s not like you’re some expert investigator piecin’ together the clues, pal. we’re all starvin’ and dustin’ down here,” he said, dismissing your observations. You frowned. Was there some truth to these nightmares? Often dreams represented thoughts and fears in a metaphoric manner, but maybe this skeleton didn’t have room in his troubled mind for subtlety.

Regardless, you would do what you could for him in the only place that you could reach him.

“I don’t know what your life is like in the waking world,” you conceded softly, “but this? Everything around us now? It isn’t real.” You continued in a rush before the skeleton could interrupt you again. “You’re asleep, and your mind is processing your fears… and your reality… into nightmares.”

The skeleton inhaled, obviously ready to argue again, but you stopped him by making a sweeping gesture towards his brother. Had this nightmare been reality, the taller skeleton would be dust by now. Instead, the image was frozen in place thanks to the stocky skeleton’s change of focus. “Look,” you ordered boldly.

Axe begrudgingly allowed his single eyelight to stray from you to his brother. While it was true that nothing had changed in the scene since he had turned his attention to his unexpected visitor, the moment he looked back, the scenario resumed. Flakes of dust drifted loose from his brother’s body, floating away on an unfelt breeze to disappear as they dispersed until nothing remained except the unbearable weight of guilt and his brother’s ghost of a voice whispering “Why?” over and over again in his head.

Why didn’t you save me?

“It’s not real,” you whispered solemnly behind him, but honestly, that didn’t matter. Watching his brother die of starvation that he should have prevented sent jagged pains through his SOUL whether it existed solely inside of his mind or not. Your next words, however, carried a much greater impact: “I can teach you how to change it.”

The most frustrating part of dream-walking was the inability to change the contents of people’s dreams or nightmares yourself. While you could view the unfolding events, you possessed no real power over them. Only the dreamer could affect their dreams. Thankfully, unlike dream-walking, lucid dreaming is a skill that can be taught.

As with every teaching experience, some students learn more quickly than others. Axe, as he eventually introduced himself to you, was not one of those students. The most difficult aspect of lucid dreaming for him happened to be the very first step to lucid dreaming at all: accepting that what he experienced while he slept was a dream instead of a warped reality that lived inside of his cracked skull and broken mind.

“These images all come from your thoughts,” you explained again. “You can control them, but first you have to accept that you can control them.”

You knew that the dreams involving his brother were far too emotionally charged to make good fodder for lucid dreaming practice, and you preferred to steer clear of the choking darkness since you had no idea what effects such a powerful and overwhelming negative force could potentially have on you, even as an observer within someone else’s troubled subconscious. This only left the dreams of an untouchable feast to practice on… and practice was not going well.

As with your many previous attempts to gently guide the stocky skeleton towards seizing control of his nightmares, the lesson had quickly devolved into a squabble. You insisted that Axe could learn to control his subconscious surroundings; Axe stubbornly insisted that he could not. You would point out that this was his dream, and his mind; he would attempt to discredit your existence as just another piece of the complicated web of nightmares that plagued him: a human offering him false hope in a bleak and hopeless world.

It did bother you a little bit that Axe considered you- a (mostly) patient and helpful human- to be nightmare fuel. Only monsters lived in the Underground since the long-forgotten war, so why would Axe’s guilt-riddled dreamscapes include humans?

You decided to save the questions for another time.

“Try again,” you told Axe, who only answered with a weary, frustrated sigh.

Irritation swirled through Axe’s excessive magic, though it was aimed more at himself than at you. Every night you tried to help him take control of his dreaming mind, and every night, despite your calm instructions, he failed. You made it sound so easy, so why couldn’t he just grab a stupid spider donut off of the stupid table and shove the stupid thing into his big, stupid mouth?

“Try again,” you told him patiently as he brushed the gritty sand from his finger joints. He uttered a weary, frustrated sigh.

“i am trying,” he grumbled, biting back a deluge of unhelpful comments and curses. He touched another piece of food, a french fry, still steaming though it had been sitting on a pile of its doppelgangers since the nightmare began. The entire fry stack crumbled to sand before he’d even lifted one free; Axe’s patience dissolved along with it.

“if this was as easy as you claim,” he shouted, letting his anger overflow into sharp words, “then i’d be able to pick up these plates and smash them on the floor like i want to!” Without any conscious thought, Axe lifted one of the plates in question and hurled it at the ground. It shattered, leaving silence in its wake as Axe and the dream-walking human stared down at the shards on the ground in awe.

Axe gave an entire stack of plates an experimental shove, sending them cascading over the edge of the table and onto the ground where they created an inharmonious symphony of destruction. You applauded the spontaneous mess and squealed with glee, and Axe swept you up into a quick celebratory hug, spinning you around once before setting you back on your feet. As soon as he set you down, he grabbed a donut and crammed it into his mouth. Chewing, his sockets narrowed in utter bliss, he picked up a second donut and offered it to you.

Nothing tasted as sweet as victory… except for maybe a spider donut.

You didn’t want to dampen the skeleton’s joy by telling him that you wouldn’t be able to taste a donut in his dreams, so you took a bite, your head still spinning from his sudden show of physical affection. With a promise to see him the following night, you stepped out of his nightmares. You felt content that you’d taken the first big step on a journey to giving Axe the power to sleep peacefully without constant, horrific nightmares plaguing him.

The next lesson would be more difficult; you intended to guide Axe through banishing nightmares of his brother’s death. Out of consideration for Axe’s privacy, you had never asked him why he had such specific nightmares about his brother, but nightmares involving a sibling death as vivid as Axe’s hinted at some very dark and complex situations existing in the skeletons’ waking world. Those hints aside, Axe had outright stated that things were terrible in the Underground where he lived. Maybe working through his dream would give him some insight into fixing his real-life situation, at least the one he faced with his brother.

You hoped so. During the nights you’d spent helping Axe learn how to lucid dream, you had come to consider him a friend. You hated the thought of him suffering. You especially hated that you could only reach him during his nightmares. You wished you could do more, but how? Those were thoughts for your own waking world.

Tonight you wanted to focus on Axe’s progress, and once he’d gotten some practice at lucid dreaming, you’d work on changing the heart-breaking nightmare of his brother.

Sweat beaded on Axe’s skull as he waited for you to appear. He could feel himself slipping towards darker dreamscapes, and he fought to stay in the safe in-between place like you’d shown him. He told himself that the tremors in his bones were caused by his unstable magic and not by fear. What if his previous successes were a fluke? What if he failed when it mattered the most?

Thoughts of failure sent him spiraling into the guilty nightmare of his starving brother. After all, his failures in reality led to this, and the dire consequences that he saw unfolding in his subconscious lurked only a step behind him in the waking world. Soon his real life would become this very same nightmare, and he would be left as powerless to stop it there as he felt to stop it here.

Thankfully, you appeared within seconds to chase away the grim meanderings of his mind and help him focus on the task at hand- Crooks.

Axe’s brother loomed in front of him, eyes pleading, begging for something that Axe could not give him. He watched the image of his brother twist and reshape itself, growing alarmingly large, the bones stretching from an influx of magic that still somehow managed to provide almost no nutrition. He whispered his brother’s name, frozen in place and unable to remember what he was supposed to do to stop the scene unfolding in front of him.

A small hand slipped into his; he had forgotten about you as his familiar fears swamped him. You looked up at him with a calm expression and nodded, encouraging him.

“You can do this.” Your words bolstered his courage. He dragged his panic back under control and turned to face Papyrus… or what had become of Papyrus under his inadequate care: the monster now known as Crooks.

“You know what you need to do,” you whispered.

Axe stepped towards his brother, focusing on Crooks as he had seen him last: tucked into his bed, the blanket no longer quite long enough to cover his lanky frame, wishing Axe a good night and sweet dreams and promising to see him in the morning. Keeping that image locked in his mind, Axe let his lone eyelight travel over his brother’s altered frame. Sure enough, not a single mote of dust rose from the other skeleton. Crooks simply stood there, watching him through sunken sockets.

Though he’d brought his brother’s recurring death to a halt, the words that swirled and echoed around him continued, too faint at first to make out individual words or phrases. His brother’s voice whispered accusations like poisoned arrows that pierced his SOUL. A chorus of questions, all beginning with “Why…?” slowed, sharpened, and gained clarity. Crooks spoke, though his mouth never moved and the words seemed to thrum within his very bones, tangible beyond mere sound.

Normally Crooks’ omnipresent voice asked him why he would allow his brother to starve, but this time the question differed, though it still sent chills to the very marrow of Axe’s bones.

“WHY DID YOU MAKE ME EAT-”

Axe quickly hushed his brother, stealing a glance at you to gauge your reaction. You simply made an encouraging gesture as if to say “Go on, you’re doing great.” He wondered if you’d feel the same way if you knew what Crooks’ next words would have been.

“i couldn’t let ya starve,” Axe spoke softly, tilting his head to maintain eye contact with his much taller brother. “i’d do anything to keep you alive.”

“EVEN-”

Axe nodded, nearly choking on guilt. “yeah. even that.”

“BUT I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T EVER WANT-”

Remorse softened Axe’s expression, and his gravelly voice hitched. “i couldn’t let ya dust. i had no choice. i’m so sorry.”

Without warning, Crooks slumped, but he wasn’t collapsing into dust. Instead, he crushed his brother against his ribcage in a tight hug. You sensed a loosening of the guilt and remorse that gripped this particular nightmare so tightly. Things weren’t resolved yet. Nightmares could rarely be banished in a single lucid dreaming session, but you’d given Axe the tools he needed to seize control of his sleeping world.

Only one challenge awaited you now: fighting the suffocating darkness of the final nightmare. You made plans to tackle that monumental task once Axe felt satisfied that he could manage this current nightmare on his own. Working through the tangle of emotions that his brother’s death awakened would take quite a bit longer than satisfying himself that he could eat his fill of dream donuts, but you were willing to go the distance to help Axe.

You actually wanted to do this, no matter how much the slithering darkness terrified you. Axe just meant that much to you.

“I think we’re ready for the final nightmare,” you declared after a dream session in which Axe showed off by summoning various items for his brother to eat.

In the lucid dreams about Crooks, his dream-brother mostly stood or sat nearby providing companionship and support as Axe practiced controlling his consciousness. Axe enjoyed the time with his brother, despite the knowledge that this version of Crooks existed only inside of his mind. It gave him a tentative sensation of hope that perhaps someday he could experience this type of peace with his brother in the waking world, free of the constant mad scramble for survival.

Your words shattered fragile, fleeting calm. Sweat beaded on Axe’s skull. The final nightmare contained his deep, dark fears, his madness, his guilt. Tendrils that reeked of his unspeakable crimes dragged him down into the cesspool that used to be his SOUL. He didn’t want you to see that part of him. He didn’t want you to know what he was truly capable of.

You’d never come back, and he’d be left alone with the echoing, blossoming psychosis that suffocated him. It would be worse now though. You’d shined a light into his life, and now he risked that glimmer of goodness being torn away… torn away because of what he’d done.

The punishment would fit the crime of his continuing survival.

You stepped into Axe’s dream world, excited and nervous at the prospect of facing the unknown horrors of this last nightmare that plagued him. The endless grey limbo that surrounded you came as quite a surprise when you expected inky vines of darkness encased in the thorns of Axe’s painful emotions and memories. Axe refused to meet your eyes when you approached him. Something was off about the whole situation.

“Is everything ok?” Maybe Axe wasn’t ready to face the darkness of the upcoming nightmare. You didn’t mind; you weren’t going to push him towards something that he didn’t want to do. You weren’t exactly eager to face it either, and besides, you thought you might enjoy just spending some time with Axe.

When he raised his head to meet your eyes, you couldn’t suppress a gasp of fright. Goosebumps erupted along your arms, and you shivered.

Axe’s single red eyelight… it glowed with an eerie flickering light, seeming to swell until the socket could barely contain the vortex of its power. Axe tilted his head at an unnatural angle and laughed at your reaction. You forced yourself to stand your ground despite your fear. This was not the monster you knew. Axe now embodied the darkness of his own inner turmoil, and it froze the blood in your veins.

“nothing is ok!” Axe’s snarl dissolved into sinister chuckles that made his broad shoulders shake. He lifted a hand, phalanges curved like claws to scrape at the hole in his skull. You lunged forward to pull his hand away before he caused more damage to himself, and he shoved you roughly away.

The hurt and confusion in your eyes filled Axe with dark satisfaction. You needed to know just what kind of monster he was. You needed to fear him, to run away and never come back. Instead, you offered him your compassion yet again.

“Let me help you.” Tears filled your eyes. His madness must be breaking your sweet, loving heart, but he drove home his depravity because if he let himself care, you’d find out the truth eventually anyway. Losing you would hurt more if he actually had you first.

This time when you reached out for him, he dodged, letting your momentum carry you to your hands and knees on the floor. He loomed over you, oozing menace like a thick fog.

“help me?” Axe’s scornful laughter echoed around the empty landscape. “and why,” he asked cruelly, “would you help a murderer?”

“Murderer?” You repeated the word as a question, as if you weren’t completely sure you knew what it meant. Your eyes widened in shock as tendrils of darkness climbed Axe’s arm, sliding over his bones like living tattoos until they pooled in his hand, taking on the shape of a huge meat cleaver.

“how do you think i’ve survived so long, little human? i hunt, and i kill.” He grinned, his mouth stretching into a disturbing parody of joy. “humans mostly. honestly, did you think the blood on my hoodie was mine?”

You admittedly hadn’t thought much about the blood stains on the hoodie. Maybe they were his. Maybe they were ketchup. Maybe in his dreams he wore the stains of his brother’s imagined death. Dreams and nightmares created their own reality with its own details pulled more from a dreamer’s mindset than accurate memories. It shocked you to think that Axe truly wore a hoodie that had once been soaked with fresh blood.

Human blood.

You trembled. Axe began to circle you like a hungry wolf, casually swinging his gigantic cleaver.

“Do you regret it?” you finally asked in a tiny voice.

Those four words penetrated the armor of madness that Axe was using to push you away, and they struck him like a well-timed attack. He reeled, reaching for some lie to keep you from seeing the truth and pitying him.

He found nothing.

The meat cleaver fell from his shaking hand. Axe sank to his haunches, covering his face with his hands, trying to hide from you and your perceptiveness. He wanted to scare you away before you could judge him and abandon him, but you shot your question straight to his SOUL, refusing to believe the worst of him.

“every fucking minute of my life.”

This time, when you tentatively reached for him, undaunted by his previous rejection, he leaned into your touch. He hated himself for his weakness, but every second that you stayed, even if you left eventually, was a second he would cherish until time wore away even the memory of his dust.

With his first admission, however poorly he’d delivered it, out of the way, Axe couldn’t stop himself from confessing even more of his transgressions and regrets. “i lied and told my brother it was meat from an animal in the forest. he didn’t want to eat humans, but i tricked him. i couldn’t let him starve” The words poured out of him; he feared that as soon as things went quiet, you would realize what an irredeemable abomination he was and flee. “i shouldn’t have done it, but i didn’t know what else to do. we were so hungry… and it messed up our magic. there’s no way to hide what we did. no way to undo it.”

Axe’s words stumbled to a halt, and you sat for a moment in the heavy silence of the grey dreamscape, contemplating them. You hated what he had done, but you also understood that his only other option would be watching his brother starve to death. The circumstances didn’t allow for any winners, and Axe suffered with the knowledge of the things he’d done.

“You were trying to survive.” Your voice nearly cracked on the final word. You could not fathom the desperation that drove Axe to his decision.

You remembered all of the heart-breaking stories that Axe told you about the Underground: the human who’d stolen the SOULs that the monsters had gathered and fled, taking the monsters’ hope with them, the death of their monarchs at the human’s hands, the Royal Guard Captain’s ascension to a throne that she didn’t possess the skills to manage, and the unbearable suffering of monsters starving to death or falling down because of an unshakable despair.

You raised your eyes to meet Axe’s eyelight, expecting to see softness there once more, but instead his horrified expression stared back at you. You didn’t need to puzzle out the cause because a moment later, barbed shadow vines lashed you, wrapping around your legs and dragging you towards a puddle of oozing darkness near your feet. You struggled against the thorny tendrils, and they tightened, driving each wickedly sharp thorn-tip into your flesh.

Pain seared your legs, real physical pain… in someone else’s dream. Panic washed over you, and you fought harder to escape, causing the barbs to rip deeper into you.

You screamed.

Shaking off his shock at the sound of your scream, Axe lunged forward. He wrapped both of his arms tightly around you and wrenched you away from the grasping vines. A writhing mass of them rose up behind him, swarming over him like living things. Staggering a few steps forward, Axe set you on an empty bit of space, but the vines quickly pulled him off of his feet and into a kneeling position. More tendrils rose to wrap around him, and the inky darkness of the puddle rose up to meet them, slithering up his body and swallowing him up in the darkness.

“i can’t protect you here… i can’t keep you safe from me, from my mind.” Axe choked out the words through the darkness consuming him. He couldn’t let you come back. He wouldn’t allow you to be in danger because of him.

This had to be good-bye.

He focused his mind.

“don’t come back.”

You jolted awake, that one last glimpse of Axe’s red eyelight, brimming with pain and regret burning in your mind. He had kicked you out of his dreams and told you not to come back. You couldn’t dream-walk in a mind that wasn’t open to your presence. Your throat constricted, and you felt tears sting your eyes. What if you never saw Axe again?

When you tossed back your blankets, you half expected to see scratches on your legs where Axe’s negative thoughts and emotions had touched you, but your skin was unbroken. You’d never experienced a nightmare so vivid and intense, but you breathed a sigh of relief that it couldn’t reach you in the waking world. If only Axe would let you come back, you could tell him that despite your panicked reactions, his dreams had no power to harm you.

Instead, he would continue to face the torment of his past mistakes all alone… for now.

Because while you had been helping Axe deal with his nightmares, you hadn’t neglected the appalling circumstances of his reality. If you could make your waking project work, you would be able to truly save the skeleton that you cared for so deeply.

I won’t let you push me away, you vowed.

Axe settled himself on the bench of his sentry station, taking a break from prowling the forest for potential meals. The barren snowscape left him all alone with his thoughts, and he hated it. In one bout of unhinged boredom, he’d created a sign for the outpost: “Head dogs, 5G.” It made as much sense as anything else in the Underground. Besides, there was no such thing as a hot dog in this frigid wasteland.

