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calaofnoldor · 3 years

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Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?”

“And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

thanks so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!

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bailey-reaper · 3 years

Note

Hhhhh could you write a sequel to the hades fic???? it was SOO good!!!!!!

For Dear Life (Hades & Persephone AU)

Notes: (continued from here) Hello anon, I'm very happy to hear you enjoyed the Hades/Persephone fic! As I've said before, I love mythologies!

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: abducted / hostage situation; power imbalance; intense emotions; Tia seriously screws around with Greek mythology. Like really REALLY screws around...; I'm sorry historians (again!) and mythologists

It was impossible to say whether or not the underworld met their expectations, because such things were normally so abstract and not a subject they really thought of; so, to be suddenly confronted by the literal domain of the dead, was utterly mind-boggling.

All they really remembered, as the chariot dove deep into the bowels of the earth was the feeling of the God of the Underworld holding them close and partly shielding them with his long cloak of darkness. It had surprised them to hear a heart beating in the deity's chest – surely that was something of an oxymoron?

With a firm shake of their head, they quietly wondered why they were dwelling upon that precise detail; it seemed like such a trivial thing...

They had been escorted to a garden within the deity's palace: the plants were unusual colours and shapes, no doubt thanks to the lack of sunlight they enjoyed, but it was a soothing space nonetheless and one that helped their racing thoughts to calm. As they looked around and overhead, it struck them how easy it was to forget this was a subterranean domain given how high the vaulted cavernous ceilings were.

"It is a pleasant garden, is it not?" a familiar, but terrifying, voice remarked as the tall and imposing Lord of the Dead entered the space.

Instantly the feeling of calm abandoned them and they stood with a small yelp of shock, "........" even if they'd wanted to speak, it was as if their voice was stuck in their throat.

"...." the God's expression was momentarily odd, they might have taken it as him being wounded or even disappointed, before he cleared his throat and sat on a bench fashioned from black marble, ".... I have no intentions to harm you. It may be difficult to believe that, but it is the truth... won't you come here?" he held out a hand, "I have shown you a great deal of discourtesy thus far in failing to properly introduce myself... My rashness can only be attributed to the passion you make me feel. It is... very out of my usual character."

And it was, for the Lord of the Underworld was known among his brethren as a level-headed judge who maintained utmost composure at all times. In fact, they often described him as being 'cold as a corpse' and brutal when it came to matters of logic or strategy. Impulsiveness was an unknown concept in his mind, until now...

"...I... am fine here," they replied, settling back down in grass that appeared to be more peacock blue than green.

"... Very well," once more he wore that wounded expression, but the God seemed willing to respect their reluctance, "I am the God of the Underworld, I believe your kind call me 'Hades'."

"... Hades," yes -- that was what humans called the stern God beneath the earth, but it sounded to them as if that might not be his real name, "Is... that not your name, then?"

A smile graced and lifted his features for a moment, brightening them in an unexpected way, "You are as astute as I thought... that is correct: my 'true' name is not Hades, though, mortals may call me whatever they wish."

"Then... what is your real name?" this topic of conversation made them curious: where had the names of the Gods actually come from? Were they brought to the minds of men in a dream? Or did the Gods themselves provide false identities, if so then why?

"Mmm," he looked momentarily pensive, "That is a secret, for now... a God's true name holds great power. To entrust it to another is akin to making a vow."

Their eyes widened, "Oh... I... I see."

"You will forgive me if I do not offer up something so personal at this delicate juncture, I am aware that your presence here is entirely of my doing and that you are... unhappy about it. I will not keep it a secret any longer than I must."

"...." it made sense that a God would not trust a relative stranger with something that seemed to hold a great deal of power. They wanted to ask more about it: what did it mean to know a God's true name? What kind of 'vow' did it create? But, it seemed more prudent to leave the topic for now, "... Please won't you let me go home?" they asked, eyes pleading, "I am... flattered to have caught the eye of a God, but I am a mere mortal. I cannot see what lasting intrigue I would have to a divine being such as yourself."

The Lord of the Underworld tilted his head, "Do you think me a shallow man who saw your beautiful face and thought only of that?" he shook his head, "I appreciate that we Gods have a less than glowing image among mortals, and that we have a reputation for treating humans in a superficial manner, but, that is not why I have brought you here. I do not see you as some pretty trophy to keep until I tire of you. Though you are beautiful, yes, it is not simply your appearance that has captivated me so."

"What...?" for some reason his impassioned words made their heart thud in their chest; did he really meant to say that he, a God, had fallen in love with them?

"You possess a quality of character and strength of spirit that has quite simply dazzled me... I have watched you from afar, seen how you have helped your fellows and maintained your grace and resolve even in the face of adversity. I was blinded by more than just your looks."

They blinked a few times, going over his words again and again in muted silence. How could they respond to such a heartfelt answer? It was clear that the God of the Underworld was sincere, if nothing else-- but, this was too much to take in.

"... I'm sure it must come as a surprise to hear a God's confession, but I cannot yearn from afar any longer... that is why I have brought you here. So that I might marry you and take you for my spouse."

"This... it's... this is far more than a surprise... it's shocking. I'm a simple human, surely there are other Gods and Goddesses that are better suited to wed one such as you?"

The God chuckled, "Gods and Humans aren't so different you know... We're possessed of the same diversity of thought and feelings, the same irrational sensibilities and yearnings... it is not as if for every God there is a comparable divine partner. In fact, I find a number of my divine brethren to be a noisy, irksome lot and ill-suited to my temperament. I gladly opted to rule the Underworld for it lessens the time I have to spend with them."

".... huh?" suddenly, they couldn't help but giggle, "... Are you... saying that you view the Gods as annoying relatives?"

"...." he pursed his lips, "Well... they are."

"Oh... I had no idea... So, you came here willingly?" he nodded, "That's not what our books say: apparently you drew lots with your brothers and received the underworld having drawn the shortest straw."

"...?" he looked genuinely bemused by that account, "... I've... never heard something so ridiculous in all my life... drew lots? By the Gods, no. The last thing I would want is to rule the Gods and endure the constant politics of Mount Olympus. Truth be told, I have no idea how my brother manages it..."

Once more they were laughing, for the God of the Underworld --Hades himself-- looked utterly aghast, "Oh! But what about the sea then? Wouldn't you have preferred your brother Poseidon's domain?"

"First, Poseidon is not my brother, he was a 'brother-in-arms' who assisted me and my brother... second, the sea is not much better than Olympus given its relative proximity. I find that my brethren are far slower to make the trek down into the bowels of the earth than any other place."

"I... had no idea the Lord of the Underworld was so anti-social," they mused, smiling to themself having almost entirely lost their nervousness, "But... I suppose it makes some sense, given that your domain is that of the dead. Have you... always been like this?"

"Like what?" he cocked his head.

"... Disagreeable to spending time with other Gods."

"I suppose so," he folded his arms, as if trying to recall some divine equivalent of childhood, "There are so many irksome and tedious Gods in the world, I discovered that during the wars with the Titans."

"Oh... so those wars actually happened then? Our human books are right about that much at least?" he nodded, "So... are the myths about your brother, Zeus, true?"

"What myths about Zeus?"

"That he's the most terrible womaniser who forces himself upon anything that catches his eye?"

"What?!" he stood up, clearly flustered, "Who dares to tarnish my brother's name so?! He's not some philandering hedonist! He's a man of the utmost integrity and happily married! Not to mention his wife would punish him severely were he to hold such callous disregard for the mortals..." suddenly, he stopped his ranting and looked apologetic as he sat down, "... Forgive me, that outburst was uncalled for..."

"I'm... surprised," they said, "Because our myths suggest that you and Zeus do not get along... but you seem incredibly fond of him... oh... and what did you mean that Poseidon is not your brother? Aren't all the Gods related?"

"Of course I'm fond of him," the God said, "He's my brother... and as for your other questions.... what kind of inbred bedlam do you think the Gods live in? We are not begat as generations of mortals, we all issued forth from the black waters of Chaos..."

"But how are you and Zeus related if all Gods are not born?"

"I... was a weak little God when I emerged from the primordial darkness, in fact it was questionable whether or not I would survive. Zeus took pity on me, and shared with me his ichor.... that sustained me and breathed life into me. We are brothers who share the same blood, literally."

"Oh... wow... I had no idea..."

"Why would you? It is not as if we Gods are at pains to correct the fantasies that mortals dream up to explain the world around them," he folded his arms, "I'm... glad you seem a little less nervous in my presence."

"Ah..." they blinked, "Now that you mention it, I do feel a lot calmer."

"That's good... I hope, with time, that perhaps you will... take a liking to me."

"...." funnily enough, seeing more of the God's character had endeared him to them, "I... can't make any promises," they said, while looking down and smiling.

He seemed to pick up on that coyness, "Hmmm... that's better than an outright no. Now, I should like to show you my domain. Do you feel up to a chariot ride? I won't burst up from the earth this time and grab you..."

"In that case, yes."

#barok van zieks #Barok x Ors #alt universe #request

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

I Will Always Know You

Chapter 2: I Loved You Once

No translations this time!

Warnings: death.

The Church had always been a strange thing to Gavin. It wasn’t so much that he lacked faith, he believed in something, but it just couldn’t be found within the walls of the monastery. He wasn’t permitted to leave though, as an orphan he belonged to the church and it’s ever distant God. So he spent his days in practice of a faith he didn’t believe and hoping that one day he might get to glimpse the outside world. HIs glimpse, as it were, came in the form of an injured traveler. Once he was properly bandaged Gavin was tasked with caring for him. It was something he was glad to do. Perhaps he might even learn of the world that lay beyond the monastery walls. He wasn’t ready for the shock of familiarity when he stepped into the stranger’s room. it was in his eyes. Gavin had seen those eyes before. Such a specific shade of blue that they bordered on silver. He had never been able to meet anyone from beyond the monastery before, so he didn’t know why he knew those eyes, but looking into them his urge to wander settled. Burning curiosity came to life in it’s place.

When the man turned his head to look at Gavin he felt like the whole world had come to a sudden stop. Lifetimes of emotion passed through those eyes and they filled with tears. Gavin would have given anything to know what he was thinking. The things he was feeling. Why he was looking at him like Gavin was someone who was beyond his reach. “Tapt Sjel,” The man said, and his voice was heavy with an accent that Gavin couldn’t place, “Is that you?” Gavin shook his head, “No. The monks here call me Gavin.” He paused at the heartbreak in his stranger’s eyes. He stepped further into the room and offered the bowl of water to him, “You were found alone, but if you would like I could ask the others to look for your companion.” There was a cold hardness to the man’s eyes as the tears that had been building in them finally spilled over, “They will not find him.” He said it with such firm finality that Gavin found himself shaken. He looked away from Gavin and continued more quietly, “Neither will I it seems, not in this life.”

The feeling came without warning, but Gavin set the bowl down and retreated from the room with the sensation hanging over him that he was intruding on a private moment. The water would be there if he felt like drinking it, but for now Gavin had to get a grip on himself. He felt like he was missing something important. His ward had clearly expected him to know that name. He would ask the other monks to go look. With his resolve firmly in place he made his way to the church. “I have a question.” He stated before he could be lecture for not tending to their guest, “Was there anyone with the man you found? He was asking for someone named Sjel.” The monks he had asked all shared a look, like Gavin had gone mad, and Thomas was the one to answer him. “He was on his own. There was no sign anyone had been with him, but we will go look again in the morning.” Gavin gave a bow as he replied, “Thank you.” He retreated from the church to check on his stranger once again. He wouldn’t share the news because he had been asked not to have them search. The last thing he wanted was to cause this man any more pain.

When Gavin returned to the room his stranger was laying back on the cot staring up at the ceiling like it held the answers to his problem. “They won’t find him.” He said without looking at Gavin, “Thank you for asking though.” “You sound so certain,” He replied as he sat on the ground beside the cot, “Why?” “Because he’s gone.” That grim finality was back in his voice, “I should have known that two times was lucky.” Gavin was lost. What was the point of asking after his friend if he knew they wouldn’t be found. Had he sent the others on a pointless search then? He looked up when he felt those intense eyes on him again. “You really don’t remember me this time do you, My Wanderer?” His voice was barely above a whisper and Gavin felt like even though the words were clearly directed at him, he wasn’t actually meant to have heard them, “You gave me my name way back then. When Fate deemed you to be something that was lost, and now when you look at me all you see is a stranger.” There was another heavier pause then when he spoke again it was in a language Gavin shouldn’t have known. He still understood it clearly, “The Beginning truly is cruel isn’t she?”

How was he supposed to recognize someone he had never met? Someone who hadn’t even introduced himself? Moreover, why was he so certain that he knew those eyes from somewhere? He was orphaned as an infant, every day of his life had been spent right here. This man was a stranger to all of them, and yet something about him called to Gavin like an old friend. He didn’t understand any of it, and that was the part of all of this that hurt the most. “I’m sorry.” He replied gently, “But I think you have me confused with someone else.” There was a broken sort of defeat in his stranger’s eyes when Gavin looked up at him again. “Probably.” He replied, and a single word had never hurt Gavin more. They stayed in silence after that and Gavin tired his best to try and remember anything at all. He doubted he was the person that this man believed him to be. He just didn’t understand why he wanted to say he was. If only to soothe his pain. He refused to. Normally he wasn’t above the occasional lie; but whatever this was felt too big, too important. As much as it seemed to mean to his stranger, lying would only be cruel and probably bring him more pain than it soothed. For now all he could do was tend to his man’s wounds and wait.

Somewhere in the silence his stranger fell asleep. Gavin stood up, grabbed the now empty bowl and left the room to let him rest. It went like that for a few more weeks. When he was awake his stranger pleaded with him to remember and when he slept Gavin missed him horribly. He felt like they were on the edge of understanding, but the next time Gavin came to check on him he was gone. In the place he should have been was a neatly folded piece of parchment with the quill placed delicately on top of it. Gavin knew this day would come eventually, but he hoped it would have gone differently. He’d hoped for a goodbye, a name, anything other than his stranger slipping away in the night. In an odd way he wasn’t surprised. His stranger was a wanderer by nature and he had no reason to wait for Gavin. The want to go with him was a selfish one and he knew it. So much like the other things the stranger had brought up in him, the want was buried too. He could learn to live with his desire to roam. He already knew he wouldn’t be leaving this place. Even still he reached for the letter. He needed to know what it held.

He sat down beside the letter, and after he took a breath to steady himself he removed the quill and picked it up. When he opened it a stone figurine fell out. It was scorched and had a crack along one side, it had clearly seen better days. Gavin stared down at it with the same sense of distant familiarity as he had with his stranger. He didn’t understand any of this. The letter would hopefully clear things up. His stranger’s hand writing was shaky and unpracticed with a gentle slope to it. He either didn’t write in English often or he’d written this in a rush.

My Cherished Wanderer, Periplanomenos, Tapt Sjel, and now Gavin. I have known you many times, but it seems this life has not let you come to know me. In exchange for all your wandering they have trapped you behind rules and walls. You have not been allowed to learn of me, but the want of it burns in your eyes. It hurts me that you must be a stranger this time, but I hope this doll might help you come to remember me. It’s the first thing you ever lost. The thing I showed you way back then, when we first met. Perhaps having it returned to you will help you remember me. If not, then consider it a gift from a passing stranger and move on with this life. All I ask of you Gavin, is to know that I loved you once and I promise to again. Ennea

New tear stains mingled with the older ones left on the letter. Gavin ached to remember. He was reaching desperately for something that was out of his reach. He was careful when he folded the letter again. He took it and the small figure back to his room. He couldn’t get Ennea’s words out of his head. There was a whole world out there that he wasn’t allowed to see. Lives he had lived but couldn’t remember, and someone out there that was hurting because of it. He would have left, but he was needed here. Every morning when he woke up he would take a moment to just hold the little stone figure. No memories ever came back to him, and neither did Ennea. It wasn’t until the years wore away the life Gavin had left that he got to see Ennea again. He woke up that morning with the feeling that today would be his last. When he held his stone companion he noticed the crack had grown. He ran his thumb along it pensively. “I’m ready.” He said to the empty room. “Whenever you are, I would love to finally see the world.”

He made it until the early afternoon. He sat under the same tree he always did when he dared to dream of one day leaving this place. He leaned back against it and just before he closed his eyes he saw Ennea settle in front of him. He closed his eyes with a smile. “Let’s go together.” Gavin said quietly as he let go, “Show me all the things I missed.”

#In All Your Forms #In All Your Forms AU #I Will Always Know You #IWAKY #gods and reincarnation #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh fic #dbh #death tw #but its IAYF so this is normal by now

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lastwagontrainhopper · 3 years

Text

Behind every man

Royai week day 4 - Communiqué (I know it’s like Wednesday but due to time zone difference my head is still in Royai Week)

Summary:

"Al looked up from the newspaper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information. "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes back on the pages. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?" "

---

Behind every great man is a great woman. In Roy's case, there needs to be two: one for the heart and one for the politics.

Words: 4653

Tags: Angst, truly unnecessary angst, Fake Marriage, Roy and Riza can't catch an emotional break, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics

read on aot

"Ed! You're not gonna believe this! ”

Edward was busy with breakfast when he heard his brother call out to him. It was a typical Sunday morning in Resembool, and a joyful racket reigned around the house: the eggs and potatoes were sizzling, the kids were chasing each other between rooms, and metallic clanks coming from outside told them that Winry was already busy in her workshop.

"What?", Ed shouted back over his shoulder. No answer came; he put the pan down, wiped his hand on a towel, and went to peek his head in the living room, where Al sat every morning to read the newspaper. Ever the diplomat, he kept up with Amestrian affairs even during his vacations - unlike his brother who couldn’t care less. "What?" Ed repeated.

Al looked up from the paper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information. "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes fixed on the newspaper. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?"

Al laid the newspaper flat on the table. "Look: "It is with great pleasure that the Fuhrer-President Roy Alexander Mustang, son of Francis and Lian Mustang, announces his betrothal to Ms. Margaret Evans, daughter of Sir Timothy Evans and Carla Esposito. The ceremony will be held on the 27th of July at the National Opera House in Central. ", etc. “

Ed reread the sentence several times, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never heard that woman's name before. "Margaret Evans...Is that one of Riza's cover name? Or her legal name maybe?"

“I don't find so," Al answered, frowning. "Isn't her full name Elizabeth? That's what they use when they go undercover, anyway."

"This makes no sense." Ed tossed the towel over his shoulder. "I'm gonna give him a call," he said resolutely, walking up to the only phone in the house.

It was Sunday, so he called Roy's apartment. When that got no answer, he called his office on his personal number, where he got a busy signal.

"I'm betting everyone in Central is trying to call him right now," Al said, watching him grow impatient. "It is quite the bombshell to drop in a Sunday newspaper."

Right. Sometime Ed forgot that Roy was the leader of one of the most powerful nation around. "This better not be another of his twisted political scheme," he muttered with his ear on the receiver.

Al crossed his arms, leaning back on his chair. "On the contrary, I hope it is. Because otherwise, it would mean that this is a genuine announcement. "He paused and looked up at his brother. "You don't think that it could really be..."

"No," Ed shook his head with confidence. "Of course not."

He had seen Roy and Riza only a few months prior. A couple of times a year, the two of them would find an excuse to come to Resembool for a weekend without any of their personnel. They came to visit Ed and his family, of course, but it was also an opportunity for them to spend time away from the public eye and the hectic bustle of Central.

And, of course, a rare opportunity to openly exists as a couple, if only for a few days.

Ed thought back on the way the two of them were behaving on their last visit, and he could not imagine that Roy would truly want to marry anyone other than Riza.

"Roy Mustang speaking."

The voice in the receiver jolted Ed out of his thoughts. "Mustang!" he called out, louder than he intended. "What the hell is this?"

He heard a sight. "Good morning to you too, Edward." Roy’s office seemed busy than usual - Ed had trouble hearing his voice over the noise from the background.

"Let’s cut through the pleasantries, alright? We saw the announcement on the paper."

There was a short pause. "Ah. Well, if this is about my wedding, I accept your congratulations, however unconventional."

Ed's foot tapped on the floor impatiently, but he kept his voice calm. "I'm not calling to congratulate you, Roy, and you know it. I'm calling to ask for an explanation. Since when do you..."

"Edward. " Mustang's voice interrupted him firmly. "It's not very pleasant to have this kind of conversation on the phone. Why don't you come by Central? We could discuss this in person - and I know the Captain would be glad to see you."

Ed paused and bit down a scathing reply. He let out a defeated sight instead. "Sure. We'll....we'll see you there."

The line went dead before he could hang up. He still slammed the phone on the receiver with force, for good measure.

"I knew it," he said to Al cynically. "It is another one of his schemes: he didn't want to talk about it on the phone. And it seems like Hawkeye’s on it."

Al nodded slowly. "Of course. Roy would never do something like this without her approval.” He looked down on the newspaper with a pensive expression. "I'm guessing he wants to use the wedding to boost his image. But still...I didn't imagine he would go to such length. ”

"I don't know why he's doing this, but he better have a damn good reason. Come on, Al, we're catching the first train to Central."

---

Ed and Al had never seen Central Command in such a state of frenzy. The chaos that reigned on the floor of the presidential office was of a very different kind than the cozy, domestic one they had left : phones were constantly ringing, officers were running around with their arms full of documents; and everyone was shouting to communicate over the tumult. Two soldiers watched the door to Mustang's office. Without a State Alchemist pocket watch or an uniform, Ed and Al were initially denied access; Al had to rummage through his bag for an attestation of his status of diplomat to get them through.

Inside the presidential office, it was even worse. Dodging an officer that came to ask their business, Ed made his way through the crowd like a bulldozer until he reached Roy's desk. The president was on the phone; he nodded to them as he noticed their presence, then returned to his conversation.

A few minutes later, Roy hung up and turned in their direction.

"You got here quickly," he greeted them. "Edward. Alfonse, nice to see you."

"It's been a while," Al replied warmly; Ed nodded. Roy’s attitude was nonchalant, as usual, but he couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes or the tension in his shoulders.

Roy smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the mess. As you can imagine, things have been a little hectic since the announcement came out. But," he glanced at his clock and stood up, "it's past noon, so I think I deserve a lunch break. How about we grab something and go eat in my study? I could use a little peace and quiet.”

His study, the only place in Central Command that Roy trusted not to be bugged. Right.

"Riza - I mean Captain Hawkeye isn't here with you?" Al asked, looking as they were leaving his office.

"If you think my office was busy, you should see hers,” Roy answered with a slight smile. “She insisted to be named head of security for the wedding, so she has started coordinating the whole thing. I doubt we'll be able to catch her for dinner - it'll be lucky if I can convince her to get some rest for the night. "His tone was joking, but somehow lacked conviction.

Walking down the hallways, Roy called out to an employee and asked him to bring three lunches to his study. The officer saluted, then ran off to the cafeteria. Perks of being the president, Ed guessed.

