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fact-fictionx · 4 years

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Fear - Benedict Bridgerton

A Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader oneshot.

A/N: This is a new style of writing for me, but I wanted to write this but didn’t want to become too attached and it end up being a multipart fic when I already have one on the go.

This is loosely based from this ask I sent (x)

If you would like to send a prompt (doesn’t have you be x reader, can be any pairing, even a OFC), I’ll try my best to get through them.

Let me know what you think xx

Dear Benedict,

By the time you read this I’ll be out in society, but right now I am quite frightened of that prospect. I knew mama would not allow me to hold back for another year, but somehow I feel too young. You may laugh, at nineteen I am far older than some of the other young ladies I will debut with, but that does not retract from the idea that I am completely frightened.

Yours, Y/N

For Benedict when he was in London it was hard to find solace in his own home. His younger siblings lost now that their father was no longer here. The first year without his father, Benedict Bridgerton spent little time in his own house. Where the second Bridgerton truly found solace was in your house. Your family had lived a few doors down from the Bridgertons for longer than your parents could even remember, the family friendship blooming from the similar ages you and your siblings shared with the eldest four Bridgertons.

Your brothers matched Anthony and Benedict in age, whereas you were two years younger than them and your youngest brother coming only a few months prior to the birth of the third Bridgerton, Colin. Your three brothers and the Bridgerton brothers grew close, leaving you to follow in their footsteps as you grew up between them. You played in the mud at your frequent visits to Aubrey Hall, much to your mothers dismay, and giggled innocence when Anthony and Benedict often bullied each other.

As you grew into a young woman, your friendship with the three Bridgerton boys soon grew apart. You were civil, of course, but you were not permitted to spend as much time with them as before. Instead you learnt the piano and began your journey with terrible embroidery.

After the death of Edmun Bridgerton you sat solemnly playing the piano, it was a sad time for everyone to hear the news, but your heart wretched thinking of the Bridgertons and how they would miss their father. The Bridgerton family didn’t frequent so much at your home, and the dinner invitations stopped, which you expected, but it still didn’t mean you didn’t miss their presence.

One day you sat tinkering away on the piano, piecing together notes and scribbling them down on paper. After a while you fell into the zone, your fingertips caressing the keys as the melody chimed from the instrument. You didn’t notice that Benedict Bridgerton had settled himself into the corner of the room, flipped open his sketch book and started to draw.

When you finally took notice of your surroundings your playing suddenly stopped. Benedict looked up and your eyes caught each other, the young Bridgerton snapping his book shut and jumping up. “I am so sorry, Y/N” he straightened his clothes, you noticed that his eyes were heavy, his hair disheveled and his skin sallow. You had seen grief affect people this way, and you knew that if you could give him some sort of respite from it, you would let him sit for as long as you wanted.

“Don’t be Benedict, you can stay,” you smiled politely. With a nod and a look of thanks, Benedict sat back down and opened his book.

From then on you often found yourself alone with Benedict, he pottering away in his sketchbook and you practicing the pianoforte. Your parents did not care, you were both young and friends. You began to share dinners at both households, and you watched Benedict blossom from the grief he was feeling into a fine young man.

After a few months your silence grew into conversations, something odd you had read in the paper, or a piece of gossip you had heard from a maid about another high strung household. Soon, you and Benedict became friends.

When he left to study in Oxford, you felt lost, alone. But you continued to enhance your own studies, practice the piano and continue with your terrible endeavour of embroidery. When Benedict came back for the first summer your heart burst, the Bridgerton’s crooked smile making you feel warm inside, it was then you knew that you were in completely in love with him.

It was at nineteen your mother finally put her foot down on you postponing your coming out another year, and you were well and truly frightened. Penning the letter to Benedict was difficult, you knew there was little he could do. By the time he received it and responded, there could be a chance you would be engaged to marry another man. A life without Benedict was a life you weren’t sure you wanted to live, but Benedict didn’t know the feelings you had for him, to him it was just a friendship.

Your first ball was a complete nightmare. You stepped on the toes of two gentlemen, and accidentally threw a drink down another. Completely mortified you tried your very best to persuade your mother to let you miss the next one, but when Violet Bridgerton insisted that she came to the ball with you, your mother practically dragged you out of the door.

“You see dear,” Violet spoke as you walked around the room with your arm hooked in hers, “People will forget about your first ball, if you fascinate them at another.” You were completely confused by the statement Violet said, how could you fascinate anyone? You were a mumbling wreck when a man approached, completely unaware of what was appropriate to talk about. To be quite perfectly honest, you had expected to feel the same comfort with the man you were to marry as you did with Benedict Bridgerton, but you were not quite sure you could find that.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Anthony Bridgerton spoke as he approached you, he stopped gently in front of you and tipped his hand forward, you stared at his hand for a moment before realising that Anthony Bridgerton was not just a friend anymore, he was a Viscount and you were now a lady, you had to treat him as such. “Lord Bridgerton,” you curtseyed slightly, feeling a rush of embarrassment wind through your body as you placed your gloved hand in his, his lips brushing slightly on your knuckles, a mischievous wink coming from him as he stood back up. You furrowed your eyes at the man who you knew far too much about and wondered what he was doing.

“Care for this dance?” He asked, not letting go of your hand. “Of course…” Your words were drawn in curiosity, unsure why Lord Bridgerton would dance with you after the gossip that had very quickly spread after the last time.

As you stood in Anthony’s hold you relaxed slightly, Anthony Bridgerton had no intentions of making you his wife, you were completely sure of that after watching him sneak back into Bridgerton house at the early hours of the morning, his cravat crooked and his hair a complete and utter mess. Anthony Bridgerton had made it well known that he did not intend to marry just yet. “You are not a bad dancer,” Anthony muttered as they circled the floor, “You flatter me, Lord Bridgerton,” you chuckled in his hold, his hand firmly on your back as he led you, “Why are you doing this?” You asked, your gaze focusing back onto the eldest Bridgerton. “Truth?” he raised his eyebrows, “Nothing but,” you responded, “Mother,” he said dryly, “She wanted me to help you attract some attention,” he added, “Oh and here I thought you had every desire to dance with me,” you gave him a wry smile as your eyebrow cocked. “You do not desire to dance with me?” Anthony asked back, his eyebrow cocked in amusement, “You are the wrong Bridgerton,” you sighed slightly before gasping as you realised the words that tumbled from your mouth. You felt Anthony chuckle in your hold and you met his eyes in desperation for him not to speak a word to anyone else, “Oh dear, Y/N, everyone knows but Benedict, and everyone knows that he is in love with you, but you.” Anthony smirked, “Anthony Bridgerton, do not dare play with my feelings.” You scolded him, not caring about formalities in such a situation. “But I am not, I believe our mothers have a bet on, but I try to not believe ladies with such high esteem bet,” his smirk was a constant on his face as he pulled from the hold and bowed as the music ended.

Sleep failed to dawn on you that evening, you could not stop playing the words Anthony said over and over in your head. Completely aghast at the fact your own mothers had bet on you and Benedict, you feared bringing the subject up with your mother incase Anthony Bridgerton was telling a lie, which you did slightly suspect.

The next morning you sat in the drawing room, your fingers delicately pressing over the piano keys as your mother sat completing her most recent needlework endeavour. Tea had been brought up by the maids, along with an array of sweets and biscuits. You were doubtful that any suitors would call, after your dance with Anthony you only danced twice more. They weren’t as eventful as your first ball, this time you didn’t step on their toes or spill a drink down them, but you were too consumed in your own thoughts to have an even legible conversation with them.

The butler walked into the room announcing himself with a cough, causing both you and your mother to snap your heads to the doorway. “Lord Stanley for Miss Y/L/N,” your heart skipped a beat. You were not sure you had ever conversed with a Lord Stanley, but someone had come to see you and it filled you with giddiness and nerves.

As Lord Stanley walked in you were completely taken aback by his presence. His blonde hair shone in the morning sun that filtered through the window, his jaw was strong and you were sure his ocean blue eyes were piercing you from across the room. He held a bouquet of flowers and your heart fluttered at the first flowers you had received as a gift. Standing up abruptly you curtseyed to Lord Stanley before guiding him to sit down.

Lord Stanley was filled with humour, he made you giggle uncontrollably and as you spoke he looked directly into your eyes, listening intently to what you said. When he left you glided across to the piano with a smile on your face, but as soon as you sat down your thoughts shifted and you couldn’t help but compare him to Benedict. Benedict was funny, his humour nuanced, he didn’t just watch you as you spoke, he actively listened and hung onto every word, asking questions to find more meaning, but he also knew when silence was needed.

After a week, one ball and two occasions of promanading with Lord Stanley the whole of the Ton was abuzz with the idea that you would marry. You could anticipate a proposal of marriage coming soon, Lord Stanely had visited your father a few days ago thinking you hadn’t noticed. Your heart wretched as you thought of Benedict, wondering if waiting for him would be a good idea, or if you should accept Lord Stanley and start a life with him. Marrying Lord Stanley meant that Benedict would no longer be your neighbour, you would move to the north and only visit London on the occasion. The Bridgerton family a distant memory that you would only say hello to when you brushed by them in the ballroom.

As you prepared for the evening's ball you looked through the mirror at your Lady’s Maid, Anna. “Should I marry Lord Stanley?” you asked with a sigh, your eyes connecting with the brunette as she dressed your hair, “I do not think that’s a decision I should make, miss,” Anna responded, you swallowed, trying to think of the answer yourself. Every time you thought of marriage with Lord Stanley your mind switched to Benedict. Your dreams were filled with Benedict the closer you to Lord Stanley.

Lord Stanley was a perfect gentleman, and everything you would have wanted in a man, and you were sure he would be faithful and give you a perfect life. But perfect did not mean happy. You dreamed of a love match, after hearing stories of Edmund and Violet as you grew up you wished to have what they had. Your parents loved each other, of course they did, but when they married it was from necessity and they grew to love each other.

On his return to London all Benedict heard about was the impending marriage between you and Lord Stanley. It ate him up to think about you with someone else, but what more could he expect. He clutched his response to your letter in his hand, it had been sat in his desk for weeks waiting to be sent, but he couldn’t bring himself to send it, to potentially risk everything.

Benedict was dragged from the house soon after he had arrived, thankful that his mother and Anthony had given him enough time to change from his travelling clothes to something much more suited for a ball. The Bridgerton family had arrived early, but people had begun to filter into the room, the musicians playing soft accompanying music that did not really warrant anyone dancing. Standing at the refreshment table Benedict spoke to his brother, sipping at the dire lemonade that had been served.

“So who is this Lord Stanley?” Benedict attempted to be smooth in his question to his brother, but from the look on Anthony’s smirk he was far from smooth, “Him,” Anthony pointed at a tall blonde who waited with a slight eagerness at the bottom of the stairs, “He seems nice,” Anthony shrugged, “Completely enamoured with Y/N, there’s rumours that tonight he will ask her for her hand, word has gone round that he always has her father’s permission,” Benedict’s heart dropped in his chest.

Looking at the entrance to the ballroom Benedict’s heart thumped in his chest, he knew he had been gone the best part of a year, but he hadn’t expected to be completely speechless when he laid his eyes on the most beautiful woman.

As you entered the room by your mothers side, you smiled at the guests as you walked through with apprehension. It was not news to you that Lord Stanley was going to ask you tonight, and you still were not sure how you would answer. Scanning the room your eyes met Lord Stanley’s briefly, giving him a polite smile before continuing to roam the room. Your throat clamped shut and your heart began to thump in your chest as your eyes met with Benedict’s, you had not heard from him since you sent your letter, you had not expected to see him tonight.

Gulping with an overwhelming sense of anxiety, you fell from your mothers hold and shuffled through the crowd, finding an escape in the library of the house. Reaching the safety of the silent library you began gasping for air as the tears pricked at the back of your eyes wishing to escape. Benedict was here, Benedict would know of the engagement soon after it happened, Benedict would be in and out of your life in just mere minutes if you were going to say yes. Benedict, the man you were completely certain you loved for the last few years was here and you were due to be betrothed to another man. Your father had already given him permission, there was no doubt a discussion of you dowry. For all intents and purposes, you had been signed off to Lord Stanely. A lot would have to happen if Lord Stanley and your father were willing to let you say no.

Turning in your panicked state you gasped as you saw Benedict Bridgerton looking at you with what seemed to be a thousand different emotions.

“Benedict.” You whispered, your heart skipping a beat as the Bridgerton bounded across the room to meet you. His arms wrapped around you in an embrace that made all the fear and panic escape from your body, in his arms you felt safe. “Y/N,” he whispered as he pulled from the embrace, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he held you at arm's length. You looked at him with apprehension, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were trying to escape. “Are you going to marry him?” he asked, his eyes filled with sorrow as the words fell from his mouth.

Your lips opened to answer Benedict, but you truly did not know the answer. Your heart belonged to him, but you did not know where his heart lay.

“I responded to your letter,” Benedict broke the silence, “I did not receive it,” you added, confusion riddled in your voice as your mind continued to ruminate on Benedict’s first question. “I-I didn’t send it.” Benedict stuttered slightly, his hand reaching into his waistcoat and pulling out a folded letter. You could see your name scribbled on the front, the letter had been scrunched and crinkled numerous ways, no longer the pristine piece it once was. “Here.” Benedict whispered, handing the letter to you and stepping back.

You stared at the paper in silence, your breathing heavy and your mouth agape as you looked at your name written in Benedict's hand. You had seen this many times over the years, your mind knew his penmanship better than your own, and yet seeing your name written by him at this very moment made your stomach twist. With a deep breath you broke the wax seal and began to read.

Dear Y/N,

I cannot imagine the fear that is running through your mind, but I am sure you will stun many gentlemen on your debut.

I must admit that I am in fact very jealous that I cannot be there to see you, and I cannot fathom the thought of you playing the piano for anyone but I.

I miss the time we would spend in your family library, me sketching and you playing harmonious melodies throughout the afternoon. The laughter we shared and the complete comfort I felt in your presence.

The gentleman in me wants to wish you well, wants you to have numerous gentleman callers and to be whisked off your feet with gifts and poetry, but right now Y/N, I cannot be a gentleman.

To imagine you with another man is abhorrent, I do not want to wish you well. All I want you to do is to wait for me.

Yours, Benedict.

A tear trickled down your cheek as you looked up and met Benedict’s pleading gaze. “Ben,” you whispered, your eyes running over the words once again, his heartfelt plea in his writing, his face filled with hurt as he looked at you, waiting for an answer, wondering if he had been too late, if he should have sent the letter as soon as he wrote it and maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation where he would have to see you marry another man.

“I did not know you felt this way,” you wiped the tear from your face and sniffed back any ones that threatened to fall, folding the letter in your hand you looked at Benedict who stepped forward again. As he closed the gap between you two, your attempts to stop your tears failed, a singular tear rolling down your cheek. Benedict caught it with his thumb, his hand lingering on your cheek. “I was unsure of your feelings,” Benedict whispered, his eyes fluttering around your face, trying to find the answer. “I am quite sure I have always loved you, Benedict Bridgerton.” you whispered. You watched how his eyes glistened with happiness as the words fled your mouth.

Before you knew it, Benedict had crushed his lips onto yours, his arms wrapped around your wait to pull your body into his. You moulded into his embrace, feeling his warm lips on yours as you reacted to his touch, your hands grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket to keep yourself steady whilst simultaneously keeping him connected to you. It was all you had ever dreamed of and more, his touch was soft but passionate, it was like years of feelings had burst free and you were no longer hiding.

“I suppose that makes me the winner, mother.” Anthony’s voice carried through the room, disrupting you and Benedict in your embrace. You pulled out sharply, stumbling back as a gasp escaping your lips as you had been caught. Anthony and Violet Bridgerton stood at the entry looking on, Anthony had a smirk on his face whilst Violet wore a shocked expression. “I won't tell your mother what I saw, but you two will not be allowed alone again until you are married,” Violet said sternly, not impressed that her son had just been improper with a lady. “But what about Lord Stanley?” you asked, your lips tingling from Benedict’s touch, your heart racing and your mind a complete haze. “He went to ask your father a few nights ago, in which he said to ask you, which I believe was your mothers doing, she wasn’t going to force you into anything,” Violet smiled before turning away. “Told you the bet was true,” Anthony winked at you, before gesturing for you and Benedict to leave immediately.

#Benedict Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #benedict x reader #bridgerton ff

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catcze · 3 years

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hey it’s kiwi anon! i’ve been melting at the thought of musician kazuha lately so i just knew i had to let it out somehow. ^^;;

*before reading, i’d like to note that this is somewhat of a modern au where the reader and kazuha attend a prestigious music school known for raising successful musicians. only the best of the best are accepted, so it’s certainly a privilege to be there! (though, of course, it has its downsides but we’ll get to that later..)

and i wrote it in second person (gn!) this time!! >:)

(tbh i’m not particularly proud of this one but i really hope you guys like it anyway. ><)

“The stray melody:

its echo reverberates

such sad solitude.”

“Only at the right time shall the day come when I may ride the infallible winds of freedom to the place where creativity bears no bounds.”

“You are bound?” “How so?” You questioned.

After a long awaited interlude, you were finally face to face with the (formerly) faceless musician.

—

About a month ago, you were assigned a new practice room. Although most students would view this as a blessing from the archons, you found yourself in an unfavorable situation. Suddenly being thrown into playing in a new environment made you uneasy, and though your stance on this was unwavering, there was no disobeying the school.

But the first time the sound of violin seeped through the walls and filled your room with its charming tune, you were bewitched. For some strange reason, it was comforting to know that someone else was on the other side of the wall. Occasionally, you would pause practice abruptly only to listen to the chords, losing yourself in thought with the way they blended together in the most musical way possible; but before you could notice, an hour or two has passed and you’ve barely done much of anything.

Maybe this was a curse, but you surely weren’t one to complain about it.

One day, with no warning, it seemed the violinist began to play along with you. It never occurred to you that they could also listen through the wall, so it came as a complete surprise. It became a chivalric battle of wits; melodies fighting for dominance but only ever resulting in a satisfying draw. You couldn’t help but imagine their fingers dancing along the stringed instrument as your own strutted along the keys of the piano. And the way you two subconsciously created a heavenly harmony was enough to spark your interest and unhinged curiosity. Who are you?

But before you could ask, a faint voice spoke, “My dorm is located on the top floor near the gardens. I… do not expect you to meet me, but this could be considered as a statement or an invitation, however you perceive it.” That is what he said that day. God, even his voice was musical.

You, too, had no intention of meeting him directly. The thought of the school suspending the two of you for doing the bare minimum brought you back into your shell. You had limits, and there was nothing getting between you and your music career.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t willing to give some small effort into discovering the truth. Into the late hours of the evening, you took a casual stroll around the school’s gardens. Fortunately, you were alone. The silence was pleasant, but it didn’t last for long. As the familiar sound reached your perked ears, you searched around for the source of the noise. And there he was, standing on his patio with his long, bright hair tied back as the evening winds stroked each strand in its clutches— a violin held in his hand.

Everything about him was musical— even the way he pressed his delicate yet calloused fingers along the strings of the violin's neck. It didn’t take long for you to catch interest in the ruby-eyed violinist.

There was no explaining the way you two locked eyes for the first time. Though joyous, it seemed you both were lost— since when had you cared so much for someone you’d never met?

As it turned out, your dorms happened to be in close proximity with each other. It became routine for you to lean expectantly against the edge of your patio and for the violinist to leave his doors open so you could listen to his music as the sun would find its slumber, resting upon the horizon.

It didn’t take long for you to grow rather greedy. You longed to learn more about him, but everything about him was shrouded in an empty veil of unanswered questions and an identity you failed to identify.

Luckily, fate has its ways.