The narrow lines of dead tree trunks shifted if he stared at them too long, and the wind that howled through them carried voices whose words he could not quite arrange into coherency. The windblown whispers rose in volume until the roaring of innumerable voices filled his skull. The blazing white of the snow surrounding him only added to the sensory overload. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see.

“shut up, shut up!” Axe chanted, clawing at the hole in his skull. Reality warped, the passage of time quickened and slowed, and nothing made sense anymore…

… and you were standing in front of him.

Axe recoiled in disbelief. How could this be happening? He hadn’t fallen asleep… or had he? Maybe you were a cruel hallucination conjured by his loneliness. He refused to accept the vision of you even when you reached out in that oh-so-familiar way to calm the scrabbling of his phalanges against the jagged edges of the hole in his skull.

Axe’s hand shot out as quickly as a striking snake and grabbed your wrist. He yanked you forward until you were partially bent over the sill of the sentry station. He raised his massive knife high above his head; his eyes held no recognition, no clarity, no sanity.

You held completely still, unflinching. The meat cleaver hovered threateningly above you, but it did not fall. You and Axe were frozen in the moment, but despite the madness that absolutely radiated from him, you trusted him not to hurt you.

“you’re not real,” Axe accused you in a gravelly whisper. You weren’t even sure if he meant to speak aloud at all.

“Are you going to kill me?” Your voice didn’t waver, and you kept your eyes locked with his single eyelight, calm yet firm.

Axe lowered the knife. Real or imagined, starving or not, he would never hurt you. You knew him too well. He released your wrist, hoping he hadn’t hurt you by grabbing you like that. He wanted to ask how you’d gotten here, but other matters demanded a higher priority.

“you aren’t safe here,” the skeleton scolded gruffly. “didn’t you listen? monsters here kill and eat humans!”

“Good thing I found you first then.” You tried to diffuse the tension with bravado, but you had to admit that your choice to come to the Underground was a risky one. Axe’s eyelight travelled over your body, searching for injuries while surreptitiously taking in the sight of you. His obvious concern for your safety filled you with warmth and determination.

“there’s nothing good about this,” Axe growled though he had to admit that seeing you again definitely felt like a good thing to him. That little bit of goodness could be snuffed out in a hurry though if another monster saw you and attacked. “i’ve got to get you out of here.”

Axe lumbered out of his sentry station, glancing furtively around the barren landscape, though it wasn’t entirely clear whether he expected to spot an enemy or an escape route. The skeleton stopped right next to you, attempting to block you from prying eyes. You found his protective stance rather charming, but you weren’t here to be charmed. You were on a mission.

You slipped your backpack from your shoulders, swinging it around into Axe’s line of sight and opening it. Seven clear canisters sat inside, each with a brightly-colored heart shape inside of it. Axe’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“are those…?” Axe sounded almost reverent, and with good reason.

“Human SOULs? Yes. I gathered these from willing donors who wanted to help set the monsters free.” It had taken dedication and time, but you’d meticulously interviewed potential donors until you tracked down all seven SOUL types that you needed. Now, only the path to the Barrier stood in your way.

Without warning, Axe swept you into a crushing hug, then proceeded to spin you around. Your feet actually left the ground, and you laughed softly at the thrill of it.

“you’ve got to meet my brother, then we’ll smuggle you into the Capitol.” For once you heard excitement and hope in Axe’s voice. His eyelight gleamed with resolution as he reached for your hand. You placed your hand in his without hesitation. Axe’s declaration that he knew a shortcut still rang in your ears as the world spun beneath you and everything went dark.

Disoriented, you tried to take in the scene around you. You’d been outside, standing in a forest choked with dead trees and carpeted in snow, but suddenly you found yourself in a house. The loud colors of the bowling alley style carpeting had long since faded, and the couch had obviously seen better days. Everything in the house was touched with the same look of elegant decay: faded colors, worn fabrics, the yellowing of book pages, and the subtle musk of disuse.

A fine film of the dust of time spoke volumes about the life of two monsters who devoted so much of their lives to simply surviving that they were forced to neglect the basic upkeep of their home. The house looked so long abandoned that the presence of life within it seemed almost surreal. You couldn’t find words to break the silence that permeated the house, soundless echoes of what it had once been.

Movement caught your eye; a lanky figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped in the dust-mote-filled light. Your eyes travelled up and up, an impossible height despite the figure’s hunched posture, until you found facial features that you recognized from Axe’s dream. The vivid colors of Axe’s subconscious bore the same washed-out appearance here that characterized their home, but you knew this must be Papyrus, now known as Crooks due to the effects of his recent tragic diet.

Crooks wrung his hands shyly, awaiting your reaction to his somewhat terrifying appearance. His teeth were crooked and broken, caked with something red that you tried not to think about too much. His nervous actions tugged at your heart, and you offered him a gentle smile which he responded to with a smile of his own.

“I’D OFFER YOU SOME OF MY SIGNATURE SPAGHETTI AND EYEBALLS, BUT WE’RE ALL OUT OF PASTA.” His apologetic tone did little to distract you from the fact that the skeleton brothers were short of pasta but not eyeballs.

“That’s alright. Really.” You didn’t hold out much hope that Crooks had misspoken considering Axe’s earlier admission. The sooner you got these monsters out of their Underground prison, the sooner they could return to normal healthy eating habits.

“my friend here wants to help us get to the Surface. they’ve got plenty of pasta up there. we just need to talk to ol’ Queen Undyne first,” Axe interjected, using a light tone to dispel the awkwardness of his brother’s offer.

Crooks perked up at the mention of Undyne. “UNDYNE WILL BE SO RELIEVED. I DON’T THINK SHE LIKES BEING QUEEN VERY MUCH…” You clutched your backpack and its precious cargo of SOULs, unzipping it slightly to show the mingled glow of seven vibrant colors. Crooks peered at them with a mixture of curiosity and delight.

Axe shifted uncomfortably. “yeah, relieved,” he mumbled, refusing to meet your eyes. You didn’t have much time to wonder about the skeletons’ very different reactions to Undyne because Axe extended a hand to you and Crooks. As soon as your fingertips brushed his smooth, warm bones, everything went dark again.

In the few seconds it took your eyes to communicate the view of a once-opulent throne room to your poor confused brain, a glowing blue spear appeared and slammed into the ground so close to you that you felt the force of the impact thrumming up the shaft of the weapon. If Axe hadn’t yanked you backwards, you would’ve been impaled. Where had it even come from?

“UNDYNE WAIT! THIS HUMAN IS A FRIEND!” You followed the direction of Crooks’ voice to see an armor-clad monster with a wild mane of crimson hair. She held another glowing blue spear, and her single yellow eye focused on you with murderous malice. You staggered backwards from the force of her glare.

“No human is a friend to monsters,” Queen Undyne roared, launching a volley of her spears at you. You resigned yourself to your doom, regretting that your rescue attempt had been such a short-lived failure.

A wall of bones erupted from the tiles of the floor, blocking the attack. Crooks and Axe both stood next to you, arms outstretched to summon the defensive maneuver. More spears struck the bones, causing them to shudder, but they remained standing. You turned wide, panicked eyes to Axe, searching for some explanation or reassurance.

“can you hold her off?” Axe asked Crooks, who nodded somberly. The stocky skeleton grabbed your arm and dragged you down a hallway of soaring pillars coated thickly in cobwebs and floor to ceiling windows of cloudy, cracked glass. Away from the immediate danger, you began to tremble. Tears welled up in your eyes.

Axe pulled you close, wrapping you in the safety of his arms and gently rubbing your back. He made soft shushing sounds, and you realized that your tears had turned into terrified sobs. Your body shook, and you hiccuped, trying to catch your breath. Axe held you until the overwhelming wave of emotion subsided.

“i’m so sorry. i thought maybe we could talk some sense into Undyne. she and my brother used to be really close, but the last human who came through here… well, that human killed a lot of monsters and stole the SOULs that we had collected towards breaking the barrier. they left us with nothing but despair and dust, and Undyne blamed herself for not stopping them. it… affected her.” Once again, Axe looked guilty.

“How can we convince her that I’m trying to help?” You gripped your backpack with determined hands. You didn’t gather these SOULs for nothing, and you didn’t plan to leave the starving monsters in the Underground without at least making an effort to save them.

“you aren’t going to convince her of anything.” You opened your mouth to protest, but Axe laid a phalange against your lips to silence you. “i want you to get out of here. it’s not safe, and i would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“What about breaking the Barrier?”

Loud crashes sounded from the Throne Room. Axe shot a quick glance over his shoulder before pushing you further down the hallway. “i need to go help my brother. if we can convince Undyne to trust you, i’ll meet you at the Barrier to break it and free the monsters.”

“What if you can’t?” More sounds of destruction threatened to drown out your whispered words, but Axe was close enough to hear you over the cacophony. Sorrow filled his single eyelight.

“i won’t put you in danger.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Actually, it did answer your question, and the implications left you frantic with worry for him. You wanted to explain how you felt about him, why his plan tore your heart to pieces, that you couldn’t just leave him behind, but the sounds of battle were approaching quickly.

Crooks slid backwards into the pillar-lined hallway, kicking up dirt. He held bone attacks in his gloved hands, and he used them to deflect wave after wave of spear attacks. The barrage of attacks drove him backwards again, closer to you and his brother. Axe stepped between you and the sound of Undyne’s war cries.

Turning, he cupped your cheek in one large, bony hand. His eyelight drank you in as if to memorize every feature of your tear-streaked face. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “go,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours.

Then he was gone, teleporting to the entrance of the hallway to join Crooks with bone attacks flying.

If you stayed, it would only distract him. He wanted you to go, to be safe. It took every bit of willpower in your body to walk away, to step through the Barrier without him, knowing that he never would’ve fought Undyne if it wasn’t for your meddling.

You waited.

And waited.

The seconds stretched out, each one lasting a thousand excruciating years.

You waited.

Axe curled up on the couch, full to bursting from a delicious dinner prepared by his brother. Yawning, he rested his skull in your lap, and you gently stroked his scapulae, smiling as he began to doze. He no longer feared nightmares. In fact, he rarely dreamed at all anymore. After all, what would be the point in dreaming?

Life on the Surface far surpassed anything that his subconscious could fabricate, and he already lived that dream every single day, with you.

INDEX

#vexy writes #horrortale #horrortale sans #ht!sans #horrortale papyrus #ht!papyrus #horrortale undyne #ht!undyne #horror!sans x reader #fem!reader

89 notes · View notes

protect-him · 3 years

Note

For DADW “You did WHAT?”

For @dadrunkwriting

I actually have no idea what this turned into. All I know is it's fenders and these two have been very busy developing distant feelings and telling no one, as per usual.

“You did WHAT?”

Anders grabbed his best friend’s arm and shook him.

“Garret Fucking Hawke.”

Hawke grinned, that shit-eating grin that had gotten Anders and himself into so much trouble—and so much fun—over the years.

“Please tell me you didn’t invite Fenris. You have to be joking.”

“Look, I know you think he’s pretentious and arrogant.”

“He is.”

“But he wasn’t doing anything, he was asking about how your studies were going, and I thought I’d invite him to your graduation ceremony.”

“From the fucking University of Mage Arts.”

“Sure, why not?”

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know they have demonstrations scheduled. Magic demonstrations. And I’m doing one of them.”

“Exactly! Let Fenris see what magic can do.”

“He knows what it can do. It did worse things to him than ever came out of the Maker’s bum.”

Hawke burst out into laughter.

“Hawke, this isn’t funny!”

“Anders, it’s going to be fine. I’ll be sitting next to him, he knows there are going to be demonstrations. I’m not that dense.”

“Pretty damn close to it,” Anders muttered, cramming his graduation cap on his head.

“Hey, in all seriousness.” Hawke put a hand on the silky fabric covering Anders’ shoulder. “I know what this means to you. I wouldn’t have invited Fenris if I didn’t think he’d be respectful and decent.”

Anders sneered doubtfully, but remained silent.

“Besides, he’ll come to the Hanged Man with us after, and the more the merrier!”

Anders rolled his eyes.

“Go on, get out, I need to prepare the rest of my spells for the demonstration.”

Hawke waved and ducked out of the classroom where Anders was preparing for the ceremony. Anders only had a short speech to do, and then there were seven demonstrations, his spirit healing demonstration last of them all, being one of the most promising theses being presented this year.

As Anders mounted the steps to stand backstage while the presenter before him flourished and threw sparkles into the air above him to finish his demonstration, Anders smiled. Of course! Everyone who came to see the graduation ceremony had to sign a consent form to be possibly affected by magic. There was no way Fenris would have signed that form. He gave Dorian a cheerful smile as they passed each other, and Anders stepped onto the stage. His smile wilted as he looked to where Hawke’s arms waved in the air, giving him two big thumbs up. And next to him sat Fenris. Anders couldn’t see his face beneath the bright hair, but he imagined Fenris glaring at him. He swallowed and refreshed his smile for the audience.

His professors all sat in the front row and eagerly clapped as Anders gave the very short version of his thesis, hopefully in words that even grumpy mage-haters like Fenris could understand. At some point he forgot about Fenris, caught up in explaining how spirit healing could help with medical procedures, calming and numbing spells to act in place of anesthetics.

“For my demonstration, I am going to perform a spell that I’ve been working on,” Anders announced. “Panacea is defined as something which cures all ailments. My altered Panacea spell does not cure anything, but it is a soothing spell which will ease pain. If anyone in the room is experiencing a headache or some other pain, you will most likely feel it easing, or perhaps leaving entirely. I’ve been modifying this spell to be unintrusive, unnoticeable, and to extend over a greater distance. Though, for theatrics, I have included some lights.” He grinned and widened his stance to begin casting. Panacea didn’t really take much to cast, it was simple, but for the sake of demonstration, he added some flair and a sparkling green glow. The movements of his arms did help him to cast the spell further, so that it could reach the entire room.

Silence fell as the spell settled over the audience. Anders knew it was working, he could feel the spell soaking into the audience, doing its quiet and gentle work.

“It will last through the end of the ceremony,” he said, giving a bow. His professors jumped up, clapping for him. Hawke did as well. Fenris did not, but he was clapping along with the audience. That was something at least. Anders smiled and waved as he left the stage. There were a few other short speeches, but Anders didn’t listen, he was too excited to pay attention.

Anders changed out of his graduation gown and cap and went out to meet Hawke and Fenris. Hawke designated Anders to ride in the passenger seat, and Fenris sat in the back.

They arrived at the Hanged Man.

“Anders, may I ask you something?” Anders was surprised to hear Fenris from the back seat.

“Uh, sure.”

Fenris glanced at Hawke.

“I’ll meet you two inside,” Hawke said, handing Anders the car keys.

“You’ve been quiet,” Anders said, once Hawke had disappeared inside.

“I was thinking,” Fenris said, his eyes fixed on his knees.

“I admit I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Anders said. “Hawke said you’d agreed to attend, but I assumed you wouldn’t sign the consent form.”

“The spell you used.” Fenris looked up at him.

“My Panacea spell?”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t hurt, did it?”

“No, it—” Fenris grimaced and looked down again. “It worked.”

“Good!” Anders smiled. “I didn’t go back for my Masters for nothing.”

“I did not know I was experiencing pain,” Fenris said.

“Wait, what?!”

“It was gone,” Fenris said, his brows furrowing. “This ache.”

“Where?” Anders was trying to run through possible scenarios where Fenris would be in constant dull pain.

“The markings,” Fenris said, as if it should be obvious.

“The… tattoos?”

“They are lyrium. The experiments I was involved in were more involved than simple tattoos.”

“H-how?” Anders was twisting in the seat now, trying to get a better look. Fenris was still leaning back in the seat, not exactly forthcoming with information. “Do you mind if I look?”

Fenris held his breath for a long moment, and then sighed.

“Alright.”

Anders climbed between the two front seats, his long legs flopping awkwardly as he wriggled through the small space.

“You could have gone around,” Fenris said.

“I know,” Anders said, chuckling, “I don’t care too much if I look ridiculous. Now, can I see?”

Fenris pushed up his sleeve and held his arm out.

Anders frowned. They really weren’t tattoos.

“And they hurt?”

“They... ache,” Fenris said, “though I did not realize.”

“Maker,” Anders muttered. “I am surprised you even agreed to come.”

“I do not wish to be a bigot,” Fenris said, his voice softening as he looked away.

“I don’t think...ah, okay I used to think so. I apologize,” Anders said. “I don’t even think I can do anything to help with your...”

“Markings,” Fenris supplied. “I apologize as well,” Fenris said, turning back to Anders, and finding him surprisingly close.

“Oh,” Anders said, finding those green eyes uncomfortably close and wide.

“I was unfair in my judgment of you as a mage,” Fenris said. Anders could only look at his lips.

“It’s behind us now,” Anders said. “Thank you for coming. It...meant a lot to me.” He watched Fenris swallow, his eyes not leaving Anders’ face. Could Fenris feel the tension as well?

“I am grateful to Hawke for inviting me,” Fenris said. He grabbed Anders’ hand. He could feel Anders’ stiffness.

“I am not fragile,” Fenris said, rubbing a thumb over the back of Anders’ hand. “May I kiss you?”

“Me?”

“Is there another Anders in here?” Fenris raised one brow, smirking.

“Just the one, as far as I know,” Anders said. “And you may, though I might get feelings if you do.”

“Well, then we’ll have something in common if that is the case,” Fenris said, reaching up with his other hand to tangle his fingers in Anders’ hair and pull him closer to kiss him. Anders’ eyes were gold and unfocused when they pulled apart.

“Hawke’s going to wonder if we killed each other,” Anders murmured.

“Do you dislike the idea of … this?” Fenris asked.

“The opposite, actually,” Anders said. “I was just thinking my life was about to get boring now that I have my Masters. I think I could use some excitement to keep me on my toes.”

“And I’ve been thinking about getting a cat,” Fenris said, grinning.

“Now I know this can’t be real.”

“Need me to pinch you?”

“I think a kiss would suffice.”