As they entered the president’s study, a small but gorgeous room filled with ancient bookshelves, Ed noticed with surprise that Roy had brought a stack of documents with him. He put them down on the varnished wooden desk and began to glance at the one on top, as the employee entered the room to drop off sandwiches. That was unprecedented. Ed and Al had never seen Roy as overworked - but then, in the years they had worked for him, they had rarely seen him work at all.

When the officer had left the room and the door was safely closed behind him, Roy opened one of the drawers at the bottom of his cabinet and rummaged through it for a few seconds, pulling out a messy pile of paper.

"Take a look at this."

He tossed a couple of newspapers on the desk in front of them. They seemed to be from various of the biggest gossip magazine of Central, and even a couple newspapers. The headlines were all short, bold, to the point. "The Fuhrer's string of affairs continues," "The Hawk's Eye: the new presidential scandal?", "Is Mustang sleeping with his staff? Exclusive testimony from ex-military", "Turmoil in Central Command over speculation on Fuhrer-President's relationships". They covered a period of several months, the earliest going back half a year.

Ed frowned and let the papers fall back on the desk. "So? This isn't an explanation."

Roy looked up from the document he was reading. "I heard you were pretty smart, Edward. I'm sure you can figure out the rest." Now that they were in private, his tone had become noticeably less polite and more snappy - even more during their usual exchange, it seemed.

"What, you're upset that some journalists are writing about you and Riza, so you're marrying someone else to throw them off? Are you insane?" Ed shook his head with frustration. "Since when do you care about what the media says about you anyway?"

Roy didn’t raise his eyes. "I’ve cared about it ever since it started threatening my position, Edward.”

"Your position is not democratically elected yet, as far as I know," Ed replied stubbornly.

He growled. “It’s not that simple, Ed.” Roy put down his document for good, resting his forearms on the desk. The sandwiches laid next to him, already forgotten. "Listen. Since I've entered the military, I've purposely built a reputation as a womanizer and a slacker, so that the higher up wouldn't feel threatened by me." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "It worked a bit too well, I guess. Now, the nationalists are trying to portray me as a depraved, scandalous man with no respect for traditions, so that they can discredit my democratic reforms in the same way.” He frowned, and his expression darkened. “They've already exposed my relationship with Chris all over the newspapers, smearing her bar and her reputation. Now, they’re using Chris’ informants to paint me as a skirt-chaser who constantly sleep around – and not to mention with his subordinates.”

"But there have always been rumors, right? " Al asked cautiously. "Even in Xin, I've heard about it several times.”

"Yes, but never of that magnitude. And never targeting Riza so precisely." He looked away, embarrassed. "We got careless. Journalists caught me leaving her apartment one morning, and the rumors have been crazy ever since." Ed winced. They had always been worried that something like that would happen. "You know, this is not just for my career. When the rumors were at their peak, reporters were scrutinizing our routines from morning till night. It was unbearable; we couldn't even see each other without risking getting caught." Roy took a long look at the both of them, one after the other. “This is only a temporary arrangement to make our lives easier. I know this may seem wrong, but it is the best option we have."

Al nodded slowly. He didn't seem that surprised by this whole affair; but after all, he must have witness similar - or worse - situations in the Xinese Court.

Ed wished he could take it as well as Al, but he couldn’t help feeling shocked. Roy's explanation was perfectly rational; he understood why they were doing this. But just imagining being in the same situation – and putting Winry through it – was making him feel sick.

"I can't believe you’ve convinced yourself that this your best solution." Roy gave him what seemed to be an exasperated look, which angered Ed even more. He raised his voice. "Isn't it bad enough that you and Riza can't live together? You really have to push the charade even further, marrying someone else? To, to spend years pretending to lead a normal family life of which Riza is not part off, while she still has to work by your side?” Ed was on the edge of his seat, almost yelling now. "I mean, how can you do something like that to her? ”

"Edward!" Roy slammed his hand on the table, cutting him off. He had properly shouted, but his voice was low with anger. "It was her idea to begin with. She insisted on going through with this."

Ed paused, taken aback. "Really?"

Roy looked him straight in the eye. His tone was sharp as a knife. "Do you really think I would suggest a plan like this?"

No, of course not, Ed realized. He felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. It seemed obvious now: Roy would never make Riza go through something like this of his own volition. Despite his impassive persona, even Ed knew how soft-hearted he was when it came to those close to him. She had always been the one taking the harsh decisions in that regard.

"You're right,” he mumbled, sitting back. “Sorry."

Roy sighed, his anger replaced by weariness. "Don't worry about it. Everyone we told reacted that way."

After a moment, Al broke the silence. "You think people are gonna buy this? The wedding?"

"They are, if we do it right,” answered Roy without a doubt. “This operation has been long in the making. Margot and I started to go on dates a few months ago, making ourselves seen; we made sure those newspapers were writing about her well before we announced the engagement."

"And who's this poor girl who thinks she'll be marrying the President?" Ed asked with a scowl.

Roy gave him a long look. "Again, you have a very poor opinion of me if you think that this is what I would do, Edward." Ed felt a blush creep up his face, but he held Roy’s gaze. "No, Margot is a contact from Chris – thankfully, no one knows their connection.” He searched another of his drawers for a moment and placed what appeared to be a pamphlet for a theater play on the desk. “She's a lifesaver, to be honest: this plan would have fallen through if we hadn't found someone like her that perfectly fitted our needs."

"An actress, huh? Isn't that a bit obvious?" Ed picked up the pamphlet. On the front page was a picture of a woman in her thirties, long brown hair framing a round friendly face.

"She's an opera singer," Roy rectified. "But she has done acting, so she'll be able to play the part. She's sympathetic to our situation, and also her own interest in this matter: the marriage will give her some publicity to launch her career. And, most importantly, Chris trust her, which means we can." He put his hands together, elbows on the table, the posture he took when he gave orders to his subordinates. "I don't need to tell you how devastating it would be if her, or anyone, leaked out to the press the truth behind this wedding. All our careers would be over in an instant. Which is why I need you two to be extremely careful."

Ed winced as he thought back on what he had almost shouted over the phone this morning, or in Roy’s office. That would take some adjusting on his part.

He also guessed that Roy and Riza would have to stop their visits to Resembool for a while.

He cleared his throat. "And how long do you plan on keeping this up?"

"Not a moment longer than we need to, I can assure you. When my democratic reforms are implanted and solid, I will step down as President - that was already the plan." Roy stood and went to look out the study’s window, hands in his pockets. A smirk appeared on his lips. "If it was up to me, I’d file for divorce the instant I walk down the stairs of Central Command, but Riza think it would be too obvious - not to mention a bit improper, considering I plan to propose to her afterwards." He chuckled, then his face fell. "She thinks we shouldn't get married at all. That it would prove the rumors about us and tarnish my legacy - with those of my reforms. " He sighed and turned toward them. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. ”

He walked back to his desk and laid his hands flat on it.

"In the meanwhile, while you don’t have to, we would appreciate it if you came to the wedding." Ed shot him a confused look. "You're still pretty popular with the people,", Roy explained, "and everyone knows you've worked with me in the past. The more of our actual entourage come to the ceremony, the more believable it will be."

Al glanced sideways at Ed. "Of course. We can be there; I imagine Ling will want to hear details about the wedding anyway. And, um," he addressed his brother more than Roy, "hopefully we can keep Riza company for a bit.”

Roy gave him a smile, the first genuine one since the start of the conversation. "Thank you."

----

Riza spent the week before the wedding having to repeat the same things over and over again like a broken record. She was fine; it didn’t bother her ; that was her idea to begin with. She told that to her old team, to the Elric brothers, to Rebecca; and most of all she told that to Roy. She felt constantly on edge; she couldn’t stand the way people looked at her, as if they expected her to break down crying at any moment. "If you give me that sorry look one more time," she snapped at Roy one evening, "I'll lock you in your office until the wedding.”

It was driving her crazy. She didn't have time to waste with these conversations: she was the head of security for a national wedding, and she had so many tasks to deal with that she didn't know where to give her attention. Every moment of those days she spent on her feet, going from meetings to meetings, keeping tabs on the dozens of teams that were handling the various parts of the organization, making sure no detail was overlooked. Her days were so full that she didn't have time to stop and think; and in the evening she would collapse into her single bed, exhausted, and fall asleep almost immediately.

On top of all the logistics, she had to accompany the President and the would-be First Lady through the media whirlwind that preceded the wedding. Margaret was unknown to the public, and all of Central was desperate to catch a glimpse of the woman who had finally managed to tame Roy Mustang, the famous womanizer, and make him settle down. Both played their roles to perfection: Margot was charming, distinguished but not haughty, teasing Roy fondly; he played the helpless romantic, laughing with a bit of mischievous embarrassment when his scandalous past was brought up. They were funny, complicit, shy when they needed to be - as if they had a real private life they wanted to keep for themselves - and most of all, they were oh so in love.

Riza received a few interview requests herself, but only from the most shameless magazines, the same ones that had cheerfully dragged her name through the mud a couple of months earlier. She hadn’t bothered to decline.

---

The Central Times: There were… rumors, a bit unflattering if I may add, going around about the President turbulent love life. Has that ever been a concern to you, Ms. Evans?

ME: I had certainly heard about it, like everyone else. In fact, I almost refused his first invitation to dinner precisely because of that. (laughs) But it became clear to me very quickly that Roy...did not act the way I expected him to. And I think that realization convinced me to put my cards on the table. I told him, on our second date, that the type of behavior talked about in the papers was not acceptable to me. And that I would rather cut things off immediately if he was not willing to leave that lifestyle behind.

TCT : On your second date! You certainly know what you want.

(Both laugh)

RM: That is one way to put it! I think that was one of the moments I realized what kind of woman Margot was. And - I'm gonna be honest with you for a moment - as a Fuhrer, who spend his days ordering people around, I certainly appreciate a woman that can hold her own.

---

The big day finally arrived. Roy had insisted she didn't have to be there, that she could fake an illness or an emergency. Riza knew that wasn’t the case. The most persistent rumors were those that linked Roy to his bodyguard; her absence at this wedding would have been nothing short of glaring. In any case, Riza was so busy overseeing the course of the day’s event that she didn't even get to visit the soon-to-be-wed couple before they appeared during the ceremony.

They were gorgeous, of course: two attractive people in the elegance of their middle age, dressed by the best designers in Central, resplendent in their happiness. Roy wore the kind of suit he preferred, all black, very chic; Margot had a white satin dress with a long front and back neckline, the kind of dress Riza could never wear on similar occasions.

The kiss, the one everyone was waiting for, was as spectacular as the rest. They went all in, Roy tilting Margot backward until it looked like they were both about to fall down. It didn't bother Riza as much as she would have thought. Roy had never kissed her this way; this was an embrace for the show, for the cameras, while the ones they shared were always strictly for each other. The whole world had seen how the extravagant Flame Alchemist and Hero of Ishval kissed someone, and it had matched their expectations, but only Riza knew the way Roy Mustang kissed someone like he meant it.

She was grateful Roy went that way. She wasn't sure if she could have borne watching him kiss Margot with the same mannerism he kissed her.

And after that came the reception, the dinner, the dance. Dozens of people lined up to give their congratulations to the newlywed couple – mostly members of the aristocracy or the military who had never talked to either of them before - and Roy and Margot accepted their wishes with courtesy, pretending to be touched or delighted by their conversations.

Not for the first time, Riza thought to herself how she would dislike being in Margot's shoes right now. Having to maintain a facade of politeness throughout her wedding day, spending it with opportunistic strangers instead of her loved ones...she couldn’t have done it.

Truly, she was more comfortable behind the scenes as head of security than under the spotlight as the bride.

She watched them eat next to each other, chatting pleasantly with the other guests. She watched them open the dance, arms in arms, and even she felt touched by how beautiful of a sight they were, two stunning dancers gracefully moving across the ballroom like they were floating about the ground, weightless.

Some of her friends and comrades came to subtly check on her, asking again how she was doing. Many insisted to keep her company; but she was on duty, and too many tasks required her attention for her to be able to simply enjoy the night, she told them. At no moment during the evening did she let her guard down, checking in regularly with the security personnel, running patrols even as the evening calmed down and guests slowly started to trickle away, the married couple leaving to their private quarters and the staff starting to take the decorations down.

All night long, she remained the very image of professionalism.

---

Rebecca was the one who found her. She had taken refuge in a place where no one would dare come looking for her, in the bathroom of her hotel room, both doors locked. Obviously, this was not enough to keep her closest friend away.

Rebecca opened the bathroom door to find her curled up on the tile floor, her back against the wall, one hand pressed against her mouth. Even here, hidden from the world, Riza was still trying to control herself; but her body was shaking with shuddering sobs, silent tears running down her face and rolling over her fingers.

Even Rebecca had rarely seen her in such a state, at least not since her return from Ishval.

Her heart broke at the sight, as well as her voice. "Oh, Riza."

She fell down on the floor beside her. Riza raised her head and tried to wipe her cheeks with the back of her hands.

"I'm fine," she began immediately. She could hear how silly it sounded, for her to say that with her strangled voice and her hiccups. "I'm okay, it's just.....It's stupid." She shook her head, embarrassed. "I'm the one who suggested this. I don't get why I'm reacting like that, when I know that it doesn't mean anything..."

"Riza." Rebecca interrupted her with a voice thick with emotion but firm. "I'm gonna need you to shut up right now."

She complied and Rebecca put her arms around her, drawing her closer. Riza buried her head against her shoulders. For a few minutes, only the muffled sound of her cries broke the silence.

"When are you seeing him?" Rebecca asked her softly after she had calmed down, stroking her back.

Suddenly, Riza felt an urge to talk to Roy. She had avoided him as much as she could for the past few days, unable to bear the way he looked at her, the guilt that transpired in his every move, his need to tell her those sappy things they never had to say before - how much he loved her, and only her, and how that would never change. But right now, for the first time, she needed to hear those silly, stupid words all over again.

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Too risky. We'll see how closely the journalists watch his house after the wedding, and decide when it's safe for me to visit him again."

Rebecca said nothing, still rubbing her back. Riza was already getting back to her normal, composed self, forcing her breaths to be long and steady.

"And…please don't tell him you saw me like this."

There was a silence, then Rebecca sighed. She shook her head.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why you two seem so determined to remain unhappy for the rest of your lives.”

Riza knew how to answer this. There were things that had to be done; work that had to be finished before Roy and her could be allowed to live for themselves. Damages they had to repair, sins to atone for.

But for once, these words seemed too heavy to say, and she was so, so tired. So, she said nothing.

#royaiweek21 #royai #fic #angst #slowly but surely i'm gonna make my way through this year's royai week #next year i'll swear i'll start a month in advance

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subarublue · 4 years

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Sparda Family Bonding Time Series - Part 2

Series Description: It’s family bonding time! Sparda family style! A series of short stories revolving around platonic familial relationships between the members of the DMC crew. Warning: Lots of fluff and bonding ahead.

One Shot

Title: The Apple Never Falls Far From the Tree

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Timeline: Post DMC5

Rating: G

Word Count: 3450

Read on Ao3

Summary: Dante gave his brother a pointed stare that clearly stated: Isn’t there something you should be doing right now? Which Vergil pointedly ignored as he turned his eyes elsewhere. Dante sighed.

They hadn’t been back from the underworld for long and this was the first chance Vergil really had to try and connect with his son...and of course he was getting cold feet.

Notes: Not too sure I’m any good at writing Vergil, but hopefully this turned out okay. Sorry if he’s a bit ooc.

Dante watched his brother closely. To anyone else at the table, Vergil probably looked calm, stoic, detached even. But Dante knew better. They were brothers, after all; twins in fact. Yeah, sure there was about a twenty year span of no contact between them (no, Dante did NOT count Mallet Island), but they did grow up together as children. Nobody knew Vergil better than him.

And Dante could tell that Vergil was nervous.

It was in the way he gripped the fork in his hand so tightly, his rigid posture, the way his eyes kept darting around the room, taking in his surroundings as if keeping all escape routes open even though it was unnecessary...until they landed on Dante himself.

Dante gave his brother a pointed stare that clearly stated: Isn’t there something you should be doing right now? Which Vergil pointedly ignored as he turned his eyes elsewhere. Dante huffed.

They hadn’t been back from the underworld for long and this was the first chance Vergil really had to try and connect with his son...and of course he was getting cold feet.

Dante supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, considering it was more than just the two of them and Nero sitting down to dinner. Neither of the brothers were the best at communicating, but Vergil was definitely worse considering his lack of experience. Especially since there were others present that he didn’t know very well.

Not that he knew Nero very well, either. Which is probably why he’d grilled Dante for information about his own son while they were stuck in Hell.

“What is Nero like?” Vergil’s question drew Dante’s attention to him. They were currently resting; no devils had found it necessary to try and kill them over the last few hours and sparring, as much as they enjoyed it, did get a bit old after a while. Honestly, Dante figured Vergil would ask eventually, since he couldn’t really discern that for himself now that they were stuck until they found a way home.

“Thought you got a pretty good taste of that already when he beat you.” Dante chuckled when Vergil shot him a glare.

“I meant under normal circumstances.” Vergil already sounded annoyed. Dante figured if he kept this up, it wouldn’t be long before they were fighting again.

“You mean when he’s not pissed at you?” Dante chuckled again when another glare came his way.

“As I recall, he was angry with you as well.”

Dante grimaced as he rubbed his chin, recalling the punch Nero had decked him with. He swore he could still feel it. “Yeah? Well, can you blame him? Kid grew up without any family and once he has one, seems like they’re just trying to kill each other. Course he’s gonna be pissed.”

“So…he grew up alone?” There was the slightest bit of regret laced in Vergil’s question.

Dante sighed. “Sort of.” Vergil turned to regard him as he spoke. “He grew up in an orphanage. Guess he got left there as a baby with no idea who his parents were. Not completely sure about the whole situation ‘cause I didn’t run into him until he was almost twenty. When we did meet, he had a girlfriend and she and her brother treated Nero like family, so I don’t think he was completely alone.”

Vergil looked at him confused for a moment and Dante could tell there was a question on his mind, about to be asked. “Who taught him swordsmanship, then? I thought perhaps you had, but he’s far too good to have learned since only twenty.”

“Ah, that would be Credo.” When Dante didn’t elaborate, Vergil knew he would have to ask since the name was unfamiliar to him.

“Who?”

“His girlfriend’s brother. He was the head of the Knights of the Order of the Sword at the time or something like that. Like I said, those two treated the kid like family.”

“I see.” Vergil looked away, becoming pensive for a moment. “Well, this Credo has been a good teacher for him, then.”

“Was.” When Dante spoke, Vergil turned to look at him in surprise. “He was a good teacher.”

“He is...” Vergil paused going through the various reasons for Dante’s choice of words in his head before deciding on the most likely one. “...dead?”

“Yeah.” It was hard to miss the frown on Dante’s face. It was so different from his normal countenance. “Died trying to save his sister and Nero from some crazed old maniac trying to use the bloodline of our dad for some idiotic world domination plan. That’s how the kid and I first met. I was there trying to stop the old dude. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it in time to save Credo. Nero or Kyrie either, but at least they were needed alive, so I was able to save them later. Guess the old fart thought his own general was expendable, though. Pretty sure the kid still blames himself for that one.”

Vergil went quiet after that, not saying anymore. Apparently, Dante had given him a few things to ponder on for a while.

That had been the first of many conversations about Nero they’d had while trapped in the underworld. Dante of course, hadn’t told Vergil everything, figuring that it would be better for him to discover some things about his son for himself, but he’d given him a start to grasp onto.

Now if only he’d take it.

Perhaps dinner at Nero’s wasn’t the best time to try and get Vergil to talk to his own son. There were too many other people for it to be comfortable to talk about something so personal. Dante only hoped that once dinner was finished Vergil wouldn’t try to beat a hasty retreat to one of those escape routes he seemed to be constantly looking for.

It was when Kyrie stood up to start clearing the table that Dante saw an opportunity. Nero usually helped her with it, but if someone else did…

“Here let me give you a hand with that, Kyrie.” Dante jumped up and immediately started helping her clear away the dirty dishes. This wasn’t exactly his style, but if it gave his brother some time to talk to his son in private, then he’d make an exception. Just this once, though.

“No! That’s alright! You’re a guest here. There’s no need for you to do that! Nero always-” She stopped short when she noticed Dante was covertly gesturing for her to look over her shoulder. When she turned, she saw Vergil doing his best to avoid eye contact with Nero, who seemed to be studying his father intently, but trying to be discreet about it. Of course, he was failing miserably.

It only took a second for the light bulb to go off in Kyrie’s head and she immediately began to play along. “Oh! I mean, of course! I could sure use the help. Thank you so much!”

This drew Nero’s attention to them. Dante met his gaze, then looked at Vergil and rolled his eyes, attempting to convey to his nephew without words that his father wanted to talk, but was being a coward about it. Maybe this way, Nero would take charge instead. He knew the kid wanted to talk to his father, so maybe knowing Vergil wanted to talk to him as well would help break the ice. Luckily, it worked and Nero nodded in response.

Kyrie had just dismissed the boys from the table and Nico had already booked it back to the garage to work on her next project when Dante heard Nero address his father. “Hey, I was gonna head out back and gets some fresh air. You can join me, if you’d like?”

Vergil’s head whipped around to look at his son while Dante and Kyrie slipped away into the kitchen, but they were still listening intently from just the other side of the door.

“That is…acceptable,” was Vergil’s reply.

Dante cringed. He couldn’t see Nero and Vergil anymore, but he could see Kyrie, and she was cringing, too. The unspoken words between them were conveyed with just that look: certainly not the best choice of words, but at least he hadn’t said no.

Thankfully, Nero seemed to take it in stride. “Come on, then. It’s this way.” A few moments later, they heard the back door shut as the two men stepped out onto the porch.

Kyrie looked at him, then. “If you want to keep an eye on them, you’ll be able to see them from the window over the sink. I won’t be able to hear them from outside so there’s no worry about me being privy to anything Vergil doesn’t want others to know, but you might be able to since your hearing is better so if you’d rather give them some privacy…” she trailed off, not sure how he wanted to go about this. The dishes could wait, if need be. This was far more important.

“We can keep an eye on ‘em. If they’re quiet enough, I shouldn’t be able to pick up on what they’re saying. And if I do hear anything, it’s probably gonna be something I already know. I doubt Verg will tell Nero his whole life story the first go around, but thanks for respecting his privacy, anyway.” Dante smiled at her. Nero couldn’t have made a better choice in a girlfriend. Kyrie smiled back and they set to work on the dishes while keeping an eye on the two men now standing on the back porch.

“So...Why did you leave?”

Vergil was jarred out of his thoughts when Nero suddenly spoke. He’d been standing there, admittedly a bit nervous, trying to sort through what would be the best thing to say. But what can you say to a son you practically abandoned?