Curiosity led you to find yourself exploring into the deeper, abandoned depths of the school’s halls. You entered into a seemingly empty music room before shortly realizing you weren’t alone. The feeling of eyes staring daggers at your back made you prickle with fear until you turned to realize that such eyes belonged to the skilled violinist himself.

“Comedic coincidence always has its ways,” he remarked, the corners of his lips lifting into a gentle grin.

—

His face was always melded into the shape of endless pondering. He had a relaxed nature that was simply unchanging. And though he often appears to be a simple man at first glance, Kaedehara Kazuha was anything but simple.

It surprised you to see a vulnerable side of him, because you never expected him to have one. First impressions were surely deceiving.

He crouched over, his hand supporting his head in a lazy manner.

“I sense that I am suffering from a lack of passion— the kind that children may experience as they wrap their fingers around a bow for the first time,” a stray shadow came across him as he breathily sighed, “The walls of this school are suffocating, but I, like many others, can endure this drowning feeling.”

Kazuha often spoke in a unique manner— resembling a loud whisper.

“So, I wasn’t the only one who noticed,” you noted, “I’d hate to admit it, but this school is a living nightmare.”

Kazuha’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“And neither of us can wake from it.”

Momentarily, he shifted his position so he sat closer to you. His shoulder shrugged as his arm straightened and his hand held onto the edge of the seat to support himself, his handsome head hung idly backwards.

“But, I feel like I have a reason to keep going, but as of now it lingers in my head as an enigma of sorts. Perhaps it is odd to find myself blindly following passion without reason, but I have a feeling that perhaps,” he paused, his fingers traced along the seat and his pinkie linked delicately with yours, “you have a role to play in this.”

Your face burned slightly at the sudden display of physical touch.

His speech was vague. You naively wanted to question his use of words (and actions), but it didn’t seem timely. Until, next time.

You beamed slightly, “Perhaps so.”

Kazuha’s pinkie finger squeezed against yours before letting go. He stood up with his eyes still burning into your own.

“It appears I have surpassed my original practice time,” his eyes shifted towards the door, “We must take our leave before someone discovers that we are here.”

With his back facing you, Kazuha wrapped his hand around the door knob, but before he could turn it, he turned his head to look at you once more, flashing that signature smile of his.

“If you don’t mind me asking, would you like to be my accompanist for the upcoming concert?”

To you, Kazuha was like a hatchling, growing each day and itching to spread his wings and fly to places that are unheard of. He worked constantly, trying to rewrite the textbook definition of music into something more meaningful. He was ambitious, highly so; but you adored that about him.

It is silly, but you began to think that perhaps one day, you could be the one who frees him from the school’s heavy shackles.

- kiwi ! (hopelessly falling for ridiculously complicated plots to write about-)

(and no, i don’t play the violin hahah so sorry for any errors. :/ i play multiple instruments and have taken and still take music education so i hope that suffices.. might go for something more sweet and simple next time with more snarky kazu <3)

Holy shit!! Kiwi, babe, you never fail to impress akjndajks 😭

ajndkjsdPLEASE this is so good oh my goddakjsdas <33333

BABE you just keep outdoing yourself I–– 😭💞

This was literally so good?? Like, all of it? ajksndajks holy shittt <3333

Kiwi I am at a literal loss for words but I really, really hope you see how in love with this I am from my keysmashing akjsndkja <33333

#Kiwi anon #Kazuha x reader #Kaedehara Kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #This is so good omg I–– 😭💞#Cw GN reader

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Intertwined - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: It's a hanahaki fic, so. Mild body horror, blood, respiratory illness. (Starts at Ch 3 and gets worse from there).

Characters: All

Pairing: Moceit

Additional Notes: This one was supposed to be Darker and Longer, but turns out I'm not in the headspace to write angst atm, so it ends up moving p fast. Swaps between Janus and Patton's POVs. Post-PoF, light angst. Not whump. They both get hanahaki, but there is absolutely no version of Moceit in my mind where Janus isn't the one who falls first. My AO3 username is WizatdGlick.

Summary: The story of how Janus and Patton find each other at rock bottom and fall in love anyway.

A gentle knock on Janus' door drew him out of his thoughts. He donned a mask of triumph as he rose to open it, straightening his hat as he went. It couldn't be Remus; Remus never knocked so softly, which meant that Janus had to perform. He slid into the role with difficulty, struggling to find the edges of this gloating persona when all he felt was numb and tired and lost.

It was Patton at the door, and Janus felt everything slip, and Patton's eyes lit up with recognition, and all of Janus' resolve fell away in the face of that beseeching gaze.

"Come for another debate?" Janus asked in a low voice, making no effort to hide his ironical smile.

Patton smiled too, though he dropped it a moment too soon. Janus got the distinct impression that Patton was also far too wrung-out to put on any kind of act tonight. "Just came to check on you."

It would be as natural as breathing for Janus to draw back, place his fingertips delicately to his chest, widen his eyes. ' Check on me?' he would say, all faux-innocence, ' Please, Patton, I'm not a child. I don't need your pity.'

But he didn't.

Here was Patton, reaching out, and hadn't that been what Janus had wanted all along? That tiny, fervent flame that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge, that smallest ember of hope that someone might just give him what he was convinced he had to take.

The seconds stretched out until the silence verged on awkward, and Janus' pride stood up to do what his cunning would not: "I'm fine." He was fine, strangely. Not happy, as he perhaps should have been, but nothing hurt.

Patton's brow furrowed. "Am I supposed to believe that?" he asked gently.

Something warm and soft and dangerous bloomed in Janus' chest at Patton's look of confusion. He had freckles on his nose, scattered like spilled cinnamon: a trait assigned by Thomas’ subconscious. "Patton," Janus said, flicking his gaze upwards to meet Patton's eyes. "Would you like to come in?"

"To your room ?" Patton asked, eyes widening. He looked past Janus' shoulder and Janus fought not to move and block Patton's gaze with his body. He had just invited Patton in; there was no point getting shy now. "Won't that, y'know, do something to me?"

"It's just a matter of self-control," Janus said, hoping to get a smile out of Patton.

Sure enough, Patton did smile. "What color is my shirt?"

Janus said, "True blue," and stepped backwards to let Patton in.

It was a risk to bring someone into his room like this, but he felt unusually clear-headed tonight, calm and strangely secure despite the fact he had just let a known enemy past his defenses, and despite the exhaustion that made every breath feel heavy.

"Warm in here," Patton remarked, looking around.

Janus motioned him over to a set of armchairs. To be seen was to be judged, and he wasn't sure what he would do if Patton found him lacking again . "I have a question for you, Patton."

In the low light, the tear tracks on Patton's cheeks glimmered when he tilted his head inquisitively. "You do?"

Janus nodded, slow and calculated. He was sure he already knew the answer to the question, and preemptive anger bubbled thick and hot in his veins. "Who," he said, unable to keep from glaring, "came to check on you?"

"Well," said Patton, "Ah… They don't-- Everyone's upset right now--"

"And you're not?" Janus demanded. "And don't you dare tell me that you're fine." His emotions were running too hot; he needed to check himself, but seeing Patton make excuses filled him with a passion he'd only ever felt on Thomas' behalf.

"I am--"

"Don't."

"But I have to be," Patton whispered. "I can't-- I know they told me… They said it was okay for me to be sad, but--"

"If you fall apart, there's no one there to pick up the pieces," Janus guessed. "Sure, you can be sad, as long as it doesn't interfere with your role."

"Don't be mad at them," Patton pleaded, and Janus realized with a jolt that he would get into no one's good graces by slinging around insults.

"It's just hard," Janus said plainly, only half-noticing the words coming out of his mouth. He had just become aware of a keen and sickening new desire, borne on the back of a newfound respect for Patton that he had even lasted this long without having some sort of spectacular breakdown. Janus' whole chest ached with it, that and the equally sickening knowledge that he had just become horrifically vulnerable, that he had fallen under a spell he could never hope to break.

He saw it in his mind's eye: he saw himself stand and lean over, take Patton's jaw in his hands, kiss him long and deep and slow. He saw himself lay his body and soul bare before Patton, getting on his knees to forgive Patton all his perceived flaws. He meant well, after all. He only ever meant well, and it wasn't really his fault that those good intentions were capable of morphing into a cruel and deadly weapon.

But he would plunge that weapon straight into Janus' heart before their lips could ever even meet. Janus could see it now, Patton pulling away in confusion and disgust. His tenuous patience would give out then and there, and Janus would have no hope of acceptance ever again. Same for Remus, probably. They would remain Dark Sides forever, damned to be eternal outcasts. All thanks to Janus' pathetic inability to control himself.

"Why do you care so much about…" Patton hesitated for a moment and gave a shallow sigh. "Well, about me?"

And now Janus found himself walking a chasm’s edge. His instinct was to lean hard into the opposite of the truth and insult Patton so deeply that he left and never came back. Eliminate the threat. But that wasn't an option now of all times. No, he had to maintain a friendship with Patton, somehow. He had to keep himself under control. How fun. "You're a part of Thomas," Janus said. He paused.

"So are the others."

"You've earned my respect."

"Oh," said Patton. "Wow, um. Gosh, that's…" His lower lip trembled. "I should go," he said in a broken voice.

Janus surveyed him in silent agony, teetering on the precipice of a lie. With a monumental effort, he pulled himself away from it and opened his arms. "Come here."

The floodgates opened. Patton fell into Janus' lap, already sobbing. Janus held him, all his muscles stiff and awkward. He was much smaller in the mindscape than he was in Thomas’ eyes and it was difficult to support Patton’s much larger frame. A sharp pain flared in Janus’ collarbone where Patton had buried his forehead and his tears were already starting to seep through Janus' clothes. He cringed at himself and the absurdity of the situation, wishing he had some way to make it better. He should have had words for this, all the right words to soothe away Patton's worries and set him right again. But he was so tired.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Patton said through shuddering sobs that dug his forehead harder into Janus' clavicle.

"It's okay," Janus said, concentrating hard on keeping the effects of his room at bay.

"Are you--" Patton sniffled " --sure you're okay?"

A rush of affection melted Janus' heart and he sighed and held Patton closer despite the shooting pain in his collarbone and the ache in his arms. Even in the midst of a post-breakdown breakdown, Patton was self-sacrificing (self- destructive) enough to check in on him. "You don't have a selfish bone in your body, do you?" Janus sighed, lamenting Patton’s bleeding heart. For some reason, this only made Patton cry harder. Janus cast his mind back to the last time Remus was this upset, found nothing, had to speculate. He and Remus and Virgil were self-sufficient, secretive. When it came to personal crises, they weathered them alone and bore the aftermath in stoicism. "Do you want me to play with your hair?"

"I don't know," Patton sobbed into Janus' chest.

Janus sighed and began to run his fingers through Patton's honey-colored hair, grateful that the thick material of his gloves kept their skin from touching. It was better this way, and a good reminder for Janus. He guarded his heart so closely for a reason.

Janus, despite the discomfort from the awkward weight distribution and the clammy feeling of cooled tears on his shirt, was half-asleep in the chair by the time Patton stopped crying.

"Sorry," Patton said, pulling away, and even with snot and tears all over his flushed cheeks, even with his eyes all red and puffy behind his fogged-up glasses and his hair standing up at strange diagonals from Janus' attempts at comfort, he was radiant.

"For having feelings?" Janus asked, gently imaging himself into a new, dry shirt.

"For making them your problem." Patton took his glasses off and began to polish them on the hem of his own shirt.

"Patton, I need you to know this." Janus waited until Patton looked at him before continuing, "I owe you nothing. If I had wanted you to leave, I would have asked you to leave and thought nothing of it."

Patton nodded and went back to polishing his glasses. They were silent for a long moment, during which Janus found himself unable to suppress a series of yawns. It must have been around 4:00 in the morning by this point. They had to have been the only ones awake.

"Hey, Janus," Patton said, finally putting his glasses back on. "You know The Breakfast Club?"

"Yes," Janus said distractedly, trying to figure out where Patton was going with this.

"This wasn't our version of that, was it?"

"What do you mean?"

"When tomorrow comes and we're back to, to some sort of normal… You'll still be my friend, right?"

Now here was a situation Janus had never once envisioned for himself. He had pictured winning over Roman, had pictured gaining Thomas' support. Never once had he expected real friendship with any of them, let alone Patton. "Yes," he said, feeling sick at the irony of it. He had been comfortable as Patton's enemy, was now yearning for his kiss… How could he be friends with Patton when he burned like this for Patton's wholehearted affection? Was he really just supposed to endure it?

Patton smiled, so sweet and earnest that Janus had to bite down on his tongue. "Good," he said. "Speaking of, do you wanna have breakfast with me?"

"Not right now, I hope," Janus teased.

"No, no, not right now." Patton muffled a yawn into his sleeve. "I guess I'd better go."

Janus nodded. "See you in the morning?"

"Um," said Patton, who didn't appear to have been listening. "Thank you, Janus. You didn't have to-- Well, thank you."

He sank out without another word.

Janus imagined himself into his pajamas, imagined the lights off and threw himself onto his bed. "Fuck."

Frigid air seeped from the hallway seeped under the crack where Janus' door stopped just short of the carpet. He didn't allow himself to notice, and continued to put his outfit on piece by agonizing piece. The cold air made his joints slow and achy, and he struggled to get the clasps done up. It was just as well that he hadn't put on his gloves yet. He had become quite adept at handling things while wearing them, but for this task, the bulky fabric would only get in the way. After all, just like his singular snake fang, his gloves were for aesthetics, not function.

Finally, he donned his hat and faced the door, forced to confront that fatal truth: He could never have what he wanted. The moment he had achieved his goal of Thomas’ acceptance, the triumph had slipped away in his hands to be replaced with a truly unattainable goal.

Memories from last night, the phantom sensation of Patton in his arms, teased him until he had to sneer at himself. Pathetic. He was acting pathetic. Falling for Patton was strategically inadvisable, even if he couldn’t help it, but actively pursuing him was out of the question. It was all-risk, no reward. Still, his treacherous heart fluttered, teasing him with the thought of Patton’s lips on his own, Patton’s hands on his body, sharing heat, deepening the kiss--

“All risk,” Janus said out loud to himself, “no reward.” A mantra to see him through. He opened his door, his gloved hand slipping a little on the polished brass of his doorknob, and nearly walked straight into Remus as he passed by with an armful of dismembered dolls.

“Well,” said Janus, tilting his head to better examine the pile of plastic limbs and bodies in Remus’ arms, “I won’t ask what you’re up to.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand, visualizing a piping hot cup of coffee. A shudder wrecked his concentration and he frowned. “Are you the reason it’s so cold in here?”

Remus ignored the question, his feverish eyes darting from Janus’ mouth to his hand to his face. “I knew you were up late last night. That’s why I came this way.” He gave a crooked but strangely boyish grin. “I wanted to know where you’d gotten off to. Or who you’d gotten off with. ”

Janus, to his horror, blushed. Fragmented images flashed through his head-- What if he had kissed Patton? And Patton had kissed back? Mask, mask, mask! “I was spreading the Gospel.”

“You were spreading something , though, weren’t you?” Remus shifted the dolls in his arms and held up a masculine torso. “I know I heard Big Daddy’s voice. Play a little game of Patton- Snake , did you?”

Janus swore he could hear porcelain cracking as his heart began to race. “In all seriousness, Remus, we did reach an agreement.”

“Sounds like you reached more than that.” Remus waggled his tongue.

God, he was relentless when he was on the scent of something. Janus hid his face behind his hands, realizing a moment too late that this display of shame would only add fuel to the fire. So he took the only option left and muttered, “Boundaries,” into his palms.

“Oh,” said Remus, leaning back on his heels. “ Oh. Janus, you didn’t .”

“Of course we didn't!” Janus hissed, dropping his hands.

"But you wanted to?"

“How much did you hear yesterday, anyway?”

“Oh, I heard the whole debacle, including that heartwarming little moment at the end,” Remus said, rocking forward onto his toes. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me, by the way.”

They fell into an awkward silence as Janus once again reached for words that simply weren’t there. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, cursing himself.

“No?” said Remus. “Not even a teeny tiny little bit?” He poked Janus in the chest with the plastic torso, still clenched in his left hand. “Right here?”

“You,” said Janus, “are just as evil as I am.”

Remus backed off with a grin, leaving Janus in doubt that he had ever even been angry in the first place. “So where are you off to now? Roman’s got this place awfully cold; gonna go warm Patton’s snake?”

“You already made a ‘Patton snake’ joke,” Janus said, slamming another mask onto his face to hide his blush. “But to answer your question, he asked me to join him for breakfast.”

“Aww.” Remus wiped fake tears from his cheeks. “You better not start spending too much time with him or I’m going to get jealous.”

#moceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sorry if this shows up in the tag and catfishes the whumpers but i just wanted to say:#i specified that this isnt whump specifically because i DIDNT want to catfish y'all lmao #i just don't have it in me to hurt my babies that bad skhsjshf #anyway no judgement just not what this is #spicywrites #spicywrites intertwined

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no6secretsanta · 4 years

Text

Don't Say It

Hello and happy holidays to you, @glorifiedscapegoat! I hope you enjoy this cheerful little modern AU fic I wrote for you! I always love writing Nezumi and Shion as carefree teens in a world that isn’t trying to destroy them (we all deserve some peace this year, even the bee boys), and I promise a happy ending!

<3 @weiselzelle

******

For someone who disliked Christmas as much as he did, Nezumi had decorated an awful lot of Christmas cookies, six dozen, to be precise. He’d also listened to the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack four times in a row, going on a fifth. Soon, he’d be watching an equally cheesy Christmas movie. It wasn’t by choice. Not exactly, anyway—

It had all started in kindergarten, the year he’d met Shion. They’d become fast friends, and the prospect of not seeing his best friend over winter break had been too much for Shion’s young heart to bear. As a solution, their parents had arranged a playdate over the holidays. Shion had been determined to celebrate Christmas with Nezumi as much as possible, so their day had included as many Christmastime activities as possible. The experience, quite frankly, had been exhausting. Unfortunately, it had only been the start of a long tradition.

Now, if Nezumi had things his way, they’d simply do what they always did when they hung out and nothing extra… but intentionally ignoring Christmas would make Shion sad, which defeated the entire purpose of spending a day together. That was why Nezumi put up with the whole ordeal year after year, and this time was no different.

“So, you still haven’t told me what you want for Christmas,” Shion said as he delicately placed some of the cookies into a shiny, festive tin. “And you can’t say ‘I’ll think on it’ this time, okay? Christmas is in a few days.”

Nezumi picked up a pinch of snowflake sprinkles from a dish and dropped them unceremoniously onto an iced cookie. “I’ll think—”

Shion glared at him before he could even finish the sentence, and Nezumi couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, listen, I know I said I’d think on it, but the truth is, I forgot. You know how busy I was before break started,” Nezumi explained.

Shion’s expression softened and he returned to decorating cookies alongside Nezumi. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I didn’t bug you about it sooner. But I really do need an answer today.”

“Well…” Nezumi sighed and looked off. “How about you tell me what you want? I still have to get you a present, and maybe it’ll give me some ideas for what I want, too.” He normally prided himself— secretly— in coming up with clever gifts for Shion, but with Christmas in only a few days, simply asking seemed like his best option.

“Me? Um!” Shion seemed awfully surprised by the question. Judging by the growing blush on his face, however, it was more than just surprise.

Nezumi smirked and leaned closer to his friend. “You’re blushing, Shion. Is it something really dorky?”

Shion looked down, clearly hesitating. “Uh, you’d probably call it that, yeah…”

Nezumi waited for Shion to say more. “…Well? What is it?” he asked, and raised an eyebrow.

“Um…” Shion smiled nervously and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, still not looking at Nezumi.

Once again, Nezumi sighed. “You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?”