#dadwc tag #dadwc fill #my writing #fanfiction #fenders #modern au #protect writes

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hueningshaped · 3 years

Text

★ good friend | k.sy

▰ genre: implied spice/nsfw but barely angst AND fluff, the classic

▰ word count: 2476 hhhh

▰ synopsis / request #1: fwb to lovers! soonyoung since this idea has actually been on my mind before the ask came in (also HOORAY ASK :D) hehe

▰ possible warnings :: mentions of sex and vomiting and food

▰ notes: im lame also tmi but ive never had experienced anything romantic in my life so i tell u this - i am not good with romance and im not sure how any of this stuff is supposed to go so ur ever bewildered at what i postulate, u are not alone lmfao. i hope this isn’t too bad and i hope what i write in general isn’t too rough

Most nights offered the same routine and have offered the same routine for the past few months: nights of mottled yet complete love marks ridden upon your very feverish skin, long abandoned clothes of your weekly activities, and sweet and overwhelmed sounds that were evoked from pleasure that lasted hours. However, the fulfillment of satisfaction could no longer be quelled as the filaments of your heart now yearned for something more.

And while Kwon Soonyoung did you no wrong directly, only the knowing that there was nothing more besides sex despite your growing feelings furthered an irreversible damage that rested in your hands alone.

The reality was that you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. It would never be that way. You and he had agreed to it, but now, the guilt and pain blossomed like a bruise in your soul. Your heart always hurt afterwards and beforehand.

Just two days had passed since the last time you allotted another rendezvous with Soonyoung and he had messaged you again. Of course, upon seeing that text, which you received during your lunch at work, you soon lost appetite and utilized the rest of your break to weep into your bag in the restroom.

The meetups with him did you no good as they had frequented and seemingly were no longer just for sex.

Soonyoung learned your body and the things that made your body pleasured and joyous. He’d walk in early to bring you your favorite snacks. Sometimes, he would greet with a kiss on your nose or cheek.

When your limbs were tangled and you were at his mercy, Soonyoung would plant kisses all across the expanse of your neck and chest. On more occasions than you can count, the love marks he’d left have been often uncountable. With each passing meeting, his lips journeyed to your own, swollen and bitten raw by the time you’ve both finished. Sex was more than sex; it became that way before you even understood. He held and touched you in the way one cherished and love someone else.

Soonyoung brought forth so much joy, laughter, albeit cries from pleasure, but you were now unable to continue.

Your friendship with him was something priceless and a treasure. For you to risk that and the one thing that nearly convinced you that you were more than that would be foolish. The shift from simple friends to friends with benefits had only began due to a joke. Nearly a year had passed and you often regret trespassing the fine line of friendship and more than that.

Good friend Soonyoung also wasn’t foolish; he knew you and knew how you could be when you didn’t want to be you at times because you were precious to him. He knew this much.

Pretending his message had never been glossed over twenty three times, you managed to get on with your day, ignoring the dropping of your stomach, the sooner the clock moved closer to the time you were set to return to your apartment, which Soonyoung also knew.

And Good Friend Soonyoung was good, indeed.

SOON(YO)UNG: y/n

SOON(YO)UNG: are you busy tonihgt bc i need you

SOON(YO)UNG: if not i understand but i still wanan be with you

SOON(YO)UNG: i might not be good at this whole technology thing but i hope u do know ur read receotps are on

Soonyoung had a way with words; Not only at times where you needed comfort but also during those when you were at the edge, legitimately clutching to his shoulders for mercy to his wicked moves.

You felt yourself losing more grip and composure of reality as you sped home, having forgotten which days he actually did have practice. Was it everyday? Would he be at your place before you knew it? Were you a good liar? Was this the first time you were so open about postponing your boning? Were you even open about everything?

Contrast to last week, your meetups and reality with Soonyoung were as they had been for the past few months: frequent, intimate as always, but as more time passed, he was nearly inseparable from you.

Soonyoung was more than enough of a single person than you realized. He’d always been by your side for years and the things he did proved that. He always went above and beyond to made sure you felt good, comfortable, confident, and healthy. The kisses he left on your shoulder, bruises from his grip on your waist, aftercare of sweet touches and whispers, dedication of feeding you whatever he thought or tried to cook were just a fragment of what he did for you and of what he meant for you.

Not to mention he knew how to read you so well it hurt. Soonyoung could understand the light of your eyes; the light in his own eyes were effervescent, embers glowing with the lights of places wherever he entered, and they were never cold to you, the best of all.

But he would never be yours and you would never be his.

Luckily, upon your return to your place, you discovered that Soonyoung was not home before you, after silently screaming and double checking each and every possible place any person could have been.

He indeed would be at practice today, hopefully, but painfully wrong, you thought that maybe he would be too exhausted to even think of coming here.

There was the factual prospect of Soonyoung entering as he had his own key; however, his entrances were never outside of your consent or comfort, nor were they all strictly for sex. He was your best friend, who you had mingled with the territorial line that keeps platonic from sexual relationships.

Confronting the boy you had dreadfully fallen for was last on your list; your body told you so. Oh, it had no trouble letting you know of the conflict within your heart, perspiration, and clamminess.

All things came to a heading stop — in the midst of you tidying up your living room to keep your thoughts and stresses at bay — when a knock resonated. A bouquet of flurries within the pit of your stomach sent the broom in your hands over, whipping about the surfaces of the area you were in.

So much for ever trying to take the “not home” excuse. Clumsy hands.

“Y/N, is it okay if I come in?” Even the ginger edge to his voice offered no cloying confection — a sharp intake of breath drew past your raw-bitten lips. He was sweet as always.

Despite the fact he now was present and, on top of that, knew of your fabricated absence or intentional silence, confrontation with Soonyoung was just about inevitable. The flurries in your stomach now equated to the punch of an avalanche with endless swirls that even hijacked the means of your vision.

Could the end of your friendship await on the other side of the door?

“Darling, won’t you open up? Not the door, heh. I... to me... Are you okay?” The final question loosened the ivory pronunciation of your knuckles against the wringing of your shirt’s hem. There was nothing more visceral or internal that surpassed the knowledge of Soonyoung’s proximity and love to you.

How you just wanted the kisses Soonyoung messily left across the edges of your skin, the goosebumps and crimson flushes in his plump lips’ wake to be because of love and not strictly from the other way.

“Soon...” you stammered, a familiar stinging threatening behind your eyes.

“If you don’t want me to come in, then this is it. You don’t have to force yourself,” a somber tone shadowed his words, which left you perplexed but all the more conflicted. Only the thicket of steel and wood separated you, but you could still successfully make out that loving voice of his. “If you want to talk, I’m right here. I’m literally right here — your neighbors keep giving me the side eye, so lovedoll, open the door if you’re ready so we can talk. If not, I’ll understand.”

An answer, even a mustered, broken out noise from the depths of your throat, would have sufficed, except the swirl of your stomach returned full blow, barreling you straight to the toilet.

“I’m sorry I — ” you all but yelped to the front door.

Esophagus stretching and lungs flushing, you knew well what was coming. Words were cut short before the terribly familiar, pungent acid pounded out of your mouth in spurts and nearly imprecisely in the bathroom.

Nausea was your body’s coping mechanism for much stress: just the cherry on top.

Tears peeked at the brims of your eyes. The burn of your throat was just about the peak of your overstimulation. On top of that, you wanted nothing more than to things be right, even if it meant giving Soonyoung up. And oh, how that pain would leave this minor, minor, minor one in the blink of an eye.

A set of footsteps neared you, just as you finally were reaching for something to wipe your mouth off.

“You could’ve just said you were sick, sweet Y/N,” he sighed and you sniffled, continuing your ministrations. Confessing a possible unrequited love here was not ideal, but it would be worth a shot...if you could even speak. “Here I was fearing the worst: imagining a horror film scenario, since, you know, one of the idiots, namely Channie, decided to have a marathon the other — Y/N?”

As you moved to sit back on your sprawled and folded knees, your eyes trained upwards: a position and person you could remember by muscle memory at the least. That silly grin of his slowly dissolved into a concerned clutch of his lips, eyes roaming past that of your own eyes.

Your heart was nearly leaping before the machinations of your head could compute exactly you wanted to say. The silence was shared by your staring contest and your ventilation system that constantly busted up.

No words were said — from you, really. Confessing your love was much harder than it looked.

With the help of Soonyoung, you were eventually put to rest, after an entire system of learned routines that followed familiar episodes of your countless seasons of your friendship.

You let him choose what to watch, which he did not hesitate to execute to his choosing. His warmth was no different, he knew this. Enveloped in his lap, your feet trembled at the same rate as your hidden fingers did.

“Do you want me to make you some herbal tea?” He chimed, flipping through the cast list of whatever show that currently caught his eye. The slant of his eyes desperately deserved a kiss.

“You don’t know how to make tea,” you stated, earning the gaze that weighed tons. He pouted comically. His cheeks still possessed a flush from earlier practice, where you’d seen first hand how he dominated the room and led the others, allowing them to shine with his practice and ministrations.

“Soonyoung, you know I get sick like this. It happens occasionally.” His eyes had trained back to the screen until you let the final word escape your mouth, shocked at the chuckle rattling his voice and shoulders.

Those constellations met your eyes again: a nebulous light that could have had your knees buckling had you been standing.

“Occasionally? You get sick when you’re nervous or angry, which, for that part, is a kinda funny rarity — but I know you, Y/N,” he let your name ripple off his lips, the equivalent of having shared the most fragrant and delicate fruit between your very lips. “Why are you nervous?”

The lump in your throat throbbed, leaving you with something more than a twisted tongue. Good Friend Soonyoung was good indeed.

He leaned down to close the proximity between you more and more, taking a strip of loose hair and curling it around his finger before swooping in like a hawk. His brisk scent enveloped you, of musk and some other herb of a lotion you had purchased for him from a Christmas gift just a few months back. Soonyoung brought the hair to his lips, as your own merely parted at the proximity, quite possibly electrifying the amorous feelings even more so.

A gasp was all you could muster last until he was nose to nose with you, lips just a hair away.

“Why do I make you nervous?” He spoke lowly. You could barely meet his eyes. He planted a shallow kiss on the corner of your mouth until warm streams trailed from the corner of your eyes and of course, he cupped your face.

Concern furrowed upon his expression. He was no longer kissing you, and you were no longer poker faced, a sob billowing from the depths of your throat.

“What’s wrong?” And of course, you cried more at that. So much for not letting him know your feelings.

“Y/N,” he implored softly. His arm was perched beside your head where you laid and he now moved back so you could sit up at the slightest, or to at least where you were able to since you were now sobbing.

“I love you, Soonyoung. I love you,” each word left more emphatic with a gasp for air in between. His face dropped and his hand retracted from your chin. You did your best to silence yourself, pursing your lips. “I'm sorry. That-that’s why I've been avoiding you and I know I’m full of crap for making it look like anything else, and I know I’m ruining everything we’ve ever had, but I just couldn't...couldn’t live like this.”

Nearly out of breath from your speech, your eyes fell to his hands, which rested on your blanketed feet.

“We had a great friendship. I’m—”

“Hey,” Soonyoung called out emphatically, earning eye contact that could have seared your soul. That same hand returned and again, your jaw dropped slightly. “Why did you assume I didn’t love you?”

His velvety mouth curled with a soft smile and his thumb rubbed your past tears into your cheek.

“I love you, Y/N. You’re just silly enough to convince yourself of the opposite,” with that, a popping kiss planted on your lips. “And this is also why you should talk to me about anything. Remember when we tried a different position and I thought you were crying about how it hurt, but you just felt—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed with a sniffle as he rested his chin on your sternum, grinning, “so, you’re in love with me as I am with you?”

Soonyoung nodded hard enough to jolt a new yearning within you. Needless to say, he would spend the entire night proving it.

#im bad at writing angst wtf #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen hoshi #hoshi imagines #hoshi fluff #hoshi x reader #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung x reader

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ruewrites · 3 years

Text

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 8: Change of Heart

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 4550

Warnings: None

A/N: As always comments and feedback are appreciated! I hope you all are still enjoying the fic so far!

Diavolo’s face was a welcoming sight to Solomon that morning as he left his room. He beamed the moment their eyes met and crossed the room in order to meet him. “Good morning! I trust you slept well last night?” his booming voice was almost too loud for Solomon, but it still brought a smile to his face.

“As well as a scholar can, yes.”

Well, books hadn’t been the only thing keeping him up last night. His dreams hadn't been too terribly helpful. If only he could have a little peace of mind while he slept. Maybe he’d crash tonight after his little outing. Asmo was rather high energy and Solomon had no doubt that he’d most likely be worn upon their return. Maybe he’d even sleep for a day. That would be rather nice the more he thought about it.

Diavolo nodded, “I will admit, it took me a while to get used to things here as well. It’s easy to become homesick, but Lucifer and I take visits back home every now and again. I promise it will get easier.”

“Were they all as welcoming to you as they are to me.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t here with the late king,” Diavolo shook his head, “Or maybe he would have liked you a little better than me. You aren’t the one who wanted to marry Lucifer.” That’s right, neither Azazel nor his brother had wanted Diavolo to marry the crown prince. From what he could gather, it sounded like Azazel still wasn’t fond of the union. “The point is, it takes them a while to warm up to people, but they will soon enough.”

Hopefully. Solomon seemed to be making way with the family, so he could only assume they’d start to like him soon even if just a little bit.

“In any case, how have things been with Asmodeus?”

Ah.

Oh.

“I know he was excited by the fact that you took the whole ‘Lilith’ thing well, a little melodramatic, but still happy,” Diavolo continued, “He’s been talking about how his eventual wedding would be the ball of the century ever since Lucifer and I got married.”

Solomon hadn’t even talked to him about the wedding. He’d been so caught up in learning about Arcadia that the wedding seemed more like a concept to him than an actual event that would occur soon. When was the coronation? How much time did he have left? Why had it not been more focused on his radar? Now that he thought about it more, he didn’t have a single clue about what any of his wedding plans were going to be. What food were they preparing? What times was everything occurring at? What was he supposed to wear? Were people going to witness their union? They were only a few of a long list of questions that Solomon should have known the answers to, and yet he didn’t.

It seemed like whenever Solomon solved one problem, another one arose. For whatever reason, it never occurred to him that their union would be a big event. Lucifer's would have been since he was the crown prince, but his? A small ceremony to seal them together would have sufficed. Did it really need to be big?

"He certainly has been dreaming for a while now hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," Diavolo nodded, “He has rather vivid dreams, they’re not always big in the grand scheme of things, but they’re very specific.”

So that probably meant that Asmo was hellbent on what he’d said to him last night. No matter how he tried to change the direction of his thoughts they always came back to the outing he was supposed to have today. Solomon knew love couldn’t be forced and that love was a rare thing to occur within an arranged marriage, but would Asmodeus accept that? Surely he had to know this small fact. Perhaps he was just in denial.

But why?

Why not just accept what life had given to them and be excited for the opportunities that it could provide?

“Has he talked to you about it?” Diavolo’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“About what?”

“His ideas. Surely you’ve heard some of them.

Solomon's blank expression must have said all that Diavolo needed to know. His face fell slightly. Solomon couldn't read the expression well. At first he thought that perhaps it was confusion. Disappointment? He couldn't place his finger on it. What he did know was that it made him feel uncomfortably guilty.

"Oh. I see," the pause between them was only a second too long, "You should spend more time with him. He's a kind person. Just a little-”

“High energy?” Solomon finished. Kind? Well if him ensuring Solomon that he’d fall head over heels for him was considered kind, Solomon would agree. This was the first positive thing he’d heard about his fiance the moment he’d stepped onto the grounds. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he really hadn’t heard too many good things about Asmo, only the things that he couldn’t do quite right. What could be the truth?

“Well yes, but I may have a soft spot for him,” Diavolo continued, “He was one of the few who made me feel welcomed here. ‘Anything for my big brother’s husband’ he’d say. We spent a lot of time chatting and sometimes he’d offer to take me to various places in Arcadia. All when Lucifer was busy of course.”

Maybe he had been a bit more well behaved because Diavolo was more than willing to spend time with him. Solomon was a busy man, he had research to do among other things. He couldn’t just drop his research at any time. Nonetheless, he could still contribute to the conversation. “Forgive me for saying so, but I find that a little hard to believe. Only because you seem to have a soft spot for most people you come into contact with.”

There was that booming laugh.

“Am I truly that easy to read?”

“Only a little.”

Diavolo was a genuine man. Solomon had to wonder if he had some sort of magic of his own to cause people to loosen up around him, or was he just that charismatic? Either way it made his marriage to Lucifer feel even stranger to him. How could there possibly be anything there deeper than the arrangement? Then again, according to Azazel, Diavolo seemed to have more of an influence of the crown prince.

What allowed someone to become that close?

Well, Simeon had some influence over his own decisions, but their relationship was different. Solomon would have had to been naive to think the two were equivalent. Diavolo and Lucifer had something beyond a close friendship and Solomon could see it even if he was rather confused by it.

“I think Lucifer might be your favorite person though,” he wanted to see what he said. He wanted to see how Diavolo talked about Lucifer. In a way, it was a roundabout way of him wanting to know more about the elusive eldest.

Diavolo seemed to melt right before him, his eyes turned gooey and warm and his body relaxed. “Perhaps, he’s a wonderful man and stunningly beautiful. The most ethereal being I’ve ever seen, sometimes I doubt that he’s human,” he sighed, “He’s intelligent too and an absolutely capable ruler.”

“You admire him.”

“I love him,” Diavolo corrected, “I’d do anything for him, I’d give my own life for him.”

Solomon didn’t know why those words threw him off. Giving up your life. Would Solomon do that for anyone? He wasn’t sure. He had people that he wanted to protect, yes. But giving up his own life? Thinking about that wasn’t something he wanted to do at the moment or later. It was a morbid concept.

“Asmo is quite smitten with you,” Solomon was vaguely aware that Diavolo was still talking, “He was completely fine when he left, but when he came back he was spellbound. I think it was good for him to have a little joy.”

It was easy to forget that the family was dealing with two deaths: the King and their sister. There had also been supposed assasination attempts. How much tragedy followed the family around?

It didn’t mean that he was going to give in to Asmodeus’ every demand, but he would try to keep those things in mind.

“It feels good to see him lively again, he was so anxious when it came to pretending, I know I was relieved that you took it all well.”

“I’m happy he’s not anxious anymore as well, I was worried I was doing something wrong. I’m glad to know that that wasn’t the case.”