In a way it was a relief that Nero spoke up first. It gave him a foothold to start with, at least. He was a bit surprised, though. It wasn’t hard to tell that Nero was just as nervous as he was. He was almost certain they would have stood out there the whole time without saying a word.

“You already know this. Yamato was necessary to close the portal. I had no choice but to go.” He knew he probably should have said more, but the words just wouldn’t come. Why was this so difficult?

“Yeah, I know that.” Nero already sounded annoyed and Vergil realized that if he tried to keep his distance, he’d ruin this chance to connect with his son. “I meant before I was born. Why did you...leave?”

Vergil blinked in surprise. That had not been what he thought Nero was referring to, though he supposed he should not have made assumptions in the first place. Of course his son would want to know about why he was left alone as a baby. And Vergil could tell there was more left unspoken than what Nero had conveyed: Why did you leave us? Why did you leave my mother? Why did you leave me? He recalled what Dante had said about how Nero grew up. He deserved an explanation, at the very least.

“I was unaware of your existence. Not that that is an excuse, but I...I was searching for my father’s power. I couldn’t find the answers I needed in Fortuna so I left. I had to.”

The hard look on Nero’s face softened slightly and gave Vergil a bit of confidence that maybe this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

“Why did you need your father’s power so much?” Nero was genuinely curious Vergil noted, but the reasons hit a bit too close to home for him at the moment. Someday. Someday he would tell him everything, but not now. This conversation should focus on his son, not himself.

“Because without strength, you cannot protect anything, let alone yourself.” He knew his answer was vague. They were the same words he’d spoken to his brother all those years ago, except Dante understood what he meant. He only hoped Nero wouldn’t prod further.

Nero, for his part, just looked at his father for a moment. Vergil was half afraid he would ask him to elaborate, but surprisingly, Nero seemed to understand there was a reason for his vagueness and let it slide. His son was perceptive. The barest hint of pride welled up in him and he decided he rather liked the feeling.

They were silent for a few more moments, and while it still felt a bit uncomfortable, it wasn’t nearly as bad as when they’d first stepped out on the porch. That was progress, he supposed.

Apparently, he was silent too long though, because Nero spoke up again, with a different question this time. “Would you have done things differently had you...known about me?”

Now how was he supposed to answer that? It was over twenty years ago. He had been young and determined. He was no longer the same person he was back then, but he feared what the true answer to that question could have been. Would things have been different if he’d known?

“I...don’t know. I’d like to think that I would have, but...” Vergil faltered, unsure of what real answer he could give Nero.

“But?” Nero prodded when he didn’t finish. He was looking at his father expectantly. Nero deserved to know the truth at least, Vergil decided, after everything he’d grown up without.

“I was young. I had a goal and nothing was going to stop me from getting what I wanted, not even my brother; my own flesh and blood.” The reality of what Vergil was trying to convey seemed to hit Nero, but he remained silent, allowing his father to finish. “I can’t say for sure if there was anything that would have swayed my decisions, but I’d like to think you would have. Forgive me if that’s not enough.”

Nero stared at his father. Vergil refused to meet his eyes, worried about what he might find there. Instead he set his gaze on nothing, simply staring out into the night and braced himself for whatever his son may have had to say in response.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have been enough once, but I’m okay with it now. You had your reasons, you didn’t know, and there’s nothing either of us can do to change it now. All we can do is move forward from here, I guess.”

Vergil turned in surprise to look at Nero. That was certainly not what he expected. He seemed to be a far cry from the angry young man he’d fought at the Qliphoth, but then again, that had been a rather tense situation.

Dante had warned him that Nero could be a bit hot-headed at times; that he sometimes let his emotions get the better of him and reacted without thinking. But this side of Nero, Vergil hadn’t anticipated, though it probably shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. This was his son, after all. Right now, he seemed far more mature than his young age would lead one to believe. That small hint of pride was swelling up within him even more now.

But there was also a deep sense of regret coupled with it. He’d missed everything. From before his son was even born until the moment he’d met him on that fateful day, he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen his son grow up over the years into the young man before him today and he felt a sudden overwhelming need to apologize for that as well.

“I’m sorry you grew up alone.”

Nero simply shrugged as if it was nothing, which Vergil knew was not the case. “I wasn’t completely alone. May not have been the best situation, but I had Kyrie and Credo so it wasn’t all bad.”

Vergil recalled what he’d heard from Dante about the two siblings that had been the closest thing to family Nero had while growing up. “Dante mentioned that this Credo taught you swordsmanship. I thought at first that perhaps Dante had, but he said you two did not meet until you were almost twenty.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Nero’s voice took on a hard edge, as did his expression. It was easy to see that thinking of his surrogate brother was still a painful memory for him. Vergil wasn’t sure he would be any good at comforting his son in this, but even he knew not trying would be a worse option.

“Dante told me what happened to him. I’m...sorry for the loss our father’s legacy has caused you.”

Nero didn’t respond and Vergil worried if maybe that had been the wrong thing to say, so he tried another approach. “He must have been a very good teacher. It shows in you.”

That got a response. Nero looked up in surprise at his father. “You...you mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. Giving you a false sense of accomplishment would only hinder, not help you. I may have been tired from my fight with Dante, but it was easy to see your level of skill during ours. You learned well.” Vergil smirked then. He was aware that Dante could likely hear their conversation and would never pass up an opportunity to make a jab at his brother. “Far better than you would have if Dante had taught you.”

That got a laugh out of his son. “Definitely,” Nero agreed. “Dante wasn’t very straightforward about a lot of things, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Vergil was confused now. What could Nero mean by that?

“Well, I didn’t even know he and I were related until the Redgrave incident.”

Vergil’s confusion turned to surprise. Dante had never said anything to him before that? “He never told you?”

“Not until you disappeared through that portal after you put yourself back together. Dante kinda just dropped it on me so I wouldn’t keep trying to go after you.” Nero could tell by Vergil’s expression that he wasn’t too happy with his uncle. He certainly didn’t want them fighting again and decided to try and diffuse any possible problem before it could start. “But it’s alright, I guess. Can’t change it now, anyway. Makes me not feel so guilty about stabbing him the first time we met, though.”

That threw Vergil for a loop. “You...stabbed him?” Dante had somewhat glossed over his first meeting with Nero and Vergil was now realizing there may have been a reason for that.

“Yeah well, He kinda dropped in and assassinated the head of the Order in front of the whole congregation. I was a knight under Credo’s command, so we ended up in a fight. Pretty sure he was going easy on me. Still, I impaled him with his own sword because he went a little too easy on me.” The smugness in Nero’s voice was not lost on him.

But disbelief was on Vergil’s face at first. It didn’t last long though, before Nero’s story drew a wry chuckle out of him. He recalled a certain fight with his brother during the Temen-Ni-Gru incident which bore a similar ending for Dante.

“The apple never falls far from the tree, it seems.”

Father and son looked at each other in what might have been a nice moment for the two, but was interrupted by a very familiar voice yelling, “Aw! Come on!” from the direction of the kitchen window.

It was followed by the panicked sound of Kyrie’s voice asking, “Is everything okay?!” which had both men out on the back porch chuckling. Whatever conversation went on in the kitchen after that was blocked from their hearing, but it was unimportant in the moment anyway.

A silence fell over the two of them, but now it was no longer uncomfortable. That feeling of pride in his son, for what he had endured and what kind of life he’d made for himself, was back stronger than ever and Vergil felt the sudden urge to let Nero know how he felt.

“I’m proud of who you are.” Vergil looked his son in the eyes and watched as the reality of what he’d just said dawned on his son’s face.

Nero recovered quickly though, and what he said next Vergil knew he would never forget, for as long as he lived.

“Thanks...Dad.”

Vergil looked away out into the night, afraid of the amount of emotion he might be showing in his expression. But out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Nero was smiling. And now, he was too.

← Part 1 • Part 2 of this series • Part 3 →

#dmc #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc vergil #dmc nero #dadgil #dmc dante #dmc kyrie #devil may cry #my writing #suby scrawls

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

Starstruck: Part 11

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 11 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 10 / Part 12

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Not sure that Veronica went with Queen to Ridge Farm at all, but hey— creative licence!

Word Count: 6.9k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You woke up late, and this you knew because from downstairs you could distinctly hear arguing, and it was rare that any of the others deigned to get up before eight in the morning, which was when you normally awoke.

You wandered into the kitchen with your hair still quite mussed by sleep, but in the very least you were dressed. Unlike Queen, who were waltzing about in pyjamas and dressing gowns.

“It’s just a bit weird, Roger,” Deacy was saying.

“Weird? It’s just a song, John!”

“Just a song?” said Freddie. “Then tell me, darling, why it is you’re pushing so hard for it to be on the album, hm?”

“With my hand on your grease gun?” Brian recited from a piece of paper, glasses on his nose. “Really, Rog?”

“It’s a metaphor, Brian!”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N,” Freddie addressed you.

“Hello everyone,” you said, amusement still on your lips.

“Morning,” Deacy responded, while Roger grumbled something.

Brian smilingly handed you a cup of coffee. “Back me up on this, would you?”

You leaned against the countertop, next to Brian, whose posture was so positively awful that you could almost look directly into his eyes. But you avoided that carefully; his pyjama top was only half-buttoned, and the pale skin of his chest was visible beneath the open collar. It reminded you of how he had looked on the album cover of Sheer Heart Attack, how your eyes had fallen to where he lay with wide eyes, parted lips, his shirt unbuttoned. Borderline indecent. And outrageously attractive. As he was now.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t know, what’re we talking about, exactly?”

John rolled his eyes. “Roger’s car song.”

“Car song?”

“Mm,” Brian sipped his coffee.

“You’re just jealous that I’ve written something on guitar that’s better than anything you’ve written,” Roger sniffed.

Brian looked affronted. “I’m the guitarist, I have a right to be offended, and no, it’s not better than mine.”

Roger scoffed. “You’ve written exactly two songs—”

“Two and a half,” said Brian pointedly.

“Oh, sorry, two and a half. And exactly one of them is written with an electric guitar piece, and the other one is on... what?” Roger searched for the word. “A ukulele?! This is rock ‘n’ roll, Brian, not bloody folk music!”

“Folk music?!”

“You play the ukulele?” you interjected.

Brian glanced at you. “Not very well, but—”

“He’s going to learn to play the harp too,” Freddie added. “For my new song.”

With a smile in your direction, Deacy said, “You know he plays the piano as well, Y/N?”

You blinked at Brian. Talk about multi-talented.

“Concentrate for a fucking second!” Roger exclaimed, and everyone jumped. “No, don’t concentrate on Y/N, Brian.”

Brian sputtered, throwing up his arms, “I wasn’t—”

“It’s not going on the album, Roger,” Deacy shrugged. He seemed not to dislike the concept of the song, so much as to be getting back at Roger for discrediting his own song writing abilities.

Roger turned to Freddie, pleadingly.

Freddie sighed.

Roger’s face was at this point red with frustration, and he marched from the room.

“Roggie, we can discuss this,” Freddie appealed.

“Can’t,” Roger called back.

Freddie took one look at you all, and you followed him as he hurried after Roger.

You heard a slam! and then a clicking noise, and you frowned, puzzled. Roger had disappeared.

“Roger?”

“Roger, stop this. Where are you?”

“Rog?”

“Go away,” came Roger’s muffled voice.

Deacy raised his eyebrows, catching on before the rest of you. “This trick is getting old, Roger.”

“What the hell—” Brian yanked the handle of a cupboard door. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

Roger had locked himself inside the cupboard. Just like he’d locked you and Brian in the kitchen.

“Oh, I’m serious,” said Roger. “Put the bloody song on the album, or you’ve lost your drummer.”

“To a cupboard?” inquired John politely.

“...Yes.”

Freddie barked a laugh. “You’ll starve, Roger.”

“Uh,” you began, “sorry to be a downer, but uh, he won’t starve.”

“What?”

“That’s the pantry,” you muttered.

“Why the hell does it have a lock?!” cried Freddie.

“I don’t know! I didn’t design this place!”

Brian placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at him in surprise. “Don’t you have a key?” he said.

Your mouth fell open. “God, I’m actually stupid.”

“No, you’re noooot,” sang Roger from inside the cupboard. “I’ve got it.”

Freddie mumbled something along the lines of, “Well. Fuck.”

“Anyone feel like picking a lock?” Deacy ran a hand through his hair, rested his hands on his hips.

“Or you could just put the fucking song on the fucking album,” said Roger.

“Are we sure you’re the one with the temper, Bri?” you asked.

There was silence. Freddie nodded at you solemnly, eyes wide.

Brian sighed, his hand slipping from your shoulder. Instinctively, you reached up to touch the spot where his fingers had previously curled, soft and warm.

“No one’s winning any points here, Freddie,” Deacy said diplomatically, after at least a full minute of silence. “Let’s just put the song on the album. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It is just a song, after all, you know.”

“Listen to the wise man,” Roger intoned.

“That’s a good line…” Brian mused. Then he sighed again. “You’re so full of yourself, Roger.”

“So that's a yes, then?”

“Fine. But you owe me a siding.”

“A siding?” you asked.

“Next time there’s an argument,” John explained, “which will quite frankly be very soon, Roger has to take Brian’s side.”

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding.

“Freddie?” Roger piped. “I’m not coming out of here until you say yes too.”

Freddie tapped his foot against the floorboards. “Fine, but only because I’m nice, you bastard.”

“That’s actually rather contradictory, Freddie,” said Deacy.

“No, it’s not. I’m the nice one, he’s the bastard.”

“Okay Fred,” Brian replied, unconvinced.

Just then, Heather entered the hall, dressed in a kimono-esque garment you were sure was Roger’s. “Morning, all. Has anyone seen Roger?”

“Ha!” said Freddie. “No, darling. Not for the past few minutes. But god, we’ve heard him. Makes a frightful racket when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Heather smirked. “Oh I know.”

Deacy laughed.

Freddie shook the cupboard handle, “Roger, are you coming out of the closet or what?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” There was a rattling, and then the cupboard door swung open. Roger stood there, eating a strawberry licorice rod.

You crossed your arms. “You can’t possibly have got hungry in so little time.”

“Peckish,” Roger shrugged. “Good morning, beautiful,” he swept over to Heather and they embraced.

“Ick,” Freddie waved a hand. “Get a room.

“They have a room,” Deacy pointed out.

Brian muttered, “Well, get back to it.”

You laughed.

“Mm, well, anyway, I came to ask why the hell you left our room in such a mess,” Heather jabbed Roger’s chest with a finger.

“You sure that’s not your mess, sweetheart?”

You looked at Heather. “You just came here to kiss your boyfriend, didn’t you?”

“Maybe… Yeah. Sorry Rog. But I also came to ask Y/N if she’s coming with us..?”

“Where’s who going?”

“To town. Veronica and Mary and I, I mean. When we get back, we’re going down the hill to play tennis. We saw your dad earlier, and he showed us where to find the rackets and everything.”

You paused, considering.

“Decisions, decisions,” said Brian.

“Shush, I’m thinking,” you poked his side, and he yelped, leaping away. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh, he’s ticklish,” said Freddie helpfully.

A devilish smile formed on your lips, to which Brian shook his head slowly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flushed in response.

“Y/N? Coming or not?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, about that...”

“Or you can come with us to the studio,” suggested Brian.

You didn’t really want to go into town, and Brian had just given you the perfect excuse not to.

Freddie seemed to register your disinclination as well because he said, “Never mind, Y/N. You took too long to decide, so now you don’t get a choice. I need you in the studio with us.”

Heather seemed to accept this explanation, though really, as your closest friend, she should have known you wouldn’t have wanted to go into town. Her lack of friend-intuition likely stemmed from the fact that the two of you had been spending less and less time together as of late. You were hanging out more with Queen, and you supposed, though Heather and Roger were often together, that you were beginning to be closer with the members of Queen than you had ever been with Heather. The thought struck in you a great feeling of melancholy, and for a moment you thought of changing your mind about going with her and Ronnie and Mary, so as to spend more time with her, your best friend.

But Heather wasn’t struck by any such notions of pensive sadness. “Oh well, it appears you’re needed here,” she said. “Want anything from the shops?”

“Wouldn’t mind a chocolate bar,” you smiled.

“Done,” Heather winked at you. “Bye, Rog,” she kissed his cheek and departed.

“Now,” Freddie clasped his hands, “let’s get to the studio.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Right,” you said decisively. “Try ‘People of the Earth’ again.”

It was four weeks since Roger had locked himself in a cupboard to make the others accept his car song onto the new album, and every day since that had been spent hard at work, with only the evenings devoted to relaxing.

Every morning, you would rise at seven and be in the studio half an hour later, where Roadie-John and Crystal would help you to set up, in time for the others to come and tune instruments and arrange various things at about eight o’clock. The days were then spent writing and recording demos, though mostly writing, as tapes had to be done on handheld recorders, since the studio was not yet fully furnished— your dad still had to install a soundbooth and proper recording equipment.

In the late afternoons and evenings, there were fiercely competitive tennis matches, particularly between your dad and Deacy, who got along as well as ever. There were trips to the pub where your mum greeted you all with discounted pints, there were games of croquet and pool, and everywhere you looked, there was Brian, with some camera or another, from Polaroid to Pentax to an Iloca Rapid stereo camera.

From candids to posed shots, he took pictures of you all, all the time, at every spare moment, though Brian himself always avoided being in front of the camera. You got the feeling that he was, strangely, camera shy. You found it very sweet, though, and so it became a challenge for you to try to take pictures of Brian. He countered this with a challenge of his own, and soon the two of you were fighting a photography war. The result was far too many rolls of film peppered with blurry and out-of-focus images, but Brian didn’t seem to mind that his film was being used on this. He was always smiling when he was taking pictures.

It had yet to be warm enough for you all to take advantage of the swimming pool, but as the days got longer and the sun rose higher in the sky, the indoors would grow stuffy, and the sparkling blue-green water would become a sight for sore eyes.

Freddie now had three songs completely finished, with at least another two in the works. One in particular was quite dear to him, and enthralled you all; it was segments of several different songs woven together in an incredibly artistic manner, and for every day that passed, Freddie added even more segments. He went to such lengths to ensure the song’s perfection that one day, he even declared your dad’s piano unsuitable, instead having a piano of his own, a white grand piano, moved in. It had been an absolute ordeal to get that piano into Ridge Farm’s little studio, and you were sure you that even if you lived to be a hundred and four, you would never forget the shouting and the swearing and the sweating and the laughing and plotting entailed by the piano-shifting day.

Brian, on the other hand, still had only managed to write two songs, and bits and pieces of a third; you teased him that he was becoming more the band’s photographer than their guitarist. Roger continued to work on his car song, but poor Deacy had yet to write anything at all.

Today was Friday, and the five of you had been at work for hours, stopping briefly for a lunch of sandwiches in the garden. You were acting both manager and producer for Queen, and currently, the four of you were trying to help Brian to develop his half-song. It wasn’t going particularly well.

The midafternoon was warm, and the touch of sunlight upon your skin was making you drowsy, and making the others overly finicky and short-tempered. Especially Brian, to whom the pressure was presently applied.

He was running his fingers through his curls every few minutes, and his posture seemed worse than usual when he paced the room, unable to stand still for the frustration of not being able to bring into existence the whisper of a song that danced around his head.

“Vocals, I assume?” said Freddie.

“Yep. Let’s do that.” Your eyes were on Brian, who had kicked off his shoes and was chewing his bottom lip. He didn’t really look up to yet another failed attempt at harmonies and melodies, in fact, he didn’t look up to anything. But you were on a schedule and had to power on, at least for a little while longer.

“Count us in, Y/N?” Roger asked, and you nodded.

“One, two, three, four…”

Oh, oh, people of the earth!

"Listen to the warning," the prophet he said

For soon the cold of night will fall

Summoned by your own hand

The harmonies rose and the four of them made it successfully through a verse, sung as it would have been live, meaning that John was contributing too, though he declined to do so for any of the actual recordings that would happen in the future. A whole verse was quite a feat, one that hadn’t been achieved for the past hour, and you motioned for them to continue through the next verse.

Ah, ah, children of the land

Quicken to the new life, take my hand—

On this line, Brian’s eyes flicked to yours, and in them you saw desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. Take my hand seemed a cry for help.

“You know what,” you interrupted quickly, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Thank goodness,” said Deacy at once, stepping away from the practice microphone he had been sharing with the others. “I’ll go out on a limb here and say a swim is a good idea..?” He looked around, and the others nodded with defeated temperaments.

Brian in particular concerned you; he was basically swaying at this point. Roger seemed to notice this too.

“Brian, mate, have you had enough water to drink today?”

Brian shook his head, dazedly.

Freddie frowned.“No, I think not.”

“Here, have mine.” You retrieved your water bottle and brought it to Brian. He clutched it but said nothing, and worry roiled in your stomach. Deacy took his arm and guided him over to sit down on the piano bench.

You gathered around Brian, and Roger nudged his hand. “Go on then, have some water.”

Bri unscrewed the cap of your water bottle in a mechanical manner, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking slowly.

“Far too hot in here,” you muttered. “Really must get dad to fix the blinds and the fans.”

“‘S alright,” Brian managed, but he still seemed rather faint, his skin pale and clammy in appearance. The others looked worried, and you wondered if they’d been faced with a similar situation before.

“Come on, darling,” said Freddie. “Let’s get you outside, some fresh air, yes?”

Brian nodded, and together, you and Freddie helped him up.

Outside, you locked the door to the studio while the others deposited Brian on a conveniently-placed bench.

For a few minutes, you and Deacy sat with Brian in silence while he sipped his water and kept out of the sun, and Freddie and Roger had a smoke.

Then Brian finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said, handing back your empty water bottle. “Sorry I drank all of it.” He winced, and you hoped that it wasn’t because he still wasn’t feeling well.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Plenty more water where it came from. And I’m sure you’ll need more. Don’t want a second incident of overheating.”

He chuckled softly, and you knew then that he was on the mend.

“Shall we join the others and go for a swim?” John suggested again as the five of you walked back toward the main house. Amongst you, it was quickly agreed to meet by the pool in ten minutes, and so all went their separate ways to get changed.

Eight minutes later, you had swapped cotton for nylon, coated your skin in sunscreen, and slung a towel over one arm. The pool was down the hill, by the tennis courts, and as you followed the path, the others came into view.

Mary and Heather were lying in a pair of yellowed sun chairs, chatting, while Ronnie and Deacy appeared to be having a water fight in the pool, teamed up against Roadie-John and Crystal. The Tetzlaff-Deacon forces were winning, pushing Crystal and Roadie-John farther and farther to their side of the pool, but then again, the roadies seemed to be going easy on their enemies, seeing as Ronnie was nearly nine months pregnant. Roger was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs in the water, his face turned to the sun and his sunglasses ever-present on his face.

Freddie came down the path behind you, and when he made it to the pool, he threw down his towel and dove straight in.