“I suppose you could try,” Shion replied quietly with a small shrug. His face was as red as ever.

Nezumi smirked. “I’ll take that as a challenge.” He rubbed his chin as he thought. “Hmm, something so dorky that you’d blush about it in front of me… This may be difficult.”

While Nezumi thought about where to start his questioning, Shion began to slowly decorate another cookie.

“Can it fit in a backpack?” Nezumi asked, watching Shion’s expression closely.

“No.”

“What about a locker, then?”

Shion blinked, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. “Um… no? I don’t think so, anyway.”

“And you think I can afford it?” Nezumi asked with a laugh.

“I mean—” Shion laughed as well, though rather nervously. “Y-Yeah.”

Nezumi gave a skeptical look. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay…” Nezumi picked up one of the cookies he’d decorated and took a bite as he thought. “Is it… something I even know exists?”

Shion laughed a little again. “Yes.” It was the most certain answer he’d gotten yet.

“Okay, so it’s something I obviously know about, judging by that reaction,” Nezumi scoffed. “It’s something that could be put in a box, right?”

“W-Well, I guess so…”

Nezumi frowned. “I mean that it’s an actual object, not like the gift of going somewhere with you or whatever.”

“I guess we could go somewhere for my present,” Shion suggested with a smile Nezumi could only call coy. Of course, very few people even could recognize coyness from Shion. Nezumi knew, though. Shion was up to something.

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Second thoughts about challenging me?”

“We could go ice skating again. It’s been years since we last went.”

“We could not go ice skating again,” Nezumi retorted. “I’m not having you pull me down on the ice every five minutes.”

“You are taller than me now, aren’t you?”

Nezumi eyed Shion suspiciously. His latest growth spurt had been a bit of a sore spot for Shion, so why would he bring it up now? “I sure as hell am, you little runt.”

Shion’s blush fully returned and he averted his eyes. “S-So, that means I wouldn’t make you fall if I lost my balance, right?”

Crossing his arms, Nezumi leaned back in his seat. “I see… Finding the advantages to being your fun-sized self?”

“You know, I never made fun of you this much when you were the shorter one,” Shion said, slathering a bit too much icing onto a large, snowflake-shaped cookie.

Nezumi watched as Shion then dumped an excess of sprinkles onto the cookie. “Oh, come on. You always thought I needed to be protected or something when I was smaller than you, even though you knew I could’ve kicked your ass no problem. I’m going to enjoy this change as much as I wa—”

Shion abruptly shoved the cookie into Nezumi’s mouth, or at least as much of it as he could fit. As soon as it happened, Nezumi cupped his hand under the cookie in a desperate attempt to catch the sprinkles and dripping icing. While Nezumi struggled to eat the messy cookie that was now his responsibility not to get everywhere, Shion returned to decorating more cookies.

“And what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t care about your safety?” Shion asked, though he clearly wasn’t expecting an answer from Nezumi, not after shoving food into his mouth. “Anyway, I think ice skating would work out better now, so— ah!”

Nezumi smeared the icing that had dripped onto his hand across Shion’s cheek. “Here, you dropped something.”

Shion stared in shock for a moment before swiping a bit of icing from the bowl onto his fingertip. Nezumi had a good idea of where that finger was headed. As it drew closer to his face, he opened his mouth and caught Shion’s sugary finger between his teeth. The icing was sweet on his tongue, but Nezumi savored the expression on his friend’s face far more.

“Nezumi!” Shion squeaked when his finger was finally free.

“Yes?”

Shion gawked at his hand as if he’d never seen it before.

“…Yes, Shion?” Nezumi asked again.

“Um!” Shion blinked and shook his head. “W-We should both probably wash our hands before we decorate any more cookies,” he stammered.

Nezumi snorted out a laugh and followed Shion over to the kitchen sink. While he waited for his turn at the faucet, he bumped Shion’s hip with his own. For some reason, that always put a smile on Shion’s face. “Back to my guesses. Is it something I can buy?” he asked.

“Uh, n-no,” Shion replied, his eyes going wide. He turned away as he dried his hands.

“So it’s something I have to make, then?” Nezumi asked.

“N… No.”

“No?” Nezumi finished washing his hands and dried them off as well, thinking over what Shion could be talking about. If it couldn’t be bought and couldn’t be made… “Is it something I already have?”

“Uh…” Shion scratched the back of his neck and returned to the kitchen counter as if decorating even more cookies was an actual priority. “Technically?”

Nezumi scoffed and crossed his arms. “Technically?” he repeated. “What the hell kind of answer is that?”

Shion stared down at a star-shaped cookie he’d picked up. “Um… uh… I say ‘technically’ because…”

“Because…?”

“Well… technically you… have… what I want…” Shion mumbled, trailing off. He set down the cookie and smiled nervously, his eyes focused on Nezumi’s shoulder rather than his face. “Forget I said anything, okay? I like your ice skating idea. How about we do that for my present?”

Nezumi frowned to himself and ripped off a paper towel from the roll by the sink. “That was your idea, not mine,” he corrected, briefly running the faucet again to get the paper towel wet. He approached Shion and began wiping the icing off his cheek. “You forgot something.”

Shion shut his eyes while Nezumi cleaned off his face. “I did? Ha, oops, I guess I did…”

Somehow, exchanges like this made Nezumi dread their inevitable separation that would come with graduating high school. He didn’t like the idea of someone else helping Shion the way he did, taking his place… Would Shion even have him over during the holidays? How many more Christmases would they spend together?

“Hey, Shion?”

Shion peeked an eye open. “Yeah?”

Nezumi turned away to toss the paper towel in the trash and to avoid looking Shion in the eye. “You’re still going to invite me over for Christmas stuff once we’re in college, right?” he asked.

“Huh?” Shion blinked. “Y-Yeah, of course.”

“Good.”

Shion laughed a little and smiled sheepishly. “You know, I was starting to think you didn’t like celebrating Almost-Christmas with me. I’m sort of surprised, given how much you usually complain about Christmas…”

Nezumi let out a laugh as well and leaned his elbows on the counter. “I mean—” The gentle smile on Shion’s face kept him from finishing his sentence. He glanced away.

“Wait, Nezumi, do you secretly like Christmas?” Shion asked, just a hint of a giggle in his tone.

“What? No! I hate Christmas!”

The amusement left Shion’s face. “Oh. Um… Does that mean you don’t actually like doing Christmas stuff with me?”

Nezumi’s stomach sank. He hated seeing Shion sad. Why did he have to say that? “Okay, ‘hate’ may have been too strong of a word. I don’t hate Christmas. Not all of it, anyway,” he quickly explained. “I— Listen, I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, okay?”

Shion fell silent, staring down at the array of cookies before him and chewing his lip. After a long moment, he spoke again. “You know, we don’t have to keep doing the same stuff every year. Honestly, I just kept doing it because it’s what we’ve always done, and you kept agreeing to it, but I… I guess we don’t have to do anything Christmasy if you really don’t want to.”

“I mean, we are gonna hang out over break either way, aren’t we?” Nezumi said, though he knew in his heart that wasn’t what Shion wanted. Shion enjoyed the holiday season and all the pepperminty sweetness that it brought far too much to ignore it all with Nezumi. “Maybe if it’s just… a little less Christmasy,” he offered. His eyes darted around the room, searching for examples of anything seasonal that didn’t make him cringe. “Like… hot cocoa. I like hot cocoa. And I like eating Christmas cookies, just not, you know… decorating several dozen of them.”

Once again, Shion took a long while to respond. Nezumi might’ve been concerned if he didn’t know his friend so well; he knew it meant Shion was deeply considering his words. Besides, having Shion react logically rather than emotionally right now was preferable, albeit expected. After taking a hesitant breath, Shion asked, “Is ice skating too Christmasy?”

Nezumi breathed out a laugh. Of course their discussion had come back to this. “It’s an Olympic sport. I think that exempts it from being too Christmasy,” he replied. Skating really could turn out better than before, if Shion’s reasoning about his height was correct… Compared to watching a Christmas movie, it might actually be fun. “Listen, I’ll take you ice skating right now if it means we skip everything else on today’s itinerary.”

Shion blinked in surprise, finally looking up at Nezumi. “Y-You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

Shion gawked, then shook his head and said, “Um, right! I’ll— I’ll go tell mom what we’re doing!”

Nezumi laughed as Shion hurried out of the room. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he commented, though he knew Shion had to be on the other side of the house, already and well out of earshot.

Before long, the two boys were buckling into Nezumi’s car, which was parked outside. Nezumi smirked to himself as he turned the key and started the engine. The satisfaction of having a license and a car had yet to wear off.

“It’s still weird that we can just drive places now, isn’t it?” Shion commented, running his fingers along the car door just below the window. “I’ve barely used my bike this year.”

“You mean that I can drive us places now?” Nezumi teased. “Seriously, when are you going to take your test?”

Shion shrugged. “I don’t know. Driving is kind of terrifying,” he said with a small laugh. “Besides, I kind of like…”

Nezumi raised an eyebrow, giving Shion an inquisitive look before pulling out of the driveway and heading down the road. “You kind of like what? You know you can’t just trail off like that.”

“Um.” Shion laughed a little again. “Well, I was going to say that I kind of like when you drive me around, but that sounds sort of entitled, doesn’t it?”

Nezumi scoffed. “Yeah, it kind of does.” Still, he couldn’t help but feel smug.

“I mean it as a good thing, though,” Shion explained. “Actually, I… I really am scared of driving. It’s not that it’s too difficult, it’s just— but—” His sentence sputtered to a halt. Shion forced out an exhale and tried again. “I’m afraid I’ll really mess up and hurt someone, or worse…” He shook his head to himself. “But… when I’m with you, I feel safe. I trust you.”

“Well. Maybe I like driving you around. So it all works out.”

Sure, Shion would eventually have to bite the bullet and get over his fear. For now, though… This was fine, perhaps even preferable. If Shion had a license, Nezumi could easily picture him having a personal crisis over a fender-bender or an unlucky squirrel’s demise. Yes, perhaps this was for the best.

Shion turned his head away, and Nezumi knew that meant either Shion was blushing or something very interesting that only Shion could see was on the side of the road. “Y-Yeah, at least until we graduate. Unless we go to college in the same place…”

They hadn’t discussed college much yet, surprisingly. Nezumi knew Shion planned to go to medical school to become a doctor, but that was about it. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do, himself.

“I’m not going to med school with you,” Nezumi laughed.

“Well— just hold on a second, that’s not what I meant,” Shion protested. “I’ve been thinking about this. As long as the school you pick has a pre-med track, I’ll go there.”

They slowed to a stop at a red light. The contrarian part of Nezumi ached to argue with Shion’s suggestion, but he’d secretly been hoping for something like this. He hadn’t let himself think too much about going to college with Shion to save himself the disappointment, but now the possibility was very real.

“…Only if you want that, of course,” Shion added. Nezumi’s silence must have been a blow to his confidence.

The light changed, and Nezumi pressed his foot on the gas pedal. “You’re going to save me from the torture of rooming with a total stranger? Seems like a pretty sweet deal to me.”

“I— er, you mean you like my idea?” Shion stammered. “Really?”

Nezumi shrugged. “Yeah. Why not?”

Shion fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket sleeves instead of looking at Nezumi. “I… I guess sometimes I worry that you’ll get sick of me.”

“Unlikely.”

“What?” Shion looked up. “Really? Because sometimes you get really annoyed with me…”

Shion wasn’t exactly wrong. It had been much worse a few years before, when Nezumi was still grappling with the complicated mess of new emotions he felt toward Shion. It wasn’t the proudest time of his life. “When’s the last time I got seriously annoyed with you, though? I can’t remember,” Nezumi replied.

“Um… I believe it was last year, when we were discussing—”

“It was a rhetorical question, Shion,” Nezumi interrupted. “The point is, you’ve had over ten years to do anything truly unforgivable and you haven’t even come close, which makes you a pretty solid candidate for a college roommate, in my opinion.”

“What about that time at the homecoming dance?” Shion asked.

Nezumi blinked, furrowing his eyebrows. “What the hell are you talking about, Shion?”

“Back in eighth grade, I tried to do some kind of dance a bunch of other people were doing, and you looked me in the eye and said ‘truly unforgivable.’ Remember?”

“I—” Nezumi laughed and shook his head. “I may have overreacted. I hardly remember it.”

“So you aren’t even a little mad about that anymore?” Shion asked.

“No? Why would I be?”

Shion shrugged and sighed, which was a rather unusual gesture from his friend. “I know it hasn’t happened in a while, but you at least used to get mad at me for random stuff, sometimes for a long time. I can’t help but worry you might still be mad about some of those things.”

Nezumi was grateful for the excuse of watching the road so he didn’t have to look at Shion for this discussion. He’d thought they could just move on from that bumpy patch in their friendship without talking about it, but apparently that was not the case. He should have expected as much. “Would you believe me if I told you it was all just a lot of mood swings?”

“If you promised that’s the truth, then yeah, I’d believe you.”

Nezumi resisted the urge to sigh himself. “It’s the truth,” he replied. At least, it was the closest he was willing to get to the truth. He didn’t intend to give out any love confessions today. “I swear I’m not mad at you about any of that old stuff. I’m not mad at you about anything.”

“Really?”

“For now, anyway. I’m sure you could piss me off if you really tried.”

Shion giggled a little. “Okay, I’ll try not to worry about it.”

Nezumi turned into the parking lot outside the skating rink and easily found an empty spot. After they parked, Shion quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, but Nezumi locked the doors and kept his finger on the button to do it again if necessary. Shion looked over at him in surprise.

“Before we go in,” Nezumi explained, “you have to tell me what you want for Christmas.”

Shion gave him a grumpy pout. “I thought going skating was my present,” he argued, fiddling with the lock on his door.

“You know what I’m talking about. Whatever thing I apparently already have that you want. If it’s a sentimental thing, there’s no guarantee I even have it anymore. I don’t save stuff like you do.”

“Well…” Shion averted his eyes, his cheeks growing pink. “I guess I already got what I wanted.”

Nezumi paused, looking ahead as he thought. “…Wait, you wanted to be college roommates for your Christmas present?”

“N-No, not exactly, but— well, yes, it’s basically the same thing.”

“Is it or isn’t it?” Nezumi unbuckled his seatbelt and turned more towards Shion, watching his friend closely. Either Shion was choosing his words carefully or he was planning to bolt from the car.

“I-It’s—” Shion hesitated. “It’s… Nezumi, all I want for Christmas is—”

The pieces came together as Shion spoke, and time slowed down as a terrible realization struck Nezumi. He immediately covered Shion’s mouth with his hand. “Don’t say it!”

The outburst shocked them both into a silence that stretched on for several seconds. Finally, Shion pulled Nezumi’s hand off of his mouth. “What?”

Nezumi felt heat rise from his neck up to his ears. This was going to be difficult to explain. “I-I… You were going to say the name of a Christmas song, weren’t you?”

Shion blinked, then replied, “Oh, y-yeah, I guess so. Um…”

Nezumi had to think fast. He hadn’t thought this conversation would be happening today, or even at all, and it was already off to a rough start. He wasn’t even entirely sure what Shion meant by that kind of request. “Listen,” Nezumi began to explain, though he didn’t really know what he was about to say. He kept talking anyway. “If… if, let’s say, this ends up being something people might ask us about later, I’d rather it not be a reminder of an annoying Christmas song. If what you’re asking for is what I think you’re asking for.”

Shion’s face had turned bright red and his wide, dark eyes were focused on Nezumi’s hands. “Um. What do you think I’m asking for, Nezumi?”

Nezumi almost passed the question right back to Shion, but maybe Shion really couldn’t bring himself to say it. The suave thing to do in this moment would be to answer Shion’s question with a kiss, but Nezumi’s doubts kept him from acting. He settled for a response somewhere in the middle. “It sounds to me like you want a boyfriend for Christmas,” he replied as casually as he could.

Shion didn’t respond, nor did he move. He sat there, frozen in place, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“…Just nod if I’m right.”

Shion took a small, sharp breath and nodded ever so slightly. Nezumi had never seen his friend look so terrified in his life.

If there had ever been a time to kiss Shion, this was it.

Nezumi had never kissed anyone before, only stage-kissed a few people in drama class, but he reasoned it couldn’t be too different from the real thing. Gently lifting Shion’s chin with one hand, Nezumi leaned closer, lightly closed his eyes, and touched his lips to Shion’s. An odd thrill ran down his spine, which certainly never happened with a thumb in the way— or more likely, with anyone else.

A second later, he felt a jolt of pain as Shion pressed back too hard, too quickly. Nezumi jerked away and pressed his fingers to his aching lip. “Ow—”

Shion quickly pulled back with a look of absolute horror on his face. “I-I’m so sorry!” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to— I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Nezumi said with a small laugh. “Just— hold still this time.”

Ignoring the pain in his lip, Nezumi leaned closer again. Shion shut his eyes and held his breath. Nezumi lingered just inches away for a moment, then withdrew slightly.

“You… do want me to do this, right?” Nezumi asked.

Shion opened his eyes and looked up at Nezumi briefly before averting his gaze and nodding. “I— That is, only if you want to—”

They’d just crossed a new boundary together, and yet they were both afraid to take a single step further. Something about it was utterly ridiculous, but Nezumi couldn’t blame Shion for acting so nervous. After all, if this change ended up being a mistake, there probably wouldn’t be any going back. From what Nezumi understood about the world, lovers could rarely return to just being friends. Could he really risk their entire friendship? Was it already too late to turn back?

Why hadn’t he thought of this before kissing Shion the first time?

“Are you okay?” Shion asked quietly, meeting Nezumi’s gaze for only a split second. “You’re shaking.” His fingers carefully wrapped around Nezumi’s trembling hand.

“You’re shaking,” Nezumi whispered in retort.

“Y-Yeah, but it’s weird for you to be shaking like this,” Shion replied. He wasn’t wrong.

“So what?”

What kind of answer was that?

“Nezumi…” With a sad expression that was meant to be a smile, Shion turned his head away, breaking the tension and leaving Nezumi with an unpleasant sense of disappointment. “I… It’s okay if you don’t want to—”

“That’s not the— listen, Shion,” Nezumi argued. He didn’t dare pull his hand away from Shion’s gentle grasp. “What if this doesn’t work out? Then what? Do you really think everything would just go back to normal? That we’d just go back to being friends?”

A series of expressions crossed Shion’s face before he spoke, and Nezumi wasn’t entirely sure what any of them meant. “We’ve stuck together through everything so far, so I can’t imagine we wouldn’t be able to find a way to get along,” Shion said with a slight smile. “Besides… I really think… this could work out.”

Maybe Shion was being too much of an optimist, but Nezumi had considered that exact possibility before. Maybe they could get through anything together. None of their past disputes had been enough to damage their friendship. His doubts were losing their ground.

“And… what’s the point of acting like we don’t want more from each other now that we know?” Shion added softly, staring down at their joined hands as if looking anywhere else would cause him to lose what courage he had left. “I… I really love being with you, Nezumi.” He’d said that phrase to him many times before, but Nezumi finally understood what Shion was actually trying to say. “I always have,” Shion added, then let out a shaky sigh and briefly glanced up. “…Please say something.”

Nothing felt right to say, but Nezumi had to say something. He couldn’t leave Shion to doubt himself all over again in his silence. With his free hand, he lifted Shion’s chin so their faces were level once more. “Stay still, alright?”

Shion immediately complied, closing his eyes in anticipation of what was to come. If it wasn’t so cruel to make Shion wait, Nezumi would’ve taken a moment to enjoy the blissful expression on his friend’s face. Summoning his own courage, Nezumi leaned in and gave Shion a careful kiss. Shion’s fingers tightened around his hand in response, but he otherwise stayed perfectly still. Nezumi drew back and Shion’s eyes fluttered open, and slowly, a wide smile spread across Shion’s flushed face. Nezumi couldn’t quite stop himself from grinning as well. The thrill of the moment was still sinking in, even after it was over.