Diavolo’s hand grabbed the handle to the door to the caverns as he turned back to Solomon, “We should talk more, I heard you’re going to have an outing today and I’d love to hear more.”

***

“Will you ever be on time for any meal?” Asmo huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe one day,” Solomon hummed, taking a seat, “But I did show up.”

“If you showed up early we could spend a little time together before everyone else got here.”

Solomon noticed that Asmodeus wasn’t looking at him. Following his gaze, Solomon saw that he was staring at Lucifer and Diavolo. Diavolo had his hand on the crown prince’s shoulder. He leaned down close to his ear and said something that made Lucifer smile ever so slightly and chuckle. He mouthed the word sit, and Diavolo took his place next to him. It was incredibly tender. No one else seemed to pay it any mind, but Asmo’s fingers gripped at the table.

“I might be able to come sooner if someone wouldn’t mind teaching me how to navigate the castle.”

He noticed Asmodeus nod slowly, but he didn’t look towards him. What had gotten into him? What about Lucifer and Diavolo had him so fixated? Unfortunately his little novice charm didn’t give him all of those answers. Did he dare reach up to see what he was feeling? It could give him an idea of how to steer the conversations.

His hand wandered towards his chest. But before his fingertips could brush against the pendant, Diavolo’s butler entered the room. “Breakfast will be out shortly, but I do have tea ready.”

Barbatos started at the head of the table, pouring tea for each member and setting out small biscuits. When had been the last time he came to breakfast? He came to other meals sure, but most of the time Simeon brought it back to him as he often slept through it.

“Welcome your majesty,” Barbatos said, pouring the steaming liquid into his cup, “It’s lovely to have you join us this morning.”

“Oh thank you.”

“Your scribe seemed to be getting tired of you missing meals.” Wasn’t he the bold one? “Anything in your tea?”

“No thank you.”

Barbatos nodded and moved on to Asmodeus.

“No cream or anything? Really?” Asmodeus leaned over to look at his cup.

“Really. I stay up rather late, and sugar makes you crash.”

“Then what about sugar rushes?”

“It’s a temporary rush. It won’t last in the long run.”

Lucifer had taken his tea black as well, so why was it so intriguing to Asmo that he might drink his own in a similar fashion? It was almost like it was some sort of secret or big surprise to his fiance.

“You really are a serious guy aren’t you.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean you no longer want to go out?”

“No!” Asmo jumped in quickly, eyes going wide, “No we’re still going out. You can’t get away from me that easily.”

“I didn’t suspect that I would, You seemed rather determined.”

“Well good! You shouldn’t think that you could get away.”

Solomon snorted. He looked around the table to each of the members. Levi wasn’t fighting with Mammon like they’d been on the first day he got here. While the two of them weren’t talking, they seemed to be getting along better. Satan was focused on a book from his library, one that he’d have to remember to ask him about later. The twins sat silently. Well, Beel sat silently, Belphegor was asleep. Solomon also noticed that unlike the rest of his siblings, he was dressed in black. Had he been dressed in mourning attire when he arrived?

“Husband!” Asmo sang waving his hand in front of his face, “You should be paying attention to meee.”

“He ain’t your husband yet Asmo,” Mammon chuckled, before Solomon could even get a word in, “And he won’t be if you scare him away.”

“I won’t scare him away!”

A few of the other brothers snickered from around the table as Belphie opened one of his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, “When you met him you weren’t you.”

Solomon heard a bit of an edge to his voice. It wasn’t playful like Mammon’s had been.

“Enough,” Lucifer held up his hand, “It’s too early for this. We’re going to have a nice breakfast as a family or else I’ll banish you from Arcadia.”

“Aw come on Luci, you wouldn’t banish your baby brother would ya?” Mammon asked, leaning a little closer and batting his lashes.

Lucifer only narrowed his eyes, “Don’t test me.”

***

“Mammon runs the treasury, Levi is the head of the navy, Satan holds the records, and the twins split agriculture. Belphie takes care of the animals when it comes to stuff like milk and eggs and Beel takes care of crops and beef,” Asmo had been talking the entire ride down to his sector. He counted off each one of his siblings on his fingers as he named them off. He’d chosen to sit shoulder to shoulder with Solomon instead of across from him. Not that he was surprised. Asmodeus was rather clingy. “Lucifer as the head stays in the center and oversees all of Arcadia. He wasn’t always the welcome committee, but he had to take over. Luckily he has Diavolo for that now.”

Solomon shifted trying to give himself more room only for Asmo to follow him, “And what do you do?”

Asmo grinned, “Oh showing interest? Well, if you must know, my district takes care of little self care items. Lotions, perfumes, flowers, pretty things. Honestly mine is the best. Sure the other things are important I suppose, but what is life without beauty? My district is the most beautiful and therefore it's the best.”

Well, that seemed a bit shallow. Was looks the only thing he really cared about? All of the other things he had listed were equally important. How could he undermine them for the sake of his own? Every element came together to make a community. No one aspect held everything together alone.

“You’re going to love it. I can’t believe I haven’t taken you here sooner! Well I kind of can, after all I wouldn’t have been able to if- Well, you know.”

The carriage stopped and Asmodeus immediately seemed to perk up. The carriage bounced with him as he waited for the chauffeur. As soon as the door opened, he took Solomon’s hand and walked the two of them out. The first thing he noticed was a few timid townsfolk peeking out from behind their doors or windows or even stared from their stands.They seemed fixed on Asmo. Of course Solomon remembered that many of them most likely stayed hidden or on a low profile because of the death of the king along with the threats. It was nice to see some other life around. A royal being around probably put them at a higher risk.

“Hello my adoring darlings!” Asmo sang, “I’ve decided to treat you all with a visit today, and I’ve brought my soon to be husband to see all of you! Make sure you show him just how wonderful you all are!”

Solomon caught the sweet scent he usually associated with Asmo wafting from one of the shops. So, they did come from here. How frequently did Asmo visit? Slowly people emerged from their houses and stands and continued to go about their days. Asmo grinned at him and took his hand.

“Come on, I want to show you around.”

Asmo spent most of the time talking about himself. Asking if Solomon thought he looked pretty, if his town was the best one he'd ever seen. That was the last thing he really remembered as he started to tune Asmo out at that point. There was so much he could take of this man just talking about himself. He figured that he might learn something about his fiance, but it turns out he was wrong. Did Asmo seriously think that this would get Solomon to like him? He knew what Diavolo had said, but still.

Was he really that nice?

Or was he more like what he'd heard Azazel describe?

Whatever the case, he was trying too hard to impress him.

Asmo led him towards the center of the square and turned to face Solomon, “If I can get some musicians together, would you like to dance with me?”

“Oh, well, I’m not the best dancer,” he could at social events if he had to, but it wasn’t something that he would do in his free time. The idea of there being a possible audience also made him nervous. He stepped back and looked around, "Perhaps another time."

Asmo's face fell slightly, but he let Solomon step back. It almost seemed as if he was trying to think about what to say to convince Solomon to change his mind.

"I think I'd like to meet some of your people and to look at the products they create," Solomon continued, taking note of the plant life around him. Each of them seemed to have some sort of pink tint to them. At least the color themes seemed consistent.

"Of course."

The people were seemed rather intimidated by him. Not that he blamed him. He was an outsider king and a rather prominent figure at that. He was going to marry their prince. He took notes as they wandered. After all, he was going to have a say when it came to this place, he should know more about it.

Asmo’s chattering eventually dulled with each increasingly listless response Solomon gave and he scribbled away in his notes. Perhaps he finally understood that Solomon needed to focus, that he needed quiet if he was going to make any progress in his studies. He paused in his strides when he came to a patch of flowers surrounded by tiny metal arches.

They smelled impossibly sweet, almost as sweet as Asmo's perfumes. What were they? They weren't anything that Solomon was familiar with. He was certain they didn’t have them back at home. This was something he could ask his fiance about. It was only when he turned to ask him did he realize that Asmo wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen actually.

His eyes glanced around the area. Surely he couldn’t have gone that far? Was he really that upset by the fact that Solomon wouldn’t dance with him?

He plucked one of the flowers and started to try to retrace his steps to find his fiance. This was supposed to be a date between the two of them. Of course he would lose his fiance here. Of course his fiance would run out without telling him. Of course. Of course it had to be this way. Of course his fiance couldn’t have been reasonable. Of course-

There were children laughing.

Children?

“You’re doing so well!” his fiance was standing among them, engaging in their little games. This was a different side of him. They were all in a little circle with their hands linked. Sometimes the children would break the chain and run around before finding new spots.

He wasn't striving to impress them, perhaps because they were children (and easy to impress).

He's a kind person.

Diavolo had said he was kind. Solomon had been skeptical. The more he watched, the more he realized that perhaps he’d been wrong. He’d judged him too harshly. Perhaps he hadn’t been as level headed as he thought.

Watching him laugh and play with the little ones was certainly an experience all on it’s own. He seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Solomon also had another realization.

Asmo had a different type of worry plaguing his mind. He’d been nervous that Solomon would reject him because he wasn’t Lilith sure, but after he’d been worried that Solomon wouldn’t be impressed with him. His worries transformed and were presenting themselves through a different outlet. Solomon hadn’t been paying attention because Asmo was smitten with him, which was the minimum that he needed.

He could be good to him.

He could be kind to him.

It seemed like Solomon hadn’t been doing the best job at doing those things the more he dwelled on it. To put it frankly, he’d been ignorant. Solomon couldn’t even say that he wasn’t completely unaware of how he’d been acting. He hadn’t been terrible to Asmodeus, but he certainly hadn’t been good or kind either. He could have been better.

One of the kids must have tripped or something, because the next thing Solomon knew he heard sobbing.

“Oh darling, it’s alright, hush now. It’s only a scrape,” Asmo’s voice carried to Solomon’s ears. It was soothing, it felt safe. It lit something inside of him, a feeling that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Whatever it was, Solomon knew he enjoyed it. His voice alone could convince the tension to leave his body and place his mind at ease. It felt like if Asmo said it was alright then everything had to be alright. Slowly the sobs settled and the child buried their head into Asmo’s shoulder. Slender fingers ran through their hair in an attempt to sooth them.

Solomon realized that this was a third face he had never seen from his fiance before. How many more could he possibly have? What more did Solomon have left to discover?

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. No thought ran through him, only an action that he chastised himself for.

Asmo jumped ever so slightly and turned to face him. He seemed surprised to see Solomon there, more surprised than Solomon thought he should be. “What brought you to that conclusion?” he asked.

“Your reaction to the rabbits.”

“Ah well,” Asmo laughed slightly, “You still thought I was someone else then, and I’m not exactly capable of giving you children in that sense. I do love the little ones though, they’re the cutest little things.” Asmo poked the child’s nose earning a soft little giggle, “Aren’t you all?”

He stopped for a moment, scrunching up his brow before turning to Solomon, “What brought you here? You seemed… busy in your own little world.”

Oh, so he’d been ignoring him, and unfortunately Solomon knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been aware of this. He was just more aware of it than he’d like to be at the moment.

He cleared his throat before holding up the flower, “I had been curious about some of your plants and wanted to ask you a few questions, but I see that you’re busy right now.”

Solomon glanced at the rest of the children standing behind him and thought. He was curious about the game, and he hadn’t been giving his fiance much mind as of late. “Would you mind if I watched your game?”he asked.

It was fun to watch them play. The way the children interacted with the fifth prince was adorable to say the least. At some point, they’d managed to talk Solomon into playing. There was no better way to learn than to participate. He wasn’t great at it, but the children seemed to enjoy him fumbling about squealing with absolute delight. Asmo had even joined in, and oh Solomon had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed his laugh.

When it came time for the children to return to their families for lunch, Asmo led him into town to meet more of the locals. They showed him their wears and how they went about making their soothing lotions and sweet perfumes. To his surprise a few of them had also been magic users. They didn’t have strong magic, but it did help with relaxation, recreation, and with what plants the little town did have. In other words, it seemed like it could also be utilized for healing in the form of muscle relaxants or even helping in the production of certain medicines.

They all also seemed to enjoy Asmo.

This hadn’t been what he thought it would be at all. In fact, Solomon was enjoying their little date. Watching Asmo interact with the people of his sector was certainly more enjoyable than him trying too hard to impress him. Solomon liked this side of Asmo. He was relaxed and his eyes were soft and tender. There was a beauty about him that was being reflected outward.

For the first time, Solomon truly felt like he was getting a glance at his soul.

“Your majesty?” a young woman approached Asmo, violin in her hand, “Would you like music?”

Solomon wasn’t sure what possessed him to look up in that moment, but he realized how many eyes were on them. No. How many eyes were on him. Then he remembered. Asmo would be giving up his position in marrying him. That meant that Solomon would now have say over anything that happened. For the first time what that really meant hit Solomon. Asmo would no longer have control over his sector, and his people were worried. They didn’t know anything about Solomon, and neither did Asmo.

He wanted him to love him.

He wanted him to respect him.

Asmo was just as scared, and Solomon had been stupid enough to miss it all.

“On any other day that would be lovely my dear, but I’m afraid my-”

“You mentioned wanting to dance earlier,” Solomon cut in, bowing ever so slightly, “Consider this my apology for being so rude and ignoring you.”

Joy radiated from the prince. Solomon could feel his warmth buzzing all around them as they headed back to the center of town.

This didn’t mean Solomon was in love.

But this did mean that he was going to try harder.

He was going to give the prince what he deserved and show him that he didn’t need to worry.

Solomon would take care of things.

The music started up, the woman with the violin leading in a few other instruments as they joined hands. Solomon wasn’t a fantastic dancer, but it didn’t seem to matter to Asmodeus. It was such a simple want.

Ah. Yet how quickly a fairytale-esque picture can shatter.

Solomon didn’t even register hearing the whistle of the arrow as he pulled Asmodeus in close and it scraped his sleeve, barely missing his fiance.

#ruewrites #TaBoL #solodeus #asmodeus x solomon #asmosolo #soloasmo #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer #royalty!au #arranged marriage!au #slow burn #eventual romance

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Two: Where the Heart Is

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the love you have shown to part one! I’m so glad to see that you’re enjoying YBMH so far, the story is just getting started. I hope you’ll stick around for the full thing, so without further ado, here’s chapter two! As always, my inbox is open so feel free to come chat with me when you have finished this part :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug use

Word Count: 5.1k

read part one here

The phone screen flickers to life at the touch of Harry’s finger, flashing the exact same time that it had the last time he checked, though it feels like hours have passed since then. He sighs at the disappointing revelation and turns his phone over so that the screen meets the aged wood of the piano where it rests. In all honesty, Harry has no idea why he agreed to the interview in the first place. He had skillfully dodged the hundreds of requests for an exclusive tell-all following the untimely split of One Direction and successfully avoided the prying eyes of the general public for several months. So why had he indulged the first request from a girl he hardly knew without so much as a blink? The answer seemed a frustrating mystery to him, but to anyone else, the fluttering in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of her yellow Ford Bronco pulling up to the studio and the way he instinctively raked a hand through his hair gave the answer away.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry!” Alani apologizes, emerging from the car with a notebook nestled under her arm and a smoothie in each hand. She closes the door with her hip before making a beeline to the studio entrance where Harry stands, his right shoulder leaning against the doorframe with the same stoic expression Alani recognizes as his signature look.

“I had to get my sister to cover for me at the café and then I got lost because Google sent me to a Napua restaurant instead of the recording studio,” she rambles in an attempted continuation of her apology. “But anyway, this is for you. A peace offering and a thank you for doing this.”

Harry gingerly takes the green smoothie from her outstretched hand and offers a curt nod in response before ushering her inside.Alani pushes her sunglasses up and settles them into her windswept waves, trailing behind Harry and taking in the space. In one corner across the room, she notices a couple of brightly colored tapestries thumbtacked to the wall with a microphone stand perched in the center, all encased behind a screen of plexiglass. The adjacent wall is lined with guitars all standing at attention and glimmering, despite the dim lighting. Harry stops at the doorway of another room with a couch and a coffee table, the floor littered with wires and pieces of crumpled paper. He motions Alani to step inside and then clears his throat, which catches the attention of two other long-haired men chatting with amused expressions on their faces.

“Sorry lads,” Harry crosses his arms with eyes glued to the floor to avoid their questioning stares. “‘Fraid I have to intrude. Can we have this room?”

One of the men grins behind a full beard, popping a peanut M&M into his mouth before standing. “Sure thing, boss man. Let’s bounce, Rowland.”

The other man, also bearded but smaller in stature with a thin, pointed nose nods silently. He continues twirling two drumsticks between his fingers and points one of them at Harry in passing. Alani offers polite smiles at the both of them, and a quiet “thank you” falls from her lips as they exit without another word. Harry closes the door behind them and gestures to the couch, which she takes as her cue to sit.

“I like the uniform,” Alani smiles, gesturing to her hair as a comment on the fact that the three men all share similar lengths and styles.

“Thanks,” is all Harry says, taking a seat across from hers and clearly dismissing her attempt at humor.

To pacify the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence, Alani sips her strawberry smoothie and steals a glance through her eyelashes at Harry who is doing the same. She clears her throat after a minute and sets the drink on the table in front of her; a notebook takes its place on her lap.

“Thank you again for doing this, I really appreciate it,” Alani offers while digging through her bag for her phone. “I’m gonna record this on voice notes, just for the sake of quoting you accurately.”

“Sure,” Harry replies, occupying his gaze with the condensation trickling from the cup onto his fading black jeans.

Dry retorts from everyone else, especially customers, have little effect on the way Alani conducts herself. But every short comment from Harry, or lack thereof, makes her feel like a bug under a microscope. She settles her phone onto the coffee table and takes a deep breath to calm the trembling that spreads from her chest into her fingers and toes.

“So first, I wanted to ask about your time in Hawai’i. Are you enjoying it so far?” Alani poses the question lightly, hoping to open him up just enough to extract the story that she’s really looking for.

“It’s nice,” Harry nods, finally meeting her expectant stare. When she doesn’t respond for a beat, he clears his throat and adds on to the statement. “Weather’s good,”

Alani musters a half-hearted smile and glances down at the questions on her page. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, she sighs.

“Is that what drew you here—vacation? Getting away?”