When Freddie bobbed back up to the surface, Roger splashed him, as payback for having been splashed. Freddie retaliated by pulling Roger into the water by his legs, to which the latter yelped.

“It’s COLD!” he shrieked, and Freddie laughed.

Spotting you, Freddie motioned toward the water. “Come in, darling, it’s lovely.”

“I think I believe Roger more than you, Freddie,” you narrowed your eyes.

“Oh,” said Heather, “don’t. He’s a bit of a wimp, you know.”

“Hey!” cried Roger indignantly. “Then why haven’t you got in, Heather?”

Heather glanced over at Mary, who shrugged. “Your funeral,” she said.

Heather tugged off her coverup, and before Mary could object, grabbed her arm and leapt into the pool, Mary screaming before the two of them plunged under.

“Oi!” said Deacy as they splashed himself and Ronnie, and Heather giggled while Mary shook her drenched head of hair.

“Oh come on, Mary,” Crystal splashed her. She glared, then splashed him back, laughing.

“Y/N, get in!” Ronnie called to you.

You’d put down your towel on a sunchair, and now stood eyeing the pool warily.

It was a large pool, both long and wide, which meant there was more than enough room for all the people already in it. But it wasn’t the pool’s occupancy that deterred you, so much as its temperature. And the fact that Brian was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know, Ronnie…”

“The more the merrier!” said Roadie-John.

Roger shoved him. “Don’t say that. It sounds creepy when you say it like that.”

Roadie-John looked at Crystal, who nodded. “Yeah, mate…”

“Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that, it’s just…”

“Spit it out, lovey,” Freddie said, and now everyone was looking up at you.

Add self-consciousness to the list, check. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Has anyone seen Brian? He did almost faint, you know.”

“Oh, she’s worried about him, poor love,” cooed Mary. The others made similar noises, Roger contributing kissy faces.

You gave them a murderous look. “Seriously! Are we sure he didn’t just go inside and pass out somewhere?”

“No… We can’t be sure, if we haven’t seen him…” Freddie pursed his lips.

“So you haven’t seen him?” Your hands were growing sweaty, and you wrung them.

“No,” said Deacy, “not until now.” A sly smile spread across his face.

You frowned. “What—”

“Hello, love.”

Arms wrapped around your waist and soft breath tickled your skin, but you had no time to register any of this, because suddenly, you were flying through the air toward the swimming pool, and the water was rushing up to meet you, and you were squealing.

You went under, and the water really was cold, but not like ice, just enough to shock the last of the drowsiness from your being. It was quite nice, actually, to feel awake for once.

In a rush of bubbles, you returned to the surface and whipped your head about wildly, searching for Brian as the others laughed. It turned out that he was right behind you, again, smiling brilliantly and smoothing down his curls.

“Oh, you bastard!” you cried, giving him a hefty shove, and he laughed, splashing you. You shook your head, spraying him with water. “And to think I was worried about you, Bri.”

“Awh, worried about me? What’d I do this time?” He tilted his head to one side, gazing at you expectantly, all doe-eyes and soft lips. With a jolt, you realised that you wanted to pull him to you and kiss the gentle curve of his mouth till he melted against you.

You blushed.

Freddie gasped delightedly. “Oh look, she’s blushing!”

“Awww,” Roger chimed, and you considered drowning them both.

You rolled your eyes in their direction, regaining your composure before looking at Brian again.

Oh, how hard it would be to look at Brian now, when such thoughts had stumbled through your head. But you forced yourself to do it, because you had a façade to uphold.

“You were feeling a bit faint, earlier?” you said casually. “I know your type. Slightly weak constitutions, I’m afraid.” You paused to examine your nails, frowning at invisible specks of dirt.

“You know my type?” Brian crossed his arms over his slim frame, narrowing his eyes. But a smile played on his lips. “And is it yours?”

Your eyes widened, you dropped your hand.

Roger spoke your thoughts, “Bit forward, Brian?”

Brian shrugged his angular shoulders, nonchalant. “Only a question. She must have experience, if she’s asserting she knows my type.”

You crossed your arms too. “Oh yeah I have,” you drawled. “I’ve got loads of experience.”

Deacy practically snorted with laughter. Brian raised his eyebrows at you.

You stepped toward him, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin. “Does that bother you, Brian?”

The sun cast shadows across his face, and his hair fluttered in the breeze. The cool air whispered across your skin, but you didn’t shiver, you weren’t cold. You felt hot all over, even as you stood motionless beneath his hazel eyes.

His lips parted, and when he leaned down, his voice was low, a hum.

“Should it?”

A piece of your precious façade crumbled.

The others couldn’t possibly have heard what he’d said, and he’d clearly meant for it to be this way. But it had brought you back to reality. The reality which was that had you pulled him down to kiss you, he would have pushed you away.

Oh, how wrong can you be. Desire had very briefly blinded you to his lack of the same for you. You wouldn’t let it happen again.

“No,” you said, “but this should!” You splashed him and he gave a cry, and a small water fight ensued.

This then led to Roger’s organisation of a water war, where he insisted upon teams of girls vs. boys, until Freddie pointed out that the uneven numbers would place Roger on the girls team, “Seeing as you look the part, Rog”. Roger quickly changed his mind, though not before whacking Freddie. The teams ended up with you, Roadie-John, Freddie, and Mary pitted against Brian, Roger, Crystal, and Heather, while Deacy settled Veronica against the cushions of a sunchair.

There was no way to count points, so the war, which was really more of a battle, finished after about half an hour, when more than one person had complained of tired arms, and the rest of you had realised that it was impossible for either side to win.

Half of the party stayed swimming, but you, Mary, Freddie, and Brian were cold, and elected to join Ronnie and Deacy on the deck.

Unfortunately, the sun was more harsh than some people— i.e. Brian— had anticipated, and so, after a good long drowse on the deck, some people were starting to look a bit pink. Actually, a bit pink was putting it nicely.

He was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from the light, curls falling partially over his eyes. His skin did not have a tendency to freckle, but his cheeks were rosy and the little lines at the corners of his eyes were deepened by the sun, giving him the glow of someone who smiled often, even when his lips were slack and soft and the expression could not have been farther from his serene features.

Having laid your towel down beside Brian’s, you now reached over to tap his hand.

“Bri?”

“Mmm?” He barely stirred, but he had not been asleep, only dozing, his exhale gentle and his shoulders relaxed.

“Did you put sunscreen on?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Oh shit,” he murmured, and he couldn’t have said anything more prettily. “Am I burnt to a crisp?” he asked languidly, the corner of his mouth turning up.

In a breath, your eyes skimmed over his bare waist, back, shoulders, returned to his face and his half-smile.

“Very nearly,” you said. He shifted an arm experimentally, then winced. Pressing his face into his towel, he let out a groan.

“Whatever is the matter, Brian?” Freddie said over a cup of tea, tipping his sunglasses down his nose.

“Burmpt,” he mumbled into the towel.

“He’s got a sunburn,” you translated for Freddie.

“Ah.”

Deacy, hearing your conversation, leaned over to his wife. “My dear, didn’t you say you brought aloe vera, just in case?”

Veronica blinked sleepily before registering what John had said. “Oh, yes, I did. It’s in the downstairs bathroom, in my toiletries bag. You’re welcome to it, Brian.”

Brian raised his head again, squinting at Ronnie.

“Darling,” Freddie interjected, “he doesn’t know what your bag looks like.”

Veronica gestured to you, “Y/N, you know the one, the cream-tone bag with the silver edging.” You nodded, and she turned back to Brian. “Just take Y/N with you, she’ll show you.”

Brian sighed, then rolled onto his side and sat up gingerly.

He held a hand up over his eyes. “Feel like a stroll, Y/N?”

You stood, stretching your legs. “I would be a terrible friend if I said no.”

“And you’re not, you’re a wonderful friend, so you’re coming with me..?”

“You don’t have to ask. Come on.”

You picked up your towel and slung it over your shoulders, starting back up the path.

Brian was right behind you, taking careful steps to avoid particularly sharp pieces of gravel because he had once again neglected to wear shoes. It was never proper shoes with Brian; he alternated between clogs and socks and being barefoot entirely. With this, and his delicate countenance and curling hair and faraway thoughts, he was afforded the air of some woodland nymph or fairy.

He was beautiful.

You were very well aware.

Inside the house, you quickly found Veronica’s bag and the aloe vera.

Entering the living room where Brian was waiting, you triumphantly tossed the bottle into the air and caught it again. “Ta-daa,” you presented your find to Bri.

“Oh, brilliant!” he said as you passed him the bottle. “It is actually beginning to hurt quite a bit.” He touched his shoulder absently, then grimaced.

“Now that,” you said, “does not look like fun.” You made a face, then went into the adjoining kitchen to get a glass of water.

“How come I’m the only one who got burnt?” you heard him ask petulantly.

“Because, Brian dear, the rest of us put on sunscreen. And you are on the pale side of things.”

“Oh hush,” he said with exasperation, “you’re starting to sound like Freddie.”

You laughed, but you had also been in the process of drinking your water, so it came out like more of a cough.

“You alright in there?” Brian called.

“Yeah, fine,” you said, wiping the water from your chin. “I just can’t drink water like a normal person.”

“At least you don’t forget to, then nearly faint into your bandmates’ arms.”

“True,” you conceded, and he scoffed.

“Make me feel better, why don’t you?”

“What about you? You okay in there with that aloe vera?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t taste very nice.”

You rushed into the living room, “Brian! You’re not supposed to drink it!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he said, laughter in his eyes at the look on your face. “Christ, love, you’re like a deer in headlights.”

Your stomach tumbled— there it was again, the endearment.

Never darling or dearie, like Freddie; never sweetheart like Rog; never dear, as Deacy occasionally dubbed you. Always lovely, or love, as though he had such to give to you. And when Brian loved, it was fierce. You could see that from how the passing or his aunt haunted him, and how he still missed the cat he’d had in his childhood. His love for those around him was wholly consuming. The disapproval of his father picked him apart from the inside, he defended his friends with valour and gall when not physically pulling them from a fight, and it was plain that he would continue to do so for as long as he lived. But whomever he loved and however it was he loved, he did not love you.

And would never, for as long as he lived.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, lost my train of thought,” you shook your head.

His brow furrowed. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Doin’ alriiiiight,” you sang.

Brian gave a laborious sigh, rubbing aloe vera over his shoulders. “You really need to spend less time with Freddie,” he said.

“What?” you leaned against the doorframe. “And spend more time with you instead?” You couldn’t help yourself, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. But Brian took it in stride.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he said with a smile, and you were glad you were leaning against something; your legs couldn’t have carried you at that moment, had your life depended on it.

“Y/N,” Brain began hesitantly, “there’s something I have to tell you—”

“Knock knock!” came a shout from the front door, and you and Bri turned toward the sound. Veronica waddled into sight a few seconds later, and you went into the kitchen to greet her. “Found the aloe vera?” she asked.

“Yes,” Brian nodded. “Thank you.”

“No trouble,” Ronnie eased herself into a chair by the dining table. “And I’m sure Y/N could—” She gasped.

“Ronnie?” you asked, as Brian said, “Are you okay?”

Veronica raised her eyes slowly. “I think my water just broke.”

“Uh,” you began. “And what day is it..?”

“It’s the eighteenth of July,” said Brian.

“That’s… early,” you frowned, rooted to the spot because you were quite clueless as to what to do.

Then you looked at Veronica. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking, and she’d gone quite pale. “That’s why I’m panicking!” she cried.

“Right,” Brian sprang into action, sweeping over to Ronnie and helping her up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready to go, Veronica. The contractions won’t be long now. Y/N, would you run down and fetch John— and Roger, since he’s the only one with a car— please?”

He looked at you almost pleadingly, as though you would ever have said no.

“Yes, of course,” you breathed, and hurtled out the door.

You rounded the corner to the swimming pool and tennis courts almost before you could notice how far you’d run. You’d never run this fast in your life, and after today, you did not intend to do it ever again.

“DEACY!” you shouted, and he got up from his sunchair immediately. Everyone else looked equally alarmed, no doubt with the same questions in mind that John voiced.

“What is it? What’s happened? Are you alright—”

“Yes, yes, god, I’m fine. But Veronica’s water just broke.”

“Oh fuck,” Deacy swore, throwing on a t-shirt and losing his sunglasses in the process. Freddie picked them up swiftly, put them back on John’s head.

“Roger,” you called, “we’re gonna need you to drive.”

“I’m coming,” he said, pulling on his shoes whilst hopping from foot to foot. “Deacs,” he clapped his friend on the back because Deacy had gone completely still. “Let’s go.”

Deacy nodded, swallowed. “I’m going to be a father,” he croaked.

“Yes yes,” said Freddie, “and a wonderful one at that. Now, away with you, darlings.” Freddie gave them both a push toward the path. “And what do you need from us, Y/N?”

“Stay here and make sure you’re by a telephone,” you said. “I’ve got to go with them— to give directions. And please tell my parents where we’ve gone, if you see them!”

“Will do,” Freddie was all business. He called to Deacy, “Good luck, dearie!” and the others echoed similar sentiments from about the pool.

You resolved that one more run wouldn’t hurt too much, and followed Deacy and Roger’s jog toward the main house.

Inside, Brian was waiting with Veronica, a glass of water and a packed bag of her things sitting beside her as he rubbed her shoulders. Brian himself had put on a button-up shirt, but had once more left his top two buttons undone. The sight of him undid you a little bit.

“See, John’s here now,” he said soothingly, and Ronnie gave a little cry, arms outstretched for her husband. “Her contractions have started,” Brian explained.

Deacy ran to his wife and hugged her gently. “Shhh, my dear, I’m here now. And Roger’s got the car keys, so we can go.”

Roger held up his keys triumphantly, then rushed back outside to start the Alfa Romeo. In response, Veronica only nodded mutely, burying her face in Deacy’s shoulder and clinging tightly to fistfuls of his t-shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Brian murmured, and he and Deacy helped Ronnie to walk toward the door. “Y/N, would you take that bag, please?”

“Yep,” you grabbed the bag and followed the others outside, shutting the door behind you.

Deacy and Brian aided Veronica into the backseat of Roger’s car, and you hopped into the passenger’s seat as Roger shifted gears and pulled out of the driveway.

Roger drove toward town, and made it successfully through in less than thirty minutes, by the combined efforts of speeding and ignoring traffic laws entirely.

“Now, help me out, Y/N,” he said, as a crossroads was reached, and you began to give directions.

In total, the drive took about forty minutes, and with Veronica’s contractions getting closer together, it was a relief to everyone involved when you told Roger to pull into the car park of the Royal Surrey County Hospital.

Out of the car went Ronnie, and you all hurried into the hospital building.

Deacy was swept away with his wife, leaving you and Roger and Brian to stand around aimlessly in the lobby.

The rush of urgency that had pounded through you in getting to the hospital had diminished and slowed now that you knew that your friend and her future child were in good hands, accompanied by the loving husband and father to-be. Deacy may have gone stock still when you’d first arrived by the poolside with the news of Veronica’s condition, but like Brian, when faced with the situation itself, he was a natural, and it was easy to see that he was going to be a wonderful father.

“Well, thank god that’s over,” Roger said, falling back into a chair.

Brian scoffed, taking the seat adjacent. “For you, maybe. The poor woman’s still got to go through labour for christ knows how many hours.”

“And once again,” Roger sighed, pushing his hair from his face and adjusting his sunglasses, “I am glad that I am not a woman. I was stressed enough driving up here, as it was.”

“Were you really,” said Brian dryly. “I had no idea.”

“Well then you’re a bit daft, aren’t you?”

“Sarcasm, Rog. That was sarcasm.”

Roger only rolled his eyes in response. “Come sit down, Y/N. We probably won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

You sat down in the chair next to Brian, though not intentionally; it was the last chair in the row.

“Blimey, these chairs are uncomfortable,” you remarked, having tried to straighten your posture and only succeeded in ailing your back more.

“I’ll second that,” said Roger, shifting in his seat. “And we’ve only been here for two minutes.”

But Brian looked at you more closely. “Back giving you trouble?” he asked.

Your back was giving you trouble, because since coming home to Ridge Farm, you’d been playing guitar every day for two hours at a time, outside of the hours Brian still taught you on Thursday nights, and your posture was getting worse and worse for every session you practiced.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I have terrible posture, and given that I’m teaching you, you’ve probably learned from the worst.”

“You two are getting old,” said Roger.

“With every revolution of the Earth we are aging, yes,” Brian replied. “But as are you, Roger, so don’t get too cocky. The universe might just throw an asteroid in your direction, out of spite.”

“No science talk, please,” Roger flapped a hand. “I’m on holiday.”

“I thought Ridge Farm was for working on the album,” you said.

“Work, play, it all sort of blurs together,” Roger sighed. “And anyway, I’m not the one turning twenty-bloody-seven tomorrow, Brian.”

Brian winced.

But this was news to you. “Your birthday is tomorrow?”

“Mmm…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why,” Brian smiled, “were you planning on getting me something?”

You folded your arms. “Well, I would have, only there’s no time now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Y/N,” Roger said, “he doesn’t like a fuss. Silly ol’ Bri always spends so much time fussing over everyone else that it gets to be too much when people fuss over him.”

Brian sank farther into his chair, his cheeks flushing. “If I didn’t tell you to do your washing, Roger, you never would.”

“Yes, mum,” Roger made a face, then picked up a magazine from the side table, obviously not interested in discussing his lack of homelife skills.

Brian blushed again, and smoothed a hand across his cheek.

Why he was embarrassed for being a genuinely caring and thoughtful person, you did not understand. Brian was the one whom everybody turned to for help, no matter the situation, and even when they did not ask for help, he knew instinctively when he was needed, waiting by their side to take them by the hand and make everything all right again.

At least, that was how you saw it.

“That’s not silly, though,” you murmured. “If everyone acted like that, the world would be a far better place.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Brian, “but thank you, Y/N.”

But you weren’t finished. “Back there with Veronica, I had no idea what to do. I just stood there.”

He touched the side of his nose, looking down at his feet. “Nothing special. Just instinct. I could have done more, really.”

You shook your head. “But it is something special, Brian. People don’t think like that.”

Brian looked up. “You do,” he said, unwaveringly.

“Not enough to act on it.”

“I—”

“Just shut up and accept the compliment. You’re a star, Bri.”

Faint amusement flitted across his face, as though he didn’t quite believe you, the corners of his eyes softening. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, glancing down with that adorable half-smile still on his lips.

Then he reached over and took your hand from where it lay on the armrest of the chair.

He dipped his head as you looked up at him, his curls falling over his face and shrouding you both in shadow, creating a little world that existed only for the two of you beneath the fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby.

His slender fingers tightened around yours, and his gaze warmed you, like basking in sunshine by the seaside.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and your heart followed.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: i slipped into a bit of borhap dialogue there, oops... also, ‘the prophet’s song’ was originally named ‘people of the world’, so that’s why that’s like that :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks @stardust-killer-queen @hgmercury39 @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz @perriwiinkle @brianmays-hair @iamsuperconfusedallthetime-dead @im-an-adult-ish @ilikebigstucks @doing-albri @killer-queen-87 @n0-self-c0ntro1 @archaicmusings

Masterpost / Part 10 / Part 12

#tina's writing #starstuck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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tamorasky · 4 years

Text

Mistress Anna Chapter 4

Summary: It wasn’t uncommon for the women to be eventually cast aside, Anna was just naive enough to believe it would never happen to her.

Rated: Mature

Canadian Frontier Au

Words: 5091

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Anna/Hans (ew)

Ao3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

CHAPTER WARNING: DUBIOUS CONSENT

Anna doesn’t realize morning has dawned until she hears Elsa rise. She remains on her side facing the wooden wall, her eyes still puffy and sore from the previous night. Listening to Elsa dressing as Anna closes her eyes, pretending to be asleep; she didn’t have the energy to fight with her sister. She listens as Elsa makes her way down the ladder to the first floor. Releasing the breath, she holds Anna keeps her eyes closed; giving them a rest. Finally falling asleep. Anna slowly opens her eyes at the sound of her mother’s voice calling to her. “Anna, ma fii it’s time to wake.” She rubs her eyes with the palm of her hand as she sits up, minding the low ceiling that brushes against her hair. Wiping her cheek that was wet with saliva Anna throws her feet over the bed, standing up from her only source of comfort. She grabs the forest green shawl from the end of her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders before descending down the ladder; mindful of her nightgown dragging against the rungs. As her foot connects with the floor she pulls away from the ladder, noticing that her mother was no longer in the cottage. Anna careens over to the door, opening it to step out onto the porch Anna looks around the lot, trying to locate her mother. The auburn-haired looks towards the river, meandering towards the riverbank. Iduna sits in the sand among the prairie grass, washing laundry. She scrubs the garment against the washboard which rests in the river. The young woman ambles towards her mother coming to stand next to the laundry basket. “Good morning.” Iduna greets with a smile as she throws the wet white garment into an empty basket next to her. “Good morning mama.” Anna croaks as she sits down next to her mother, not caring about the dirt stains developing on her nightgown. “Where has Elsa gone off to?” Iduna shrugs as she grabs another garment from the basket next to Anna. “She probably went hunting. She always does when she’s upset.” “I don’t understand what she has to be upset about.” Anna huffs, grabbing the basket further away to ring out the soaking shirt. “She’s the one who is cutting me away from my future.” “Anna…I know she could’ve tried harder, but Elsa’s always been…wary of others. You must understand that she’s acting out of anger that she has no control over this.” Iduna places a hand on Anna’s forearm. “She could at least be happy for me.” “How could she?” Iduna questions. “She feels like she’s losing you.” Anna stares at the ground, despite her mother’s words she still felt angry at Elsa. Iduna begins to scrub the new garment against the board. “Kristoff left last night.” Anna states. “Bulda came by this morning and told me. I’m sorry sweetheart.” “It shouldn’t matter to me though…I’m leaving. It’s not as if things would be the same once I leave.” The young girl clears her throat, trying to choke back the sob building in her throat. “No, it wouldn’t have been. It’s best for Kristoff as well, the company has really started to come down on independent traders since the Sayer trial.” Iduna wipes her forehead, shrugging her purple shawl off of her shoulders; overheated from working in the sun all morning. “Was it worth it for you to marry father?” Anna questions, looking up at her mother. Iduna sighs, staring pensively at her daughter. “You know I left my home in Red River to be with your father here. I was fortunate enough to know people here like Bulda and Yelena in the Cree encampment. I worry that you will have no one to support you the way I was Anna.” “But…Hans…” “Will be your husband…not your friend, not as Kristoff or Elsa are. There is a difference, Hans will be busy with work. I’m sure once you come to live with him your father will give him a promotion.” The older woman says, trying not to dwell on the past. “Why did you leave the fort to come here?” Anna inquires. She recalls the stories that Elsa used to tell her about them and their mother leaving the fort when Anna was a baby to come settle in Ahtohallan. “It doesn’t matter.” Iduna shakes her head. “I have you and Elsa, you two are my whole life.” Iduna cups her youngest’s cheek in her wet hand. Anna smiles at this, placing her hand over her mother’s. “I’m going to write to Hans to come and retrieve me.” The young woman comments, pulling away from her mother. “I believe Phillipe is going to Arendelle today, you can send your letter with him.” Iduna stares at her daughter sadly before focusing her attention back on the laundry. Burying her heels into the sand Anna stands from her mother’s side. She walks towards the cottage, wiping her sandy feet against the dry grass trying to ignore the way the blades stab into her feet. She rushes into the cottage, walking directly to her mother’s small writing desk tucked away beside Iduna’s bed. Sitting at the desk Anna grabs a piece of paper tucked away in the small drawer and the pen resting on the dark wood. Leaning over the desk Anna scrawls on the paper quickly but ensuring her writing was still legible to Hans. She quickly folds the letter in thirds, tucking the letter into an envelope; scrawling his name on the front of it. Dropping the letter on the desk Anna races to the wooden ladder near her. She quickly climbs the ladder up to her and Elsa’s room, going over to the chest that sat the at end of the bed. Opening the trunk Anna quickly grabs a white blouse, chemise and a blue skirt, placing the garments on her bed. She strips herself from her nightgown, letting it fall to the ground. She slips on her chemise and bloomers quickly followed by her skirt; in a hurry she shrugs on the cotton blouse, her fingers fumbling as she attempts to button it up. She finishes dressing by tucking her blouse into the waistband of the skirt and rushes down the ladder. Anna grabs the letter from the desk, running outside and down the lot towards the street. To her relief, as she reaches the street, she sees Phillipe Laurant making his way down the road on horseback. Waving her arms to catch his attention Anna is grateful when the older man slows his horse as he approaches the young girl. “Anna.” He greets with a smile, adjusting the straw hat on his head. “How are you dear?” “I’m quite fine thank you. Phillipe, mama says you’re going to Arendelle today.” Anna states, not returning the pleasantries the older man had attempted to engage in. “I am.” He confirms, his smile not wavering as he was used to the young woman’s lack of manners; he had known her since she was born. Anna holds out her letter to his, reaching high as he takes the letter from her. “Could you take that to Mr. Hans Westergaard this morning? He works for my father at the fort.” He nods, tucking the letter into his interior jacketed pocket. “Anything for you.” Anna smiles backing away from the horse, as Phillipe urges the horse forward away from her. Sighing she stalks away from the road back to the cottage to where her mother was now calling for her help. As she walks back towards the cottage Anna realizes truly that there was no turning back now, she would be leaving Ahtohallan.