“So, um.” Shion sheepishly ducked his head and held Nezumi’s hand with both of his own. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“Hm. Pretty much the same thing as you, I think,” Nezumi answered with the casual shrug of a shoulder. The hand that had been touching Shion’s face came to rest on Shion’s knee, causing him to jump slightly, but neither of them moved away. An unexpected sense of freedom was settling in… the freedom to show his true affections after all this time.

Shion looked up with an embarrassed smile. “Okay, but I like giving you presents. Is there anything else you want?”

“Who says I don’t like giving you presents?” Nezumi scoffed.

“Well, you said you hate Christmas, didn’t you?” Shion replied, visibly confused. “And you’ve complained plenty of times about how trivial you think Christmas gifts are. I thought you would have just stopped giving anyone presents by now if you’re so against them.”

Nezumi sighed through his nose and glanced away. “It’s… complicated,” he tried to explain. “Overall, yes, I think Christmas presents are crap. But this is an exception.” Shion was the exception. Shion somehow always was the exception for him. “It’s… enjoyable to pick out a gift for you, and I know it’s not a wasted effort since you actually appreciate it.”

“I appreciate anything from you,” Shion said far too earnestly.

Nezumi laughed. This was exactly what he had been talking about. “Yeah, I know. It’s—” Instead of editing his words to be a playful jab, he allowed the rest of his thought to leave his lips, “—cute.”

Shion gawked at Nezumi, then covered his beet-red face with both hands. “I-I—!”

“Did I break you?” Nezumi asked with another laugh, using his newly freed hand to ruffle Shion’s soft, brown hair. Making Shion blush had yet to lose its appeal. “Sorry. Well, not really. Have I really never told you you’re cute before?”

“Um!” Shion kept his face covered as he spoke. “N-No, I think you’ve said that every time you’ve seen me dressed up for an event, but I know you were just making fun of me.”

Nezumi hummed thoughtfully. “Was I, though?”

“Wait, were you!?”

“Was I?”

Shion faced forward again and placed his head down in his folded arms on the dashboard. “Argh, which is it!?” he loudly groaned.

Nezumi rarely saw Shion this worked up. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or sorry. “Is not knowing really that unbearable?” he asked.

“Kind of.”

Nezumi’s eyes scanned over Shion’s hunched, trembling form. His own nervous jitters had thankfully faded away, but Shion case seemed to be the opposite. “Serious question, though… are you going to be able to skate today? You’re shaking like crazy.”

Shion quickly sat up, placed his hands in his lap, and took a deep breath. “I’m fine!” he insisted, though his face was still awfully red and every inch of him shook.

“Are you sure?” Nezumi asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “If you’re that tense on the ice, you’ll definitely fall. What’s the matter, anyway?”

“Nothing!” Shion quickly answered and took another deep breath. “Nothing’s the matter! I’m just— I’m— I’m really happy. And excited.” He let out an anxious laugh. “And a little nervous.”

Nezumi felt his own shoulders relax. Had he been tense, too? “Nervous about what?” he asked.

Shion laughed again. “Um. Well, I did kind of punch your mouth with my face a little.”

“It wasn’t that bad. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“That’s good,” Shion said, giving Nezumi a sheepish glance. “Um. But I’m nervous I’ll do it again. But I— w-want to try—” He looked at Nezumi again, this time with eyes full of hope.

Nezumi opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again and closed his eyes. When he still wasn’t kissed several seconds later, he gestured a hand toward his face and prompted, “Well?”

“What? Oh!”

Once again, Nezumi waited.

“Um, hold still,” Shion murmured and gently grasped both of Nezumi’s hands.

Nezumi complied. A moment later, he felt Shion’s lips gingerly touch his. It was over almost as soon as it happened, just a whisper of a kiss, but it somehow left Nezumi’s nerves buzzing long afterward.

“Was that okay?” Shion asked quietly.

Nezumi opened his eyes and smiled. “Completely painless.”

Shion beamed brighter than the sun overhead.

“Still nervous?” Nezumi asked.

Shion shook his head and looked away, still smiling. “No, not really. Only a little.” He gazed out across the parking lot for a brief moment, then grinned up at Nezumi. “Let’s go skating!”

Nezumi laughed, caught off guard by Shion’s abrupt enthusiasm. “You’re awfully confident all of a sudden,” he teased.

“It’s just that— I realized this will be our first date,” Shion replied. “It’s kind of exciting, you know?”

“You mean all those school dances we went to don’t count?” Nezumi scoffed, still smiling. He knew they didn’t really count. Nezumi had only been Shion’s date to keep him unavailable.

“Um— I didn’t think they did,” Shion said hesitantly. “Do they?”

“Not really, no.” Nezumi smirked as a thought crossed his mind. “Did I ever tell you that Safu called me ‘too possessive’ before the homecoming dance this year?”

Shion covered his face with his hands again and leaned his head against Nezumi’s shoulder. “Oh, jeez… No, you didn’t tell me. What happened?”

“She asked me not to ask you to the dance, and I told her that I’d already asked you and you’d already said yes. Apparently that wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear.”

“Thank you. Again,” Shion mumbled. “I only ever wanted to go with you, anyway.”

A part of Nezumi had always suspected as much, but actually hearing it from Shion gave him a smug sense of satisfaction. He slipped his arm behind Shion in a halfway embrace. “Maybe she’ll finally realize you’re not interested in dating her when she spots us making out at your locker.”

“You’re gonna kiss me at school!?” Shion asked in disbelief.

That wasn’t the takeaway Nezumi had expected Shion to get from his words, but Shion was always like that, surprising him in odd ways. “I might,” Nezumi replied. “You’d better watch out.”

Shion blinked, then smiled and stretched to press a kiss to Nezumi’s cheek. “Then I guess you’d better watch out, too.”

Nezumi turned his head away in an attempt to hide how much a little kiss on the cheek was making him blush. He was going to have to get used to this, wasn’t he? “…Noted.”

Shion giggled at Nezumi’s response, then grinned up at him. “Well, then. Shall we go in?”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

They both exited the car, Nezumi locking the doors before meeting Shion on the other side. They joined hands, and just to make things fair, Nezumi gave Shion a quick kiss on the cheek. For the entire walk across the parking lot toward the ice rink, Shion blushed and giggled while Nezumi wore a smug smile on his face.

If this was what celebrating Christmas with Shion would be like from now on… well, Nezumi certainly didn’t mind.

#no6 #no.6 #no. 6 #no 6 #nezushi #weisel #Weiselzelle #glorifiedscapegoat #no6secretsanta #fanfiction #submission

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ask-the-riders · 4 years

Text

Mirror Image

Conquest notices how Ret's been acting rather cold toward her, and she decides to ask him why

"Retribution... Do you think it'd be ok if we talked? I had something I'd like to ask you about, if that's alright."

The rider in question shifted his focus to the one who'd addressed him, his sockets narrowing in an almost suspicious manner. He was silent for a moment before hesitantly responding, "...It depends. What did you wanna talk about?" Conquest fiddled with what looked to be the beginning stages of a quilt, and Retribution caught a spike of anxiety from her, arching his brow bone curiously. She seemed to struggle with her words, her own brow bones becoming knit in a mix of confusion and concern, "I just... Since I've moved in, everyone's been so kind and accepting of me. Everyone but you, it seems."

Retribution tilted his head, entirely unphased by her words, "Yes, and? What about it?" She met his gaze, her soft orange-yellow eye lights blown wide in what he believed to be worry, "I was told that you require a bit more time to adjust to newcomers, which I can understand well enough. What I don't get is why you've been so cold though. Ignoring me is one thing, but talking down to me, disregarding my feelings when you say things, and treating me as less than your equal?.... Why, Retribution? If I somehow upset you, I can't express how sorry I am."

He held a hand up as if to silence her, merely rolling his eye lights, "Stop it. You're overreacting, I can assure you. I'm this way with everyone else as well. This treatment doesn't make you special or anything." Brow bones still knit, Conquest edged a small bit closer to him, "But... You and Famine? You and War, even?" Retribution felt his irritation spike, "What, Conquest? Famine is a mere companion, and War is a source of energy I occasionally feed off of." The female rider began reaching out to him and he scowled at her, his tone noticeably harsher as he hissed, "Don't."

At the single word, Conquest was frozen, a look of surprise on her face. That surprise was quickly followed by helplessness as she quickly drew her hand back, trying to blink back orange tinted tears, "Then tell me why you hate me so much! What did I ever do to you?!" As a tear rolled down her face, Retribution stared at her coldly; the way that teardrop looked as it journeyed down her cheekbone struck him. He was caught off guard, and shockingly enough, wasn't sure how to respond. He looked back into her eyes again, and the longer he stared, the more golden he could've sworn they became.

The sound of laughter echoed in his mind and he stood, making an immediate beeline for the nearest exit; no, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not here, not now-

Determined to get an answer, Conquest also stood and followed him, calling his name. He tried to ignore her, his pace quickening as he moved. Just down the hall from his room, he felt Conquest's hand close around his wrist just tight enough to stop him. He whirled around, trying to tear his wrist from her grasp as he growled, his sockets narrowing again as his eye lights flickered violet and he angrily spat, "Conquest, just leave me the hell alone already! You've been pestering me ever since you showed up, honestly believing that I'd want to be your friend. Just how much of an imbecile are you?"

She tightened her grip on his wrist, almost enough to hurt a bit as she frowned, more tears dripping from her sockets, "I've been pestering you so much because you're lonely. I can see how sad you are every time I meet your gaze and that isn't something I'm ok with! I wanted to be your friend so that you hopefully wouldn't feel so alone anymore, that's all. There's no hidden motives or anything, I swear!" Retribution's eye lights became a vibrant violet and he felt a tightness in his chest, managing to slip free of her hold before suddenly drawing his arm back and raising his hand as if preparing to strike her.

He blinked, and then he froze, his body rigid. Conquest's sockets had widened, and her soft orange-yellow irises shifted before his eyes, now a brilliant gold instead. The way she'd drawn both arms back, one hand over top of the other as she pressed both to her sternum; that was... too familiar a gesture for comfort. She seemed to hesitate a moment, concerned as she noticed the way his eye lights had constricted in a mix of shock and fear. She was unable to force out anything above a mumble, but thankfully he heard her, "N...Nightm-" she paused, quickly correcting herself, "Retribution, what's wrong? You look upset, and I-"

Retribution cut her off, his voice cracking, "What were you about to call me?" Conquest was reluctant, not wanting to upset him further, but as she held his gaze, she began to notice an underlying desperation behind his question. It was odd to see him with such a pleading expression, and she caved, speaking slowly, "...Nightmare. I was about to call you Nightmare, and I'm sorry about that." As his birth name left her mouth, he felt a chill run down his spine. He could've sworn her voice changed as well, and the thought made him feel as though he was about to lose his mind.

His eye lights shifted back to cyan and he began to tremble the smallest bit; past the point of caring anymore, he reached out, wordlessly taking one of her hands in his own. The direct contact, bone to bone with her, sent some sort of electrical charge through him, and he continued to stare at her, "Y-You... Nobody ever said I was lonely. Just what the hell are you even talking about?!" Conquest blinked in surprise, feeling him squeeze her hand. In response to his question, she shrugged, unsure how to answer, "I'm not really sure how to explain it. I looked into your eyes and it's like I just knew what was happening behind this mask you've been wearing. You're so incredibly lonely, and I can almost feel it. Just like how sometimes, I could almost swear I can feel your sadness and anger, too."

An image flickered in his mind of a small latern, settled on the grass beside him. He was leaned back against a tree, and someone else was lightly resting against him, shivering as they huddled for warmth. He also saw another series of images, of the tree toppling over, it's roots tearing up the ground beneath it. He was running, holding someone's hand, and then there was fire. So much fire, everywhere he looked. He saw the dust on his hands and down his frontside, felt teardrops trickle down his cheeks, heard the screaming of the villagers-

He was brought back to reality as Conquest reached out, delicately running her thumb over his cheek and brushing away a stray, cyan tinted tear. He hadn't even realized he was crying, and her frown deepened as she murmured, "What can I do to help you?... Please tell me, and I'll do it." He trembled, his voice a shaky whisper, "Tell me it's going to be ok... Say my name... Not this name, the other one... Please..." She watched him for a few seconds before humming softly, her voice low, "Ok.... It's ok, Nightmare. It's going to be ok now, I promise. You're not alone anymore, just... Let me help you." The Conquest he knew had vanished before him, and in her place stood Dream, wide eyed and frowning in obvious concern. He told himself Dream wasn't there; Dream died a long time ago, and he'd be stupid if he tried lying to himself. A soft voice could be heard though, barely audible, "It's ok, Nighty. I'm here now. I won't leave you alone again... I'm sorry..."

Dream's voice. That was in Dream's voice.

Oh. Oh no.

All of the walls he'd built up to protect himself came crashing down and the image of Dream faded away. Conquest was visibly startled as he hugged her tightly, nearly clinging to her as he hid his face in the crook of her neck, sniffling softly. That was rather... Unexpected. She returned the hug, holding him close and gently rubbing his back in a soothing manner. The poor guy must've been so hard on himself after the accident, and rather than seeking help, he chose to isolate himself from those who would've been happy to help him. That definitely seemed in character for him, and she began to hum softly; there was a tiny part of her soul that ached in some odd sense of recognition, as if she'd seen him to this to himself before. That wouldn't make sense though; not when she'd only arrived about a week ago.

#riders of the apocalypse #writing #undertale #undertale au #retribution.exe #conquest.exe #👀

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tolkien-fics · 4 years

Text

The Sleeping Princess

Word count: 1,801

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, violence

Pairing: Ecthelion x Human! Reader

Plot: Based on the fairy-tale Sleeping Beauty. Y/n is a mortal princess in a far land south west of Middle Earth, cursed from birth to fall into a death-like sleep.

Year YT. Long ago, before the Fellowship was formed, there was a kingdom in the South West of Middle Earth. This kingdom was ruled fairly by the King and Queen, who made sure to provide for their people. The Kingdom was known for their riches, possessing precious gems they would trade with Dwarves and Elves. The people of the kingdom were happy, and praised their royal family.

After a five year reign, the King and Queen wished for a child. Not out of needing an heir, but out of love. However, they never received the gift they desperately wished for. It took three years of wishing before they finally got their little joy: Princess Y/n was born.

Overjoyed, the King and Queen instantly set out of inviting the entire kingdom to the celebration feast.

"Over here!" One servant called to the other as they decorated the Hall with cloths of all color, the cooks displayed their feast on a long table, the minstrels practicing their music. The joy of the castle could be felt from miles away. But there was an evil mage who lived in the forest just out of kingdom grounds, watching the events unfolding from her reflective pond. Laced with magic so she could spy on the kingdom's people.

"So, they think they can get away with not inviting me to the little brat's party? They won't get away with this!" She growled, cooking up a plan in her mind. Everyone had gathered in the palace to welcome the newborn into the world. The people were laughing, drinking and eating. All paused when the King stood to make a speech.

"Dear friends, we thank you for attending the celebration this day. We have wished for a child for so long, and now she is finally here. We cannot be more grateful than we already are. Now without further-ado-" There was a slam as the hall doors burst open, the guards scrambling to unsheathe their swords at the surprise visitor.

"I suppose I am not considered one of your friends, your majesty?" The mage spat bitterly, brows furrowed and hands placed on her hips. She was a simple mage, dressed in rags. Those who never heard of her would have mistaken her for being homeless, but to the kingdom folk she was a powerful witch, one not to be crossed.

"Oh Lithia! You're-!" The Queen was shocked, eyes wide and a hand placed on her chest.

"Alive? Of course I am! Though you would know that if you bothered to check in." The mage replied, hand waving dismissively in the air.

"We apologize, Lithia." The King started. "You haven't appeared for years! We merely thought you had left, or died! We did not mean to cause offense."

Lithia scoffed. "Enough! Let's see the new princess." The mage quickly moved to the basin in which you laid, wrapped in delicate silk. Lithia quickly picked you up, keeping you at arms length.

"That's it! Put her down this instant!" The King commanded. "Guards!"

"Am I not allowed to give the princess my blessing?" Lithia questioned, not waiting for your parents response before beginning:

"Dear little princess, this is my blessing to you. Upon coming of age you will fall into a deep sleep, one that you will not wake from. Not even the powerful magic in the world will save you!"

Lithia cackled, roughly thrusting you into your mother's arms. She left the hall, the door slamming shut behind her. Everyone began to whisper among themselves, your mother began to cry sorrowfully. "Our daughter, our poor daughter." She sobbed while holding you close.

"Perhaps I can help." A voice spoke from the far side of the table. Instantly, the King and Queen looked up, hope in their eyes.

The voice belonged to a young elf maiden, one of the few that resided in the kingdom. She too knew magic, pure magic of good.

"Oh, can you please help our daughter?" The queen asked, teary eyed as she clung to you.

"I cannot reverse the magic, your majesty." The elleth spoke. "But I can change the outcome. The princess will indeed fall into a deep sleep, but she will wake up. The mage forget the mention the greatest magic known. Love. The princess' one love will break the curse."

"Oh thank you!" The Queen expressed her gratitude. "You have given her the gift of life, another chance! I can only hope that it will be enough."

It had been twenty years since that day. You grew to be a fair princess, admired by all. Your beauty was breath-taking, and your heart was good to match.

"What a beautiful day it is." You mused as you strolled through the royal gardens, kneeling down to admire the small daises, picking some to make a flower crown. Your gentle hands weaved the stems together, humming a soft tune as you did.

You were soon distracted by a vibrant butterfly, fluttering past you and ahead.

"Such beauty." You admired, standing to follow the creature and abandoning the flower crown. You wished the catch another glimpse of the butterfly, jogging through the garden to catch up.

"Strange. I have not seen this part of the garden before." You thought aloud, seeing a whole flower bed of red roses. They were vibrant and alive with color, compared to some of the dying flowers you had seen.

"They smell good, too!" The lovely scent wafted to your nose from the light breeze that blew past. You reached a hand to pick one, a thorn breaking the skin of your finger and drawing blood. The red liquid dripped down your finger, droplets staining the luscious grass.

Looking at the blood, you began to feel faint. Your surroundings started to spin, making you feel unbalanced.

"I don't feel good." Was the last thing you spoke before your body hit the ground. The King and Queen were heartbroken as your body was delivered to your chambers and placed on your bed.

"How could we have overlooked the roses?" The Queen sobbed, covering her face with her hands. The King stiffled his own tears, "All we can do now is wait, my queen. Wait for her one true love, as the elleth predicted."

As their cries sounded, the kingdom was slowly pausing, the residents turning into stone for as long as it would take for their princess to awake.

Days turned into months, and months to years. The story of princess Y/n had spread far and wide, elves and men attempted to rescue you but none succeeded. Until one day, a handsome elf lord had arrived from Gondolin. Ecthelion of the fountain had heard of your story from his kin, and even though nobody had rescued you, he hoped he would be the one.

"What makes you think you will succeed?" He was told, but he shook their words off. He just knew.

He rode for exactly thirty days before reaching the kingdom. From the outside, it had lost it's charm it once had: the trees rotting, a musty, damp stench overtook the once glorious smells of baking, flowers and perfumes. As Ecthelion rode through the streets, he noticed that all life stopped. Everyone had become statues, paused at the moment they were working, buying, and chatting. Ecthelion shrugged his shoulders, trying to escape the terrible feeling that overcome him. It was a sort of uneasiness, he guessed. Despite this, he looked towards his elvish sword, knowing he was capable of protecting himself if necessary.