“Yeah, pretty much,”

The row of guitars behind the singer catches her attention suddenly and guides the next question.

“And to write or.. record?”

Harry shifts in his seat, calculating his response carefully. “Both,”

“Solo stuff?”

Alani watches as he takes a slow sip of his smoothie and crosses his legs, an action which tells her that she’s struck a dead end. Or, at the very least, a door that she hasn’t gained his trust to open yet.

“You were with One Direction for half a decade,” She recovers. “Constantly releasing new music and touring. But now you’re here, doing neither, and haven’t done so for almost a year. What is that transition like?” Alani isn’t sure if Harry will answer when she poses the question, but to her surprise he meets her gaze and nods, as if to say that he accepts the inquiry.

“It’s different than anything I’ve ever done, for sure,” he starts slowly. It’d be a lie to say that he hasn’t given the breakup and, subsequently, his future outside of the band much thought. He thinks about it every day, especially his bandmates and their supportive fans. That much he has been able to unpack privately, but the rest of it—the sudden need to escape and write new music— is still something he can’t quite put into words, so he leans into the nostalgia and hopes it’ll suffice.

“Like you said, it’s been non-stop for the past five years, so I guess it is a bit jarring to come to a sudden halt after so much momentum. Obviously, it’s nice to have the time off, but I love putting out music and touring it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything,”

Alani is grateful to have more than a couple of words of material, despite the fact that it doesn’t really answer the question or tell her anything new about the man sitting crossed legged and closed off in front of her. Looking through her notes, Alani selects another question and embarks on a new angle.

“You were really young when all of that began,” she starts, thinking about how she could never have left her family and home at just 16. Hell, she was 22 and still figuring it out. Hopefully, if all things went well with this interview and Rolling Stone, she would finally find the opportunity to do it. “Do you ever think about where you would be if you hadn’t auditioned for X-Factor?”

Harry knows that she’s playing it safe, trying to feel him out and test the buttons she can push. He also knows that he’s being difficult, much more so than usual due to his nerves. So with an unfamiliar pang in his chest, he decides to relent the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’m starting to think maybe I could’ve been a professional surfer,” he offers matter-of-factly which makes Alani flash an amused grin. Harry’s sudden humor makes the room a bit less suffocating for the both of them and she’s grateful for it.

“Surfing, huh? This I have to see.” she quips back, suddenly trying to picture him ditching the black skinny jeans for a wetsuit.

He nods with a faint smirk. “Maybe you will.”

Alani meets his gaze with a shy smile of her own and her eyes fall to his lips for a brief second. The almost imperceptible action sends another foreign jolt through Harry’s chest. She opens her mouth to resume questioning when a loud bang startles them both and causes Harry to spin in his seat, looking through the glass window of the sound booth.

“Sorry!” A man with short, blonde hair and a fading tie dye shirt laughs while lifting the tipped over drum cymbals. “Don’t mind us!”

The two men from earlier straggle in behind and poorly conceal their own fits of laughter. Harry flashes his middle finger briefly, mouthing something that Alani can’t see but knows is undoubtedly rude. She suppresses a giggle and sneaks a glance at her phone, which indicates only a few minutes worth of dialogue. When she lifts her head, the door opens and the blonde man peeks his head in.

“Hello,” he greets with an extended hand before entering and taking a seat next to Alani on the couch. “Tom Hull, or Kid Harpoon...or just Tom, whatever you like best,”

She accepts his hand eagerly, not missing the way Harry pinches the bridge of his nose in her peripheral vision. “Mahealani Hale, or just Alani. Nice to meet you,”

“Wow, beautiful name,” Tom compliments. “Sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize you had company, H,”

“She was just—”

“I’m writing about-” The two speak at the same time, making brief eye contact before Harry turns his attention back to Tom.

“Did you need something?” He asks. Tom’s eyes dart between Harry and Alani before he clears his throat and reclines in his seat.

“Just dropping by to see if you wanted to go for lunch...” he trails off, which Alani takes as a cue to start gathering her belongings.

“Kind of busy here,” Harry offers with a glance back at the girl seated awkwardly across from him. “Another time,”

At this, Tom turns to Alani and ignores his friend’s protests. “Alani, do you eat lunch?”

Before responding, she casts an apprehensive glimpse at Harry who has suddenly become very intrigued by the drink in his lap, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“Uh.. well yeah, but I don’t-”

“Great! Have lunch with us,”

“Mate—” Harry speaks up.

Tom grins, shrugging. “What? You plan on starving the poor girl?”

“I really can’t, but thank you for the offer,” Alani explains with a sheepish smile, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you Tom. And thank you again, Harry, I’ll see you around.”

The musician watches her shuffle out of the sound booth quietly and turns his attention back at Tom, who sits with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asks, standing. “Go after her, dickhead!”

“It’s not like that she’s-”

“I really don’t give a fuck about your excuses, go!”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window as Alani slips through the front door.

She fishes her keys out of her bag and sighs when a familiar voice says her name.

“Alani!” Harry calls from the doorway, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He makes his way down the steps and over to the driver’s side where she ghosts the key over the ignition.

“Come have lunch...please?”

“It’s okay,” she purses her lips together politely. “I don’t wanna get in the way,”

Harry catches his lower lip between his teeth and runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words thoughtfully.

“No, you’re not—you won’t,” he starts. “I would really like it if you joined us for lunch, especially since our time got interrupted. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Alani can’t help the way her stomach flips at the words “our time” that fall from his lips and she finds herself nodding in agreement before her mind has had a chance to intervene.

She makes her way to the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked behind the studio, which she learns is where all of Harry’s entourage keeps their vehicles. A variety of brightly colored vintage cars are neatly parked, and it amuses her that Harry skips all of them, instead going straight for the black SUV with darkly tinted windows. At least he’s consistent, she smirks. As Alani climbs into the car, she is met by the warmth of Harry’s scent—something woodsy and vanilla— and the fact that she recognizes it makes her heart pound.

“You can connect your phone,” Harry nods to the stereo as he buckles his seatbelt. “To the Bluetooth, I mean, if you’d like.”

“Really?” she asks, brow raised in mild disbelief.

“Only if you play something good,” he teases with a stony expression, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Alani takes that as a challenge, scrolling through various playlists as Harry peels away onto the main road. Over the speakers, the beginning of “Don’t Worry Baby” by The Beach Boys surrounds the two of them.

“Is this to your liking, my liege?” Alani poses in an exaggerated British accent that makes Harry cringe, though the small grin on his face gives away his endearment.

“Yes, but please don’t do that accent ever again,”

“So you admit it, you’re the one with the accent,” she wiggles her brows, eyes peeling away from the view out her window to Harry in the driver’s seat.

“If it’ll get you to never do that one again, sure,” “Dunno, love,” she continues, watching the coast shimmer under the afternoon sun. “Think it kinda suits me,”

Harry shakes his head and checks the rearview mirror to make sure that he hasn’t lost Tom, Mitch, and Jeff in the car trailing behind.

“What’s it like?” Alani questions, studying the perfect slope of his pointed nose and strawberry pout.

“What’s what like?”

“England,”

Harry thinks for a second, recalling his London flat, lunches with his mum and sister, the streets of Trafalgar Square, and Abbey Road.

“Rainy,” is all he says.

Alani scoffs, which draws his attention over to where she lounges in his passenger seat, sitting comfortably as if it was exactly where she belonged. “That’s all?”

“What?” He questions, though he knows exactly what she means and is perfectly aware of his own stubbornness.

“Just seems like... I don’t know, such a generic description for a place you consider home,”

Harry mulls her response over, the word “home” especially catching his interest. It’s a strange concept in his mind because while, yes, England is where he has spent the majority of his life and where the people he loves most reside, he has never truly felt connected to just one place. And after spending his formative years traveling the world, who could blame him?

“It’s... safe,” he tries again, attempting to verbalize what he’s feeling. “When I’m there, I mean, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to be anyone or do anything specific, I can just... be. No expectations,”

Alani lets Harry’s words sit between them for a moment, sensing that there is still more he wants to say. When she doesn’t respond after a minute, he continues in an effort to clarify and fill the lull in the conversation.

“I used to think that London was just a starting point and that if I could make it to LA, it would mean that I had really made it, and I would feel more at home there,” he continues, slow and calculated. “But I dunno... when I’m there it still feels like an extended holiday, like I’m just buying time until I leave for the next place. London doesn’t feel like that, feels much more constant... so yeah, I guess it is home,”

As if she had read his mind earlier, Alani adds on. “Not to mention that’s where your family is, I’m assuming,”

Harry nods, once again thinking of his mum and sister. The image of their beaming faces brings the shadow of a dimple to his cheek. “Yeah,”

“What’s your family like?” She continues, truly interested and forgetting for a moment about the article she still has to write.

“Kind of small, I guess. S’really just my sister and my mum, but they’re,” Harry pauses, searching for the right words, “They’re the best. My mum’s probably the kindest woman I’ve ever met. Feel pretty lucky with that one, considering what a pest I was as a child,” he chuckles lightly and it’s a sound that Alani hadn’t heard up to this point, but one she knows she’ll replay in her mind over and over again.

“Gem’s pretty patient too—and brilliant, always the studious one,” he adds finally, a dreamy look on his face that Alani much prefers to the stoic one he always dons. .

“Ah yes, there’s always one,” she nods, catching the quirked brow he offers in response.

“Oh yeah? Are you the one in your family?”

“I guess so. School just seemed to come easily to me,”

“And what made you want to study journalism?” He questions, stopping to let a woman and her toddler cross.

Alani thinks about it for a moment while twirling a strand of fabric from the hem of her ripped shorts around her finger.

“I’ve always loved to write, ever since I was really little— like short stories and stuff. And I don’t know, I guess I like the idea of traveling and seeking out a story, too.”

Harry nods understandingly, pulling up to a curb across the street from a restaurant that Alani has frequented. It’s relatively empty at Pineapples for a summer afternoon, though most tourists don’t stray too far from the beaches, so Hilo maintains a healthy local population at all times. The pair climb out of the car and Alani makes her way to the rear where the rest of the group has parked. One of the men from earlier greets her with an outstretched hand while Harry chats with the other two that emerge.

“Hi I’m Jeff, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles warmly, pushing his sunglasses into his hair.

“Alani. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff,”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude by not saying hi it’s just-”

Alani dismisses his concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh don’t worry about it! I was kind of nervous then, too. I don’t know if he told you, but I’m interviewing Harry,”

“Oh, right! Yeah, he did mention that I think,” Jeff recalls, “Which magazine are you with?”

“None.” Yet, Alani thinks, her mind wandering to the Rolling Stone rejection letter. “It’s for a class, I’m a journalism major. Harry was just being nice and agreed to let me write about his music,”

Jeff nods. “Got it. You know, he’s not normally this serious. Just got a lot on his mind but he’ll loosen up,” he explains quietly just as Alani and Harry’s eyes meet. She quickly averts her gaze back to the kind, bearded man standing before her.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” she smiles appreciatively.

“Where’s Jeffrey?” Harry speaks up, catching her attention. She looks back to Jeff, confused, before he shakes his head.

“Other Jeff, his manager.” He explains.

“Probably already inside, he said he’d meet us here.” Mitch pipes up.

With that, the rest of the crew head into the restaurant while Alani stays a few steps behind to follow their lead.

“Y’okay?” Harry asks, shuffling along beside her.

Alani startles slightly at his unexpected presence, but relaxes as their strides fall into sync.

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for the invite, too.” She offers, the corners of her mouth upturned softly. Harry responds with a tight-lipped smile of his own and clears his throat before holding the door open for her.

In the far corner of the restaurant near the open balcony, Harry’s manager Jeff waves the group over to the table he saved. Everyone exchanges greetings and settles into their seats, the two at the end facing each other remain open for Alani and Harry.

“Jeff, this is..Mahealani, did I get that right?” Tom gestures to Alani for approval.

She nods and waves. “Yes, but you can just call me Alani,”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff calls from the other end of the table, glancing over to Harry in search of an explanation for her presence.

“I’m writing a piece about Harry and his music,” Alani offers. “But I’d love to talk to all of you, if you have a chance.”

Jeff nods, still shooting Harry a knowing look. “Yeah, sure thing.”

The two Jeffs, Tom, and Mitch engage in their own conversations, mostly inside jokes that go over Alani’s head. Harry watches, silent for most of the interaction and barely engaging the girl seated across from him, though he is overwhelmingly aware of her presence. When the server comes to take their order, warmth floods to Alani’s cheeks.

“Alani, hey!” the tall server greets, flashing a handsome, pearly-white smile. “Long time, no see. You’re looking good as always,”

“Mahalo, David. You look good, as well,” She smiles politely, catching onto the way that Harry sits a little straighter in her peripheral vision. David still pays no regard to the rest of the table, but his gaze momentarily flickers over Harry and sizes him up before returning to Alani.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were on a date,” he apologizes, which makes Alani’s eyes bulge and Mitch snicker beside her.

“Oh no, we’re not—“

“He’s just—” Alani and Harry speak at the same time, eyes darting to one another before she explains.

“I’m... working on something—an article,” she says, and David nods understandingly.

“Oh...right. Big-shot reporter, I almost forgot,” David teases in a snide way that makes Harry’s blood boil with annoyance. “Anyways, what can I get you all? The usual for you, right Alani?”

She nods curtly while the rest of the group take turns ordering. After the server has gone, Harry notices a shift in her easy-going demeanor and decides that it’s his turn to break the ice.

“Come here often then?” He poses gently, taking a sip of his lemonade.

Her lips press into a tight line as her eyes wander to the other patrons. “Yeah, kinda,”

“Asshole ex-boyfriend ruined that, I’m guessing?”

Alani lets out an amused breath and shakes her head.

“He’s not my ex. I mean we went out, like, once in high school... and maybe a handful of times in college but that’s it, really,”

Harry studies the uneasiness in her expression trying, and failing, to understand what she’s holding back.

“Seems like you dodged a bullet,” he confides, leaning in. Alani’s eyes meet his and her pursed lips ease into a small grin, which Harry mirrors with a simper of his own. As he rests his smooth chin in his palm, she notices a large, healing scab along the underside of his forearm, and her brows furrow.

“How’d that happen?” Alani asks.

“He jumped out a window,” Mitch intervenes. “Though to be fair, he was high,”

Harry shoots a deathly glare at Mitch and turns back to Alani. “It was a one-time thing.”

“It was shrooms,” Mitch replies with an amused smirk.

“Hardcore,” Alani giggles lightly.

Mitch swirls the straw in his mimosa with his index finger while extending a pinky at Alani. “You do drugs?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “Smoked weed a few times, though not enough to consider myself a pothead, I guess,”

Mitch snorts and steals a glance at Harry. “Pot makes our boy sleepy, and hungry. Alcohol makes him giggly. Shrooms get him buzzed just right,”

Harry’s cheeks flush and he averts his gaze past Alani where families and visitors roam the streets outside.

“Jumping out a window’s ‘just right’? I’d hate to see what going overboard looks like.” she teases, watching the blush of embarrassment creep across the bridge of Harry’s nose and cheeks.

“Keeps things interesting.” Mitch shrugs, turning back to Jeff to join his previous conversation.

Alani feels a strange sense of endearment wash over her at the thought of a giggly Harry, dimples replacing a deeply furrowed brow. In the short time she’d known and served him at the café, she’d only ever seen him reserved—polite, at best. Alani had hoped that interviewing Harry would provide some insight into his mysterious background, but she didn’t imagine that she would want to know more than what could be penned in her article. In the few minutes spent mingling with him and his friends, she began to think that maybe there was something worth getting to know, not just professionally, but before she can give it a second thought, David returns with their food.

“Thanks, Derek.” Harry says, flashing a facetious grin at David who stands confused for a second before sauntering back to the kitchen. Alani laughs, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth, and Harry’s stomach flips at the sound. He immediately wishes he knew what else he could do to hear it again.

Alani scrapes the last bits of potato off her plate and leans back in her seat, patting her growing food baby.

“I’m thinking of naming mine Oliver, you?” She sighs contentedly.

“Anne, after my mum,” he quips back, pulling out his wallet.

Alani reaches into her bag for her own, but Harry shakes his head and speaks up. “Don’t worry about it, ‘s on me,”

“Oh, no Harry you really don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, slipping his card onto the small clipboard attached to their receipts.

“Thank you,” Alani smiles, feeling warmth spread through her limbs, but she assumes that it’s mostly due to the rum in her system.

Harry pushes a lock of hair behind his ear and returns the wallet to his back pocket without another word. While there is no alcohol coursing through his blood, he refuses to believe that the burning in his cheeks has anything to do with the girl seated before him.

Alani climbs back into the passenger’s seat of the SUV while Harry settles behind the wheel. He braces his right hand behind the headrest of her seat and skillfully reverses, only becoming aware of their proximity when he turns back to switch gears. Alani peels her eyes from his and focuses on finding a playlist for their journey back to the studio, her mind racing as she clicks shuffle. Harry’s arm retreats, much to Alani’s disappointment, and his ears perk up when he hears the familiar chimes at the beginning of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere”.

“‘S a good one,” Harry breaks the silence, tapping on the steering wheel. “Christine always says it’s her favorite,”

“Christine...McVie?” Alani questions with an eyebrow quirked. “You know Christine McVie?”

“Kind of,” he shrugs, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Do you know Stevie Nicks?”

“Yeah. She lives in London,”

“Holy shit!” Alani marvels, covering her mouth in excitement.

Harry chuckles lightly, stealing a glance over at Alani still processing the news. “Big fan?”

She whips her head away from the window and scoffs. “Massive. Named my car Stevie, actually,”

“Hardcore,” Harry teases, echoing her own comment about his psychedelic escapades.

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man. In my own right, I suppose it is hardcore,” Alani retorts.

“I thought Spider-Man climbed buildings. Don’t think he jumped out of them.”

“I’m sure he’s done his fair share of both.”

The two drive down the coast for a while without a word, Harry drumming against the steering wheel as the song dies out while Alani soaks in the view outside her window. Suddenly, she reaches over and taps him on the arm, drawing him out of his reverie.

“Turn right up there!”

“Why?” Harry asks, already putting his blinker on.