The sun was setting as Anna takes the laundry off of the line and Elsa still hadn’t returned. She tries not to be nervous at her sister’s absence, but she wanted to talk to her before tomorrow. Grabbing a piece of paper out of her waistband Anna re-reads the letter that Phillipe delivered to her later that afternoon.

I’ll send my man tomorrow to arrive around noon. Be ready She tucks the letter back into the waistline of her skirt as she leans over to grab the laundry basket next to her. Chewing on her bottom lip Anna enters the cottage to see her mother standing at the stove. Her stomach grumbles at the smell of bannock enveloping the cabin. Anna sits at the table, watching her mama cook.

She fights the tears to threaten to fall as she realizes this would be the last time, she’d watch her mama cook. This was something daughters had to do eventually, it was their duty to leave home and marry well. Anna is doing exactly what is expected of her.

Iduna smiles at her youngest as she serves her barley soup and a piece of bannock. “I’m guessing we’re not waiting on Elsa.” Anna comments as Iduna serves herself dinner.

“She told me not to.”

“Where did she even go?” Anna inquires, bringing a spoonful of soup to her mouth.

“She’s made a friend in the Cree encampment.” Iduna replies, tearing off a piece of bannock. “Seems that the girl is teaching her how to trap.”

“What so she can become a vigilante trader like Kristoff?” Anna mutters, poking at her soup. Iduna stares at the letter peeping out of Anna’s waistband. With a sigh Iduna places down her spoon.

“When will he come to collect you?”

Anna looks up at the older woman, placing the letter between the two of them. “Tomorrow around Mid-day.” Iduna nods in reply, blinking her tears away.

“Well…” The brunette’s voice breaks slightly. “I’ll help you pack after dinner.” Anna manages a smile despite her own tears forming in her eyes. The two women sit silently, the scraping of their spoons against the bowls being the only noise in the cottage.

Anna decides to pack only a few day dresses, her undergarments and the other pair of black boots that she had taken from her father’s house. She packs away her moccasins and ribbon skirts into the trunk of items she was leaving at her mother’s home. Tucking the chest under her bed, Anna feels her chest ache as she puts away the trunk.

She can hear Iduna crying in her bed on the first floor. The young woman sighs as she crawls into her bed, staring at the flame of the candle as she lays down. As she hears the front door open, Elsa was home. Anna flips on her other side to face the wall. Listening as her sister climbs up to their room before the older girl begins to wander around the loft, not doubt getting ready for bed. Elsa extinguishes the candle as she crawls into bed.

The two lay silently in the dark, Elsa clearing her throat loudly. “I hear you leave tomorrow.” Her quiet voice echoing through their small space.

“I do,” Anna confirms, nodding against the rough fabric of her pillow. Silence envelops the room again. “Els, I…”

“I had a long night. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Anna echoes as she hears her sister shift in her bed. With a sigh the young girl shifts onto her back, willing herself to sleep.

Anna wakes when Elsa rises early the next morning, sneaking out of the house with little noise. The younger sister gets out of bed not long after Elsa leaves, knowing she had many tasks to complete before Hans’ man arrives. She dresses in a green plaid day-dress and makes her bed neatly; running her hand over the green quilt nostalgically. This would be the last time she would wake up in this bed.

She grabs her discarded nightgown from the floor and descends down the ladder to the first floor to throw the white garment into her travel trunk. Anna stares outside, the sun already high in the sky. Unable to help herself Anna walks outside barefoot; it was warm for an autumn morning. She walks down to the riverbank, sitting on the large boulder that straddles the riverbank and the water; to ensure her dress didn’t get dirty.

Sighing at the contact of the cold water against her feet, Anna knew she would miss being able to sit by the river whenever she wanted to. Arendelle wasn’t situated on the Saskatchewan the way Ahtohallan was, only a portion of Arendelle sat along the river and was used for docking boats. She leans back on her palms, feeling the river current against her feet. Closing her eyes Anna listens to the wind rustling through the trees as her feet drift away in the current

She opens her eyes as she hears her mother’s voice echoing through the lot. With a sigh Anna stands from the boulder, meandering back to the cottage. As she comes into view of the cottage, she sees her mother standing with a shorter woman; whose loud voice was unmistakable. Anna approaches the two women, nervous as she approaches the woman whose son, she drove away last night.

“Anna, there you are.” Iduna smiles. Anna comes to stand next to her mother, across from the shorter woman. “Bulda heard the news that you were leaving today.”

The short Metis woman standing across from Anna immediately takes the young girl’s hands in her own with a smile. “I hope you’ll be happy in Arendelle.”

Anna looks down at their feet, unable to look the woman in the eyes as her guilt over Kristoff overtakes her.

“B-Bulda…I’m so sorry.” Anna's voice breaks, her forehead creasing as she feels her eyes well up with tears. Bulda withdraws one of her hands from Anna’s, taking her chin between her thumb and forefinger to make the young girl look at her.

“Angelique and Marguerite both went to the Cypress Hills and Wood Mountain when they turned 18, and Louis went West to Fort Chipewyan.” Bulda smiles at her reassuringly. “All my children wander once they are old enough, but they always find their way home. Kristoff is no different.”

Blinking away her tears Anna nods in response. “You’ll tell Angelique and her little ones I say ‘goodbye?” Bulda laughs in response to the girl’s question.

“Of course, I will dear.” Bulda presses a kiss to Anna’s cheek before. “I wish you luck.” The older withdraws her hands from the girl, clutching her shawl tighter to her chest as she walks away. Iduna places an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, who in turn rests her head on Iduna’s shoulder.

“I didn’t realize leaving would be this hard,” Anna comments as she watches her auntie figure walk away from them. Iduna sighs and runs her hand over Anna’ auburn hair before pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I know.” Iduna leads her young daughter back into the house to finish preparing for Anna’s departure.

“Will Elsa come to see me off?” Anna asks as she neatly folds the green dress her mother had made her at the beginning of the summer.

“It’s hard to say.” The brunette shrugs, tucking Anna’s folded bloomers into the corner of her trunk. The young girl places the dress into the trunk, her eyes downcast with sadness at the idea that her sister won’t say goodbye.

“I’d call her selfish, but I should’ve expected her to do this after the way she responded the other night.” Anna huffs, her frustration increasing at her sister’s stubbornness.

“She loves you.” Iduna states as she folds the young girl’s chemise.

“I know she does…she’s just infuriating.” Anna grabs the vermillion day-dress next to her and begins to fold the garment. “I wish she’d stop being so selfish.”

Iduna begins to chuckle at her daughter, shaking her head as she places the chemise into the trunk. “It’s funny because she said the exact same thing to me this morning.”

Anna raises her brows at this, unable to believe what her mother had told her. “S-she said that about me…wow…I mean you know she’s just forbidding me to be with the man I love.”

Iduna begins to fold the last dress in front of them, placing the light blue garment at the top of the trunk. Anna places the black boots into the chest, making sure they were clean before placing them on top of her dresses.

“You’re really not bringing your moccasins?” Iduna asks, looking at the contents of the chest. Anna shrugs as she closes the lid to the trunk, securing it tightly.

“I won’t have any use for them. I’m sure Hans will provide me with slippers when I arrive.” The young girl comments as she brushes the dust off of her dress. Iduna places a hand on the lid of the trunk, chewing on this inside of her lip before looking up at Anna.

“What about your mukluks?”

“I won’t really need them either. It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere far during the winter in Arendelle.”

“There is just so much you’re leaving behind Anna.” Iduna places her hands on her lap, her fingers playing with the ribbons sewed onto her purple skirt.

“I know that. I’m not stupid.” Anna huffs, looking at her mother; a twinge of guilt replacing the frustration she feels as she sees the single tear the slips down Iduna’s cheek. She reaches across, placing a hand on the older woman’s forearm. “I’ll be back for St. Joseph’s day, the hunts, and of course when I have my first child, I’ll come home to be with you.”

Iduna stares at her daughter, placing her hand over the Anna's. “I know you will…it’s just going to be hard not seeing you every day.”

“I know.” Anna croaks as she pulls her hand away from her mother. Both women wipe their eyes as they hear heavy footsteps make their way across the porch. Anna stands with ease, helping Iduna stand from the floor as a knock echoes through the house.

“I guess it’s that time.” Iduna forces a smile, striding over to the door. Opening it Iduna greets the man standing on their porch. “Hello there. You’re Hans Westergaard’s man?”

“Yes, M’am.” The man confirms.

“Please come in. Her trunk is just right there.” Iduna takes a step away from the door, extending her arm out towards the chest. The men tentatively steps into the house, looking around the small structure with obvious disgust etched onto his face. Both Iduna and Anna clear their throats, catching the man’s attention to his task at hand. The man rushes towards the trunk, picking it up with some struggle.

Anna and Iduna trail after the man, coming to stand on the porch. With a sigh, Anna looks over the lot once more as Iduna takes her daughter by the arm as they meander to the wagon parked on the road.

“I’ll write to you and Elsa every chance I get,” Anna assures as they come to stand in front of the wagon. “I promise.” Iduna nods as she clutches her daughter’s hands. Looking over her shoulder a part of Anna hopes Elsa will emerge from the bush to say goodbye. Her heart sinking as she realizes her sister would not see her off.

“I’ll tell her you said goodbye.” The older woman offers, pulling her daughter into her embrace. Anna buries her face into her mother’s shoulder, clutching the woman tightly.

“I love you,” Anna says, her voice muffled by Iduna’s dress. The brunette runs a hand over Anna’s braids reassuringly, trying her hardest not to cry.

“Ki shaakiihitin. Kwaayesh ka ishpayin” Iduna whispers into her ear as she withdraws from the embrace, her shoulder wet with Anna’s shed tears. Nodding Anna steps away from her mother, tears still falling down her cheeks. She steps on the wagon, hoisting herself up on the seat next to Hans’ servant.

Anna waves goodbye to her mother as Hans’ man urges the horses forward. With a heavy heart, she watches as her mother’s figure disappears into the horizon, not noticing her sister standing in the bush watching Anna with tears in her eyes.

Hans’ man, George, as he politely tells her isn’t talkative on the trip to Arendelle; not that Anna wanted to talk anyhow. Even as Arendelle appears in the distance she reflects on Ahtohallan, it would always be her true home. Her smile reappears when they enter Arendelle and her anticipation to see Hans was becoming too much for her.

George parks the wagon in the front of the house, where a maid stood on the small veranda. Anna jumps off of the wagon, looking up at the house. She had always preferred Hans’ house to her father’s it was much smaller and was connected to the house next to it. The veranda was half the size of her father’s and wasn’t painted stark white.

Anna walks up the stairs onto the veranda, holding out her hand to the maid with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you I’m Anna.” The maid looks at the young girl’s hands, keeping her own folded in front of her. Sheepishly the young girl rescinds her hand, holding it behind her back.

“Mistress Anna, we’ve been expecting you.” The raven-haired woman says in a strange accent that Anna barely can comprehend. The maid turns on her heel, stalking into the house before turning around to face the young girl. “Well come on.”

Anna rushes through the front door behind the maid into the foyer, she looks to the left to see one room with tall bookshelves; every one of them filled. Though her father’s house was grand, his study wasn’t nearly as impressive as Hans’ was.

The maid clearing her throat pulls Anna’s eyeline back to the old European woman. “I’m Hilde, I am in charge of the house. Come on.” The black-haired woman marches up the winding stairs, Anna follows as fast as her feet will carry her. Hilde points out several rooms to her, one water closet and three bedrooms on the upper level. She abruptly stops at the door at the very end of the hall, causing Anna to nearly run into the maid.

“This will be your chambers with Mr. Westergaard.” Hilde says as she turns the doorknob, pushing the oak door open. Walking past the maid Anna’s eyes widen at the view before her. She walks past the bed and the armoire to the series of windows that overlooked Arendelle and the river. “I’ll have George bring up your trunk in a while. You’re free to explore the house if you wish.”

Anna jumps slightly when the maid slams the door behind her, leaving the girl alone in the room as her heart races madly. She turns back to the window, resting her palms against the windowsill staring out at the scene before her; it faced southward away from Arendelle and overlooked the river. Turning away from the window Anna takes in the room before her, it was bigger than the one she had in her father’s house but less extravagant.

The bed sat in the middle of the room; it was more similar to her mother’s at home with a woollen striped blanket resting over the grey quilt. She walks over to one of the armoires on the right side of the bed, opening it up to reveal several black and navy jackets and white shirts.

Biting her lip Anna closes what was obviously was Hans’ armoire, she crosses the room to the other dresser nearer to the door. Opening the doors to the other armoire Anna nearly screams with delight as she sees several familiar and new dresses for her. The rust coloured dress embroidered with roses she had worn when Hans’ proposed hung in the middle. She tries her best not to be disappointed that the white dress with the beetle jewels was missing, her father had clearly kept that one.

As George comes through the door Anna decides it was for the best to explore elsewhere, she slips past the man down the hall; peeking into each extra bedroom. A smile comes to her face as she opens the first door, knowing these would be her children’s rooms one day. She descends down the stairs quickly into the foyer, poking her head into the room on the right to see the dining room.

She looks around the room uninterested and too afraid to poke her head into the kitchen that was attached. Instead, she crosses the foyer in stride, excited to see the study. Anna approaches a book shelve, running her hands across the various books.

She carefully examines each pint on the leather, several of them very worn. Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Homer’s Odyssey. Machiavelli’s The Prince. Marquis de Sade’s Philosophy in the Bedroom and Justine.

Anna continues to scan through the books noting all of the various names of men present in her husband’s library. She had always known that Hans was well-read but seeing it in person was entirely different. Taking a step away from the shelves Anna feels overwhelmed, unsure where to start.

She wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to read many of these books; she notes that he has many books by the Marquis de Sade. For a moment she ponders to read one so that they might have something to discuss when he returned. Instead, she notices a small corner of the book shelve, covered in a thick layer of dust. she grabs a small bound book with the name Byron leafed in gold on the side.

Anna makes her way over to the sofa tucked in the corner of the room. She takes off her boots, tucking her feet under her skirts as she settles into the corner of the couch opening the book. She doesn’t take notice of the title of the collection of poems, only of the poems themselves.

She doesn’t realize how much time passes as she reads, humming softly to herself periodically. Hilde storms into the room, her breath heavy as her eyes narrow towards the young woman sitting on the sofa.

“Mistress Anna. I have been looking for you, it is time for dinner.”

“Oh, is Hans home yet?” Anna asks, placing the book on the sofa next to her. Hilde folds her hands in front of her, squaring her shoulders.

“No, Mr. Westergaard won’t be home till later. You’ll be dining alone.” The maid turns around, causing Anna to hurriedly stand up and follow the older woman across the foyer to the dining room. She sits at the head of the table where a plate sat, filled with food with a glass of red wine to the side.

Hilde stalks into the kitchen without another word, leaving the young girl to herself. Anna sits down in her spot and begins to eat her dinner; it wasn’t as good as her mother’s food. Hilde’s pork was dry, and her potatoes were lumpy. She eats the meal in silence, only taking a few bites as she could not stomach Hilde’s cook. Convincing herself she wasn’t hungry Anna stands from the table, taking her wine with her back to the study to finish Byron.

She settles back on the sofa, placing her wine on the oak side table as she pulls the book back onto her lap. She had always loved to read, as a child she grew up reading mostly fairy tales Agnarr had bought for them overseas.

It was nearly 10 at night once she finishes the collection of poetry, Anna slips the book back into its place. With a sigh, she withdraws from the study up to her and Hans’ bedroom. She pushes through the oak door into the bedroom, stalking towards her trunk. Opening the lid Anna pulls every garment out of the chest, searching for a nightgown that wasn’t high collared or long-sleeved. She smiles as she pulls out the desired garment; it wasn’t a nightgown but a chemise.

Keeping her eyes on the door as she undresses from her day-dress and her undergarments. She shivers as the cold air hits her bare body, looking over to the fireplace to see Hilde hadn’t lit. Anna slips the chemise on, regarding herself in the mirror. The linen chemise reaches just below her knees and the lace around the wide neckline accentuated her collar bones.

Her heart pounds in her chest in anticipation, knowing what typically occurs between men and women on their first night together. She walks towards the window, staring out at the dark night as she rests on palms against the glass.

Hands come to rest on her bare biceps, startling Anna. She places a hand on her bare chest as she turns to face Hans with a smile. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” Hans apologizes with a smile, chastely kissing her cheek. “Hilde managed to get you settled?”

Anna nods in response as she turns to face the window again, leaning against his body while his hands come to rest on her hips. Goosepimples break out across her skin as Hans presses a soft kiss to the crook of her neck, up to her jaw as his hands come to shed away the garment from her shoulders.

His lips come to rest behind her ear as he presses himself closer to her while her chemise drops past her hips to the ground, exposing her to the cold air once again. “Go lie on the bed.”

Trembling from nerves and excitement Anna shakily nods as she saunters over to their bed, laying on her back in the middle of it. She avoids her eyes from Hans form as he undresses.

He comes to lay next to her, his hand sliding up into her auburn hair as he crushes his lips to hers. Anna gasps as he shifts to position himself over her, feeling his manhood pressing against her thigh.

It hurts when he finally takes her, not relenting even as she cries out from the pain and grips his shoulders. He whispers sweet things into her ear as he moves inside of her until finally spilling in her.

Hans collapses next to Anna, his breaths becoming more stable as he closes his eyes; turning onto his side to face away from her. Anna mimics his action, turning away from him as she shifts uncomfortably as a dull ache pulses through her body. Running her finger against the soft cotton of her pillowcase, Anna stares off into the dark room; wondering if she had made the right choice.

#kristanna #kristoff bjorgman #anna of arendelle #frozen 2 #frozen #Fur Trade au #Canadian Frontier Au #fanfic

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spcllbounded · 4 years

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// Sorry gang for the lack of activity aside from some lil funny posts and replies a couple days back!! I’m hoping to drag myself off my lazy tush and get my writing brain working. I think after needing to do so many writings from my semester (Some being as long as 20-40 pages. Yikes. ;;;), my writing department hasn’t...been there? I gotta slap it back into myself so maybe I can try and chug some stuff out these next few days? We’ll see here! I’ll do my best!

The combination of my computer getting slower and me getting ready for out of state college doesn’t make this easier either, but I’m hoping I can get breaks from that stuff here and there to be around on Tumblr! I am also on Discord an awful lot of the time! So you can reach me there too! Feel free to slap me with a dm for my username there!

Oh. And uuuuuh. One last little thing that’s held me back from doing anything productive. Literally right after I finished my finals, I wanted to treat myself and buy a game to unwind and chill. That game is under the read more! This is post is a little lengthy as it is and I’m going to go dumb mode and ramble a little bit under there gbweiubr

Yup. smh I’m becoming jrpg trash - pensive emoji -

fheewgubre kidding kidding. I wouldn’t consider myself a hardcore Final Fantasy fan but there’s a handful of a couple of Final Fantasy games I genuinely have interest in! IX and XII were actually the ones I was torn between getting. Settled for IX in the end for a couple of reasons having to do with space, price, and overall interest at the time. Maybe next time XII. ;v;

Aside from a couple of spinoffs my brother handed off to me, this is the first actual Final Fantasy game I now own! It feels like a wild dream actually being able to play this because this is one of the games that I’ve been dreaming of playing for years now. I felt a certain sense of fulfillment actually being able to own and experience this game myself. Not growing up with any Playstation systems made getting this game kind of hard back then fbuybfeyrgbrt

I gotta say? Don’t regret my decision a bit so far. I’m enjoying this way more than I anticipated. And I am no doubt going to replay this game more than once sometime after I finish my first experience with it. I’m already emotional and attached to this game. Save me. :’)

#// Wowie! Anyways an update on where I've been!#// And being a dumb lil nerd underneath. This might or might not get a hold of my multimuse if you know what I mean bferugb #// Anyways! Hope you all are well!!#// long post #• OOC ✒️ Dear readers •

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oghoneytryst · 6 years

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edge of the universe.

request: y/n is a few years younger than harry and he subsequently holds back his feelings.

where harry fears that he will ruin y/n’s youth.

a/n: I am the absolute worst and I apologize to anyone that has requested something for me to write. After months, here is a finished piece, I hope you enjoy and I’m sorry if it’s not worth the long wait for me to put something out but oh well what can ya do

send me your thoughts on this piece right here :-)

PICTURE CREDIT: revivalstyles on Instagram

-----

Harry shivers in the grey of September.