The elf lord gazed upon the castle as he arrived at the half open gates. He got off his steed, stroking the soft mane before arming himself with his sword, walking through the grounds. The corners were littered with cobwebs, the guards looking more like ornamental statues than the people they were. Ecthelion felt sadness at his surroundings: He had heard stories that the kingdom was once vibrant and joyous, a truly happy place to live. But now it had lost it's spark.

"Get him!" A terrible cry reached his ears. Instantly, the elf drew his sword, deflecting the attacks that came from a small group of orcs. Now, he didn't hear about this. They must have inhabited the place during it's time of silence. Ecthelion hit, stabbed, kicked and beheaded the orcs coming at him. His skin was damp with sweat, blood dripping from his nose after receiving a punch. He beheaded the last orc with a fierce yell, panting for breath.

Now on his guard, he made his way down corridors, hallways and up a flight of spiral stairs. When he reached the top, there was a single door at the end of the short corridor. He couldn't hear anything, no orc growls or sounds of footsteps.

Ecthelion opened the door warily and entered, his breath taken away at the sight. He was in your chambers, and saw your figure laying on the bed, hands clasped together. You looked dead, but he saw you still had color in your cheeks. Though it was faint, he knew you was still alive somehow.

"You are beautiful." He whispered as he came to your bedside, his hand covering yours. He rubbed his thumb along your hand, feeling the coldness of your skin.

"I pray to Eru that you will wake up, and greet me with your glorious presence." Ecthelion bent down and pressed his lips to yours in a gentle, loving kiss. His eyes re-opened to see yours twitch, then open slowly.

"Oh dear. I must have fallen asleep." You spoke in a hoarse voice. "Please don't think of me as rude, sir. Who are you?"

Ecthelion smiled, helping you to sit up. "I have come to release you of your curse, princess. I heard of your story and knew in my heart I had to come. My name is Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountain."

The King smiled, as he too had awoken. Along with the rest of the kingdom.

"You have saved us, Lord Ecthelion! However can we thank you?"

The elf lord smiled, eyes on you once more. "I wish to ask for your blessing to court your daughter, and one day make her my wife. For her beauty shines brighter than the stars."

You was taken aback, a blush dusting your cheeks. You smiled gently, covering his hands with your own. "Oh Lord Ecthelion, my beauty could never compare to your own."

The King chuckled, "You may, indeed! You have deemed yourself brave and worthy enough to court my daughter. For saving us, we will forever be thankful." Ecthelion gazed into your eyes once more, full of love and kindness. He bent down to kiss you once more, making a promise to himself that he would always be there for you, no matter what.

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [10]

Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 10.5 OR Chapter 11

➜ Words: 4.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

➜ Warning: Spoilers to the musical Les Mis.

cr.

You show up in sweats. If you could, you’d take a swig of the rosette right about now. But you’ve long run out and decided not to buy more after the other day’s embarrassing stunt at Jimin’s doorstep. You still cringe when you think about it. So instead, you eat chocolate. You gnaw on the king sized bar like it’s Halloween and you’re indulging in the post-trick-or-treat spirit. Your hair is also unwashed, a spectacular three day record now. It’s itchy at some parts and when you scratch, white fluff comes dusting from your scalp. You haven’t showered in general for a while. There’s no point, really. Not when you don’t have any arrangements, responsibilities, no job to go to. The unemployed life isn’t actually a bad one — as long as you don’t think about the inevitable doom of your bank account and having to go into debt to pay off bills. Your life sort of feels like that picture of that dog that’s sipping on coffee while thinking ‘this is fine’ and the room is on fire. But what can you do? “Is she…” “...yeah…” “....it’s true then?” There are whispers that you’re not unaccustomed to, stares behind your back that you can feel and sense in your peripheral vision. “...the ghost singer…” You turn around to look and the girls immediately seal their lips, looking away. They pretend to be discussing other things, but still, you hear it all around you. “So is she really the Phantom? How is that possible?” “Don’t ask me.” “Do you think she can really sing?” “Probably not. She’s only here because it would bring in publicity. We all know that.” Your efforts are fruitless. They’re right. You’re not going to get a role. You’re only here to satisfy people’s curiosity. “L/N Y/N?” The girl reads off her list. “Is there a L/N Y/N here?” Fuck it. What do you have to lose? You’ve lost it all anyways. “Here!” You raise your hand, voice loud and clear. The murmuring of the girls cease once they confirm that it is you. But you pay them any mind, finishing the chocolate bar in the awkward silence. You chew your mouthful and smear your stained hand on your grey sweatpants, leaving a streak of brown on your thigh. You toss the wrapper in the garbage. “Uh...right this way,” the girl says as she gestures past the curtain. Many auditions take place in closed off rooms, but it’s an open stage this time. A modest size with the pianist tucked in the corner. There are five people sitting before the front row, a panel of them — some producers, directors, writers — you don’t know and you don’t care much for their titles either. It feels like you’re on some TV show, ready for their judgment. Your nose runs with snot and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. “Hi.” “You’re L/N Y/N?” There’s a shuffle of papers, people peering up at you past their glasses. “Yes.” You swallow the last bit of chocolate in your mouth, clearing your throat. You hope your teeth aren’t stained. Well….if they are, it wouldn’t be the biggest deal. “You worked at the Phantom of the Opera production?” You should probably head to the supermarket after this and get some ice-cream. You’d definitely feel better with it, curled on your couch with a warm blanket and some television to drown out the silence of your apartment. “Y/N?” The call of your name has you focusing again. “Pardon?” The woman is dressed cleanly in a blazer with her hair pulled back into a bun like yours. But hers is undoubtedly neater, probably holding a bunch of pins, maybe even hair-sprayed. Yours was bunched up carelessly with a stretched elastic you found on the floor of your closet. “You worked at the Phantom production?” she repeats. You give her a bland answer, but one that’s unfortunately the entire truth. “As an intern.” One of them pipes up, “Can you tell us any details about your previous work at the Phantom production?” “I did coffee runs.” “Umm….” The younger female in the middle gestures with her hand. “Did you do anything else?” “I swept the floor. I did a lot of paperwork and printed things out for the director there,” you list out and shrug. “I don’t know. Things like that.” They exchange looks with one another, probably not expecting such a boring response. “Did you...contribute to the performance in any way?” Your eyes dim. Of course — this is what they wanted to know all along. It’s the reason you’re here in the first place. But they shouldn’t have beaten around the bush. If they asked over the phone, you would’ve told them. They didn’t need to waste their time like this. But unfortunately, the honest truth isn’t as glamorous as they think it is. “The actor couldn’t sing, so I did. Behind the curtain.” “And how did that come about?” someone asks with a frown, and you can see the girls peeking out from the curtain to your left, listening in. “They needed someone,” you deadpan. “I volunteered.” “Well...alright then.” He clears his throat and the others shift uncomfortably in their seats. You wonder what it is that they wanted to hear from you, what kind of gossip they were anticipating. “What are you singing for us today?” “Do you have a preference?” “Uh…” They look at one another and some shake their heads. “No, not really.” You approach the pianist with a sigh. You didn’t prepare, but after countless auditions, you know all the basic audition pieces inside out. Every lyric is embedded into your mind. Pathetically enough. But they’re all the same — they gave you the same outcome of failure. “Do you have any sheet music?” The pianist blinks at you and timidly points to the top of the upright piano. “You can look in the binder.” You flip it open and grab for the first paper-clipped set, passing it to him. “Here.” Then you step up to the middle of the stage again, cueing the pianist with a lifeless hand and the notes start, light and optimistic much to your displeasure. Usually, you’d begin to feel your palms become clammy. But instead, your fingertips are sticky from melted chocolate. “There’s been a change in me.” Your voice draws from your chest hastily without much care. “A kind of moving on.” Typically, your heart would be pumping fast to the point where you could feel it all the way in your throat. Your mouth would go dry. A cold sweat would wash down your body. But you don’t feel any of these things. “Though what I used to be, I still depend upon.” Your knees don’t quake. You don’t need to hide any tremors in your hands. It’s not a real audition after all. This is a joke. And if anything, you feel pissed. No matter where you go, you’re strung along by people for their own entertainment. “For now I realize. That good can come from bad.” It’s supposed to be a touching song sung by Belle in Beauty and the Beast. It’s supposed to be gentle. Hopeful. But every word is filled with your aggression. It’s hostile and indignant. You’re exhausted at being humiliated and you wail out the lyrics in grief. It tears from your throat. If they wanted to hear you sing, they were going to hear alright. “That may not make me wise. But fuck,” you ad lib, “it makes me glad.” “And I—” you belt the note in a kind of bitterness reserved for a resentful villain, and a kind of sadness bleeds into it. It’s not at all like a kind protagonist that’s meant to be a delicate princess. Your voice even warbles against your will, cracks at the top, but you don’t care. You embrace it. “I never thought I’d leave behind my childhood dreams. But I don’t mind.” You look off to the top of the stairs in the small auditorium. You’re reminded of how you once sang on a stage like this, how a brunette boy appeared from thin air and began clapping for you. “For now I love the world I see.” You shut your eyes to savour the memory. “No change of heart, a change in me.” You stop. The piano slows and ends. It goes completely silent. One of the men open their mouth and then closes it. “Um….” You spare them from having to sugar coat it and tell you how awful you are. “Thanks for the opportunity.” You step off the stage, grab your bag, and brush past the crowd of males and females preparing to audition. They all stare at you — but for reasons you’re wrong about. Though you don’t dwell long enough to find that their expressions aren’t of detest. You hop down the stairs and take the emergency exit out. // You don’t know where to begin with your belongings. For one, you’re going to need cardboard boxes bigger than those containing your instant noodles. If you’re going to go home, you need to pack up your furniture somehow. But in the meantime, you haul out your dusty luggage from the back of your closet. You kick the busted wheel to roll it a few meters before hurling it on your bed with a sigh. You’re not sure what clothes to leave behind and which to take with you. The mattress dips underneath your added weight and you look over to the hanging dresses that you never go to wear, blazers and pencil skirts that are unwrinkled and were only pulled out for the occasional audition…. You stand on your feet after a prolonged moment, not yet feeling the urge to dump all the hangers onto your bed and fold up the clothes into neat squares. Instead, you put it off by heading to the kitchen for more ice-cream. But as you grab for a spoon, you pass by that counter. The one with the abandoned ticket pushed to the side. It catches your eye and you’re suspended in your spot, feet rooted to the ground. You almost forgot — it’s tonight. You hold the ticket up to the light. It’s a dark blue with a streak of red, a young girl on it facing the horizon. Les Misérables, a front mezzanine middle row seat. It wouldn’t hurt to do one more thing before you begin packing to go home… Right? // You’re startled when the bell at the top of the door jingles to signal your entrance. “Welcome to the Bloom Room!” A female in a green apron turns around with a bouquet of flowers and shears in the other hand. All around her are fancy floral arrangements, from wreaths to overflowing vases. The fresh scent overwhelms your senses, vibrant hues that render you even more uncertain. “How may I help you?” “Umm..” She smiles softly at you. “What kind of flowers are you looking for? Anything specific at all?” You glance at the surroundings, still unsure. Maybe you should get something that’ll convey how sorry you are, for showing up drunk at his doorstep, for saying all those mean things to him. Something that’ll make amends, to tell him you really miss him, his presence, friendship. You should get something that’ll communicate how thankful you are for him — for always being there even when you pushed him away, for always supporting you, for being your backbone when you needed it. “Just….something nice, please,” you end up telling her with a modest smile. “Certainly.” She leads the way, through the shelves and cases of flowers and bouquets. The florist glances at you, sincere in her gaze. “What’s the special occasion?” “Oh no, there’s not a special occasion.” You shake your head and your hands, and the volume of your voice quiets as you try to explain. “Well, not really. I’m just bringing it with me to a show tonight. Someone I know is performing for the first time on stage.” “How exciting! What’s your relationship with this person?” She stops at a station that has jars filled with single flowers, an array of brown paper and ribbons on the side. “Friends? Family member? Boyfriend or girlfriend?” “Umm…..” You don’t know why it’s taking you so long to think about it. “Friends…?” And you certainly don’t know why there’s a hint of doubt in your voice either. The florist’s pupils flicker up to you, a hint of a knowing smile gracing her features. “How about peonies? They’re very delicate and I think it’ll be perfect to bring with you to a show. Seven of them and some baby’s breath and lilacs.” “That sounds nice.” You nod and she begins to choose them. But you wonder if it’s strange to bring flowers to him. You clear your throat. “Is it…” The woman turns to look at you. “Is it weird to give flowers to a guy?” “Not at all,” she assures you. “Trust me, everyone loves to get flowers.” “Do you…..think I should deliver it or give it to him?” You’re unsure of what protocol is. You’ve never bought flowers for anyone before. “Oh, you should give it to him,” she tells you without a trace of doubt. “That’s just me, but I think it’s much more personal to hand-deliver.” You nod and there’s a moment of quiet before you remember something. It flickers into your mind, a memory hitting you in the face. And your eyes light up. “C-Can I get them in purple?” // The show starts at seven thirty, so you arrive twenty minutes beforehand. Your ticket gets scanned and you shuffle into the auditorium. There are lots of people, a sea of glamour, couples going on dates to musical fanatics eager to watch their favourite theater performance to critics ready to analyze the show. You tug on your little black number that ends at your knees — it’s modest and simple, but one of the many dresses that you never got to wear. But there's not a lot of time to be self-conscious or to second guess yourself. The people are a tide that rushes in, and you’re overwhelmed, pushed forward by their force and unable to escape. The theater is grand, brightly lit with the red curtains pulled down. You find your seat and hug the small bouquet of flowers in your lap. When the show finally begins, the lights dim down completely and it’s glorious. Music begins to play, thundering through the auditorium, and men march onto the stage holding sledgehammers. “Look down, look down. Don't look 'em in the eye.” Your eyes search for Jimin, but he’s not here. If you remember the details of his role correctly, you have a feeling he won’t show up for a while. So you sit back and try to relax and watch. But the anticipation and excitement of seeing him keeps you on alert. Any time there are characters entering the stage, your eyes always scan across. It’s not until an hour later that you finally see the familiar boy at the very corner of the scene, catching the edges of the spotlight. Immediately, a smile tugs into your cheeks. Jimin’s singing with the others, wearing a long brown coat with disoriented hair. He plays the part of a young man from a rich family well. You can practically see the fire in his eyes. “Look down and show some mercy if you can! Look down, look down, upon your fellow man!” The song is similar to an anthem, riling up the crowd for a revolution. “It'll come, it'll come, it'll come... It'll come, it'll come, it'll come…” Jimin doesn’t have a main role, but he’s still on the stage of Broadway, singing with many others. You’re happy to see him, elated that you know the boy that’s actually performing, and you have to hold back from giving a sudden standing ovation. “Before the barricades arise?” The crowd breaks up as the police enter the stage and just like that he disappears again. But ten minutes later, it’s his time to shine again. Jimin’s one of the nine men — the main character, Marius, and the supporting character, Enjolras, taking the limelight, but he’s one of the many students sitting around a table, at a supposed bar. “Red!” one of them sings. The male playing Marius faces the audience. “I feel my soul on fire!” “Black!” “My world if she's not there!” the main actor responds with vigor. “Red!” Jimin belts with others. “The colour of desire!” “Black!” he sings again, and you can pick up his voice between the timbre of others. “The colour of despair!” Jimin sings with the actors and it echoes throughout the theater. While he never sings a line by himself, you can still hear his tone ever so slightly before it melts away. “The dark of ages past! Red — a world about to dawn! Black — the night that ends at last!” His appearance is sweet albeit short. You see him one more time right before the intermission when the cast comes onto the stage and sings for the hope of the future in ‘One Day More’. Afterwards, it’s a fifteen minute break. It’s an hour and a half through the show, but the intermission allows people to relieve themselves at the restrooms or grab a drink at the bar. In your case, you stick around, grasping the bouquet. The brown paper crinkles under your grip and you peer at the curtain as if hoping he’ll run out. Instead, you catch Jimin coming out from the left door as the other people are spilling out of the auditorium. But it’s bad timing. He doesn’t come to where you are, but towards the orchestra section, right by one of the closest rows to the stage. An older woman and man stand, clapping and jumping. He runs into the woman’s arms and squeezes him. It’s his parents, and you smile before turning around to walk away, not wanting to interrupt the intimate moment with your presence. His parents must be proud. You’re happy for him. // The show continues afterwards. Jimin makes a few more cameos here and there without singing any lyrics, simply in the crowd at the barricades. Although, he does say a few lines. “See! The people unite!” — “So what are we going to do with this snake in the grass?” — “You wear an army uniform.” And when Éponine dies, he comforts Marius. “She will not die in vain…” But Jimin does sing one line by himself in the song ‘Drink With Me’. His eyes sweep across the audience floor as he steps forward, pretending to take a swig of the empty beer bottle. “Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads!” And you swear he looks right at you. As if he had memorized where you would be seated. But Jimin looks away right after, his eyes passing your spot. You release your held breath, realizing it was your imagination. There was no way he could actually see you. The show lasts another forty minutes, filled with the spectacular performances of the leads, their beautiful voices that captivate your attention and everyone else’s. During the finale when the storyline has wrapped up, everyone comes onto the stage again. You see him one last time there. Jimin is singing, smiling wide, looking out at the audience. It could not be a better Broadway debut. You muse that he truly belongs on the stage — there’s no place else he should be. Along with the rest of the audience, you give a standing ovation. The applause roars throughout the auditorium, actors and actresses bowing and waving goodbye. When it dies down, the bright lights come on again. People begin trickling out and you’d leave as well, if not for the bouquet of flowers you’re still holding onto. You look around. “U...Um excuse me…” You stop someone who looks like a worker and they blink at you, confused. You swallow hard and hand over the flowers. “C-Can you give this to Park Jimin? He was an actor in the production.” “Sorry.” The teenager awkwardly points to a family that’s gathering their belongings to show he’s with them and he offers a kind smile. “I don’t work here.” “O-Oh. Sorry.” You bow your head and they say it’s no problem. But you’re still cringing from embarrassment, and now you don’t know what to do, how to give it to him without having to face him. You should’ve thought about this better. But before you can contemplate any solution, you hear a sudden— “Y/N?!” Jimin’s sweaty. Like he sprinted here as fast as he could the second the curtains fell. His parents are nowhere in sight, probably in the lobby, but he's here with you. Still in costume. The nineteenth century french clothing — blue trench coat, puffy white shirt underneath, brown slacks. His hair is riled up with what looks like soot pressed to his cheeks, makeup of some sort that makes him appear even more disoriented and soiled. But he doesn’t care. You don’t either. His chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath. The two of you stare at each other, pupils locked into one another’s, holding the other’s attention. Captivated. Then after a beat, the biggest and goofiest grin spreads into his face. It’s enormous, causing his eyes to crinkle into half-moons. “You came! You...actually came!” “Y-Yeah…” You’re stunned and you tear your eyes away, the intensity becoming too much for you to handle. Your arm extends. “These are for you.” “Flowers?!” He breathlessly giggles and takes them. Jimin doesn’t fail to notice that they’re all shades of purple, from lilac to violet. Because of you, purple has become his new favourite colour. “I love them. Thank you!” “C-Congratulations on your debut, Jimin.” He grins, so much that his rosy cheeks look like they’re about to burst. His teeth peek out, eyes crescent moons. “Thank you. I’m glad you could make it.” “S-Same here…..” You don’t know why he’s gazing at you so intently at you. It makes it hard to keep eye contact. “You were really amazing.” “I didn’t have that many lines,” the boy giggles, still giddy and hyperactive. It makes you smile. “But you were still good.” There’s a lot of things you’ve been wanting to tell him, a million versions of an apology that you’ve practiced in the mirror. And now that he’s here and you’re no longer staring at a reflection of yourself, you gather your courage to face your regrets. “You deserve it, Jimin. I’m...sorry for everything that I said. I’m sorry for being resentful towards you. I’m sorry for being jealous. It wasn’t your fault. And all those things I said to you, I didn’t mean it. A-at the time I did, but now I don’t...I don’t know if that makes it any better but...yeah….I just…..you were great, you worked hard, so…” It’s the shittiest apology. Worse than the first one you practiced. But you can’t get it out right. You feel nervous for the first time in Jimin’s presence. A kind of anxiousness that doesn’t make you feel sick. Rather, you feel something else in your stomach — it’s fluttery. Something uncertain brewing there, stirring at its pits. It feels similar in your chest. It isn’t a foreign sensation, but one you had ignored for a long time now. Jimin suddenly laughs, noisy and hearty. It squeaks, a higher pitched giggle. It makes you look at him, eyes hesitantly lifting off the floor. And then you yelp. Jimin picks you up right off the ground, arms locked around your waist. He spins you in a circle, squeezing ticklish laughter out of you. Your hands immediately come to grab his shoulders. The boy is unable to contain the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the overwhelming joy of you being here. “Jimin!” you squeal. He laughs. “God, I’m so happy that you’re here!” “Did you think I’d miss it?” you quip and it feels like forever since you’ve been able to joke around like this. “Not for the world, Park!” He sets you down to your feet again. His swelling smile might just break his face. He nuzzles into you, hair tickling your forehead. Jimin hugs you tight. He’s so happy, you can practically feel it radiate off of his skin. And your chest blooms with pride instead of envy. “Your Broadway debut was amazing. It only gets better from—” “Can I please kiss you?” Your heart stutters. Jimin pulls himself apart from you. The sudden question has you blinking twice. But the temptation for Jimin has gotten too much. If there’s one thing that could make tonight even more perfect, it would be him kissing you… You glance at his plush lips before your pupils flicker back to his eyes. “You don’t need to ask.” Just like that, he roughly tugs you in by the small of your back. The flowers lose a few petals from the harsh motion. But Jimin doesn’t care. He kisses you like he’s been waiting to do it for months now. He kisses you like he wants you. He’s hungry for it and savours your whimper that’s muffled between his soft lips. He’s been wanting to hear your voice like this. Jimin’s half-lidded eyes soak up your pleasured expression before he gives in, shutting them to succumb to your scent. He breathes you in and you become helpless in his arms, the pad of your fingers pressing against the nape of his neck. You’re unsure if you want to part just to gasp for air, or if you want to push him even closer. But your thoughts turn to mush as his hot tongue licks inside your mouth, eager. The pair of you don’t care that other people might be watching, that you’re placed in the middle of the auditorium, that you’ve stolen the spotlight. When the both of you break apart, you stumble back from each other, mouths swollen. You wipe away his saliva that’s made your lips shiny with the back of your hand. The both of you are dazed and embarrassed, catching your breaths, his own cheeks reddened. You divert your eyes from one another. But then infectious giggles spill over. God, you might’ve been in love with Park Jimin for a long time now.