Alani doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Harry saw it just seconds after turning into the lookout and it left him breathless. The car comes to a stop and Alani wastes no time unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping into the humid air, Harry close behind. Before them, the biggest rainbow either of them had ever seen shimmers in the high afternoon sun like a wall of unbelievable vibrant hues. Harry had never seen one this close, he felt as though he could reach out and feel each color slip through his fingers.

“Are you making a wish?” Alani asks reverently, as if raising her voice too loud will spook it away.

“I thought that was for shooting stars,”

“We’re literally staring face to face with a rainbow and you’re gonna argue with me about the logistics of a wish?”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, grinning to himself as his eyes flutter close.

Harry takes a deep breath and searches his brain for something, anything, but there is only one word pounding in his mind. He doesn’t know why it stood out to him when Alani first said it, but it struck a chord within him that hasn’t stopped reverberating, so it must mean something. Harry swallows the lump forming at the back of his throat and releases the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. When his eyes flutter open again, he steals a peek through the corner of his eye at the girl beside him and then fixes his gaze back on the rainbow.

“S’quite big, innit?” He remarks, breaking the reverent silence.

Alani snorts and shakes her head, turning on her heel back to the car.

“You’re so eloquent. Can’t wait to hear what lyrical gems are hiding in your new album,”

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts, climbing behind the wheel. “Who said anything about an album?”

As they peel away from the lookout, Harry can sense something has shifted in the atmosphere, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He opts to ignore it and poses a lighthearted question instead.

“What’d you wish for?”

Alani narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true.”

Harry hums, trying to imagine what she could possibly wish for that would require such secrecy, but his thoughts wander back to the singular word that has haunted his mind since it left her lips.

Home.

Next Chapter

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles writing #harry fic #ybmh

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matbarzyy · 4 years

Text

Brave [A.B.]

A/N: This is a very self indulgent piece I’m really not sure I should be posting. I’ve had a weird few days and this came out of it. If depression is triggering to you, please don’t read this. It’s basically just Tito picking the reader up on a really bad day. I know I need it sometimes, so as much as I thought I should keep this to myself I figured one of you might need it too.

Word count: 4495

Warnings: severe depression

“Hi,” Anthony greeted you when you picked up the phone, heading to his car. “How are you?” He asked the question every single time he saw you or got you on the phone, which you used to think was just out of politeness, but he nagged you whenever you dodged answering. He genuinely cared and he made sure to ask everyone he loved how they were doing regularly.

“I’m okay, you?” You hoped the short answer would suffice him, because you didn’t have much energy to elaborate further than that. Your eyes were barely open, but even when they were all you could see was your bedroom ceiling or the mess that you had made of the place.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good,” He sat in the driver’s seat of his car, buckling his seatbelt. “I’m headed to the gym and then I’ll train for a while, do you want me to come over later tonight? Cuddles and a movie?” He made the offer he had never heard you say no to. He hadn’t seen you in a few days and he was dying to hold you and nuzzle his face in your neck to hear you giggle because he was tickling you.

“Oh, um,” You cleared your throat because you felt like your voice was giving up on you. He sounded so excited, but you just couldn’t say yes. There was no way you could make your place look even half decent by tonight, and you didn’t want him to see it (or you) like this.

“Are you crying?” Tito stopped everything he was doing, worrying his lower lip between his teeth at the sudden shift of mood. He should have picked up on it when you barely said anything when you answered the phone.

“No, no I’m fine,” You lied, trying to keep your voice sounding as normal as possible. It was hard with your nose blocked and your chest shaking as loud sobs threatened to fall from your lips soon. “I’m not sure tonight is the best night for plans though, what about tomorrow?” You tried to get the idea out of his head and remake the plans for some other time as fast as possible, you wouldn’t last long on the phone with him without crying.

“Yeah, tomorrow works. Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked again for good measure, a frown settling on his face.

“Of course, don’t worry about me. I’ll talk to you later?” Your cheerfulness sounded fake but you couldn’t bring yourself to give him more than that.

Something didn’t sit right with Anthony. Even after you hung up he replayed your words in his head. You were definitely crying, and he couldn’t just leave you like that, even if you had asked him not to come over tonight. He knew you needed your alone time, but he hadn’t seen you in a few days and if you weren’t okay he didn’t want you to feel lonely. You tended to have a bit of an attitude and you’d have no trouble letting him know he wasn’t wanted if you were busy and didn’t want him over, in which case he’d just go to the gym.

He couldn’t leave you without checking, so he took another turn and found himself on his way to your place. The key to your apartment was attached right next to his so that he’d never lose it, and he was thankful you trusted him to have it. He never used it much, but he couldn’t stand it when you cried (and god forbid he was ever the reason for it, because the first time you two had a fight he apologised so much he ended up crying more than you).

“Hello?” Anthony called out to make himself known as he walked into the apartment and made sure to lock the door behind himself. The living room was messier than you ever let him see it. None of your blankets were folded, and some clothes littered the floor by the couch. Even your shoes were in the way, something he couldn’t understand because you were always so adamant in putting them away as soon as you walked in. “Hey,” He found you the second he stepped into your bedroom, your body curled up under the blankets.

“What are you doing here?” You had heard him unlock the door and tried to pull yourself together, but your hair was still a mess and you couldn’t get yourself out of bed fast enough anyway.

“You didn’t sound okay on the phone,” He glanced towards the window for a second. The curtains weren’t letting much light in, and your room smelled a little stuffy, like you hadn’t opened the window or even your door all day.

“But… I thought you said you were going to the gym and that you wanted to train?” You tried to adjust the covers on your bed, but even the sweater you were wearing was twisted around your body. Tito could see you were a mess and it made you feel even worse. You had been so good at hiding it up until now, he had never seen you like this.

“The gym will be there for me to go to tomorrow, you need me right now and you’re always going to be my priority,” He took in everything around him. Some more clothes were scattered over the floor, an empty glass of water was sitting on the nightstand with a cereal bar wrapper, and more of those could be found on your carpet. It wasn’t hard to guess you hadn’t moved for hours, or even the whole day.

“I’m okay,” You swallowed heavily, a guilty feeling taking over the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like it when guests came in and you didn’t have time to clean, you needed the place to be spotless so that they couldn’t judge how lazy you were.

“Don’t lie to me,” His voice was soft as he crouched by the bed, ignoring everything around him to focus on your first. “I can tell you’ve been crying,” He went to cup your cheek, and you let him for a second before turning your face back into your pillow.

Your body shook with a silent sob while his hand fell off. He felt so helpless, watching you like this without knowing how to help you. Seeing you cry always hurt him, but the way you were right now shattered his heart. He didn’t really know what was wrong, and he had no clue of when you had started feeling bad enough for you to end up like this.

“It’ll be okay,” He settled for whispering soothing words, not sure if touching you would help or make it worse. He knew from a few texts and conversations that you had days like these, but he had never been there to help you through them. You had definitely downplayed it whenever you told him about it. “Baby, please look at me,”

“I’m sorry,” Your voice came out broken and quiet as you slowly turned your head, red swollen eyes staring into his bright blue ones.

“Don’t apologise,” He settled for taking your hand in his and rubbing the back of it gently with his thumb. “You don’t have to, I just want to help, okay?”

“I’m tired,” You whispered, your whole body so slumped you couldn’t even move your hand in his.

“Did you eat today?” He asked, and the shrug you gave him (which was so small he wouldn’t have noticed it if he weren’t so attentive) was enough of an answer.

“Kind of,” You didn’t want him to know you hadn’t touched food in hours. You didn’t want any.

“If I made you a sandwich right now, would you eat it?” He checked hopefully, you usually loved his grilled cheese, and you often praised him because he always managed to make a sandwich taste good no matter what was left in your fridge. He tried not to sigh in defeat when you shook your head, doing his best to keep his mood up for you. “Okay,” He pushed himself back to his feet, his hand falling from yours as he went for the door.

Your brain screamed at you that this was it. Tito was a patient man but there was only so much he could take when you were emotionally unavailable. You couldn’t even hold a simple conversation. You ruined it. You were worthless, and now that Anthony was seeing it too he was about to leave you.

“Please don’t leave me,” You croaked out, weakly reaching after him in a moment of panic.

“What are you talking about?” He turned around and grasped your hand in his. “I’m never going to leave you,” He fell back to his knees by your side, reaching over to hug you. “I promise, I’m always going to be there for you,”

“I don’t want to be alone,” You rested your forehead against his shoulder, unable to bring yourself to wrap your arms around him.

“I’m here baby, I’m right here with you,” Anthony brushed your hair back and kept saying reassuring words to you, repeating them until he was sure you wouldn’t be able to doubt how much he meant them. “I’m not leaving, I love you.”

He slid into the bed with you, kicking his socks off his feet before pulling you against his chest tightly. His shirt was wet with your tears, and he clenched his jaw to hold back his own every time your sobs made your body jolt against his. He could never leave you. He couldn’t even bring himself to consider it for a second. He was more in love with you than he ever thought he would be and he knew he’d be by your side through absolutely anything.

You had been there for him on countless nights after games the team lost, or games where he beat himself up for not playing well enough because they scraped the win and if he didn’t mess up this or that earlier in the game everything would have been fine. You always lifted his mood, you pulled him out of his thoughts and he couldn’t help how much he smiled whenever you were with him.

He couldn’t express how much he wished he could put a smile back on your face right this second, but this wasn’t just disappointment over a game or a project. It was a deep rooted issues and an accumulation of stress he couldn’t even imagine himself dealing with. It was no wonder you had to crash at some point, but he wished he had caught onto the signs earlier to help you before you hit rock bottom.

“Is it okay if I get up for a minute?” He eventually murmured.

You had stopped crying, and your breathing was steady. You had even gone as far as placing a small kiss on his chest where your face was tucked.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” You let him pull away, coughing a little to clear your throat. You felt pathetic for keeping him there for so long just because you were too insecure to let him get to the living room without crying about him leaving you.

“I’ll be right back,” He promised as he rolled out of the bed.

When he walked back into your room, he was holding a bottle of your favorite smoothie. You liked to make them yourself, but when you couldn’t this was always your go to. Tito picked it up before coming in hope it would cheer you up a little if you were having a bad day. Now that he saw you were doing much worse than he had imagined, he hoped it would at least motivate you to put something in your stomach.

“I stopped by the store on my way here,” He explained to you when he noticed your questioning eyes. “Drink it for me?”

You pushed yourself to sit up, your stomach in knots. You weren’t hungry, but you could try for him. You took the open bottle from his hands and forced yourself to take a few sips. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting and hoping the sugar would make you feel a little better, at least physically.

You handed him the bottle back soon after, most of the smoothie left untouched. He was about to say something, ask you to drink a little bit more, but you beat him to it.

“I’m really not hungry,” You gathered your pillow to your chest, slowly sliding back into the bed.

“That’s okay,” Anthony didn’t want to make you feel like you couldn’t make your own decisions. He didn’t know what you needed, he was just guessing. “Is there anything I can do?” He eventually asked.

“I don’t know why I feel like this,” You were exhausted physically and mentally, and even just speaking to him was draining in that moment. You only wanted to lay in your bed and cry until the pain stopped.

“You don’t have to explain,” He got comfortable on the bed too, sitting with his back against the headboard. “You’ll get through it, and I’ll be there for you in any way I can,”

“Thank you for coming over,” You crawled over to put your pillow in his lap and rest your head there.

“Always,” He placed his lips on your forehead and closed his eyes. “Do you want to just lay in bed for a while?”

“I don’t want to do anything,” You whispered, feeling him pull the covers tighter on your shoulders. “But then I think too much,”

“Okay, we can put some music on?” He tried to find a way to distract you from your thoughts. “Or I can read to you for a while,” Books on the shelves about your desk caught his attention. You had mentioned you couldn’t find time to read lately, and he wondered if you’d be up for it now.

“What book?” You turned your head to look up at him. It wasn’t much, but the small gleam in your eyes told him he took a step in the right direction.

“You can pick, or I’ll just grab anything that sounds good,” He suggested, leaving it open for you, and you lifted your head as you answered.

“I don’t mind any,” You let him slide out of the bed and quickly inspect the covers to make a choice.

A few seconds later he had resumed his original position and his knuckles gently ran over your cheek while his voice filled the room. He liked to think he was a decent reader. He wasn’t the best out there, but he didn’t really stammer on words and he kept a good rhythm to keep you interested in what he was saying.

What he didn’t know was that you couldn’t focus enough on the words to understand anything he said anyway. You didn’t mind, there was no need for you to understand, this was just filling the silence and the fact that he was there, taking care of you and reading to you, made your heart swell. You were terrified he’d leave, that he’d see how much of a mess you were and tell you he didn’t want to deal with that, yet here he was.

He spent ages repeating that he loved you to reassure you, he made sure you ate something, and he tried his best to ease your mind. You felt numb all over, everything was bland around you, but the one thing you still knew was that you were in love with Anthony. You could doubt how much you cared about your job, or even your own self. You could doubt your friendships and some family relationships, but you couldn’t doubt that you adored the man currently sitting on your bed, and you couldn’t doubt that he cared about you too.

He didn’t stop reading until he was absolutely sure you were asleep. His voice felt a little hoarse by that point, and he closed the book to place it on your nightstand, making sure not to wake you as he grabbed his phone.

“What are you doing?” You blinked your eyes open when you heard him move around your room. The bed was cold apart from where you were laying, so you knew he must have been up for a while.

“I’m just cleaning a little,” He put the shirt he was holding over the back of your chair.

“I can do it, I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” You sat up, immediately worrying about the state of your apartment. You knew it was a wreck, and you hated that he had to deal with it.

“No, no baby,” He shook his head and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “The kitchen, living room and bathroom are all tidy. I’m just going to fold your clothes and pick up whatever else is on the floor right now, and then I’ll hoover, okay?”

He wasn’t sure of what to do to help, but after a few minutes of research on his phone as you slept, he found a post saying cleaning your room for you or cooking would be a good idea. Since he was awful in the kitchen he settled for cleaning the entire apartment.

“You don’t have to do that, let me help you,” You protested, feeling lazy and useless while he did everything for you. It wasn’t fair to him. Your heart rate picked up, but Tito was quick to soothe you.

“If you want to get out of bed and do something, that’s great, but we’ll go for a walk or something, leave that up to me, please,” He kissed the top of your head. “I’m just hoping you’ll feel a little better once you don’t have to worry about taking care of your place,”

Tears welled up in your eyes from his words. Your forehead fell to his shoulder as you shut them tightly, trying to get control back over your body.

“Fuck,” You choked out, your chest shaking with a sob again.

All you did was cry today. Tito didn’t feel as panicked this time, slowly understanding how you were dealing with everything. You were just overwhelmed, and while hated to see you cry he knew that it was because he made you feel cared for.

“You’re going to have to start your own water bottle company soon with all those tears,” He tentatively cracked a joke.

He wasn’t sure if the sound that followed was just a louder sob or a real chuckle, but he took it as a good sign when you wrapped your arms around his torso and squeezed him against you. It was better than the apathy you had shown when he held you earlier, so he returned the embrace and kissed your temple.

“Everything is going to be okay, I promise,” He whispered soothingly when you pulled away, giving him a small nod while you rubbed the tears off your cheeks.

“I feel all gross,” You adjusted your sweater and sniffled. Your eyes were swollen from you trying to dry your tears when they wouldn’t stop falling, and you desperately needed to splash fresh water on your face.

“Do you want to take a shower or bath?” Tito asked you so that he could get the water running and make sure it was warm for when you got in.

“Shower,” You didn’t hesitate. You’d feel sluggish in a bath, it would make you more tired.

“Want me to come with and wash your hair?” He was almost sure you would, but he asked just to make sure. You weren’t the way you usually were, so you might have changed your mind.

“Yes please,” You nodded, taking his hand as you followed him to your bathroom.

Like he had said, everything was tidy. A new small towel was hanging by the sink, and all the other clean ones were neatly folded and organised underneath it. You picked up the faint smell of your cleaning products that he used to wipe every surface and make everything shiny. He really went all the way, and you could only guess he did the same thing in the kitchen.

You stripped while he started the water, his clothes on the floor next to yours. You still felt self conscious of your state, but in months of relationship Tito had done nothing but love every inch of your body, so you didn’t overthink it as you stepped into the shower after him.

“I don’t always understand how you feel, but I know it’s hard for you,” He gave your hand a squeeze as you made it under the stream of water. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m babying you, but it’s okay if you can’t bring yourself to do anything right now, I’ll take care of you,”

“I need that,” You nodded, resting your forehead on his chest as you let your hair get wet. It was hard to admit it to yourself, and even harder to say out loud. You thought you’d break down and cry again for a moment, but it seemed that all the tears had left your body already.

“I’ll help with absolutely anything you need me to,” Tito promised and adjusted the temperature to something a little bit hotter. “Let’s sit down, yeah?” He let you go first and then took his place behind you, shampoo and shower gel right by him. “Tilt your head back,” He asked as he poured the product into his hand.

You relaxed a little as he massaged your scalp, helping you disconnect from the rest of the world for a minute or two. The scent of soap slowly replaced the stuffy and slightly sweaty smell you had been living in for the past two days. You were still a mess of a person, but you could at least consider yourself half presentable after that.

How you felt on the inside almost always sucked, but you tried your hardest to keep up with appearances. It wasn’t even so that other people wouldn’t know, it was only for yourself, so that you could look in the mirror and think you were doing okay. It made it easier to convince yourself things were fine.

You didn’t spend too much time in the shower once Tito was done helping you wash your hair and body. He even got a smile out of you when his hands accidentally tickled your waist, and he beamed in response.

His smile lit your whole world up.

You held your towel tight around you when you got out, letting Tito get back to your room first. He came back in shorts he kept in your closet and one of the t-shirts you had stolen from him.

“Here,” Anthony handed you another one of his t-shirts (you had quite the collection) and some comfortable underwear he had picked out for you.

He was glad to find you brushing your hair and patting it with a towel as you stood in front of your mirror a few minutes later. At least you weren’t in bed anymore, and his heart soared when you gave him a small smile as you caught him staring at your reflection.

Instead of standing there like a moron, he decided to make himself useful and started pulling the sheets off your bed, piling them on the floor. You handed him some fresh ones from your closet as a replacement, your hair in a wet messy bun at the back of your head while you helped him adjust the fitted sheet over the mattress. You sat and began shoving your pillow into a pillowcase, and Tito didn’t argue with you helping him this time. He took the dirty laundry to your washing machine to make sure that by the time he left for practice tomorrow morning the apartment was spotless and you didn’t have to do a thing besides take care of yourself.