His tucked heart peers dangerously from the home of his sleeve. His coat—refined with every stitch of faux fur—suffices just enough to shelter him from the breeze that sings to the city. He shoves his hands in the loose, warm pockets, and gazes out to the drunken London streets.

Ever-bright stars rest upon the pillow clouds of an obscure night; the universe blankets over both. Harry focuses on the glimmer of a single celestial body and sends it a discreet kiss with regards from his more youthful, now-fulfilled wishes.

Hopeless, torturous, frightening nights like these—he prays the angels listen instead.

“I can give ya my coat,” Harry speaks up, licking away at the dry patches of his lips. “If you’re cold. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not.”

“Really, y/n, it’s not a big—”

“I’m fine,” she repeats herself. The bitterness is cruel on her tongue.

Harry sighs. Her long-sleeve arms cross stubbornly over her chest. He notices the subtle attempt she makes to shift closer to the warmth of the street lights; a cute little schoolgirl-crush type of sway. Her face, however, seethes with an annoyance that causes his bottom lip to shrivel between his teeth.

“Alright,” Harry mumbles. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” she retaliates. It’s clear that she favors having the last word.

A muffled marriage of music and cheers vibrate from the brick pub’s interior. In spite of it, the silence of the night washes over their scribbles and scribbles of thoughts.

Harry coughs.

Dim street lights illuminate their stress: knitted eyebrows, pensive lips, adverted eyes. Oh, her eyes; the tension in her eyes float heavenly and its frustrates him so, so much.

“It’s late,” Harry points out, leaning back against the grimy pub wall. The search for her evergreen soul—skipping from pub to pub to pub—has exerted the weakness in his youthful, yet aging bones.

“Not really,” is her quick dismissal.

Harry shuts his eyes, resting his head against the uneven surface. “Not really? 2 in the morning isn’t late for you?”

Y/n shrugs, disguising her shiver beneath it. “Didn’t it used to not be for you? Don’t you remember a time when 2 in the morning meant the night was just getting started?”

Harry curiously opens his left eye, and raises the corresponding eyebrow.

“It was more around 1 am, which I never really learned was a mistake, cos’ I’d have to be up by 5 in the morning. Still, feels like ages ago.”

Y/n nods, and silence ensues again.

Nothing. She does absolutely nothing, and still, she excites him. She exudes a fearless charisma that is parallel to his own confidence, and even so, she carries something that has been unknown to him before.

“How did you,” y/n begins, then clears her dry throat. “How’d you find me?”

Harry opens his eyes. He knuckles at them, a quiet “Uhhh” slugging off the tip of his tongue. “I kind of just ... I know that you’re prone to celebrate more passionately than most. The harder part was figuring out where exactly you’d do that. I know that back in your hometown, you like going to the pub by the field, but here ... it was just a harder game to play.”

She scrunches her face at his cryptic words, chubby cheeks raising to her eyes. There is a question stuck in the back of her throat, but she almost doesn’t even want to hear the answer.

“How long have you been looking for me, Harry?”

The older man puckers his lips shyly. He raises his hand up to his eyesight, the needle in his watch ticking the precious seconds away.

“About ... two hours almost. One hour and 47 minutes.”

Y/n blinks. Then, a short, minuscule, half-hearted laugh. “You should’ve just went to sleep. I would’ve been fine.”

“It’s a large city, y/n. A lot of people.”

“Really? Huh. Never knew that a lot of people resided in a large city.”

“Y/n,” he repeats, a sharp thorn of a warning, but his tone as soft as the rose’s petals. “You know what I mean.”

“Care to elaborate?” she teases, tilting her head to belittle him.

Harry purses his lips. He should repent pursuing a relationship with someone four years his junior, but he doesn’t. He just doesn’t.

“Of course,” he agrees, following along with her act. “I will in the car.”

“The car?” she repeats. She pronounces it so slowly, as though she were biting right through the words.

“It’s just around that corner there.” Harry points to the left. “We can go back to the hotel, where it’s nice and warm. Maybe watch a movie.”

“A movie?”

“Yes, do I also have to explain where the movie will be? There’s a thing called Netflix. You can access it on a contraption called a television.”

Y/n laughs, but it lacks the humorous tone that fills Harry with fulfillment. It’s condescending. Ridicule.

“No, I’m uh, I’m not going back.” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t planning to tonight, anyway. I have some people inside the pub that offered me their couch to spend the night on—”

“You’re not sleeping on some stranger’s couch just to get piss drunk and bitter.”

Harry has never really spoken to her that way. It’s far too passive aggressive for his taste, but he feels obligated to look after this reckless being that he adores. He will chase after her until he has wasted away.

Y/n, however, never asked to be babied.

“I missed the part where I asked for your permission,” she retaliates, but doesn’t give him the opportunity to respond before her legs are carrying her back to the entrance.

As sluggish as he feels, Harry’s instinctive reaction is to grab her back by the arm. His soft hand clutches and pulls, and in an instant, he hears them. The simultaneous clicking of pesky and peering camera shutters.

Y/n notices them too, but avoids staring into the void of the lenses. Instead, she stares up at Harry, scowling at him with her eyes, warning him to let her go.

“I spent two hours of my night,” Harry whispers, “looking for you—”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I don’t care. I did it anyway, because I was worried about you, because despite what you may think, I care about you, y/n. A lot. So, please, save me the trouble of having to be tomorrow’s cover story and get in the car so that we can talk about this.”

Y/n’s bad-tempered expression refuses to fade away, but there is something, a tiny little something that sinks back into the whites of her eyes. Harry can see it crumble within her, even if she doesn’t say anything to confirm it. He can only accept her delicate tug from his soft hold, and admire the poise in her walk as she follows the path to his chariot.

In the vehicle, the silence crashes against the tinted windows that imprison their echoing thoughts. It is unwelcomed and unloved. It is the spontaneous cliff-hanger, the brokenhearted letter of a lover, the consequence of insecurity and self-loathing.

Harry has his suspicions over how naked and bare his heart will become in a matter of minutes. Albeit, he refuses to taint his charming tongue with the frightening truths of his beautiful mind.

He stalls in the meantime. He tells y/n, “I’ve been writing some stuff down,” but does not recite the words that surely must be memorized by a song-writing genius such as himself.

“That’s good,” y/n chastely replies. The heaters begin to defrost London’s bitter air from her crossed legs and arms, twisted like a salted pretzel.

Though the response is bare, she truly does feel joy for him. She has listened to his agony for the past couple of months, which has strained her heart more than she cares to admit. His doubts overpower his confidence, and at rare occasional moments, he hates himself. She assumes it is these doubts that are to blame for his hesitance over the issue at hand.

He, instead, wishes to pause this moment with her. He desires an impossible manipulation of time where their actions do not impact the outside world surrounding them, and vice versa. Perhaps then he will be table to push these troubles of theirs away until they fall off the edge of the universe. For now, he can only hope that nothing has been permanently written in the autumn stars.

“S’nothing that can be used for a song,” he continues. “It doesn’t rhyme, but I guess I could tweak it a little bit—”

“Harry,” y/n interrupts, unaware of how her manicured hand reaches over to blanket his red knuckles on the gear shift. It’s annoying how much she cares for him. She loathes how natural it has become to comfort him in his stress, especially since he has made it rather clear that he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need the security that she carries in her touch, or else he’d scream it to the sun, and compose a romantic medley that breathes his air into her lungs.

“I don’t know what could possibly be going through your head right now,” y/n admits, her vision cascading across his features bathed in gloom, “but I want to. You’re so hidden in your own mind and it’s hard to tell if any of this is worth anything.” The young girl shakes her head. Her much smaller hand returns to the familiar pudge of her lap, and she continues, “I don’t want to be like everyone else who barely knows who you are or how you’re feeling.”

“You’re not,” Harry says, pulling his own hand away, only to play with the steering wheel.

“I sure hope not,” she replies, but it is difficult to detect the tone of her voice. “That’s why I’m giving you a minute. One minute to collect your thoughts and tell me why I’m in this car right now, and not someone else whose time you can waste. Or else, I’m walking out and you better not come looking for me.”

It is a cruel proposition that seems fair enough to her. Harry has spent hours searching for her tonight. He must have conjured up a million thoughts while doing so, and now she weighs his shoulders with the pressure of a minute. 60 seconds to figure out how to say it all in a way that will make her understand something that he can’t even comprehend himself.

A handful of seconds later, and Harry huffs the nerves out of his system.

“I am,” he pauses, shifts his vision from right to left, then continues, “I’m devoted to you. Hopelessly, like Olivia Newton-John would say. I know that it doesn’t ... really come out that way, erm, but I guess, I don’t know, it’s cos’ I can’t really say it, properly with my own words. And m’sorry ‘bout that. M’sorry that I didn’t say it back.”

Those final words that swim past his precious lips are the ones she least expects and suddenly her own throat runs very dry. She had expected him to swivel and swerve his way through a series of erm’s and um’s, struggling to connect similar ideas in the midst of his fear and confusion. In some strange and parallel universe, he does all that and more.

But here, the stars shine brighter, and the crisp air is daunting, and the city drinks away. And two lovers sit in an ambience of uncertainty with a set of minds beautiful enough to waste their daydreams on each other.

“M’sorry if I upset, you,” Harry continues when his counterpart does not reply. “Back at the hotel room, when you asked about this. It wasn’t ... I didn’t ...” he softly groans, the waves of his grown-out curls bouncing as he leans his head back in frustration. “I just ... wasn’t expecting it, alright?”

“Alright,” y/n repeats, as though it were vile for her newly found voice. “It was alright when I’d said it months ago. It was alright because I didn’t expect you to say it back and I didn’t want you to. I wanted you to say it when you felt comfortable enough, when you actually meant it. And if you didn’t think you’d ever feel the same, I at least expected this to be over. But you kept me waiting for months, Harry, and you still have me waiting.”

“Y/n, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, of course not,” she interrupts. “You never mean to, but you do it anyway. I just don’t like feeling with way, H. Waiting around for you to build up the courage that you don’t even have. I mean, when’s the last time you told someone you loved them, in that way?”

Harry’s bottom lip hides between his square teeth. He searches the depths of his poor mind, even if it is useless. Has he felt love for a person once so significant to him? Of course; he has played the role of a helpless fool much too many times. His only problem is his incapability of expressing it.

No lover wants to feel unloved, and none of his have ever been so patient. Not with him, and not with the manner in which he lives.

Secluded, despite being photographed wherever he goes.

Bombarded with the attention of raging fanatics who are invested in every detail of his every affair.

Fearsome, in constant, constant fear – must everyone be the same? Must everyone that he welcomes kindly in his life drain him of his trust every time they leave?

She has been patient. She has endured endless hell with him, because she loves him, and that is where the difference lies. She loves him, and instead of leaving him in the bitter dust, she gives him a chance, practically begging to him to find a reason worth her time.

She has been patient, and he has taken advantage of that.

The silence is frightening to him. It feels as though at any second, she will stay true to her word, and he knows that the pain that crosses him will be well-deserved.

Harry makes a decision then. In such an abrupt manner, he reaches into his back pocket, and slides out his phone covered in a pale and pretty pink case. The screen illuminates with the time – almost three in the morning – and the scenery that he has assigned as his lock screen. His right thumb works quick to unlock the device, a simple pattern of six numbers that people all across the world would love to know.

The device makes a quiet noise, indicating that his many secrets are unlocked. His many apps appear on the screen, right over the home screen wallpaper that not many people get to see. Y/n is very fond of social media, even if she admits that it can be rather troubling. She’s particularly amused by Snapchat, and the many silly filters available for her pictures. His home screen wallpaper is a picture she had taken in an extravagantly large mirror at some restaurant somewhere, the two of them wrapped up in each other’s arms, with an animated bear of some sort appearing over their playful faces.

He doesn’t know if she has caught a look at it, but it’s not meant for her. It’s his reminder, one that will please his eyes whenever he goes to do something related to work or simply for his leisure.

He taps onto his notes application and hands the phone to y/n without a second thought.

“Go to the first note,” he instructs, placing the device carefully on her lap. He scoots away then, closer to the window, cowering in silent fear.

Y/n grabs onto the phone, examining it due to the rarity of having it fall into someone else’s hands. She does as he says and taps a finger onto the note, the typed words not nearly as appealing to her aesthetic senses as she’s hoped.

Spring in her step

Livelier than summer

Deranged thrill

In her youth

Evergreen soul

Y/n knits her eyebrows. She attempts to scroll, curious to see if there is anything else worth reading, then asks, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It’s ... I wrote it. ‘Bout you.”

She shifts her eyes back to the note and squints her eyes at the tiny font. “Deranged?”

“Yeah, but it’s ... it’s not like, what you think. I know it’s like, shit, but I did say I have to tweak it a little. I don’t normally like to write things down on my phone, but it was just kind of ... I haven’t been writing to make sense. I’ve just been writing what comes to me.”

“And what came to you is that I am deranged?”

“No, dammit, y/n, stop focusing on that,” Harry blurts, losing a fraction of his temper. “Can you take this seriously please?”

“Can I take this seriously?” Y/n sits up, clutching the phone tight in her hand. “What exactly am I supposed to take seriously here? The fact that I tell you I love you and months later you respond with a measly stanza on how insane I am?”

“No! That’s completely opposite of what I meant.” Harry sighs. Out of the anger that boils in his blood, he reaches over and snatches the phone back, revising the typed words that he assumed would fix everything. “I’m trying to open up to you. Let you in on my thoughts. M’sorry if a measly stanza isn’t perfect for you. Next time I’ll write a whole fucking album, would that satisfy you?”

“Harry, where is it that you’re getting so lost in translation? Whatever you typed down in there doesn’t tell me anything about how you feel. It’s just as cryptic as anything else you’ve written or said. I don’t want a song dedicated to me, or an album, or a poem. I just you want you to be honest with your emotions, and you can only seem to do that in a song.”

“That’s not true,” he denies, but his nostrils flare, and his kind eyes cannot meet hers.

“It is,” she nods, “and do you know why? It’s because songs can’t hurt you, Harry. They can’t leave you. They can’t break your heart. Not really. If anything, the most painful songs are what help heal our broken hearts. It’s therapy. But real pain, that is telling the person in front of you why you can’t look them in the eyes right now. And maybe then she’ll tell you that it’s okay to be afraid of getting hurt.”

She really is deranged, Harry thinks to himself, locking his phone and shoving it deep inside the pocket of coat. He’s made a habit of closing his eyes whenever the stress of a situation becomes too much. This time, he hopes that it will somehow block out her words that swarm and buzz through his throbbing head.

It’s remarkable, this effect she has. She is so young, but her heart confesses as though it has lived through years of wisdom and experience. And that is the problem of it all.

“M’not afraid of getting hurt,” he says, voice low and weak. He opens his eyes; he turns to look at her and remembers her the way that she is – in case if it is all a dream. “And I will open up to someone from time to time, as you can see I’ve just tried to do. If not, I’d go insane.”

“So, what then?” she asks. “This whole thing, the reason we’re sitting here at 3 in the morning. What’s this all about?”

“You,” he says, simple and straightforward. “It’s about you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Me?” she repeats for clarification. “Your problem is with me?”

“You’re not a problem. I just ... I don’t want to ruin you, y/n. At your age, I had to prove myself to everyone, and everyone was older than me. I wanted to impress them, so I matured sooner than I needed to, and that was fine for me. I enjoyed it. But years later, you come around, and you still have this innocence about you. You haven’t seen the world the way I have and you shouldn’t have to, but you will, and all I can think about is protecting you from it. And a part of me says that you need protection from me, from this whole lifestyle of being followed around by cameras and getting shit-faced at bars because your boyfriend upset you.”

Y/n’s lips part. The words begin to absorb into her brain like a soaked sponge, but it is rather overwhelming to hear so many words come out of Harry’s mouth. So many words that suddenly connect the pieces of a broken puzzle.

“You deserve better in your youth, y/n,” he says, “and I don’t want to ruin you. But I am.”

It hits her like the cold, bitter London air. The mere stanza is a call to her youth. She is something fresh to him, new and evergreen. She is quick on her toes and her energy mirrors the warmest season of all. She is not deranged – there is simply a madness to her age, one that drives her to storm out of their hotel room and disappear for hours; the excitement of it all clouds her better judgement because it is a thrill to be rebellious and independent.

It explains why he has devoted hours of his night to her, and hours of his life. It explains why he has held himself back for months, keeping her suffering in such a prolonged waiting period.

“Your problem isn’t with me,” she realizes. “It’s with how young I am?”

Harry nods, almost as if he has reached a limit on his spoken words.

“I don’t ... I don’t really see how that’s a problem,” she says, though she’s trying very hard to understand. “I mean, it’s not like I’m some child incapable of taking care of herself. I’m not a child at all.”

“I know you’re not,” Harry inputs, “but you’re still ... it’s new to me. Being with someone that’s not only younger than me, but significantly younger than me.”

“I’d hardly say that four years is significant. My birthday is coming up anyway.”

“If you have to say that your birthday is coming up, y/n, then you’re younger than you realize.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/n turns away, tucking her legs in a crisscross manner.

Harry chuckles. “Believe me, I wish I could. It’s not possible, y/n. It doesn’t matter how much I hold back, I can’t...”

Harry’s words trail off, his sentence unfinished with an infinite number of endings. He stops himself, but y/n catches on quick, and her curiosity gets the better of her.

“Can’t what?” she presses on, leaning towards him in anticipation.

He shakes his head and changes the direction of his words. “I don’t want to change you, y/n. I hate seeing you so caught up in this, this routine. What I’ve done in the past, I don’t necessarily like it, but I’ve done it and there’s nothing I can do. But I can at least try to keep you from making the same mistakes.”

“And what mistakes would that be?” she ponders sarcastically. “Getting shit-faced at a pub? Having even a lick of alcohol? News flash, my family has been sneaking me sips of their drinks since I was 15. It’s a normal way for someone to relieve themselves. And as for the part about me getting hurt,” y/n shrugs and whispers, “too late.”

Harry despises the feeling in his chest. He hates himself more than usual, to know that the one thing he wanted to avoid is something that he unintentionally let play out. It is his fault – he is to blame for all of this, all because of his own fear.

But if there’s anything y/n has taught him, anything that her youthful mind has so brilliantly expressed, it is that fear is power. To embrace fear is the most elegant gift a person can give to themselves. To fear the love that he has for someone is natural, and despite his trouble with communication, he refuses to push away from her any longer.

He wonders if the cameras are still lurking around. Whether they are or not, it doesn’t matter. Whether there are wanderers lost in the city who happen to peak into his tinted car, it doesn’t matter. Harry leans closer, cups her soft cheek and jaw with his enormous, ring-clad hand, and presses a warm kiss onto her cold lips. He holds himself there, breathing in her frosty scent, memorizing the taste of her youth, and pulls away to meet the loving gaze that lives in his imagination. And there, in the early morning shadows, he whispers to her the words she has longed to hear; the words he fears the most.

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mysticmylifeisamess-enger · 5 years

Text

Forget Me Not - Ch. 15

Pairing: Saeran/Reader

Word count: 3,619

Summary: Saeyoung does some inspecting of his own. This chapter shifts into his perspective.

Warning: Major spoilers for Ray route, Saeyoung’s route & secret ending.

A/N: wowie, so this chapter is a bit of a turning point and will make more sense as to why I shoved all of this into one in the next chapter, BUT this one took me a fat minute because this one really had me planning out the next few to be a good, consistent story instead of a ‘BUT WAIT’ kinda deal. also I feel like I say this often, but this story truly is far from reaching its end, it’s got so much more to tell ^^

AO3 Link | Chapters Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“I, um…I hope that whatever is going on, whatever it is you’re not telling me, that you’ll come out of it fine. Goodbye Saeran.”

Saeyoung’s heart felt heavy for his brother as he heard those words. Watching from the door, he could see Saeran felt the same way as he practically collapsed against the counter, tears quickly falling and staining the surface.

Carefully, Saeyoung came out of hiding and took easy steps towards his twin. With every inch he approached, he could feel the tension in the room become heavier. He was unsure of just what to do to comfort him in this moment, or whether he’d want that right now. He could only interrupt the other with the first thing on his mind.

“You didn’t tell MC.”

“I couldn’t. As soon as I saw her, I was reminded of every reason I fell in love with her,” Saeran paused, taking in a deep breath as he straightened up a bit, “And I was also reminded of how angry I would be with myself if anything were to happen to her. I just couldn’t subject her to that.”

With that, Saeyoung could see the bloodshot eyes he tried hiding behind an uncaring gaze, the obvious pain he was trying to push down in his presence.

“But did you really need to go that far?” Saeyoung questioned, “V said he was taking care of it, you could have told her-“

“I haven’t heard a thing from V in the last few days. So unless I hear from V that everything is taken care of, that our father’s not behind this and this is just some cruel joke someone is playing on us, then I’m not going to be selfish enough to let MC get hurt.”

“But you ended up hurting her!” Saeyoung’s voice raised, “She ran out of here crying because of you! Do you not see the contradiction here?”

“Nothing I did could compare to what might happen so just drop it,” Saeran practically hissed.

“I can’t just drop it, you know you didn’t mean anything you said to MC just now!”

“Of course I didn’t! Everything we had meant more to me than I could say!” Saeran huffed, his tense demeanor easing as he looked at Saeyoung, “All those loving looks we ever gave each other eased every worry and doubt in my mind. Every flower I gave her always had a piece of my heart with it and I could always tell she knew with the way she handled them with care. And I had never been more sure about anything in my life than when I told her I loved her.”

The tremble in his voice as he spoke increased with every word, his lip quivering as he sucked in a breath to keep his composure. A still silence filled the room and made it hard for him to calm his nerves, as if a dam was waiting to break and collapse within him. Once he gripped the tides of his emotions, he looked back to his twin to see the pained expression on his features before he spoke.

“Saeran, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s just something I have to do if I truly love MC. I have to think about what’s best for her and not be thoughtless enough to weigh her down with this.”

“I get that you’re trying to protect her, but doesn’t this hurt you too?”

“It does, it hurts so much,” he said with a forced laugh, “But it’s going to hurt much more if it got to a point where I couldn’t prevent it.”

“And what are you going to do if this all gets resolved and you realize you pushed MC away completely?”

“Even if this situation gets resolved, even if this is just someone trying to scare us, that doesn’t eliminate the chance of it happening again. He’s in a powerful position and he will find us sooner or later. If it isn’t now, its a year or two or ten. It’s inevitable.”

“You know I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“But this is beyond us, Saeyoung. As much as I want to believe that we’d keep each other safe, what surrounds us is far beyond our control.” He pushed himself off the counter, walking right passed his twin towards the backroom, “We should get back to work. The shop won’t be opening again for another while so we should get some stuff in order for our absence.”