Director Lee sits at his desk with a sigh. He shuffles his papers before sitting back in his swivel chair, unsure. Right at that moment, a blonde, lean man enters with a hot brewing cup of coffee. The assistant sets it on his desk. “Are you sure you should be taking in caffeine this late at night?” “Not like I’ll be able to sleep anyway.” He brings the cup up for a small sip. “I’m still deciding on the main cast.” “Who do you have?” “The casting director narrowed it down to these people.” He lays out the applicants of possible options and sighs. “Now I just have to decide who’s going to be part of this and who’s who. You should’ve been there today, Kim. If you weren’t late, you might be able to help me right now.” “Sorry.” Taehyung sheepishly grins. “My alarm clock didn’t ring.” The director is disgruntled, but still playful. “Same excuse every time, Kim.” Taehyung laughs, but still tries his best to assist. He scans over the applications haphazardly, but then his breath hitches. He turns his body to get a better look and his eyes grow wide, recognizing you. “Oh. What about her?” The director follows to where his assistant is pointing and hums a low note. “Oh. Her. We called her since we heard she was the ghost singer of Phantom.” “Oh yeah.” The blonde nods. “I heard about that.” “I was thinking about tossing her papers.” “Why?” Taehyung looks at his mentor, genuinely curious. “Well, her audition was….” He struggles to find the right words. “Impactful. It was really something. She stood out, that’s for sure.” “Then….?” “I just don’t know if we could find the right place for her.” He shrugs and taps his finger against the armrest of his chair. “She might outperform the other actors and actresses.” Taehyung makes a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat. “I don’t know. But I think she should be considered for a role. That’s just me, but I have a good feeling about her. You said it was impactful, right? Isn’t that what we should be going for?” Director Lee glances at his assistant, but Taehyung simply smiles and waltzes out the room.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #jimin fluff #all i'm gonna say is that I was editing this with the dumbest smile on my face #uwu y'all

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amandaoftherosemire · 5 years

Text

For She Had Eyes...

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Unnamed OFC!Hallway Blonde

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,146

Format: Two-part series

Warning: Smut, 18+ only, language, unintentional voyeurism, female masturbation, mild angst, embarrassment.

Summary: After accidentally catching Steve in an intimate moment, you can’t stop thinking about it.

A/N: This was inspired by a piece of fanart that I saw that I can’t find now to save my damn life. It was of Steve and Sharon against a wall, mostly clothed, him in a tux and her in a red dress, and I loved it. (If anyone knows what I’m talking about, please let me know so I can credit the artist.)

However, I personally hate how the fandom has treated Sharon Carter at times, so I tend not to vilify her if I can help it. To be clear, Hallway Blonde is NOT Sharon Carter.

I only split this into two parts because of the word count. It was one of those stories that showed up in my brain and wouldn’t shut up until I got it out of there and out of the way. I hope y’all like it!

For She Had Eyes

You didn’t mean to do it. You weren’t trying to peep. But jeez, if he didn’t want anyone to see, then why the hell was he in one of the corridors? Not that you were complaining. You were, but about the fact that you had to stop watching. Really. You had to. In a second.

You'd been heading back to your rooms from the communal kitchen after you’d woken up starving and embarked on an after-midnight foraging expedition. With the slice of pie and the soda you’d acquired, you were quietly padding back to your rooms when the gasping breaths and soft slap of flesh on flesh alerted you to someone else’s presence and their probable current activity.

Expecting Bucky or even Sam, you’d put your training to use and snuck toward the sound rather than away in the hopes of witnessing something you could leverage against them later. They were fun guys, but you needed any ammunition you could get in the unending friendly battle. Catching them in the act of either getting laid or making do could be excellent ammunition.

Which may be why you'd frozen when you peeked around the corner to one of the corridors in the private areas to spy Steve there with some blonde you only vaguely recognized pinned against the wall.

Your eyes widened, but you didn't move, greedily drinking in the sight of Steve, mostly dressed, as he pounded silently into the woman panting in his arms. You knew you should leave, as quietly as possible, respecting Steve's privacy. You stayed, however, for far longer than you were proud of, imprinting the image of Steve in the throes of passion on your retinas.

Though the light was dim, there was more than enough for you to see that Steve Rogers was fucking beautiful lost in pleasure.

His high cheekbones were flushed gorgeous pink, sharp jaw clenched, cheek muscle twitching. His long fingers dug into the woman’s thighs to hold her up and against the wall, in place for his thrusting hips. You could see the muscles of his thighs and ass flexing as he slammed harder into her, driving muffled gasps of pleasure from her lips.

You were grateful for that, as her sounds would hopefully mask your speeding breathing and racing heart. With one last, too long look, drawn by Steve's speeding thrusts, you drug your eyes and self away. You retreated as silently as you had come, praying neither of them had noticed your presence.

Once you thought you were far enough away, you took off running as best you could to your rooms, taking the long way around to avoid Steve and his companion at all costs. Back behind the closed door of your rooms, you dropped the pie and soda you still carried on your coffee table and ran to your bedroom.

In the privacy of your bed, you let your body rule. Sliding your hand between your thighs, you let yourself imagine being in the blonde’s place, your flesh between Steve’s teeth, your arms around his neck, your hands in his hair. As you began to rub circles into your clit, you envisioned Steve’s hands digging into the flesh of your thighs, holding you up and open for the slam of his hips against yours, driving his cock into you with the same relentless rhythm you’d just witnessed. Between your own fevered imaginings and the heated scene seared into your memory, you were coming in no time flat.

With a shuddering moan, you climaxed imagining Steve’s eyes on yours as he fucked you like a madman against a wall.

A while later, despite your physical satisfaction, you stared at the ceiling in horror.

How were you going to face him tomorrow?

You decided not to. Face him, that is. You opted instead to avoid any kind of social setting that day, pretending general surliness to keep everyone, but most especially Steve, at arm’s length.

You skipped breakfast entirely, not wanting to have to make small talk with anyone when you knew you’d be too busy remembering the line of Steve’s jaw as it clenched in passion. You waited until you knew much of the team would be in the gym before you joined them. To make sure you could avoid any interactions, you’d put on your leave-me-alone aura.

When you'd first joined the team, you'd made it clear that there would be days that you needed to be left alone. Those days were signified by the enormous gray hoodie enveloping your torso. Today you wore it over workout gear. You'd pulled the hood up, slid sunglasses onto your nose, and put earbuds into your ears before you'd walked through the door.

Every eye in the room turned toward you, recognized the hoodie and slid away as you crossed toward the outside door. Everyone knew you jogged by yourself on gray hoodie days. Since you studiously did not look at him as you walked out, you didn't see that Steve's eyes stayed on you, his gaze darkening as you left.

Steve's mood, already dark and mean, blackened viciously. With a snarl, he turned on the punching bag Bucky was holding for him. Bucky merely lifted a brow, easily reading Steve's moods. He could always tell when Steve had let his ex-girlfriend get her hooks into him again.

Steve was cursing himself. He'd known better than to let her drag him back in, even for a night, but the craving for you had been riding him hard when she'd texted. He'd been watching you take turns tossing popcorn and catching it in your mouth with Bucky while you debated movie choices with Sam and his heart had been sighing romantically at how sweet and beautiful he thought you were.

He also thought you firmly off-limits. Not only were you a member of his team, and that was no small matter, any change in dynamic possibly detrimental to the safety of everyone, you'd also never given him any indication you'd be receptive. You joked and teased him, but you did that with literally everyone; you were generally the friendly sort.

You also occasionally flirted with him, but it was delicate, almost innocent. There seemed to be more heat behind your flirting with Sam or Bucky. Still, the three of you were the sort of friends that gave each other endless shit, so there didn't seem to be anything to your flirting with them, either. Sam and Bucky always included Steve in the endless shit-giving, too, but you and he had never gotten to that point.

He wished he knew how to talk to you, how to become your friend even if he couldn't tell you he was half in love with you. Every time he tried, however, he ended up feeling too shy to open up for real. You'd always been open and encouraging, but he could tell his shyness looked like rejection to you. It left Captain America perpetually between you.

He'd been lamenting exactly that when she'd texted him, trying to draw him back into her sphere where she could punish him for not loving her enough. Most of the time he was able to resist, but he was feeling particularly sad and lonely. Watching you sit across the room from him, happy and within reach, yet somehow still a million miles away was both temptation and torment. Torn apart by it, he'd been willing to take the punishment to forget what he couldn't have, if only for a moment.

Until he'd been inside her, wishing she was you, and his heightened senses told him they were no longer alone. His inexplicable ability to recognize you by sound and scent alone had set him off and he'd come helplessly, with stuttering hips. He knew he'd heard someone's heart besides hers and his own, and he'd prayed it hadn't really been you who'd caught him in the corridor, that it had only been his own fevered imagination and desperate need that made him think he'd caught the edge of your scent.

He'd been in a foul mood thanks to both the worry of that and the ugly scene he'd endured at her hands. He'd already damned himself for answering her text at all, let alone allowing things to go so far, when, seconds after his climax, she'd murmured in his ear, her voice full of venom, "Thinking of her, again, were we?"

She'd been talking about Peggy; she didn’t know about you. They’d broken up before you’d joined the team, so it had been easy to hide his feelings for you from her, too aware she'd use it against him at the earliest opportunity, the way she did with Peggy. She'd never forgive him for not loving her the way she wanted. She couldn't seem to stop hurting them both because of it.

Then you'd walked in and out without looking at him and he'd known for certain. You'd walked in on him fucking his ex and now you couldn't meet his eye. His already foul mood shifted to something black and ugly as his fists pounded into the bag in frustration.

Outside, you breathed a sigh of relief. You'd made it past the first hurdle. If you could get through this day without humiliating yourself, you'd consider yourself home free. You were sure you could deal with this with just a little more time and distance. You just needed to put Steve back in the No-Sex box where you’d put all the hot people you worked with every day.

You were trying to ignore the fact that just the sight of Steve out of the corner of your eye had your memory flitting back to the sight of his fingers digging deliciously into flesh.

You put the image out of your mind and took two deep breaths as you started to stretch. A nice long run, a cold shower, and something other than last night's pie to eat and you could handle this.

"Y/N?"

You shrieked and jerked in response to the sound of Steve saying your name, hitting your head on the engine you were currently under while you worked on it.

"H-h-h-h-hi Steve!" Deeply grateful for the prototype engine that currently hid everything from your hips up, most thankfully your face, you rolled your eyes at the stuttering giggle. You despised the clear sign of the girlish crush you’d developed overnight, but in your defense, you hadn't been expecting anyone to come talk to you on a gray hoodie day, least of all Steve. He was kind and friendly, but he didn't seem to have much to say to you.

You'd tried to accept it, accept that not everyone was going to click with you, but you really liked Steve. His friendship with Sam and Bucky told you how warm and funny he could be with people he liked and his camaraderie with Natasha made it clear he could be friends with women, and the best of friends, no less. You couldn't help a little bit of hurt feelings that he stayed resolutely apart no matter how you tried to welcome him in. You now realized it was that little burn of resentment that had allowed you to ignore how attracted you were until you’d been confronted with his base sexuality.

Altogether, you'd been blindsided by the sound of Steve's voice, especially as you'd been belting along with the stereo where your phone was blasting your garage playlist. You liked fast and loud when you worked with your hands. Not expecting visitors, you hadn’t been bothering with the leave-me-alone attitude, singing happily as you tinkered. “Volume down fifty percent,” you said, and the music immediately dropped to a murmur.

You realized when he stayed silent that he was probably waiting for you to slide out from under the engine. Fat fucking chance. "Sorry, Steve. I literally have my hands full right now." The lie tripped lightly off your tongue, easier when you didn't have to look at him, but your discomfort was still coming through in your voice, loud and clear to anyone who knew you well. You hoped if he heard it, he didn't recognize it. "But go ahead and talk to me. What's up?"

Steve was both grateful and disappointed that he wasn't looking at your face. He was almost certain, based on your reaction, that you were the person who'd caught him last night, but he was not at all certain anymore that you were upset by it. You sounded… embarrassed? Ashamed?

He felt a rush of chagrin at the thought and spoke with less care than he had planned. "Were you in the hallway late last night?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he winced in horror. He hadn't meant to ask you that at all, let alone that baldly.

"NO!" You shouted the word, the sound strangled, and so clearly a lie, you merely let your head fall back with a thump as you tried to salvage it anyway. "Why do you ask?" you squeaked.

You turned your head until you were looking at Steve's boots when you heard what sounded like a snort from him. You'd never heard that sound from him before, at least not thanks to you, and it had you smiling despite the situation. "You're as bad a liar as I am," he said, his voice rich and warm and so appealing it almost made you slide on your creeper out from where you were wedged to peer into his face.

You resisted, however, too guilty to look at him straight on. You'd stood watching for far too long last night to have the moral high ground in this conversation. You were terrified he'd noticed, the shame of it miserably crawling up your neck and over your scalp. When he fell silent, you started to squirm with it.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, unsure how to go on. He wanted to apologize, but now it seemed you’d rather not talk about it. He also didn't know how to apologize. How could he tell you that he was in the hallway because he couldn't stand to have his ex in his space again? He opened his mouth, still not certain what he was about to say, but painfully aware that he’d been silent for far too long when you’d asked him a question.

Before he could speak, however, the silence had worn you down, and you sang like a canary, the words coming out in a rush of guilt-laden confession.

“Look, I know I might have stood there too long, but I was expecting the chance to ruin Bucky’s night or something and I was really surprised when it was you. Can we just pretend it never happened?” The final question came out on a choked high-pitched squeal that shamed you, but the humiliation was so intense, the guilt so over-whelming, you could only close your eyes and hope Steve took pity on you.

“How--” Steve stopped when his voice croaked a little to clear his throat and try again. He was embarrassed, confused, and sick at the thought that you might have seen the fight between him and his ex, heard the things she'd said to him. “How long did you stand there?”

The silence dragged on long enough that Steve actually felt his knees dissolve as his stomach threatened to revolt.

Meanwhile, you were laying, your head pillowed on the little cushion at the head of your creeper, your body limp as you stared in utter horror at the shiny metal you'd been working on without seeing it. You closed your eyes as your stomach churned.

Steve may have suspected that you'd stumbled upon him last night, but his words made clear that he had had no idea what you'd done. How could you possibly explain? There was no way to tell him you'd stood dumbstruck, watching him fuck someone, without giving away that you'd been mesmerized by the sight of him given over to lust, to passion. He'd just been so fucking beautiful.

But he hadn't come in here to confront you and you'd just sold yourself out. You'd never wanted a hole to open up and swallow you the way you did in this never-ending moment. You didn't want to answer, but the silence had stretched to the breaking point and if one of you didn't say something, you were pretty sure you were going to go stark raving mad.

"Okay," you said, your voice carrying a defensive tone and you were grateful all over again that Steve couldn't see your face. "I'm not a pervert or anything. I wasn't watching on purpose."

Steve's knees almost buckled in relief as he finally understood that you were embarrassed, rather than angry and upset, or possibly worse, judging him. "I shouldn't have been in the hallway." Steve rushed to reassure, not wanting you to think he was here because he was angry. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

You figured it was a good thing that you were kind of wedged under Tony's latest prototype. You were, apparently, entirely too susceptible to Steve. You could hear the genuine remorse and worry in his voice and it made you want to shimmy out there and cuddle him. A complete puddle, you responded as thoughtlessly as he when he rushed to reassure, your breath signaling your desire to astute ears.

"I wasn't mad, Steve," you half-laughed, the image of his neck muscles, taut with lust, flitting across your mind’s eye. "Let's just forget it." You slid over enough that you could reach out and give a thumbs up.

Steve laughed when your hand came into view, the tone in your voice making his heart beat faster, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. "Thanks, y/n," he replied, his voice warm with the affection he always felt for you but had never known how to express. He was almost glad that this had happened. The Captain seemed to have faded. He didn't know if it was because he could set it aside or because you could stop seeing it. Either way, he was beginning to feel like your friend.

"So, we're cool, right?" You said it hopefully, praying he'd let you off the hook.

Steve laughed out loud, and the sound was so pretty and warm you could hardly stand to stay still. You wanted so badly to see his face lit up with laughter you inspired. You stayed in place, however, still too terrified that he'd see your almost desperate lust for him if he could see your face right now. You needed a little more distance between yourself and the memory of the way the muscles in his thighs flexed and released as he thrust--

"We're cool." Steve was smiling at the thumb you were making dance in response, utterly charmed by you. He was trying to think of something else to say, wanting to stretch this time out longer, but nothing was coming to mind. With nothing else, "Thanks, again." He cringed. "I'll let you get back to work, then."