You made your bed and resisted the urge to get right back in it now that it smelled so lovely. You had to fight with yourself to get out of your room, so you opted for crashing on the couch in the living room instead. All of your blankets were neatly piled and you could see the plant on your coffee table had been watered. The dirty plates had been taken away to the kitchen, and everything was in place.

“I’m going to order some food,” Tito came to sit next to you a few minutes later. He handed you his phone as he added, “Pick anything you want.”

“I’m not that hungry,” You scrolled aimlessly, looking up at him because you didn’t want to have to get anything.

“Pick.” He gave you a stern look that left no room for discussion. “I’m not going to make you eat it all, but I’m not letting you go to sleep on a empty stomach tonight,” He had a feeling you had done it the previous night already, and it wasn’t going to happen again on his watch.

You eventually settled for a burger and decided you could just pick at the chips. Tito seemed satisfied with what you added to the cart and picked his own food before also ordering ice cream. It was one of your favorite flavours, so even if you didn’t want it tonight he was sure you’d be happy to have it in your freezer one of these days.

“Cuddles and a movie?” The corners of your lips lifted slightly as you suggested the plans he had been wanting to make with you for tonight.

“Sure,” He chuckled, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. “Anything you want to watch?”

“Just want to cuddle,”

“Okay,” He opened Netflix and clicked on Brooklyn nine-nine to pick it up wherever you had left it last time. It was unarguably one of the best shows out there according to both of you, so it would be good to watch it again and he also wouldn’t mind if he missed bits and pieces of it.

Tito leaned back on the couch and spread his legs, patting his body to invite you to lay on him.

“Thank you for being patient,” You whispered as you settled yourself on his chest. “I love you,”

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.” Tito rested a hand on your back and slowly traced lines up and down your spine. Tonight was all about taking care of you and he knew you loved it when he did that, so he’d do it until his arm cramped up if he had to. He even let your hair soak his shirt without a complaint despite how much he always hated the feeling. “Whatever’s going on with you, I’ll be there to help you through it, always.”

Please reblog and share some thoughts <3

Also wanted to add a little note here:

I know this made it look like the reader is quite dependent on Tito, and that’s always pretty toxic in a relationship. I didn’t mean to make it look like that, but I also don’t feel like rewriting the fic differently. I feel like that on some days, and while I can pull myself out of it alone (mostly because I have to) I know there’s some things that could help me. Cleaning my room feels impossible right now and if someone did that right now it would ease my mind a lot, so that’s why I pictured things that way in the fic.

#tw #tw: depression #tw: depressive episode #tw: depressive thoughts #anthony beauviller #writing #nhl fic #anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier imagine #tito beauvillier fic #tito beauvillier imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #new york islanders #islanders #tito

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kiruuuuu · 3 years

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Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

~*~

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

He needs to recover.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

~*~

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

~*~

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out��, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

~*~

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #lion #fanfic #protection mountain #I'm personally very happy with how all this is concluded #thank you to the one person who started all this you know who you are #thank you also to suzie for keeping this ship alive all this time #thank you all #💗💗💗#ALSO #CAN YOU GUESS WHO'S THE SNITCH?

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cloudwithoutsilverlining · 4 years

Note

please tell us more about co-archivists au 👉👈 i am very excited to hear your essay

BLESS UR HEART ANON I was NOT expecting anyone to actually read my tags <3

ANYWAY, thanks so much for asking and here are my vaguely comprehensive ideas for co-archivist AU here we go (it’s gonna get pretty long so I’m putting it under a cut lol)

Seasons 1+2 would probably go pretty much the same - Elias still chooses Jon alone as archivist and canon proceeds as is up until Infestation. Sasha still gets Not-Them’d but she doesn’t cease to exist, instead ending up trapped in some liminal space. She was already strongly tied to Beholding and so is able to be claimed by the Eye to escape the Stranger (think Mike Crew getting claimed by the Vast to escape the Spiral) which allows her to break out of the clutches of the Not-Them. Meanwhile, in the tunnels, Leitner tries to trap the Not-Them with the Buried book and instead the thing is psychically ripped apart from the inside out, the memories of Real Sasha are instantly airdropped back into everyone’s brains, Sasha wakes up in a pile of broken table fragments, and gets the hell out of there.

From there, the start of s3 is pretty much the same for Jon (he and Leitner decide that the book had some sort of unforeseen adverse affect on the Not-Them that exploded it somehow) - he flees the institute after finding Leitner’s body, hides out with Georgie, and so on. Everyone assumes Sasha’s dead, except for Elias, obviously, who Knows not only is she alive, but she’s well on her way to becoming an Archivist. (He’s not going to do anything about it - sure, it’s more moving parts than he was counting on, but a backup Archivist could prove useful if something were to happen to Jon. Plus he’s already got a bet going with Peter over which of them will make it to the end.)

Sasha, consumed by the beholding-typical hunger for information, seeks out The Distortion - Michael helped her that one time, after all. She gets hints of usefulness from him (though he insists on using 80-word-long names for all the entities) but mostly he speaks in riddles and is generally frustrating. I’m also gonna say they have a Jude Perry handshake moment except instead of boiling wax it’s knife hands because I love parallels.

She leaves the Spiral with a vague understanding that entities are a thing and starts basically throwing herself into situations fitting their various motifs and hoping for an encounter. One of them seems related to heights? Guess she’s going skydiving. (I stand by my headcanon that Sasha is at least as if not more impulsive than Jon. In s1 while he was like “well I guess I’ll keep an eye out for more statements about Prentiss and hopefully get more information” she went straight to “I personally am gonna hunt down this nightmare worm monster! How dangerous can she be she’s only killed like 5 people that we know of + I’m too curious to leave it alone!” I mean seriously.) While this is a great way to accumulate a lot of Marks for herself, it’s not a great way to find out anything useful. Plus she’s nearly gotten herself killed a bunch of times, so clearly she needs a new approach.

She goes to find Michael again but instead finds Helen, who’s much more inclined to be helpful. She fills Sasha in about how Jon’s also going Archivist, and gives her a door to find him. Sasha steps through the door and emerges in a clearing in the woods where Daisy’s just about to slit Jon’s throat.

Suffice it to say, when a yellow door appears from nothing in the middle of the woods and dead-for-a-year Sasha James steps out of it, Daisy is very surprised. The resulting altercation leaves Sasha marked by the Hunt but the situation calms down after the arrival of Basira who points out that, when facing Elias, surely two avatars are better than one.

Events of s3 from there on play out basically like they do in canon except this time the archivist’s not alone, which helps with the whole “turning into an avatar” identity crisis. Don’t get me wrong, they’re both still freaking out, but they’re freaking out TOGETHER so it’s not as bad. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about weird Beholding stuff, especially when they literally share your brainwaves. (I’d imagine there are a lot of moments when everyone’s just sitting around resolutely doing no work when both Sasha and Jon abruptly stand up, point to each other, and yell some random thing that means absolutely nothing to anyone else but them because Beholding just airdropped them some knowledge. Also since the archivist power is split between the two of them, when they go into Statement mode they end up speaking in unison, Sasha’s right eye and Jon’s left both glowing. It’s very creepy for anyone watching.)

Then comes the Unknowing, and Tim blows up, but instead of dying like in canon, he gets pulled back into the realm of the Stranger along with the rest of the Unknowing and trapped there. When Jon and Sasha wake up from their twin comas, Basira tells them he’s dead, but Sasha realizes that somehow she Knows he’s not. With Jon’s help she uses Beholding (all-seeing) to break into the realm of the Stranger (concealment) and pull him out, and later Jon does the same for Martin in the Lonely.

And in the end, yes, they both end up marked by all the entities, and the world still ends, and things are still pretty bad. But at least they have all four of them (the og archive team) to deal with it. And at least, when Jon needs to info dump about cursed beholding information, he can talk to Sasha. And at least, when Martin would really like some company that isn’t someone possessed by an omnipotent eyeball god, he can talk to Tim. Which I think would help with morale if nothing else.

(Thanks for sticking to the end of all that lol - I meant it when i said i had a lot of thoughts)

#tma #jonathan sims #sasha james #co-archivists au #cloudwithoutsilverlining.txt #answered asks #anonymous #thanks so much for your ask #also i actually got 2 asks about this! I'll answer the other one in just a bit #also this is ok to rb if anyone feels so inclined!

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hange-zone · 3 years

Note

Can I please have more eremin? The way you write down armin's thought is just *chef kiss* hopefully canon since I am feeling so emotional for the end.

mild snk 139 spoilers!

In the moments after Mikasa had disappeared into the titan’s mouth, its body had stilled and collapsed against his. Armin pulled himself out, tearing away the red tendrils from his steaming skin, and skimmed across the mass of sinew and flesh, down the neck and arms of his titan, right to where Eren was. As he approached there was a low, resonating sound that washed all over the cavern of the Founder’s chest, and the moment his hands grasped its exposed bone he felt the wind knocked out of him and everything went black.

The first thing he noticed when he came to was that the roaring sound had grown louder. It was all around him now, and as he opened his eyes he realised it was the crashing of waves along a moonlit beach. Eren was waiting for him in the pale light, his features softened in its glow and long hair blowing gently in the salty breeze. He was sitting among the waves as they rolled in and out along the shore, legs splayed out in front of him and leaning on his hands. The waves curled back and the rivulets of receding water were drawing his outline across the sand. He looked small and stark, an ink-stain against the white expanse of the sandy beach.

When he saw Armin he merely tilted his head to the side, motioning at the space beside him. The other boy sat down wordlessly in the shallow water. The foam-tipped waves snuck past his ankles and up his legs, soaking his clothes. He felt his skin chill as the water drew back, and then after a breath it was flooding him again, drawing up and around him, around them, as they sat together among the waves.

Eren was the first to speak.

“I’ve done terrible things,” he said, voice wavering. “I can’t go back —”

“No,” Armin said, even if he knew it was a lie.

The other boy shook his head wordlessly.

Then, almost to himself, very quietly: “But this is what I wanted, wasn’t it? I said: When I heard about the people beyond the walls I was disappointed…” he faltered, “…I thought I wanted freedom for its own sake-”

And then he stopped in surprise, because Armin had reached over and laced their fingers together. Then, the other boy’s blue eyes urging him on, he continued: “But that wasn’t freedom - no, not for its own sake, I wanted freedom to - to do things with it. To live a long life with friends, find love, give love…”

At his words Armin tightened his fingers around the other boy’s and he felt Eren grip his hand harder, his own fingers curling into the back of Armin’s soft palms.

“And seeing everything - the past and future and standing in the stream of time? I could only watch myself. I don’t know if I chose, not properly. But I’m choosing again now. That this is how it ends. I’m not asking you to forgive me - and it’s a mess and I’m sorry you and Mikasa are always left cleaning that up. I just hope you make the best of this. That…you make my death mean something. Can you do that for me?”

He bit his lip, hard, and looked out to meaningfully to the dark water. Armin could see that his eyes were also dark and wet. The endless expanse of water with its rolling waves was reflected in them.

Armin took a long, slow breath as he thought over what exactly the boy was asking. “Yes,” he said finally, and felt Eren relax just a little in his hands, even if both of them were trembling.

And they talked: about everything, about what it was like to be children again, what they imagined the lands of fire and ice to be like, what they were going to tell Mikasa and Jean and Connie and Levi and all the ones who were left. Their words blended into the night and it was like old times again, under the shade and sprawling branches of the rain tree behind their houses. Lying in the warm afternoon sun and speaking about the future. Speaking about anything they wanted.

Soon the edges of the ocean were beginning to light up, the first rays of dawn peeking over the horizon.

Eren flicked his gaze to the shimmering waves and then to Armin’s.

“It’s time to go,” he said, and Armin nodded.

Eren stood up first, pulling the other boy to his feet, still holding his hand like he had so many times, so many years ago, and lead him deeper into the water’s embrace. The rhythm of rolling tide matched the even rise and fall of their chests as it drew close around them.

The waves had been calm before, but as they stepped deeper the water began to get choppier. Still they walked on, hand in hand, slowly, until it was right at their chests, until it was dark and churning, washing over their faces and they were left gasping in between breaths. Armin licked his lips and wiped the back of his palm across his face with his loose hand. His eyes were wet and stinging, and he couldn’t tell if the salty wetness against his skin was the ocean or his tears.

Amidst the currents he felt Eren give his hand a hard squeeze, before loosening his grip. But Armin was the first to let go, and the other boy copied his motions, warm touch lingering for a second before the cold water ran between his fingers. He watched Eren took another step away, watched as a dark wave rolled by and swallowed him up, a mop of brown hair and familiar grey-green shirt lost among the swirling, inky waves.

Armin took a big breath, careful not to inhale the seawater, and stepped backward slowly to shore, gaze fixed on horizon. He looked on as Eren’s tiny form drifted further and further out until he couldn’t spot it anymore, lost among the roiling waves.

When his feet found the sand the waters were calm again, the ocean wavering and caught up in the gentle light of dawn. He threw himself back onto the sandy shore, chest heaving, and drew his knees to his chest. Armin closed his eyes, focusing on the roaring and crashing of the waves which seemed to swell and consume him.

When he opened them again, his knees were still curled against his chest but the ground was mud and firm underneath him. His eyes were wet as he let his gaze trail up, along the forms of the titans - their titans - before him, taking slow breaths as he looked at the scene in front of him.

Rising above the mist were two smouldering colossi. Once locked in combat, they were now slumped against each other in an embrace.

----

hello anon - thanks for this and you’re too kind...i’m glad i do him justice, he’s my favourite:”) here you go & i put it on ao3 - which is a bit better bc you can contextualise it, but anyway if not i recommend it goes with this.

and I was thinking about this last night so thanks for giving me an excuse to indulge in this. Also my comprehension sucks I thought you meant eremin for the end lol so…this was made…and (bad) excuses on my part again but this is not exactly canon...but it is a loose interpretation of or riff on canon events and it is personally how i’d like to see it end? More thoughts under the cut bc i’m sure you’d appreciate being spared more messy snk discourse:”)

Their entire conversation’s hard…would love to flesh it out more but that requires more emotional energy I currently don’t have, just know that I think of this scene as 1) armin doesn’t condone what the other boy’s done, it’s a terrible thing, just that it’s now happened and he has to work with that. And 2) this is eren saying sorry he was not the leader, he was small and scared the whole time, and 3) his act of going into the sea is that of relinquishing control, but in that moment it’s a truly free choice as well when he lets armin let him go. just wanted to clarify bc I think negotiating the ending is hard! And I don’t want it to be misinterpreted because these are similar problems from what I’ve heard about the canon ending. Anyway, hope that suffices. I’m such a sucker for metaphors and the like, and I’m personally very excited by the idea of the ocean and what people have done with it :)

#snk 139 spoilers #snk 139 #snk spoilers #eremin #ocean!#beach!#eren #armin

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fangirlovestuff · 3 years

Text

A Very Colin Christmas - Colin Shea x reader

Ch. 2 - The Proposal

a/n - hey lovely people!! here goes chapter 2, and this is where things really start to get interesting... enjoy;)

read ch.1

Summary: You help Colin with some Christmas decorations, but it turns out he does have one more thing to ask you...

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: curse words, innuendos

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After Colin left to try and get a tree, you went back to your apartment to tidy up a little and write cards to give out. You wrote all the big ones first, for your family and close friends, and then wrote the ones for coworkers and other people for whom a simple "Merry Christmas" would suffice. It was a little extra to write cards for all the presents you gave out, but it wasn't too much of a bother.

You were just putting the cards in place when you heard a knock on your door. "Just a second!" you yelled out and finished with the cards.

You opened the door to reveal Colin, smiling. "Let's go," you said, locking the door behind you and going with him to his apartment across the hall.

When you entered you were greeted by the sight of a little tree in the living room, but more importantly with the delicious smell of takeout. You were painfully reminded you hadn't had dinner yet when your mouth watered at the smell.

"I got some takeout on my way as well," said Colin and made his way to the kitchen. "You want some?" he yelled.

"Yeah, I'd love some," you said, grateful. You started to look at the pile of decorations on the couch, wondering where it would be best to put each one.

Colin came back with two very delicious smelling plates, one of them you accepted before sitting down on the couch beside him. You ate and chatted a bit. He asked you a little about your job and you ranted about your shitty boss for a bit.

"Well, lucky for me I'm the boss of me. And I gotta say, I'm a pretty great one," Colin replied, smirking.

"Oh yeah, how's that going for you?" you asked. A week ago, you had seen him in the park with some kid and he tried to hide from you. "The babysitting business must be thriving with you in it," you grinned.

"Ha ha," he replied dryly. "For your information, that was my nephew, and I definitely did not get paid for that," he grimaced slightly. "But my actual work, which is music, is going great, thanks for asking."

"I'm glad," you chuckled.

When you finished your dinner, it was time for decorating. At first you were hesitant, asking Colin if the place was okay for every single ornament you hung, but you quickly realized he didn't really care, and started getting more and more confident. Eventually, you were telling Colin where he should put the stuff he was hanging.

At some point Colin started to put on some music from his phone, blasting a cheesy Christmas playlist. You started mindlessly humming along, and so did Colin. Gradually, you both started swaying to the beat, until eventually you were both just dancing around, singing at the top of your lungs. You grabbed a candy cane and started using it as a mic, offering it to Colin every other line, and he gladly sang into it, laughter dancing in his eyes.

When the song ended you both collapsed on the couch, side by side, each breathless to some extent. You looked at him and started laughing, and soon he joined you, your laughter booming through the apartment. Another song was playing now, but he lowered the volume so you could speak comfortably.

"Wow, you really are musically talented," you said once your laughter had died down, "I'm impressed."

"Thank you, thank you!" he got up and bowed with a flourish, waving at an invisible crowd. "You're not too bad yourself," he said once he sat back down.

"Thank you!" you said, your hand on your heart, feigning deep gratitude. "It means so much when an expert like you says that," you rolled your eyes.

"You sound like my mom," he raised his eyebrow and reached for his beer on the table, taking a large gulp.

"I can't tell if that's good or bad," you chuckled.