He walked off with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the floor till he was out of sight. Never had he seen his brother so defeated, beaten down to the point of this hollowed person he quickly became in a matter of days. It was a jarring sight to see the usually upbeat demeanor become despondent and powerless to the situation at hand.

Saeyoung couldn’t help but think this was getting out of hand. This was all happening over a letter that they were assured came from someone who wasn’t entirely a threat, or so they were told.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed V’s number to get some reassurance or an answer that was a bit more clear than a ‘just trust me.’ With every ring, his patience wore thinner until it reached his answering machine, sighing as he hung up.

Every passing hour made his frustration grow, one call after the other until it became thirteen unanswered calls. Once it came time to close up, Saeyoung sweeping the shop as Saeran tended to the greenhouse, he checked his phone to see if maybe he called back at some point only to see nothing

‘What the hell could V be doing?’ he thought to himself. Pocketing his phone, he looked up to notice an envelope taped to the door. That same, unaddressed envelope that turned their world upside down the first time and it found it’s way back to the shop door.

Saeyoung’s heart felt like it was in his throat, pumping rapidly as his hands fumbled to open the letter. Sure enough, it was that same handwriting with a just as unnerving message scribbled on.

‘Hiding is no use, we’ll find you two either way.’

The fear he was feeling this time didn’t seem to come from the same place, an intense gaze examining the words carefully. This didn’t come from their father or any henchmen he may have, no matter how convincing it may seem. The writing seemed all too familiar.

“All the flowers have been tended to, Yoosung has the extra keys to come water them, and we’re good to leave,” Saeran listed off as he paced back into the room. Saeyoung shoved the note into his pocket before he could notice, looking back up at him with obvious bewilderment.

“Is something wrong?”

“Aside from what’s already going on? No, nothing,” he replied a bit sardonically, continuing to shove the letter further into his pocket.

“Alright…” Saeran said, a hint of skepticism in his tone, though quickly moving to start closing up. As they locked up, Saeyoung noticed the pensive look on his face, brows knitted together as he mouthed aloud his inner thoughts before turning to his twin.

“We’re lucky nothing happened today but we need to be careful from here on out so text me as soon as your home.”

“As long as you don’t cut me off for my own safety.”

“I’m serious. I need to know that you got home safe,” he retorted, eyes pleading with him to understand.

“Alright I will, just…let me know when you get home too, okay? And get some rest, you look too tired to be nagging me right now.”

“Okay,” Saeran sighed, turning on his heel towards the opposite direction. Just as he took one step, he turned back around with one final thought. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything from V.”

Saeyoung simply nodded before turning in his own direction, bidding him a quick farewell and walking off. Once he was out of sight, he pulled out the crumpled piece of paper and his phone, dialing V’s number one last time.

“Hi, you’ve reached V’s answering machine. Sorry I couldn’t answer your call at the moment, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll call you back at my earliest convenience,” the line on the other side said immediately before even ringing, followed by a beep.

“V, it’s Saeyoung. I don’t know why you haven’t answered one of my twenty calls, but I need to talk to you as soon as possible. I’m coming over, I just need some answers right now.”

Hanging up and putting his phone away, he continued making his way to V’s place, set on getting something out of him tonight. Though the entire walk, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched, as if someone was following and observing his every move as he went. Memorizing every step and turn of his movement, even relishing in the way his nerves seemed on edge.

He shook those thoughts once he was a block short, a frustration at the lack of response taking its place. He mentally collected all the question he had mulled over for days now, set on not hearing anything short of the truth. He needed to know if his hunch was correct.

Just as he had reached his destination, he noticed all the lights were off and no hint at anyone being home. His head lulled back in annoyance, hoping this didn’t mean he had to turn around. Reaching the door, his hand extended to knock on it loud enough for anyone inside to hear.

The buzzing he felt against his pocket had him hopeful, though he settled back once he saw it was Saeran.

‘I just got home. Please let me know when you’re home too.’

Looking back up, he took note of the stillness, not a stir or sound coming from within. No one was home. His shoulders slumped, feeling completely defeated. Though as he turned, an idea occurred— looking back down at the rock by the door. He wasn’t proud of the idea, but he thought that if he needed to, he could justify it by telling them it was an emergency.

A second of hesitation and he picked it up, ready to find the nearest window until he felt how light it was. It felt oddly like plastic, turning it over to find it hollowed out with a spare key sitting inside.

Once he took it out, he wasted no time in unlocking the door, silently thankful that he didn’t have to resort to breaking and entering. A few steps in and he felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of an empty, dark home. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was here so late or no one was here, but it felt all the more unsettling.

He pulled out his phone one more time, composing a text and sending it promptly.

‘Relax, I’m home.’

He felt a bit weird about lying to Saeran, but he knew that he needed to. In order to find their peace of mind, to settle just what was going on, Saeyoung had to figure this out on his own.

The only thing he could think to do was take back the first letter and compare it to the current one, find any hint at who could have left these. He took slow, cautious steps towards where he suspected the letter to be, unsure of why he felt the need to be so delicate in his actions.

Once he reached the living room, he flipped the light on to see the letter sitting plainly out on the coffee table among other notes. The same unnerving message scribbled out on it made him remember just how scared he felt that night.

As he picked it up, his eyes involuntarily scanned over the others that lay before him. They all had the same handwriting as the one in his hand and the one in his pocket, but there were so many more. And his eyes widened to see the varying threats that were similar to the ones they received.

‘Opening up a shop and hiding behind an organization will never cover up your past.’

‘MC seems to be someone you hold in high regard. From what we’ve observed, we can see why…’

‘We’re closer than you think.’

“Saeyoung?”

The voice came from behind, startling him as he scrambled to shove the note in his pocket. Turning around, he was met with curious green eyes, watching him like a prey she just cornered. It was an almost unbearable gaze, averting his eyes to the floor.

“Rika, I didn’t know you were home,” he almost stumbled over his words, shifting uncomfortably as she inched just a bit closer, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, needed to talk to V, but I guess he’s not home,” he replied, collecting his composure as he looked up to meet her eyes again, “But maybe you can answer this, why do you two have so many of these letters? Where are they coming from?”

“Listen, I know it looks concerning, but we’re getting to the bottom of this, okay?”

“V said he knew exactly who left the first one, so what do you mean you’re getting to the bottom of it? If you already know-“

“I said we’re taking care of it, you don’t have to concern yourself with this,” her words bordering more on cautioning than comforting.

“That doesn’t explain why there are so many, why do you have all these?”

“They piled up at the door of the shop while you two were gone,” she recounted, “We thought it’d be best to take it and inspect them.”

“There’s a lot more here than just a few days worth,” he retorted, “And how did you know we were gone? We never mentioned it in the chat.”

“I,” she paused, thinking over her words carefully, “just…had a hunch you two would be gone so I stopped by yesterday and saw all of those.”

Every answer she gave seemed to be a rehearsed response she had memorized and ready to to give. She seemed in-genuine and mechanical, her tone holding no emotion and frustrating him further when he realized he wasn’t going to get a direct answer out of her. Though he knew he had to ask one last thing.

“Where’s V? Why hasn’t he been answering my calls?”

“He’s out of town on a business trip. I’m not sure when he’ll be back though.”

“He left? With everything going on right now, why didn’t he let us know?”

“I guess he just didn’t think anything of it, but I’m still here to help. I promise I’ll figure this all out soon,” she insisted, inching closer with a uncanny smile, “You can always trust me, Saeyoung.”

“Alright,” he paused, looking between her and the door before he started moving towards it, “Well I should get going before-“

“Leave the note,” she deadpanned. Saeyoung stopped in his tracks, looking back at Rika in confusion only to be met with a blank expression on her face.

As he neared the coffee table once again, he took out the crumpled piece of paper and placed it among the pile. Her eyes observed him, as if making sure that he did as she said. He made his way to the door again, walking right passed her without so much as a word spoken.

“Both of them.”

He looked back at her in surprise, wondering just how she knew he had another note until it finally clicked. Every lingering question he had in his mind was answered right there. All he could think to do was leave the other letter, approaching the table and placing it down before he made his way out in silence.

“You know I would never do anything to hurt you or Saeran,” her voice cut through the eerie silence, stopping him in his tracks at the door. His back turned towards her as she spoke.

“If you need to, you two can depend entirely on me,” her steps precise as she got closer but he refused to turn around, “Unlike others, I would never betray you. I would never throw away the trust I’ve built with you for so long. And I certainly would never abandon you when you need me most. I want to help you two find paradise.”

He could feel the hairs on his neck standing, skin rising in goosebumps, and the lump in his throat making it hard to find a response. The voice was certainly Rika, he couldn’t deny that, but the words were so out of place. He couldn’t find it in him to look over, afraid with just what he was going to be met with, settling on just walking out.

“Lay low for a bit longer until we figure this out,” she called before closing the door behind him.

Leaving with less physical clues and more questions than he came with, he couldn’t help but replay that interaction and pick apart just what happened as he walked home. Though the one word that stuck out from it all, looping in his mind, was ‘paradise.’

He didn’t think much of it when he initially saw it in the RFA chat, but hearing it aloud— said in a way that set off so many alarms— made him worried that he’d be right. For what reason, he couldn’t say, but he knew he had to at least get proof.

Five hours.

He had been staring at his computer screen, piecing together any sort of clues he had for well over five hours now. His eyes felt like they were burning in his socket, finding just a bit of relief with every little blink. His hands hadn’t ceased their movements for even a second, typing so fast it could set fire to the keyboard underneath it. But he couldn’t stop, not when every bit of information gave him a sliver of hope that he’d solve this soon.

Within the first three hours, he was able to come to the conclusion that they were safe from their father for now. Every source, article, and classified file he dug up from every corner of the web and beyond pointed towards the fact that he hadn’t found them yet. Though what he did find in the process made his stomach churn, wondering just how he could get away with the things he did.

And the more he found, the more sense it made as to why Saeran was so desperate to keep you away from this. Because if he really was behind this, there’s no telling what he will do.

But it wasn’t. There was no trail linking him to any of this. No real indicator that he, or anyone he hired, were involved.

Which made that gut feeling of who it truly could be stronger, though he hoped desperately that he was wrong. That he could be reading too into her eerie words and demeanor. But there was no proof that she’s in the clear.

And as he approached hour six, he wasn’t getting any proof at all. Coming across all sorts of dead-ends and sources that just sent him in circles. It was hopeless, how could he not find any sort of hint was beyond him. It was an incredibly vague situation to be in, but they had to have some sort of trail.

He wondered why he couldn’t just be a fly on the wall, observing everything from afar and hopefully even seeing the face of who could have left these. If only he could he could have watched it happen.

“CCTVs!” he practically exclaimed to himself with a flash of realization in the dark room, no one around to hear. But that didn’t matter as he searched away to find any connection to one near the shop.

To his luck, he found a few with minimal protection, easily overriding and hacking into them with ease. He was skilled and calculated when it came to this work, learning it as he grew up, but he couldn’t help but laugh at how amateur doing that was.

“Alright,” he mused to himself, looking over the several perspectives timed around the first delivery, “Now show us your face.”

He had never been more attentive, watching every little movement and stir to truly be sure. Every passerby, every blow of the wind, and even every spec of dust never escaped his watchful gaze.

After a few minutes, he noticed a dark figure approaching their door. A long black cape with a hood covering over their features, completely hiding any distinguishing qualities to them. It looked like the typical villain you’d see in a movie, dark and shifty in their movements. He watched as they stuck the envelope to their door and went on their way.

The quality of the cameras made it hard to get a good look at the face, but he did notice a logo on the back as they turend away. It looked like an eye, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. What he could see were the piercing green eyes peaking through the hood. And just as he zoomed in, he noticed the lock of blonde hair falling through.

He couldn’t believe it, staring in disbelief. He really hoped it hadn’t been her, but he found the proof he needed to know he was right. A chill running down the length of his spine as he realized one of the notes were right, they were much closer than he thought.

#mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeran x reader #saeran x mc #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger saeran #flower shop au #alternate universe #forget me not #cheritz

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omgviolette12 · 6 years

Text

Ten, For The Price of One Chapter 2

Previous chapter

Summary: Loki, also known as “Agent One,” is tasked to invade the life of a potential killer, who decimated multiple members from the criminal organization, Morte. Known for his silver tongue, this mission is just another walk in the park for our God of mischief, or is it?

Words: 2042

Pairing: Loki/ Original Female Character

Chapters: 2/?

A/N: Hello all, thank you for the response to the first chapter! I didn’t think it would get much interest, as I’m still new to the world of writing fanfiction. This is my second story so far, thank you for reading!

Can also be read on my AO3 a day or several days before, HERE

Taglist: @shockwavee

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Loki woke up to the scent of burnt food, the smell wafting through the air as the morning light shone through the lace curtains. He sat up on the bed steadily, as his wound was still quite sore.

After he had conquered his target's surprisingly easy pussy, she had urged him to rest after she saw the blood seep through his bandages, and blamed herself for indulging in her ‘sinful desires’, as she called it.

Her behavior puzzled him even further when she suggested that she take the couch, while he could sleep in her room. Although they had already crossed quite a few lines, she insisted on acting the pure virgin.

In any case, he successfully completed one aspect of his mission, and took his time to examine his surroundings.

Just like the living area, her room held a warm, welcoming atmosphere. It seemed she was the girly type; the walls were a soft pastel pink, lined with white lace, and the furniture had a vintage quality to them.

She had a small vanity by the window, that held an array of brushes and other feminine products.

He noticed that the mirror for the vanity had been removed from its place, which he found a bit odd.

When he got up from the bed, the floorboards creaked loudly as he sauntered his bare body to the bathroom at the far corner of the room. When he entered, he noticed the lack of a mirror there as well, and was sorely disappointed he could not admire his reflection.

Aside from that, although the bathroom was a bit too small for his liking, it had what it should.

He finished taking a quick shower, leaving her room with just a towel hung low around his hips.

He followed the smell and...smoke that was quickly becoming thick from what he presumed to be the kitchen.

When he drew closer, he could hear a muttered conversation from the entryway.

“I know, I know.. why do you think I’m doing this?”

“You’re just being jealous. In fact, I haven’t cooked this well in a while...”

Loki’s first thought was that Nya was speaking on her phone. But when he entered the kitchen fully, she was coughing at the smoke, fanning whatever she had in the pan.

Nya looked up, startled by his sudden appearance. She eye’d him embarrassedly before speaking, “Ahm.. sorry, did I wake you? I got up a bit early to make this,” she gestured toward the table, “I salvaged what I could from the groceries I left outside, and made a bit of everything. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so..”

He looked at the table. Although everything looked a bit too...overdone, it still seemed somewhat edible. “I’m not much of a picky eater..” When he moved closer, the woman’s face visibly turned red. She appeared to finally notice his state of undress.

“T-that reminds me, I washed the shirt you were wearing yesterday. I got much of the blood out, but it’s still a bit damaged..I put it on the couch for you, alongside your other clothing.”

Loki let out a low chuckle, before quickly closing the distance between them. “Eager to have me dressed already, pet?”

Nya let out another one of her adorable ‘eeps’ when he trapped her against the kitchen counter, his arms on either side of her waist.

His fingers then proceeded to play with fabric of her shirt, lightly pinching her hip while doing so.

“In fact, with the way you milked my cock for everything it was worth last night, one would think you’d stop being so coy with me.”

Nya looked up at him open-mouthed, her eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. “Why is it whenever you say something, you make it sound so...so dirty! Besides… I just thought you’d be uncomfortable without clothes, is all…”

She tried to awkwardly move underneath his arms to squirm away, but he kept his grip firm on her hips. He really enjoyed her discomfort, judging by the teasing smile tugging at his lips.

She looked down at his hands before speaking, “Look.. last night was the first time anyone ever...I ever went that far with someone. I...I’ve had a boyfriend before, but the most we’ve ever done is a bit of fondling...I was too scared to ever go further. But with you...I just..”

She covered her face with both hands in embarrassment, ”I just felt like I could finally take the plunge.”

As Nya spoke, she could feel the intensity of his stare. After a moment, she felt his hands tugging hers away from her face.

His expression was one of incredulity, a slight frown on his brows. “You mean to say…”

His eyes perused her body in a perverse manner, before smirking triumphantly, “I am the first one to claim your sweet, tight cunt?”

With the way she accepted his cock without much effort, he found it difficult to believe.

Nya blushed even further, “‘Uhhm, yes.. which brings me to this point,” she cleared her throat, willing herself to look him in the eyes, “since you’re the first man to ever..you know...I just thought getting to know you more would be nice..and set things in the right order. Truthfully, I wanted breakfast to be our first...um...date?”

He now looked as though he was trying to stifle a laugh, which she immediately mistook as a sign of rejection. Nya now looked hurt, and she started to push against his chest to distance herself.

“I don’t know what your intentions were for sleeping with me, but you don’t have to laugh! Believe it or not, there are steps to these things. I read that once you go on five dates with someone you like, then it was okay to finally do the dirty deed, but we-mmph!”

Loki effectively stopped her chattering with a quick, rough kiss. When he pulled back, she looked at him with a muddled expression. “You misunderstand me, woman. And who said it had to be five ‘dates’?”

He grabbed her hands that had been pushing against his chest, pulling her even closer. He then whispered huskily, “Know this--I’m not one to adhere to such rules.”

“However...” He unexpectedly let her go to lean his back against the counter, which caused Nya to let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“To be propositioned in such an adorable way…” He laughed good-humoredly, “I suppose I could indulge your silly dating ritual.”

“Wait, so you don’t mind getting to know me and.. seeing where it leads?” She now looked giddy, her pretty, pink lips stretched into a smile.

Well, of course he didn't mind- that was his job, in the grand scheme of things.

“Do I seem like the type to fuck anything I see fit, then move on to the next conquest?”

Although Nya didn't say anything, her expression told him she believed just that. She averted her eyes nervously, and started to twiddle with a strand of her hair.

Sighing, Loki went to get dressed as she originally requested. When he came back, he watched as she set their dishes in place.

“It's the first time I've ever cooked for anyone other than myself...well, my Nan excluded,”

She placed a tar black sausage on his plate, alongside some…scrambled eggs(?) that shared a similar fate.

After she shared their portions, she stuffed a mouthful of overcooked eggs into her mouth and moaned like it was the best thing in the world. “In fact, my Nan was the one who taught me how to cook,”

Loki picked up a black sausage with his fork, staring at it hesitantly, “Where is your Nan now, if I may ask..”

“Oh...she passed, two years ago. She left me this flat, alongside the bookstore.”

He took a reluctant bite at the burnt morsel before asking another question. Despite its unfortunate appearance, it was surprisingly tolerable.

“What about your parents? I noticed that you have quite a bit of oriental features,”

Nya looked up from her food, her gaze turning pensive, ”From what my Nan told me, my mother was born and raised in England, before she moved to Japan. I was born there...but I don’t remember much about it, despite the fact that I lived there for most of my life. I don’t even remember my father, and as for my mom...just some snippets. It’s hard to describe… but it’s like there’s a huge fog over my childhood…”

Her expression increasingly grew solemn, before she perked up and quickly changed the subject. “But enough about me, how’s your injury? Does it still hurt?”

He was curious, but decided to ignore the quick change of subject. He would find out more, in due time.

“No. After all, you did such a wonderful job patching me up,”

Nya smiled, ignoring the insinuation behind his words, “That reminds me...I don’t mind you staying here..as I said yesterday. In fact, I welcome the company, now that we’re more..um, acquainted. I just don’t have any male clothing for you to wear in the meantime,”

Loki regarded her for a moment before replying, “I could go home. But even then, I can’t guarantee that it’s safe there. I’ll just buy new ones when the opportunity arises.”

“Wait, you actually have money?” It took a moment before Nya realized how strange her words sounded, “Wait-that’s not- I didn’t mean it like that..”

Loki didn't seem offended at all. Instead, he spoke teasingly, “Did you take me for a beggar all this time, darling?”

Nya laughed nervously, “No, I just assumed you were also robbed. I guess whoever is after you…” she stopped mid-sentence as if realizing something.

“I know this might be a sensitive topic… but are you involved in some sort of... illegal business? Is that why I couldn't call the police? I won't pry too much, I just want to know what I'm walking into…”

Well, she was certainly perceptive. The organization was anything but legal, while also holding extensive connections with the British authorities.

Loki narrowed his eyes at her before giving a curt reply, “Yes, and no.”

That definitely wasn’t helpful. Nya knew she wasn’t going to get much out of him, so she promptly gave up.

“Oh! Oh! I have an idea!” Her sudden excitement greatly confused Loki, who now looked at her with furrowed brows.

“Today, why don’t we go shopping for clothes together?” Nya quickly ate the un-identifiable items off her plate, “It could be our, you know, second date!”

Loki could not for the life of him understand her obsession with dates, but he could only go along with it.

After they had finished eating, Nya hurriedly went to change her outfit, while Loki waited by the apartment door.

Nya had a penchant for wearing long, floral sundresses, something he'd come to realize after months of observation.

It fit her well; the dress hung to her svelte figure nicely, all the while accentuating her small, but supple bust. When she walked, the material flowed seamlessly around her legs.

Nya hopped to him excitedly, and he watched her in amusement.

“I take it that you're ready to go?”

“Yep. Oh...wait!” Without warning, she scurried off again.

When she came back, she had a pair of shades, with white surgical mouth masks.

“ Whoever is after you might recognize you, so you have to wear a disguise.

You have...eye-catching features, so this'll have to do.”

She put on the glasses and mask on herself, before donning a reluctant Loki in the same attire.

Loki really wanted to laugh at her poor attempt at subterfuge, but decided to spare her feelings.

With each passing second, this mission was slowly becoming a joke to him. This killer, who murdered at least 20 something of their agents, is rather apt at disguises.

She laughed cheerily, “We kind of look like celebrities, don't you think?”

“ That would defeat the purpose of detracting attention upon ourselves, don't you think?”

She ignored his gibe happily, grabbing his hand before walking down the stairs to exit the store.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fandom #tom hiddleston fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fic #loki (marvel)#loki fandom #marvel fanfiction #loki smut #tom hiddleston smut

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celestialholz · 6 years

Note

Qcard 28? If that ok? 🖖🏻

OH MY GOD I WAS HOPING FOR THIS ONE. Thanks anon! :D Sorry this has taken me a hot minute, I’m generally quite crap at life…

Welcome to your dose of Sunday evening feels. Call it dinner, because one needs a balanced, nutritional meal of angsty love at least once a day, and I am LIVING for soft Qcard tbh. #DoctorHolly (tl;dr? The word of the day is ‘bittersweet’, my friend). Y’all can blame these Expansion feelings I’m giving myself…

(Fun fact: This is something of a spiritual prequel to last week’s prompt on snowballs [http://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/179725251226/qcard-and-11-it-seems-to-fit i.e. this thing], though you definitely don’t need to read that first - it’s simply the same ring we discussed there).