"I'll see you later." You said it warmly, catching a hint of the discomfort and seeking to alleviate it even if you didn't understand its cause. You had this newfound overwhelming urge to make Steve happy. You wished it wasn't partly because you really wanted to replace Hallway Blonde.

Steve turned and started to walk out, a smile on his face in response to the quiet humming noises you were making absently as the clink of your tools against metal started up again. He was halfway to the door when he realized that you'd never actually answered the question.

You were starting to hum along with the music as you got back to tinkering when Steve's voice rang out. "But… how long did you watch?"

"What?!" Blindsided, convinced you were home free, you had absolutely no defense or guile and the word was so drenched in pained guilt there was no way Steve didn't hear it.

"You did watch," he pointed out, turning back around with new determination, the guilt in your voice clear to him, but yet unexplained. "But I asked how long, and you didn't answer."

"Of course I did." Your voice was raspy and painfully unconvincing. If you'd been the slightest bit prepared for any of this, maybe you wouldn’t be fucking it up so hard. You cleared your throat and continued. "Not, like, a pervy amount of time, but a… justifiably surprised amount of time. I didn’t have a stopwatch on me.” You tried really hard to sound vaguely irritated and a little offended that you had to explain, and you mostly succeeded.

Steve stood next to the engine, looking down at your legs, jiggling in apparent anxiety. He was considering his options. He didn't want to get overly physically pushy and drag you out from under there so that he could look at you, but he also really wanted to see your face. He felt like he needed to understand what was going on underneath this conversation more than he needed anything else.

Steve lay down on the ground so that he could see you where you lay, one arm limp at your side, a socket wrench in your hand, while the other arm was up, your palm across your forehead in dismay. His mouth began to spread in a smile at how utterly adorable he thought you were, even when you'd been obviously lying to avoid having to look at him.

"Hands full, huh?"

"Fuck me!” The expletive burst from your mouth in an explosion, both startled and horrified at being caught. You whipped your head to the side to see Steve laying on his stomach on the floor next to you, his cheek pillowed on his crossed wrists, pretty face smiling sweetly at you.

Too susceptible by half, you turned your face back to the engine in front of you. You were afraid that pretty smile could get you to do anything.

“Will you please come out here so I can see your face when I’m talking to you?” Steve asked it kindly, aware that you were hiding because something embarrassed you. He wanted to ease that embarrassment, show you that you didn’t have to be embarrassed with him. He was too familiar with the sensation to want it to happen to anyone else, least of all you.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s lips twitched and he had to stifle his laughter at the petulant tone and cadence to your words. He didn’t move from his spot on the floor. If all he could get was the sight of your profile from under one of Tony’s massive prototypes, it was better than nothing. “Why not?”

“Because I’m humiliated.” You spoke slowly and deliberately, annoyed and anxious because the conversation that you’d thought you’d escaped unscathed had turned around on you. It didn’t help that you could see Steve smiling at you out of the corner of your eye and you were having a hell of a time not crawling out from under the engine and all over him. “The fuck you think?”

As you spoke, Steve could hear your heart start to race but it didn’t have the pounding rhythm of fear. If he wasn’t also afraid that he was merely engaged in wishful thinking, he’d wonder if it was arousal. Once he started considering the possibility, your behavior made more sense, but he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t deluding himself, desperate for you to want him with the same need he had for you, the same need he constantly had to bury beneath the Captain America façade.

“I shouldn’t ask how long you watched, should I?” He could hardly believe he was saying this, knew doing so could change the dynamic between the two of you as well as the rest of the team, but he wanted you more than he wanted his next breath and the idea that you could want him too was irresistible. “I should ask why you watched,” he continued, his voice lowering with the first hints of desire.

Your wrench fell the ground where you dropped it when you shoved your creeper out from under the engine as you lost your temper. To be fair, the anger was more frustration and panic, than anything else. The shivers of embarrassment running up your spine and over your scalp, easily distracted you from the desire coloring Steve’s voice.

“Oh my god!” You shouted it as you came to your feet. Steve had already leapt to his feet when you burst into motion. You faced him, eyes narrowed, hands on hips. “Because you’re sexy as hell and it was hot, okay? Are you happy now?” Steve’s jaw dropped at the bald statement combined with the hostile tone to your voice.

Gesturing wildly, you continued to rant. “When I realized how I was violating your privacy I turned around and walked away but I’ve felt guilty ever since.” You sneered and the tone did not match the words of your next sentiment by any stretch. “So I’m sorry." With a scoff of irritation, you turned and walked out on a long stride of anger. “Fuck you.”

Once far away from your garage and Steve, you sagged against the wall in horrified dismay.

Did you just yell at Steve that watching him fuck got you hot?

Were you out of your damn mind?

Steve sat in the window seat in his bedroom. He’d picked these rooms because of the wide, deep bench next to tinted glass where he could look out at the woods behind the compound but not feel as he often did, as though he were on display, a fish in a bowl. These moments of peace, alone with his sketchbook in his designated quiet place, sometimes felt like the glue holding him together.

In these moments, he most often sketched you. Today was no exception.

He'd spent the last half hour trying to get right the exact curve of your eyebrows as you'd shouted at him before storming out of your garage. He never wanted to forget the look on your face, as he'd fallen a little more in love with you that day.

Steve had never had the luxury of self-delusion. He'd been born fragile and small to a world both mean and cold. He'd found cruelty far more often than kindness at the hands of others, until a man of rare vision and compassion had seen more deeply and offered him a chance to do more than the body he'd been born into would allow. He'd leapt at the chance, simply because he needed to right the wrongs he saw in the world and no one would let him any other way.

After the serum, however, he'd learned that the eyes stayed cruel even as the blows became pats, the raised fists handshakes, the sneering disdain simpering flattery. He'd learned quickly to see who meant their kindnesses, their compassion, and who sought his company because of his appearance or name. He rarely made mistakes these days, though his most recent was fresh.

Today, your eyebrows had twisted in distress even as your mouth went mobile in fury, the quiver of your voice so slight only his highly sensitive ears could have heard it. The humiliated, guilty misery had been all over you the moment he'd been allowed to see you and his heart had stumbled.

Where another would look at you and see the oil smeared across your cheek, Steve saw in the agitated motion the compassion that fueled the anxiety and humiliation all over you. The tone of your voice revealed the kindness that inspired such guilt; the shine of your eyes gave away the integrity that caused such misery. In short, he'd been attracted to the surface of you, the funny and bright, but the sweet heart beneath had him captivated.

Steve couldn't deny that the attraction was not silent in this contemplation. His brain kept replaying your voice saying that you thought him sexy. He couldn't stop thinking about the implicit admission in your bald statement. You'd wanted to watch.

You'd wanted to watch him.

The thought alone had had him half hard all day. He wanted to show you. He wanted to show you everything.

He couldn't help the fear, however. He was afraid to tell you that, to admit that he'd developed feelings for you that were anything but professional. He worried that to do so would alter a dynamic that worked, that kept all of you safe. He was also terrified that your interest was merely physical and to admit to anything deeper would do nothing but invite your pity.

All his old insecurities rose up to choke him at the same moment he heard his ex's text tone.

I'm sorry, baby. I just get so jealous. Let me make it up to you.

He thought of her pretty perfect lips sneering in fury and something perilously close to hate, then of your dancing thumb and your shamefaced flight. Everything inside him softened in tenderness at your sweetness, your genuine warmth. Reminded that he had a right to kindness and compassion, his heart hardened against the blonde viper that was once again trying to get her fangs into him.

No. All we do is hurt each other. I'm not doing this anymore.

As soon as he hit send, he felt lighter. He wondered if he should leave you alone for a little while before he tried to talk to you again. Because he would absolutely be talking to you again. He needed to know if you felt anything like the electricity that raced over him every time he saw you.

Not doing this anymore? Who the fuck do you think you are?

She hadn't always been like this. Or at least she hid it better at the beginning, until he'd fallen in love with the woman he thought she was. Over time, however, there emerged cruel jealousy from underneath the funny charm that had captivated him. Even in the beginning, however, he couldn't imagine her reacting to anything the way you had. She lacked the empathy.

Steve couldn't help but compare you. You didn’t just compare favorably, there seemed to be no comparison. Most important, your reaction to what had happened told him what kind of heart you had. He had no defense against kindness, strength, and compassion. Whether it was wise or not, he needed to find out if there was anything there.

He finally listened to Natasha and blocked her number.

Steve went back to his sketch, smiling at the memory of how you’d looked shouting compliments at him, wondering when you’d let him talk to you again.

… And Chose Me here

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thepandapopo · 4 years

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A Step Through Time Chapter 2: Context

I'm trying something different.

My previous chapter was written in active voice because I generally prefer writing like that (more engaging, easier to write etc. ), but I wanted to practice writing in passive voice as well. I've read so many fics lately where authors write in past tense and passive voice and it's absolutely AMAZING, and I wish i could do that too. Thus, I've decided that any Felix centric chapters I write will all be in active since he's technically from the future so present tense is as close as I can get, and any Sylvain centric chaps will be written in passive voice/past tense since it's in 'the past'. ish. kinda.

Pairing: Sylvain x Felix

Synopsis:

In which Sylvain wallows in his self hatred before Felix comes to provide him context.

The one where Sylvain is so incredibly dense and Felix has to all but spell it out for him.

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Fatherhood suited Felix.

But then again, Sylvain thought absently to himself, he always knew that it would. Although Felix put up an exterior that was colder than the frigid Faerghus winters, he was always patient and gentle with children; never hesitating to unwearyingly pass down his swordsmanship if asked.

Sylvain had always loved children, but the problem was that he did not love women. At least, not in the way that was needed to be able to actually form a healthy relationship and conceive a child. Years of being pressured with talks of marriage proposals and being clinically ogled by women who only saw him for his crest had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Not to mention he would never want his child to be shackled with the burden of a crest in this world. A crest wasn’t a status of nobility like everyone believed. No, it was a death sentence given shortly after birth.

He would be lying though, if he said that he had never imagined a faceless red haired child running into his arms with gleeful shouts of ‘Daddy!’ ringing off the halls of the Gautier estate.

But Felix. Felix had never cared about crests. No, Felix had always liked Sylvain for Sylvain. The youngest Fraldarius had always had a knack for stripping away the red head’s carefully constructed masks, peeling them away with his eyes like they were paper thin and nothing more than a slight hindrance, piercing down to his very core and laying bare everything that Sylvain was. And even when he stripped away all the beautiful lies and cover ups and only the gross ugly truth of who Sylvain Jose Gautier remained… even then, Felix never turned away from him.

Future Felix was… different.

Sylvain wouldn’t necessarily say that Future Felix was purposely ignoring him, but he was most definitely going out of his way to avoid interacting with the Gautier. Even now, as Sylvain stood partially obscured by the shadow of one of the monastery pillars watching the older swordsman sit patiently while his daughter – Sophia Gabriella Fraldarius, was how Future Felix introduced her - gleefully weaved an impressive assortment of wildflowers into his long midnight hair, Sylvain felt a tightness in his chest.

Although Sylvain entertained the idea of one day siring a child, he would give up that dream in a heartbeat for the chance to spend the rest of life with Felix.

He wanted Felix, or he wanted no one.

But Sophie… little Sophie was proof that Felix did not feel the same.

Goddess. He had taken lances to the stomach, and even been nearly burned alive by a Bolganone spell, but none of those could compare to the pain of having his deepest hope undeniably ripped away from him.

“Sylvain.”

He nearly gave himself whiplash with how quickly he swiveled to face the newcomer behind him.

“Oh hey, Professor! Didn’t see you there.”

“Are you spying on Future Felix and Sophie?” Her mint eyes fixed on him in a cool, calm manner just daring him to lie to her.

“Ahaha…” he scratched the back of his head. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one, you’re hiding in the shadows.”

“Professor! I am wounded that you doubt me so.” He clutched his chest dramatically.

Although he knew that his puppy eyes never worked on his former teacher, years of carefully fabricated masks made it second nature and he felt his face contort into a sad pout before his mind could catch up.

Maybe this was why Felix ended up marrying someone else.

How could he ever want someone as fake and broken as Sylvain?

“Sylvain.”

“Professor, I swear I was just passing by and momentarily paused to see what they were doing.” Not a complete lie; Technically Sylvain had just been passing through the courtyard when he spotted Future Felix casually sitting on the grass, carefully watching Sophie as she went digging through the wilder patches of vegetation that had been ignored while they restored the rest of the monastery, on a hunt for any kinds of flowers she could get her hands on.

Except that was close to ten minutes ago and he most definitely was spying now.

Byleth looked at him with an expression that he could only describe as torn between complete skepticism and sympathy.

“Very well, if you insist.” Sylvain felt his shoulders sag with relief. “I will see you at our roundtable strategy meeting this afternoon?” She turned to leave but turned her head towards him waiting for his answer.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Byleth nodded her farewell and Sylvain watched as her overcoat fluttered in her wake. He would have to be more careful around her – the last thing he wanted was for her to invite him to a tea party so that she could grill him on why he was so distracted lately.

It wasn’t his fault that the presence of a certain child was making him act out of sorts.

“Sylvie!”

Speaking of.

Sylvain turned and smiled down at Sophie who was grinning at him. In her grubby little hands, she held out a drooping orange pansy.

“Oh, is this for me?” Sylvain kneeled down so that he was eye level with Sophie and reached out to accept the flower. Before he could wrap his much larger hand around the delicate stem, she quickly retracted her hand.

“For you! In your hair like Papa.”

The bright orange would look washed out in his own brightly colored hair, but he could not bring himself to care and bent his head to allow Sophie better access. When she was finished, she gave his head a little pat of satisfaction and he winked at her. “Does it make me look pretty?”

“Sylvie is always pretty! But not as pretty as Papa.”

“Oh, is that so?” From the corner of his eye, Sylvain watched as Future Felix approached and plastered on the most convincing casual grin he could muster. “Well, I suppose I cannot argue with that. Your Papa is very pretty after all. Probably the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“Insufferable as always.” Felix rolled his eyes and settled against the stone pillar next to him. The words were familiarly harsh, but the lack of bite behind it made it seem odd.

Ignoring the nervous coil in his gut, Sylvain turned his attention back to the little Fraldarius child. “He looks especially pretty with all the flowers. You did such a wonderful job, Sophie!”

Goddess, current Felix was already strikingly handsome, but Future Felix was in a whole other league. While he normally kept his hair up in a long ponytail, today he decided to wear it down in a braid that cascaded over one shoulder, tumbling in a waterfall of ink ending just slightly below his chest. The stark contrast of the bright flowers in his hair served as a glaring reminder that this Felix was much softer and settled in his own skin than his Felix was.

Silence descended on the pair as Sophie dashed back into the tall grass to pick more flowers ‘to make Sylvie a crown’.

“So…”

“You don’t have to talk, you know.” Sylvain let out a nervous chuckle. At least the future Felix was still blunt and straight to the point.

“Sorry. Nervous habit.”

“…I know.”

Of course, he did. Felix could always read him like an open book; though whether that was from a literal lifetime of friendship or if it was because he was the only one to actually take the time to get to know Sylvain as a person was entirely up for debate.

It took an embarrassingly long time for Sylvain to calm his heartbeat, but after he had managed to wrangle his growing attraction to the future version of his crush, Sylvain had to admit that the quiet companionship was…nice. Not that he would ever say that aloud – given his reputation of putting his foot in his mouth whenever it came to Felix, Sylvain was one hundred percent sure that he would somehow mess things up even more, leading to the Future Felix avoiding him even more than he was already.

He didn’t want Felix to avoid him. Either Felix. But ever since Sophie showed up, his Felix began drawing away and sequestering himself even more than usual.

“…Just spit it out already.”

“What?”

To anyone else, they would have described the look that Felix had on his face as exasperated, but Sylvain knew better. Though he lacked the rigid set of his shoulders that he was used to seeing in his Felix, his crossed arms and cock of the hip was the same as always – closed off from the world like he couldn’t care les. However, the liquid molten amber of his eyes was enough to show that he was willing to wait for as long as it took Sylvain to share.

“Silence doesn’t suit you,” Felix snorted. “No matter how many times I tell you to shut up, you never seem to take my advice. The only time you actually stop blathering on is when you have something you want to say but you’re too scared to do it.”

Suddenly Sylvain wished that Future Felix would go back to avoiding him.

“Sorry. I just-“

“Sylvain.”

Backed into a corner, Sylvain blurted out the one thing that had made a permanent home in his mind ever since he had laid eyes on their time travelling guest.

“I like your hair like this. Long, I mean.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. “It suits you.”

For a moment, Felix looked at him with an inscrutable look – almost like he was sizing him up while also trying to supress some unknown emotion.

After a brief pause, the only response that Sylvain received was a short but amused, “I know.”

Sylvain felt his eyebrow rise in surprise. “You know? What does that mean?”

“Someone told me that they preferred me with long hair. So, I decided to grow it out.”

“Seriously?” Felix had once chewed him out for simply suggesting that he buy an pair of fancier boots for formal functions, so the idea that he would grow out the one thing he took pride in his appearance for someone else was, for lack of a better word, complete bullshit. “You’re growing out your hair because someone told you they preferred you with long hair? I know for a fact that it annoys you if it grows past your shoulders and you never really cared for other’s opinions, so what’s the real reason?”

Felix shrugged, dislodging a white daisy in the process and sending it tumbling down before he caught it and returned it to its rightful place. “Believe what you will. You know I don’t lie.”

It was true. In all their years as friends, Felix had never once lied to Sylvain; not even when he was spitting mad at him for jumping into danger headfirst or missing training for a date with another nameless girl.

Whoever said it, they clearly had a lot of sway in Felix’s opinion. Which meant that they must be extremely close to him; close enough that he – oh.

“Did your…” Fuck why was his throat so dry all of a sudden? “Did your wife tell you that?”

Of all the responses that he had expected to receive, a violent choke and spluttering was not one of them.

“My what? Goddess, no.” Felix clutched his chest as he wheezed and glared at Sylvain with exasperation. “Don’t be stupid.”

“What’s so stupid about that? It’s a pretty solid guess, in my opinion.” Sylvain willed his voice to stay light and aloof even while his heart was twisting and doing flip flops in his chest. “You’d only listen to someone who you really cared about, and seeing as you’re married-“ he jabbed a finger at the glittering onyx band, “-I assume that your significant other would be the only one who could possibly influence your appearance choices.”

Everything in Sylvain’s body screamed at him to drop the subject and run away as fast as possible, but his curiosity made him stay even though his chest felt like Raphael had dropped one of his large training boulders on him. Distantly, a part of Sylvain’s mind wondered that he might possibly be a masochist.

“You…” Felix frowned at him and straightened to face Sylvain fully. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Tilting his head, Sylvain felt his brows scrunch up even as the question left his lips. “Know what?”

Clearly, he had missed a memo and was very interested in remedying that.

“Shit, I know you told me but I didn’t really think that it was true. There was no way it could be true.” The hand adorned with his wedding band came up to scrub down his eyes. It was odd seeing Future Felix look this uncertain; for a guy who had literally lived the present day already, it was strange that something could cause him to look so conflicted.

“Sylvain, you’ve never once gotten me to come with you to ‘pick up girls’, so what on earth makes you think I have a wife?”

“Uh. I don’t know, maybe your wedding band?!”

“Sylvain. I don’t like women.”

Yeah well, neither did Sylvain, but that was neither here nor there.

“You don’t need to like women to get married and have a kid.” Felix couldn’t argue with that. Sylvain was literally the poster boy for a noble trapped in a life of obligation to his crest. “Which you clearly do.” To prove his point, Sylvain jerked his thumb over towards where Sophie was still digging through the dirt and pulling out flowers by the bunches, adding them to the already overflowing mismatched bouquet in her other hand.

Felix’s hand twitched and Sylvain had the vaguest feeling that the man was trying his best not to stab him.