"Definitely bad. She's still waiting for me to give it up, and so is my entire family. They seem to forget I've been doing this for years now. My mom is very adamant that it's a phase. She is, of course, forgetting my expertise, as you framed so nicely," he said with a bitter smile.

"Sounds like a lovely lady," you smiled.

"Yeah. I love them but loving them from afar is easier. Soon they're gonna be here, so don't be surprised if you hear some shouting," he smiled.

"Why would you shout? It's the holidays!"

"Exactly. It's gonna be all 'Colin, why don't you have a job?' and 'Colin, when are you gonna settle down with a nice girl?' like I'm a fucking baby," he took another swig of his beer. "And because I do have a job, and I tell them that, that's when the shouting begins," he said with a shrug.

"What about the nice girl?" you smirked, and Colin just looked at you with a puzzled expression. "I mean, you just told me your answer for the first question, but why don't you settle down with a nice girl?" you raised your eyebrow at him.

"Well, it's simple," he leaned closer, putting his hand on the couch beside you, "I like 'em naughty," he murmured and smirked.

"Okay," you rolled your eyes and pushed him away playfully. "I hope that's not what you're gonna tell your mom."

"No," he sighed in defeat, "but it's sure as hell what I'm gonna tell Andy," he smirked, "that jerk doesn't know what fun is. He was like that even before he got married. Pity," he shrugged.

"Andy?"

"My perfect big brother. Perfect idiot if you ask me."

"You don't actually hate him that much," you said, convinced you were right.

"Not really," he admitted. "But he's a lawyer with a wife and a kid. You can do the math as to what expectations that sets for me."

"So you're jealous of him."

"God no, I wouldn't be a lawyer if you paid me in gold," Colin chuckled. "It looks so fucking boring."

"But you're jealous that he's getting your parents' approval," you remarked.

He stayed silent for a moment. "Maybe," he shrugged. "Whatever. It's not like that's going to change anytime soon."

"What, like you want it to? Colin, you've come to hide out in my apartment three times in the last week. I know enough to say you're not really looking for a girlfriend," you chuckled.

"I know, I know," he said, "but I kinda wish I'd have like, a girlfriend for the weekend, you know? Like a fake girlfriend to prove my family wrong, and then I'd go back to normal," he shrugged.

"Why not post an ad? People will do anything for money."

"I'm not buying a girlfriend!" he scrunched up his nose, "even I don't stoop that low. That's really fucking pathetic."

"Okay then," you chuckled, "how about ask one of your hookups?"

"Something tells me they wouldn't be up for it," he grimaced, taking another sip from his beer.

"Really? What about Stella from a couple of days ago? Two days isn't that long to ghost a girl," you shrugged.

"Oh, is that what I said her name was?" he furrowed his brows.

"Okay, I see your point," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I do have an idea… but you have to promise not to hit me if I tell you," he grinned. You contemplated it with a smile before motioning for him to go ahead. "Maybe… you could pretend to be my girlfriend for the weekend?"

You reached out to swat him but he dodged your blow quickly, "You said you wouldn't hit me!" he pouted.

"That's before I knew you were going to say something stupid! Besides, I didn't actually say anything," you objected, but crossed your hands on your chest nonetheless.

"C'mon, it'll be fun!" he smiled hesitantly. "What are your plans anyway?"

"Sit in my apartment and watch Christmas movies," you grumbled. "My family usually meets after Christmas, because 'roads are always jammed on the holidays', so I stay in."

"See? Your family's weird, so you can help me get my annoying one off my back!"

"Hey! Only I can call my family weird," you bumped your elbow into his side. "But I guess I don't have anything that much better to do," you said after a few seconds.

"Yes!" he pumped his fist in celebration, "I promise you won't regret it, baby," he leaned in and you rolled your eyes and pushed him away.

"Okay, Casanova," you chuckled, "but I do have some ground rules. First of all, PDA to a minimum, okay? No kisses," you raised your eyebrows at him and he pouted in response.

"Cheek kisses?" he asked.

"Maybe," you sighed. "Rule number two – no funny business," you gestured vaguely.

"What does that mean?" he chuckled.

"I don't know," you said, "just… be normal?"

"I thought the entire point of this was that I didn't seem like my normal self," he scratched his chin as if in deep thought.

"Well, I meant be a normal person in normal people standards."

"You got it," he grinned.

When you got back to your apartment, he escorted you to your door.

"See you, Colin. Goodnight," you smiled.

"Goodnight. And… thank you," he smiled back, "for saving my ass. Today and hopefully over the weekend."

"Don't thank me yet," you smirked, prompting him to chuckle. "Bye," you said as you closed your door behind you.

So… looks like you're going to have a very interesting weekend.

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tell me your thoughts!! honestly i have mixed feelings about some of the dialogue in this one, because i really like it but at the same time idk... anyways i hope that you enjoyed and have a wonderful rest of your day<3

Taglist: @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree @kaitcordx25 @bequeening @steve-barry-damon-logan @itscrazycherryblossomcollection @hollandxmarvel @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12

A Very Colin Christmas Taglist: @janaygrant

if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

#chris evans x reader #colin shea x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you #colin shea fluff #colin shea x female reader #chris evans fluff

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erekiosuncreativeideas · 3 years

Text

Being Human - Chapter 23

<= Chapter 22

Summary : Snatcher is taken to a familiar room of the manor. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826561/chapters/74145501

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(Trigger warning for this chapter : emotional abuse and creepy situation)

HEEEEEEY NEW CHAPTER

SO. Let me put some dates here.

Sunday 4th of April 2021 : chapter 24 will be posted. Thursday 8th of April 2021 : chapter 25 (last chapter) will be posted.

Why do I wait a few days to post the last chapters ? Because I want to draw for them, and, if possible, make as many drawings I can. Hopefully, you'll like this chapter and the last two as well ! Thank you for remaining so passionate about this story since its beginning, it means a lot to me !

The “Oh The Humanity” AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings !

Uh if you’re interested, I post my progress on my chapters on Hatty Fan Time (the AHIT Discord server I’m moderating with two friends), so if you wanna join, go ahead !

Happy reading !

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Chapter 23 : “I can do this, I can… I will do this.”

-“There we are,” sing-sang the Queen, opening the door leading to the nursery. To Snatcher’s horror, while the room was still relatively damaged, mostly with claw marks on the walls, it remained recognizable. The sight was enough to give him flashbacks of the time they had commissioned this room, of the time they had entered it the first time after it was completed- The former ghost could remember it like it was yesterday: the couple had been so happy, staying in the room for a good hour, imagining how their child would be like, how they wanted to give them as much love as possible… But none of that ever happened.

Instead, the Subcon Freezing had happened, ruining all hope for Snatcher to ever have kids, ruining his dreams of having a family with the woman he loved so, so much.

And now, he was back in that cursed room, a room that was reminding him of what could have been, had things been different.

Snatcher had no choice but to rely on Vanessa so he wouldn’t put any weight on his broken ankle. No need to say this was frustrating… And extremely frightening, having to depend on the one who had mercilessly killed you. The former ghost knew he had no choice anyway and he could do nothing but clench his teeth, hoping nothing would happen. With a swift gesture, the Queen grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him inside, soon closing the door behind them. The sudden movement made him cry out in pain as it forced his body to put weight on his injured ankle. It didn’t take long for Vanessa to notice what had happened and she quickly helped him to straighten, a sickening smile painted on her face.

-“There, there,” she cooed: “It’s okay. You know what you need ?” she then asked, completely out of the blue. A look of fear crossed his features as he heard her words. Oh, this couldn’t be good, now, could it…? The Queen remained silent after her own question and her face grew irritated, which were pretty good indicators that she was waiting for an answer from him. With this realization, the child quickly realized he had to give her a sign, anything- and so, unable to speak, he just shook his head, his whole body trembling from the pain, the fear and the cold.

Seeming satisfied with Snatcher’s reply, even if non-vocal, she smiled again and quickly picked him up without any warning. Naturally, out of surprise, the former ghost gasped and started to struggle. How could he not, when his own murderer was holding him in her arms, without any difficulty? However, it didn’t take much to convince him otherwise: Vanessa’s warning glare and the pain in his ankle from the movements were more than enough.

-“Now, now,” she sermonized him, all while carrying him to the crib. As soon as she got them both closer, he guessed her intents, and his face paled up. God, this nightmare was just becoming even worse- she was going to put him into the crib where their child should have been hundreds of years ago, should they have been born.

This was so disturbing, so creepy-…! But, apparently, Vanessa wasn’t seeing anything wrong with this. She really was taking him for a child, a child she had to care for.

This was sickening.

-“W-wait!” he interrupted her just as she was about to lower him into the pink crib, and she gave him both a confused and annoyed look.

-“What’s the matter?” she asked back, narrowing her eyes and furrowing her brow. Oh, this wasn’t good.

-“I’m… I’m too old to be in a cradle,” he tried, hoping this would be enough, though he couldn’t help but giggle nervously, his eyes looking away in fear they’d see anger on the Queen’s face, maybe worse. She stared at him for a moment… And soon enough, a light laughter left her lips, all trace of annoyance gone from her face, as if those had never been there in the first place.

-“Oh ho ho,” she took a deep breath as she finished laughing, sighing. Snatcher… Didn’t like that.

-“W-what…?” he wondered, his voice trembling from uncertainty and dread. Why would she laugh at something like this?

-“Oh, silly one,” she replied, an even more sickening smile painted on her ghostly lips, one that was letting him see her sharp fangs: “You need to rest, and I have the perfect bed for that. Your age doesn’t matter, does it? Cribs are for children, and you are one, don’t you?” she retorted, as if this was oh so very obvious.

Perhaps she had remained too unstable for years to remember cradles were for young infants, or toddlers. Her madness had affected her perception of reality, so much that she couldn’t see the problem here- or maybe she did, though in that case, why would she care? She had murdered him centuries ago, she wouldn’t feel guilty about forcing a kid into a crib!

And, well, it wasn’t like he could struggle more, seeing his injured ankle. After all, not only did this hurt, but this was also a very good warning of what could happen to him should he resist more. All of his instincts were crystal clear: “wait for the right opportunity”, they instructed him. And so, as the Queen lowered him into the cradle, Snatcher did his best not to cringe at the thought and didn’t resist. Once done, Vanessa stepped back and looked at him with a twisted fondness, one that made Snatcher want to throw up. Though he knew better and stayed still and silent.

-“Aaaw, look at you!” the Queen cooed, as if this was the cutest thing she had even seen in years- which was probably the case, in hindsight: “See, you fit just right!” At this remark, the young Prince examined the crib. Yeah, sure, he could fit while sitting- but lying down? This was another story. With the body of a twelve years old kid, or around that age, it was obvious this was the worst choice ever for a bed.

Although… Although this was much, much better than being put in Vanessa’s, he just realized. A chill ran down his spine at the thought. Yeah… Yeah, the cradle wasn’t so bad in comparison.

Snatcher’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard a clap of hands next to him- and unsurprisingly, it was her.

-“Good!” she spoke again: “Now that you’re ready to rest, I’ll bake some cookies!” She started to walk to the door and the former shade felt relieved at the idea of her leaving him alone- but just before exiting the room, she stopped and turned to him, a knowing smile on her lips:

-“Stay in the bed and sleep, alright?” she told him, and Snatcher had no trouble to detect that this was not a suggestion: “I don’t want anyone running around here. Otherwise, there will be consequence. Have I made myself clear… Uh…” she stopped for a moment, thinking, before tilting her head to the side: “Wait, what is your name? I don’t think I asked you before, did I?”

Oh. Oh crap. He obviously couldn’t give her his old name, this was the worst possible thing to do- but what other name could he use? Obviously, if he took too much time to decide, she would know… And yet, no words could leave his mouth.

Snatcher was simply paralyzed. At no time he had expected her to ask about his name- but how could he not think of anything like this?

-“Well?” she urged him, getting suspicious. Oh no, oh no, he had to find something, quick…!

-“Lu...” he tried, hoping he’d find a name close to his old one, something that would easily evoke close forms of the name “Lukas”, he lacked too much time to think more. But nothing was coming in his mind: “Lu…!”

The Queen frowned, confused.

-“Lulu?” she repeated, as a confirmation she had understood. Instantly, a wave of relief washed over him, though he did his best to hide it as much as he could.

-“Y-yes,” he nodded weakly, with a trembling smile: “That’s… That’s my name, yes,” he lied, trying so hard to keep his “happy mask” on. As a response, Vanessa stared at him, as if she were watching for any sign of lie in his words, in his expression. Snatcher hands were becoming clammy from how dreadful this whole situation was, his heart was beating loud and fast in his chest, he was doing his best to keep his breathing under control, no matter how difficult this was… And, finally…!

-“This is such a cute name!” exclaimed Vanessa with glee, clasping her hands once more: “Well, Lulu. I hope I can trust you, right?” Another warning, one that was even more obvious than the last one. The former ghost forced himself to smile again, despite how insincere it must have looked- but perhaps Vanessa was too unstable to see it, or so he hoped.

-“Of… Of course!” he lied again, with a nod: “I’ll just… Sleep and wait for you to come back,” he assured, hoping this would suffice. And fortunately…

-“Perfect!” her face lightened up, yet Snatcher couldn’t tell if she was fully convinced. In any case, she grabbed the door handle and waved at him affectionately, like a mother would do to her child. This was… Extremely upsetting, given the circumstances. Still, the child merely forced another smile… And let out a huge sigh of relief as the Queen finally left the room.

Gods, this had been much, much more terrorizing than anything he could have potentially imagined.

Doing everything he could to remain silent, the young Prince listened closely to her steps slowly getting away, and waited a few more minutes, just to be sure. When he was sure she was definitely far away from this room, Snatcher tried to straighten up, only to be cut short by the acute pain on his ankle. Oh yeah.

There was this problem too.

The former ghost winced and frowned. What could he do for that? He couldn’t possibly escape with such an injury… Not only would it hurt, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to move discreetly. With Vanessa being in the room under this one… Oh, yes, she would definitely hear him. Then what? It wasn’t like he could miraculously heal that ankle-

However, his body froze as a stroke of genius burst in his mind. Maybe, just, maybe this could work… Frowning and wincing in advance, not really sure if this would succeed… Snatcher moved his hands to his broken ankle and closed his eyes, focusing.

He had learnt healing magic in his past life… Now, it was just a matter of hoping this small and frail body would allow him to use it. And so, the former ghost tried to find the small spark of magic he still had under this form. Breathing in and out, it was like trying to find something that was now hidden in the depth of his mind, something that felt so familiar and yet so foreign.

“Come on…” he urged himself, feeling himself getting closer and closer to that feeling he was trying so hard to find. Healing magic wasn’t as easy as fire one for him, one of the main reasons being that his mother’s family had been gifted with the power of fire. Summoning flames was thus easier for him- healing magic, though? This was a complete new story. While fire had been easy to learn at the time, him being a natural at it, the other types of magic had to be learnt the traditional way, with teachers, a lot of reading and study times, and getting familiarized with the elements you were learning.

Of course, in his situation, Snatcher couldn’t really use any of those things. All he could do was trying to focus… And soon enough, he began to feel tingles at the tips of his fingers. Yes, this is what he had been looking for! A small smile of victory spread on his lips, but he did his best to remain focused. In the meantime, the child could feel his injured ankle becoming number and number to the pain, and maybe… Bones shifting around a bit, though it was more uncomfortable than actually painful. This was working, this was working, he knew it, he knew he could-!

And suddenly, Snatcher felt like he lost all grasp on his magic. Shocked, the former shade opened his eyes, the tingling sensation in his fingertips quickly disappearing as if it had never been there at all. Why? Confusion spread onto his features and he looked at his hands, almost hoping he’d see what went wrong. But everything seemed normal.

And in fact, it was, thinking about it. The fact that he had been able to summon healing magic when he was in a body inexperienced with it… Was already quite an achievement, and it made sense it wouldn’t last, that this would be too unstable for that.

The former ghost tentatively moved his ankle, already wincing in advance in fear of how much it would hurt- but it wasn’t as painful as he had first thought. He slowly and carefully palpated his skin, trying to feel what had changed. Sure, touching it hurt, however… However, he was almost sure that his bones weren’t broken anymore.

He had managed to heal the biggest part of his injury. A long sigh of relief left his lips: things were… Going really well. But Snatcher was far from being over with this, oh, very, very far. He still had to escape this cursed place.

As silently as he could, Snatcher straightened up and hopped over the guardrail of the crib. His feet met the floor with a muffled sound, which was enough to scare him: had Vanessa heard anything? The sudden pressure on his ankle made his face tensed greatly though he managed to contain the urge to whine in pain.

This body was definitely one of a child… But to the former shade, he was sure that his mind had been altered to a degree, and this was not something he liked. He had to find the kids and Moonjumper, making sure they were alive, that he had managed to save them… And have the brats returning him to his adult for- no, his spirit form. Yes, that was what he wanted, and for a moment, he felt confused as to why this hadn’t been the first thing popping in his mind.

What was happening to him…?

The child forced his mind to focus back on reality: this wasn’t the time for questions. Who knew how much time he had before Vanessa decided to check up on him? If he had to try something, without getting caught, this was literally now or never. Waiting was dangerous, especially if his friends needed him- it was really cold outside, freezing even… Would he even get there on time? He was pretty far away, especially on foot…

“No,” he tried to reassure himself: “I can do this, I can… I will do this.”

Determination was now fueling inside of him, almost making him forget the pain in his ankle and how low the temperatures were in the manor. He himself was also on a time limit: his fragile body would become less efficient the colder it would get- Snatcher couldn’t lose any more time.

Slowly, silently, the child moved to the door and slightly opened it. Good, it hadn’t been locked, and he couldn’t hear anything coming closer, whether it was a voice or steps. Another sigh of relief left his lips, and after hesitating a bit… The young Prince took a deep breath and moved forward, entering the hallway with a mix of apprehension, fear, and resolve.

He was going to leave this manor and find his friends again.

This was a promise.

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ONLY TWO CHAPTERS LEFT

I hope you liked this chapter, I can't wait to show you the ending of this fanfiction ! Thank you so much for following me this far, and I hope you'll be there for my next fanfic too ! (I already have an idea of the story, so now it's a matter of making it better and actually writing it).

See you next Sunday !

=> Chapter 24

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