28. “Marry me?”

Prompt list here: http://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/179662102941/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you

“Would you marry me, if I asked?”

Across his quarters, Picard glanced up from his PADD with exasperation.Of all the ridiculous things the god had ever asked him…

“Congratulations,” he drawled. “Amongst a veritable myriad ofways to distract me that you’ve employed over the years, you’ve finally discoveredthe most absurd.”

Q leaned over the sofa, his lips curled into a frown.

“I’m being serious, Jean-Luc.”

The Captain emitted a disbelieving titter as he consulted the dutyroster he’d been working on once again.

“Now I know you’re not. When are you ever serious about anything?”

“I am perfectly serious about us, as well you know, Picard.” Q’stone was snipped, eyes hard, and his lover gave a soft sigh as his PADDvanished with a brilliant, petulant flash. Well, if the only way he couldcontinue working was by indulging him… twelve years beside him, and the entitywas still frustratingly insecure.

Then again, he certainly wasn’t offering him his full attention.He hitched upright, heading for his replicator.

“Tea, Earl Gray, hot.” It materialised with a whir. He took aconsidered sip, smiling, feeling Q’s eyes heatedly upon him. “So, where wouldwe do this? Would we perhaps hire out Ten Forward?”

He noticed Q’s vague surprise in his peripheral vision as he perused ashelf of exotic trinkets from their travels.

“I… hadn’t considered it,” he muttered, “but I’d thank you to thinkthat I have more class than your pit of drunken starship iniquity.”

Picard smirked at the carvings of an ancient vase, shaking his head.

“I’ll be sure to inform Guinan of your glowing report.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Q grimaced, features turning pensive. “KatiganVIII, perhaps. Ten-foot high waves of crystal upon a cornflower shore, usbeneath them in wedding finery, or whatever passes for it in Starfleet. Oramongst the ruins of Lanigo, seeing as you apparently have a distinct fondnessfor them.”

The dry observation didn’t pass up Picard, who pointedly moved to an artefactof different origin – an archaic toy, which slotted together in multipledifferent ways. He rotated it curiously, giving it his full concentration.

“You are aware, presumably, that Will would be the onboard officiant inmy absence?”

“Yet another reason we’re not doing it here,” Q growled. “I wouldrather perish than recite vows in that man’s general direction.”

The lack of conditional tense didn’t escape the observant Captain’snotice, who manipulated the puzzle with vague amusement – was he assuming hisagreement?

Two can play theteasing game, mon dieu.

“I imagine the buffet would be a culinary delight…”

“Oh, exquisite. The most delectable of canapés, caviar, Tinibriansnufflegorts, foie gras… anything French, naturally, as well as your family’sbest vintage on ice. Candles absolutely everywhere, in shades of deepestvermillion and most regal sapphire, permanently aflame. It’ll be incrediblyromantic, Jean-Luc,” he cooed.

Picard directed a curious look at a (hopefully replicated – Q hadassured him) section of the Bayeux Tapestry that had hung upon his lounge wallfor a little under two years, gaze drilling into the primitively renderedswordplay – so he had thought about this, then.

“Of course, the crew would all be invited.” His voice remained admirablylevel, verging on sarcastic – this was a spectacle, surely, nothing more thanan elaborate attempt at distracting him –

“No,” Q replied instantly. “This isn’t for them.”

A resounding clack echoed as Picard’s fingers slammed a pieceinto place with far more force than he’d intended.

He’s not – he isn’teven joking. Dear gods above…

“Oh,” Q murmured sadly. “You actually thought I was just tryingto distract you.”

Why wouldI not think –Picard strangled down his own astonishment, digits lightly shaking against theflaking wood, his tone beaten into submission to remain neutral after a fewsharp swallows.

“What would you say, Q?”

The deity paused for a moment, knowing full well that he wasn’treferring to his own shock.

“Oh, something doubtlessly trite and exuberant,” he remarked softly. “Perhapsthat I have lived for millions of years, and that I never understood theconcept of a soulmate, or maybe that I would rip apart the known universe toprotect you, and trust me, I know it inside out. It’d be along those lines,certainly.”

Tears sparkled in slate-grey eyes, Picard finally deigning to turn tohis beloved.

“Do you have any idea how terrifying that is?”

“Significantly less so than the thought of being without you, I assume.”Q was staring earnestly at him, his expression matter-of-fact.

The human took a slightly ragged breath, heart beating wildly.

“Why do you want to do this, Q?”

Q murmured a bitter half-chuckle, getting up to prise the puzzlequietly from his hands.

“Because you don’t get to stay with me forever,” he whispered. “I canbring you back, of course, but that would be dependent, and I…”

He swallowed silently, collecting himself, cursing the very idea ofthis obtuse mortal and the weakness he had spawned at his very essence.

“It would be something of a comfort to know that somehow, in spirit,you’re always going to be by my side.”

He clicked softly; the conundrum split into pieces, the fragmentsincomplete without one another, but the ultimate prize at their heart. Picard’sgaze locked to it breathlessly, enraptured; it was unmarked platinum, jetblack, sparkling with what seemed like impossibly condensed stars.

“A permanently collapsing supernova.” Q’s voice was somewhat hoarse. “Capableof invisibility when you’re in anyone else’s company – I entirely understand ifyou don’t want this made into public knowledge – and I can make it into anecklace or something, if you’d rather –”

“Q.” Picard choked his name.

“Yes, dear?” His eyes were steel with intensity.

“Ask me the damned question.”

The god nodded nervously, fingers raising; Picard caught themimmediately, gaze burning.

“No,” he requested quietly. “No pomp, no ceremony, no relocation – not evena candle, mon dieu. I’m not here to respond to my magician,simply to the one I love.”

A distant, thankfully uninhabited spiral galaxy burst into an infernoat Q’s anticipation, at the absolute delight that was this human – he was wellwithin his rights to expect the universe’s most exuberant proposal from a manwho could easily deliver it, but he was more than content to simply accept thebasic question, already knowing his exact reward. He was truly exceptional.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, trembling silently. “Do I just –”

Perhaps that galaxy was far closer than he’d assumed, because by theContinuum, was it just him or had it retroactively climbed several thousanddegrees in the previous few seconds?

“However you wish, Q,” Picard reassured gently.

A muttered relief left him – thank the stars for that. It wasall getting vastly too… sweet.

As you command,mon capitan…

A firm hand spun the Frenchman, who gaped upwards and through theexoglass of his quarters as fireworks burst into existence, spelling out asimple question: MARRY ME?

“Surely you didn’t expect me to be so basic, Jean-Luc?” Hebreathed to his ear. “Not very me, is it?”

Picard burst out laughing, utter, fond exasperation permeating to hiscore.

“You entire fool,” he whispered. “I must be insane, but yes.”

Q beamed, arms wrapping tightly around him from behind.

“Guilty as charged,” he murmured. “Thank you, dear. Now,if you’ll excuse me, at least spiritually – I was rather delighted, you see,and I’m fairly certain half the quadrant saw that. Somewhat ruins the conceptof subtlety.”

Picard shook his head with a grin, willing for once to forgive him hisindiscretion, silently basking in the majesty of the universe as he pressed awarm kiss to his beloved’s clasped hands.

Perhaps he’d entirely lost the plot, but by his god, he’d willingly acceptit for this wondrous brand of madness.

#qcard #prompt fic #q #picard

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lonelypond · 6 years

Text

Jingle Bell Jazz, Ch. 3

Love Live, NicoMaki, 3K, 3/?

Summary: Maki gets advice from a friend, goes on a spending spree, and Bibi has a late night practice session.

Chapter 3

At some point, Nico and Eli had left, maybe telling Maki to go home and eat something and have a good Christmas but it was all a blur, Maki might have grunted, someone might have stood in the doorway too long and stared, but “Silver Bells” and “Jingle Bells” kept ringing, jangling, colliding in a nightmare Christmas cacophony.

There was a knock on the door, but before Maki could do more than pause or focus, the door swung open and Honoka blew in, followed by Umi.

“Hey, Maki! You learning to improv? That was a pretty raucous version of “Jingle Bells”. How’d you do it?” Honoka and Umi were both dressed to go home, Umi in a long navy coat, Honoka in a bright orange plaid wool shirt jacket, white scarf loose around her neck.

“She was blending in chords from “Silver Bells” too.” Umi pointed out.

“Oh, that’s why it sounded,” Honoka paused, elbowed Umi, and chortled, “Doubly familiar.”

Umi rolled her eyes as she approached the piano, “Are you all right, Maki? They’re about to close up the building until after Christmas.”

Maki glanced at her watch, 6 p.m. It was that late. She shook her head, fingers scrabbling through her hair, rolling her shoulders. Stopping was good. Stopping was a survival necessity.

Honoka was catty-corner to Maki, humming, grabbing her sticks out of her chest pocket. “We should do that, Umi. It sounds so cool.”

Maki leaned her elbow on the piano, marveling at Honoka’s enthusiasm as the ginger haired drummer tapped her sticks on the piano, keeping the simple tempo that Maki needed to do, rather than get lost in a musical ramble.

“You might as well. I can’t play it. My piano is supposed to be Nico’s drum section.” Maki didn’t have the energy to grumble for effect, by this point, she was feeling some sympathy for Nico, having to break in a new musician a week before a big event. Not that Nico would ever know that.

“That’s pretty cool, too.” Nothing dented Honoka.

“You should play that for Nico and Eli. They might surprise you.” Umi was putting on gloves, a wary sentry as Honoka got closer to breakable things.

“I need to surprise them.” Maki watched Honoka for a moment, played one of the shorter Silver Bell riffs she’d gone off on and listened as Honoka adapted, keeping a steady tempo, and then when Maki went back to the melody, Honoka did too. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Know when I’m about to end the solo?”

Umi eyed Honoka with the earnestness of teacher letting her prize pupil take on a solo task for the first time. Honoka thought for a moment, then slid next to Maki on the piano bench, but no hip shove like Nico. Honoka put her sticks in front of the music stand and raised her arms, shoulders tensed, then she let them drop, her blue eyes eager for Maki to understand, “You did that. You went back to what you knew.”

“There was a definite relaxation in your posture.” Umi agreed.

“I can always tell when Umi’s going to end a solo ‘cause she takes an extra long breath.”

“Interesting.” Umi pocketed Honoka’s drumsticks.

“But me having a tell is not going to help me with…” Maki fretted.

“I can loan you some records…listening to different singer-drummer or singer-horn combos might help. You get to feel the back and forth. It’s like they’re talking.” Honoka offered, Maki spun on the bench, staring at her friend, and there was another knock, which only Umi noticed.

Maki had frozen, Honoka’s words turning in her mind. Playing was melding piano and possibility, taking the notes, coaxing or commanding the emotions seeded in the music to full, bursting expression. But for this, for what Nico wanted, was she required to step away from instrument AND emotion? Forget technique, get lost in the physicality of pounding tempos?

Umi turned with a “sorry, we’ll be done in…” but stopped when she recognized Tsubasa Kira, the leader of the UTX Swing Orchestra.

“Hello, ladies. I was hoping to find Nico.” Tsubasa had a shiny green swing coat Maki knew she’d seen in the most fashionable of 5th Avenue boutiques..

“Not here.” Maki, still considering Honoka’s suggestion, snapped her reply.

“Too bad. I guess I’ll have to catch her after Christmas.” Tsubasa glanced over the room, “Any of you lovely ladies care to join me for dinner?”

“You’re from UTX Swing right?” Honoka bounced up.

“Yes, Tsubasa Kira. And you are?”

“Honoka. Me and Umi and Kotori have our own band, μ's. Maybe you could give us some tips.” Honoka stood, offering her hand to Tsubasa.

“Honoka, I am afraid we would be bothering Miss…” Umi began.

“I’d be happy too.” Tsubasa slid off her glove and took Honoka’s hand. “I’m not as familiar with Brooklyn as I’d like to be. Maybe you could suggest a few places of interest in trade.”

“Umi?” Honoka let her face fall into one of her favorite expressions when trying to get Umi to agree to something, mopey but hopeful.

“We have to meet Kotori, Honoka.”

“She can come along. Right, Tsubasa?”

“The more the merrier.” Tsubasa glanced at Maki, “How about you?”

Maki shook her head. She’d gotten up from the piano and grabbed her overcoat, “No, thank you. I’m going to take Honoka’s suggestion and get records to listen to. Who’s got the best jazz selection?”

“Try Hall and Ivy Records, they’re on Oak Street.” Umi stated, “They’ll be open for a couple more hours.”

“Thanks.” Maki bowed as she put on her coat and rushed out the door.

###

Nancy Wilson, Maki had started there, and the helpful clerk had steered her to the singer’s collaborations with Cannonball Adderly and George Shearing. Then more Shearing and Nat King Cole had been added to the stack, a few Sinatras, but when Maki expressed a preference for female voices, the stack had reached half her height, filled out with Ella Fitzgerald, then Nina Simone who was a pianist as well, and Blossom Dearie. So many singers in Maki’s head as she lifted and dropped the tone bar, tossing records to the side, searching album covers for songs that might work for Nico. After an hour, Maki was ready for a change from Simone’s raspy, swelling blues and Ella’s dash and dynamism. Time for the Nancy Wilson strata of Maki’s new purchases. The smooth. Like In Love. A peppy version of “The Street Where You Live” kicked off the album, brightening the music room. Maki followed that with “The More I See You,” an invitation to love as a mellow madness. “Almost Like Being in Love” started with a full swing of instruments and then Wilson stepped up. But amazing as it all sounded, Maki was getting nowhere. She let the record play on, half paying attention, and choosing her next...“The Swinging Is Mutual,’ Nancy Wilson and the George Shearing Quintet...top of the stack..Maki remembered the clerk selling it as not jazz exactly, but an amazing, equal collaboration between singer and pianist. Maybe? Half hope, half dread, Maki slipped the vinyl out of the sleeve, placing it on the turntable, wondering what the needle would reveal. The first tune, ‘On Green Dolphin Street’ was sprightly, The second, no singer. The third, the third stopped Maki cold, she sank to the floor, in front of the speakers, as Nancy Wilson’s smooth snared her, velvet tones dripping off the vinyl, wrapping Maki up, Wilson drawing out notes as Shearing masterfully matched her intent, tenderly caressing the singer’s voice with a slow countermelody. The song ended too quickly. Maki got to her knees, picked up the tone arm and dropped the needle back in the same groove, listening, marveling as Wilson drew the notes out, feeling how the pause between piano chords embraced the singer, a bed for the pure tones of tender affection, and then the denser chords of the accompaniment took the conversation to the next flirtation. Again, Maki dropped the needle, imagining Nico across the room, singing those words, making different choices, never taking her eyes off Maki as they created their own mood.

Maki abruptly pulled the needle off the vinyl, back to its rest. Had she seen Nico’s number scribbled somewhere? Reaching up to pull Nico’s music off the piano, Maki tore through pages. There it was. Quick race to the phone in the hall, heart pounding as she dialed the numbers, the rotary taking forever to return before she could dial the next, making an odd cranky sound she’d never noticed before. Three rings and an answer, a cheerful voice, lacking any of Nico’s inherent grumble.

“Hello? Nozomi speaking.”

Maki closed her eyes and willed her voice not to waver, “Is Nico there?”

There was a pause, “You sound familiar....is this Maki?” The voice then sounded more distant, “Eli, it’s Maki on the phone. She called for Nico. Maybe you can help her.”

“No, that’s all right…” Maki started to say, but it was obvious Nozomi had stopped listening as Maki could hear the clunkiness of the phone hand off.

“Maki?” Eli sounded rushed and nervous. “Is there a problem?”

“No, I just wanted to talk to Nico.” Maki dismissed several choices for her next statement, “I was listening to a few albums and I had some questions.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea. I can loan you some of mine too.” Eli sounded like she was grinning, “Thanks for all the effort you’re putting in. Umi said you were serious, but Nico was so worried after the…” Eli paused, “uh, never mind...Nico’s at work right now, she won’t be back ‘til after midnight and then she has to leave early in the morning.”

“Where does she work?” Maki had her pencil poised, ready to write the address.

“Um…”

“Does she take a cab home? I can pick her up.”

Eli sighed, “Calm down, Maki. I’ll give you the number. You can just call her there. Nobody’ll mind.” Eli hesitated, “Just try to sound...less…” Eli sounded pensive, “90 miles an hour?”

Maki heard Nozomi laugh.

Maki’s hand was actually trembling this time, as she dialed the number of Nico’s work. She practiced saying “Hi, sorry to disturb you, but may I speak to Miss Yazawa” several times, hoping her voice would sound as normal as it did ordering a burger at the lunch counter.

The call was picked up and a deeper voice than Nico’s muttered a slurred “Ace of Roses.” Maki could barely make out the name.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to speak to Miss Yazawa. It’s somewhat urgent.”

There was a pause, then a raspy response, “Oh, Nico? Sure, she’s heading this way. Who’s calling?”

“Maki Nish…”

Before Maki could finish her name, she heard “Nico, sweetie, there’s a phone call. Maki? That’s not one of your sisters, right?”

Maki heard Nico’s voice, puzzled, “No, she’s in my band. Thanks, Dani.” Then the phone changed hands, and Maki relaxed as Nico finally spoke to her, “Hey, Maki. What’s up?”

“I figured it out. I know what to do. I went and bought records and I’ve been listening to Nina Simone and Ella Fitzgerald and Frank SInatra and when George Shearing plays the intro for Nancy Wilson on “The Nearness Of You” and then he hands off the song, it just…”

“Maki,” Nico’s breathing sounded amused and very nasal, “Slow down and breathe. Nico has no idea what you’re talking about. It’s been a long day.”

“I know what to do, Nico. It’s a conversation. Can we try again? Please? You improvising, me keeping the beat?”

“Sure, at our nex…”

“No.” Maki didn’t mean to snap, but she could hear, could feel it, she needed to be at the piano, NOW, Nico singing, to play in the pauses, while Maki still held the sense of it, “Now. It has to be now. Here. If we don’t...can’t...I don’t know how I’ll…”

There was a pause, Nico considering, Maki desperately throttling the flow of desperate persuasion that wanted to come out of her mouth.

“Nico has to leave early tomorrow.”

“Eli said that.”

The next statement was stretched out, as if Nico were testing ice, “It’s a slow night. Dani’d probably let me go home…”

Maki tried for offhand, “I have a car.”

“Of course you do.” Nico muttered. “Pick Nico up in a half an hour. Then we can stop by my place and get Eli. Do you have the address?”

“Yes.”

###

Nico and Eli were shoved together in the non driving seat of Maki’s Mercedes 300 SL, Eli’s sax in the trunk.

“Nico, stop digging your elbow into me.” Eli shoved Nico forward, while Maki tried not to speed nervously through empty streets.

“Just stay still, Eli. And keep giving off heat. Nico is freezing. Convertible roadsters are not winter friendly.”

“The engine’s fuel injected.” Maki stated proudly, “First car model ever to have that.”

“Will that make Nico warmer?”

Maki decided to show off and let the car go, hitting 55 mph just as a street light turned red, Maki opting to speed through rather than bounce her passengers off the dashboard, “We’ll get there faster.”

Nico leaned back against Eli with a groan, “Wrap your coat around me. Nico’s not dressed for any of this.”

Eli demurred, arms at her side as Maki kept speeding toward home.

###

Nico stared in awe at the records scattered in haphazard stacks on the console. “Santa came early? DId you listen to ALL of these, Maki?”

Maki shook her head, putting away coats, trying not to stare at Nico in her work outfit of short black skirt, fishnets, white oxford, bowtie, and black vest. Nico had taken off her shoes and was reclining on the music room’s padded bench as she loosened her tie and unbuttoned her shirt collar.

“No. A few and then when I heard the Nancy Wilson and George Shearing “Nearness of You….” Maki paused, taking a moment to enjoy the shiver of sensation memory provided, her lavender eyes luminous. Nico was prone on the bench by now, legs up at the knee, ankles crossed, chin in her hands, watching the redhead curiously. Maki sat at the piano, “It all clicked.”

“What clicked?” Eli was sorting through the albums, putting a few to the side, mostly Cannonball Adderly.

Maki sat at the piano, looking to Nico, not caring if she sounded at the end of her tether, “Just sing it. Please.”

“Sing what?”

“”The Nearness Of You”. Do you know it?”

“Sort of...do you, Eli?” Nico rolled on to her back.

Eli shook her head, “But I’m not the problem we’re trying to solve.” She took a record out of its sleeve, “I’ll play it for you, Nico.”

“Third song.” Maki knew she sounded too eager, but her fingers were desperate to melt the corners of the keys into smooth textures Nico’s cherry voice could glide over, her eyes needed to scrutinize Nico’s expression as she bit into the words.

“Got it.” Eli announced.

Nico listened, hands behind her head, humming along. “Drop the needle again, Eli.” And Eli did and this time Maki played along, the notes not as seamless as she’d hoped. Nico swung up, a little pale, and Maki could feel the worry nudge at her. It had been a long day, but if Maki could crack this, make this song work, and maybe another one, they could go into their two day Christmas break knowing rehearsals would be easier when they got back, that the show would work, that their combo could keep it together and entertain.

Maki played the intro, breathing too rushed for comfort, ears waiting for Nico to take over. And voice suddenly sultry, she did.

It's not the pale moon that excites me That thrills and delights me, oh no It's just the nearness of you

It isn't your sweet conversation That brings this sensation, oh no It's just the nearness of you

Eyes locked on Nico, whose long eyelashes had fluttered down, gently, over smoldering depths in red hot cinnamon eyes, Maki kept the gentle roll, sneaking in a countermelody, an answer to the sensual mood Nico was pulling around them both, as Eli joined in, sax soft and subtle, adjusting the air as if discreetly dimming the lights on a cozy couch scene. And when Nico dragged out the final “you,” letting it twist in the air and drop oh so so tenderly, Maki’s touch on the keys was smooth, sentimental, a cushion for Nico to end the song and the day on, relaxed, inviting, embracing.

Nico couldn’t take her eyes off Maki as their resonance lingered, a connection forged, and then Eli was there.

“That’ll work.”

Maki gulped and nodded, smiling at Nico, before her fingers returned to their quest and her boldness shied away, “Again.”

Nico snorted, “You’re really not one for mood are you?” Eli snorted and blew a quick response, Maki frowned, the mood uncertain again, but friendlier than it had been at any point over the past three days. “Again.” the singer agreed. She really did sound weary, Maki thought, but no trace of that tainted her voice as Nico lit a slow, languid flame with the song.

A/N: Bingo. Breakthrough. Listen to the Nancy Wilson George Shearing "Nearness of You." It's lovely.Stay warm (or cool in other hemispheres), safe, and have some fun, darn it. Comments always welcome.

#NicoMaki #Jingle Bell Jazz #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Ayase Eli #Bibi #Love Live #music #Christmas #Holiday #fanfic #etc.

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