“No, Sylvain.” Uh oh. There was that tone again. “I don’t like women. At all.”

“Yeah, Fe. I get it. Women are awful.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why can’t you just understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Because you’re not telling me anything to help me understand! Give me context, or something.” Sylvain threw his hands up in the air in frustration. Clearly Felix did not learn to improve his communication in his extra twelve years of existence.

“Fine.” Felix groused. “You want context? I’ll give you context. Sophie!”

At the mention of her name, Sophie perked up from her place in the tall grass and hurried to scramble over, trampling some poor flowers and quite a large number of weeds in the process.

“Yes, Papa?” There are smears of dirt on her face and grass stains streaked across her dress, but despite it all, Sylvain thought that she still looked as radiant as ever. Of course, that was a given since any child of Felix’s was bound to be beautiful.

“Do you remember what I told you before about not mentioning that word?” Felix kneeled and tucked a loose crimson lock back in place.

Sophie nodded.

“I’m going to ask you a question that I want you to answer. Don’t worry about breaking the promise, okay? It’s fine to mention it just this once.”

“Okay, Papa.”

Felix’s gaze locked on Sylvain’s and he could literally feel the weight and purpose behind his stare.

He wanted context? Felix was more than happy to deliver.

“Sophie, can you tell Sylvie where you got your sword?”

Sword? What in Fodlan did a sword have anything to do with -

“It was a gift from Papa and Daddy!”

Sylvain’s thoughts screech to a halt.

Papa and…Daddy?

Sylvain. I don’t like women.

I don’t like women. At all.

For the second time today, Sylvain had half a mind to feel embarrassed at how slowly he put the pieces together; only managing to gape at Felix who looks half relieved that Sylvain finally, finally understands, but also half apprehensive.

Holy shit.

Felix fucking Fraldarius was gay.

#felix x sylvain #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvain jose gautier #A step through time #popo writes #fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem 3 houses #fe3h #alternate universe #azure moon #verdant wind #AM and VW routes mash up #original character #sophia gabriella fraldarius gautier

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years

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Broken Crown || Finan x OC || Chapter 13

Summary : Since the day he has been enslaved, Finan never thought that he would have to face his origins. But when an old friend made her arrival to Wessex, the Irishman is forced to deal with his past.

Other chapters

English isn’t my first language, if you see any mistakes, tell me :)

Warning : fluff ??

13|| DANELAND

Finan woke up at the feel of a hand shaking his shoulder. He snapped his eyes open, his own hand grabbing the one on him. Through the darkness, he distinguished Ailis’ features and he immediately let go of her wrist.

“Sorry.” He grumbled, his voice still sleepy.

“That’s alright.” She briefly smiled, standing up.

He passed a hand on his face, rubbing his eyes before leaving the furs. He was the last to take the watch tonight. He stared at Ailis while she was undoing the belt holding her sword and saex. They didn’t talk much since they left Navan Fort, and even less since Rohan joined them. He needed to talk to her and he didn’t know when would be the next they could be alone.

“You’ve been hard with him.” He said, gazing to Rohan to whom the fire’s light was drawing the shape.

Ailis look down to him, a certain anxiety revealed in her eyes. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

She dropped the belt next to the furs and Finan took the opportunity to stand just in front of her.

“Ailis, I know I haven’t been here, that I don’t know anything of him or what happened, but… He is almost a man. Let him be one.”

He was almost surprised by his own words. Seeing his eldest son here was the last thing he expected. He had known a little boy who barely knew how to speak, and now it was a young man almost as tall as him.

Ailis’s eyebrows furrowed and she narrowed her eyes. “No, indeed Finan, you know nothing of it.” Her voice was colder than he expected. “He wants to be a warrior. If I let him be one, Conall will make him kill because he’ll feel threatened by him.” She explained him, restraining herself to not speak to loud.

Finan look down, understanding her opinion but he couldn’t help but feel some sort of pride knowing his son wanted to be a warrior.

Ailis let herself drop on the furs, crossing her legs and burying her face in her palms. “Why does everything have to be so difficult?” She asked herself, exhausted by the past days and probably by the ones coming.

She was giving so much to peoples, to protect and help them, and never had anything in return. And even to him. She promised him to keep Conall to hurt him. The task was difficult but he knew she was doing her best.

And as he watched her run a hand in her hair, exhaustion deepening her features, he knew he had something to give her back. It was a feeling uncertain and blur until the banquet. Until she pressed her lips against his.

“We didn’t talk of the banquet.” He finally said.

For a moment, he thought silence would carry his words away, but Ailis looked up to him. “Do we have to?” She sighed.

Finan sat down and reached for her hand. His thumb ran along her skin, feeling little scars left by battles. His hands too were a jumble of white and pinky lines. He could feel Ailis’ gaze on the one going around his wrist, one of the many that would eternally remind him of his days into slavery. Her fingers slid along it, her touch feeling like a burn and a tickle.

And as he studied every inch of her delicate face, he felt like they were back in the corridor, his heart racing in his chest in an unexpected way. He knew it, that feeling. He felt it before, more than once to be true, but never that strong. Words were still hard to put on it, but he knew actions could tell a thousand words.

So, he pulled her into a kiss and maybe she expected it because she immediately responded. Her hand left Finan’s one to put it on his thigh so she could lean further toward him. He hummed when her lips were pressed even more against his. His own fingers reached for her shoulder and slowly they slid to her neck. He felt the bad scar close to her jugular. He caressed it with his thumb but she immediately froze, her fingers tensed, squeezing his thigh. She pulled away from him, and as he met her eyes, he could read the deep sadness hide behind them. She pressed her hand on her neck, covering the scar. She was still close enough for him to hear her trembling breath.

“Ailis…” He whispered, tilting his head, searching what he did wrong.

She shook her head before lifting it. “It was stupid of me Finan, I can’t keep you here. You have to leave.”

Finan frowned. “What if you leave?” He asked, the solution seeming so simple to him. But it wasn’t for Ailis, and he understood it the moment her face became cold.

“I can’t.”

…

The morning light was passing through the leaves as they prepared to leave once more. Finan was crouched near a stream, filling his flask with the clear water. His mind was troubled by what happened with Ailis during the night. Somehow, he was angry, because he knew she wanted the same thing as him. But her loyalty to his bastard brother was keeping her from letting go.

But he didn’t overthink longer, the feeling of being watched growing in his mind. He looked above his shoulder and distinguished the silhouette of Rohan. Even after being caught, he didn’t move, so Finan stood up and turned on his heel. It still was hard to believe how he had grown. He was far from looking like a warrior, nor a monk. He was thin, his tunic quite too large for him. Some of his hair was falling on his forehead, almost reaching his eyebrows. Only his green eyes hadn’t changed, they were the same as Dealla, maybe a little lighter, and he remembered his fascination for them when he could still hold him in his hands.

“If you have a question, ask.” Finan broke the silence, noticing the hesitant look of Rohan.

Rohan looked briefly around him, as if Finan could have talked to someone else, but they were only the two of them. “Is it true?” He began. “That you were saved by Ragnar Ragnarsson.”

The Irishman sighed. Of course, now, it was spreading in the whole city. “Yes, it is.”

“But you were enemies.” He retorted, his face twisted by incomprehension.

“He wasn’t here for me, but for Uhtred, his brother.” Finan explained, clogging his flask.

When he lifted his head, Rohan seemed glad to hear that, slightly nodding.

“Ailis says that I have your smile.” He said, visibly not knowing how to continue their conversation.

“I’m not sure you want it.” Finan grimaced. He stepped to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He leaned towards his ear before adding. “It means the devil smiles through you.”

Rohan twisted his neck to look at his father, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes opened wide. Finan chuckled and patted his shoulder before walking to the camp. He heard the young man ran quickly the few steps separating them.

“You know, I am not the most pious of monks. In fact, I am far from it. Bran, he is quite one. Or maybe he is just less stubborn than me…” He blathered, losing himself in his words. Finan stopped near his horse, scratching its ear as he listened to Rohan. But the boy suddenly stopped his monolog with an embarrassed expression. “Hum… I’m sorry. I talk a lot.”

“You do.” Finan confirmed, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

“It’s just… I have never been so far from Navan Fort, nor the monastery.” Rohan explained, his hand nervously sliding in the back of his neck. “And it’s also the first time I meet my father again.” He added, stifling a laugh.

“That’s alright, lad. Last time I saw you, you were barely speaking. You have some time to catch up.” Finan joked.

Rohan laughed and Finan felt Ailis’ gaze from afar, the woman readying herself too. The smile disappeared from his face as he watched her turn away from his sight. He held back a sigh and stepped towards Rohan instead.

“Prepare yourself, we are leaving soon.”

…

Few days passed since Rohan joined the group warriors and he grew to love their company. They always had a story to tell, or a joke to light the mood. He learned a little of each of them, and he found himself quite appreciating Osferth. The blond man told him one night of his childhood in monastery and how he decided to follow Uhtred. Their similar story made him almost immediately feel close to the former monk.

Uhtred and Sihtric on the other hand were the first Danes he ever met. He learned little of the younger, he wasn’t talkative and most of the time it was to joke with his father or plan the watch for the night.

He didn’t talk much with his father directly. In fact, each time he had been alone with him, he didn’t find a lot to say. Rohan had been living most of his life in a monastery, and the rest of it he was spending it in an alehouse where he was drinking, joking and humping. He found far more interesting to listen the four friends sharing their adventures through the years.

“What will happen when we’ll arrive?” Rohan asked, gazing at the horizon to perceive the Danish camp.

They crossed into Dane land the day before and since then, the warriors had been more than alert. They knew they were certainly watched, so they remained careful on their conversation and silence had been reigning since the morning.

“They’ll probably sacrifice the youngest.” Osferth answered with a smirk as the three other men laugh.

Rohan glared at Ailis with wide eyes, but the woman just shrugged, an amused smile threatening to spread on her lips. The monk sighed, and concentrated himself back on the road.

They reached Annagassan in the afternoon and were welcomed by Danes depriving them from their weapons and escorting them to Thorvard. Earlier, Ailis had warned him to not catch the attention, but even if he tried his best to make himself the smaller possible, Danes’ eyes were on him anyway. And he would be lying if he’d say they weren’t frightening him. But at least, he soon enough noticed that they were staring at all of them.

They finally arrived in a big hall in the middle of the city. As they entered, a huge man was waiting for them, sitting lazily in a chair. Rohan swallowed, of all the Danes he saw that day, he probably was the most terrifying. He had an impressive beard, ornamented with bones and small braids. His hair, brown and thick was giving him an unkind expression, increased by the tattoo covering one half of his face. Instinctively, Rohan’s fingers grazed on the cross under his tunic.

In the other hand, Ailis did not seem afraid. She stepped forward, Uhtred by her side, and the Dane, whom Rohan supposed to be Thorvard, sat correctly in his chair. One of the Danes escorting them joined him and the monk noticed how similar they looked even if he was younger.

“Shieldmaiden.” Thorvard welcomed her, opening his arms. “I’ve been wondering when I’d finally meet you out of the battlefield. And the gods answered me.” He smiled but A ilis didn’t show any sign of fear, even when he stood and stopped just few inches from her. “What’s your pretty name, Shieldmaiden?”

“I am the Lady Ailis.” She answered, her words as cold as the ice.

“Ailis.” Thorvard repeated, appreciating each syllables of her name. “And who are your friends?” He asked as he stepped back, now starring to Uhtred.

“It’s Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg.” Ailis presented him.

“Uhtred Ragnarsson or the Dane Slayer, right? You have a lot of names, it’s hard to remember them all.”

“Funny, I didn’t even know yours before the last full moon.” Uhtred grinned and Thorvard unexpectedly laughed.

“What are you here for?” He demanded, his laugh fading to let a seriousness grew on his face.

“We are here to settle a peace.” Ailis declared.

“Already? I thought you had more to show.” He smirked. Rohan thought about what his father told him a few days earlier, and he swore, this smirk was the devil’s one.

“We want to negotiate.” Ailis ignored his teasing. “You can keep the South and in return, no more attacks.”

Thorvard narrowed his eyes, his hands holding the belt around his waist. “If you are weak, what could prevent us to attack you anyway?”

“Ulaid and Wessex or now allies.” Uhtred replied. “If you refuse the peace, Wessex will attack you. And Sigtryggr won’t come to your rescue, because he has a pact with Wessex.”

“We don’t fear the boy King.” Snapped the younger Dane, his lips drawn back as a mad dog. But Thorvard stopped him to step more forward, his hand on his chest. He glared at him, reproving.

“Excuse my son’s rudeness.” He said, not letting his gaze leave his son.

Now Rohan could understand their similarities. Thorvard’s son was as tall as his father and the same muscular body. But no beard was surrounding his jaw, giving a look less frightening than Thorvard.

The Dane’s hand fell back on his side and he turned again to the group of warriors.

“I have to think.” He declared, his fingers scratching his beard. “For now, you are my guests.” He grinned, all his teeth showing.

A/N: Hehehe have you seen ? I am posting almost regularly lol. I hope you appreciated the little reference to Osferth first meeting with danes lmaooo Also, the other day I listened to Rewrite the Stars by Zac Efron and Zendaya, and I proclaim this song as Finan and Ailis song ! (problem : now I imagine Finan singing each time I listen to it D: Anyway ! I hope you liked the chapter <3

Tag: @geekandbooknerd @sihtric @queen-manning @naihqh @kelly-fasel @cloudjuumpers @limenal @amyyreblogss @othermoony @obipoelover and @queerbroceliande

#broken crown #The Last Kingdom #fanfiction #finan the agile #the last kingdom fanfic #finan #finan x oc

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darkkitsuneprincess · 4 years

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I Love You, Dummy - Part 2 [ Yukimura x MC (Mai)

This is the silliest, fluffiest, dumbest thing I’ve ever written and OMG I LOVE IT SO FREAKING HARD. Though I’m not sure if I’m going to end it here (which I could) or keep it going (which will end in absolute filth). Thoughts/requests/recommendations always welcome here... I am a slave to feedback, after all.

Title: I Love You, Dummy Pairing: Yukimura x MC (Mai) Rating: F (for Fluff) Warnings: MORE OF THE SAME...Idiots in love. The dumbest angst ever angsted. Tooth-rotting sweetness. Overprotective dads doing dad things. Description: Having discovered Yukimura is going to propose at the festival tonight, Mai decides to play along only to realize she still doesn’t have all the information...

Those Who Need Tagging: @choi-jiyu, @nad-zeta, @siebenschoen, @tsubaki3192

READ PART 1 HERE

~+~+~+~+~+~+~

As expected, the tap on the door was the work of Shingen, not Yukimura. I pretended to be surprised when the door slid open, and then I pretended to be disappointed when I saw exactly who I expected to be standing there.

“Good evening, Princess,” Shingen said with a deep bow. “It appears that ridiculous young man to whom you’ve given your heart has better things to do than escort a beautiful woman to the festival, so he asked me to see to your happiness.” The syrupy sweetness of his words made me roll my eyes.

“You’re such an idiot, Shingen.”

He pressed a hand to his chest and took another deep bow. “Any attention is a compliment when paid to a mere mortal from the goddess of the moon herself.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt, but I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up my throat.

“Your laughter is like chimes on the wind,” he continued.

“Stop right there. Save your flattery for the ladies in town, please. There will be plenty of them for you to pick from tonight and you are something like a hero in these parts.”

He smiled then, a genuine, beautiful smile brimming with affection. “I am pleased to see your happiness has returned.”

“I’m excited for the festival,” I answered, which wasn’t exactly a lie. I was excited for the festival, among other things. “I assume we’re meeting Yukimura there?” I asked, and when I placed my book on the table and rose, Shingen’s eyes went wide. He laughed, a full, loud belly-laugh.

“Does Yuki know that the two of you are a perfect match tonight?” he asked, indicating my red kimono made specifically to match Yukimura’s haori. I felt a little strange wearing the Sanada crest on my own sleeves, but we’d been telling each other for a year now that we were going to stay together forever. And with Kenshin spilling the big secret…

“No,” I answered. “I gave him the haori this afternoon when I saw him because he’s been so…gone.” I tried to force sadness into my expression, which was a waste of time considering Shingen could read me like a damned book. “He left in a hurry afterward, so I was going to surprise him when he came to get me.”

Shingen’s already-wide smile widened further. “I see.” There was something almost fatherly in the way he looked at me…like he was ready to give me away or something. He turned and offered me his arm. “Shall we go? I would hate to keep Yuki waiting. You know how impatient he can be.”

I took his arm and allowed him to lead me out of the castle. Not surprisingly, Kenshin waited at the gates, somehow looking both bored and impatient. “Took you long enough,” he muttered before turning on his heel and walking ahead of us.

“Ignore him,” Shingen said with a chuckle. “He’s hungry.”

“Apparently.”

The sun was nearly gone by the time we reached the market, and a hundred different sensory points descended on me at once. Sweet and savory scents of various treats floated on the breeze that jostled the brightly-colored lanterns. Jovial conversation and peals of happy laughter wove in and out of the sights and smells, mingling with the warmth of the late-summer air. I was, I realized, happier than I’d ever been in my life. Or would have been, if Yukimura had been there with me.

As Shingen guided me through the marketplace, Kenshin occasionally turned to push some kind of food on a stick or a cup of something to drink into my hands. It almost felt like I was being spoiled by a pair of overindulgent dads. All I needed was for Nobunaga to show up and add to the insanity…

Which, I remembered, was very likely given my boyfriend had gone to him in search of approval of our union. As soon as my mind turned back to the upcoming event, giddy excitement filled me. My hands began to shake and my heart picked up its pace. It could have been a sugar rush from the sweets forced on me by Kenshin, but the way the butterflies flapped around in my belly told me it was much more.

Beside me, Shingen laughed. “Are you anticipating something, my dear?”

“I…oh…um, no. Just excited to see Yukimura,” I stammered. “We, um, haven’t seen much of each other since we got here and I just really want to spend some time with him.”

Shingen made a quiet musing sound and patted the hand curled around his elbow but said nothing else. Kenshin, I noticed, was sticking closer as we made our way toward the end of the street, and it was then that I realized why.

Everyone else at this festival had come to a stop and they lined the street, watching as we passed. Kenshin was right when he said I was probably the only person in Japan who didn’t know what was going on.

“Um, Shingen?” I asked, tugging on his elbow. He bent toward me to hear my question. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

“Not at us…at you.”

“Why?” I was pretty sure I already knew why, but I wanted to see if he’d tell me.

“No reason in particular,” Shingen lied, “though you are stunningly beautiful tonight.”

He guided me around the corner, away from the prying eyes of the shopkeepers and toward the shrine only to come to a dead stop in the middle of a similar crowd, all craning to get a look at me…and the man standing directly in our path.

“Mai…” Nobunaga’s deep voice rumbled through the night air, startling me so much that I stumbled and would have fallen were it not for Shingen holding onto me. “You kept me waiting. I do not like to wait.”

My jaw flapped like a broken hinge a few times before the reality of his presence sank in. Yep…this was really happening. Either that or I’d gone totally insane and was now hallucinating all sorts of nonsense.

I blinked, then blinked again.

Nope…still there.

“How was I supposed to know I was keeping you waiting if I didn’t even know you were going to be here in the first place?!” I almost shouted in my excitement.

Nobunaga laughed. “I see you’ve lost none of your fire.” He offered me is hand and, pulling away from Shingen, I rushed over and took it only to be pulled into a tight embrace. “You have been missed, Mai. Are you certain you don’t want to come back to Azuchi?”

“I’ll always come back to visit, but you know full well my heart is here with Yukimura.”

Nobunaga snorted as he pulled my arm into the crook of his elbow as Shingen had before. We walked side-by-side, drawing all sorts of attention from the festivalgoers.

Is that THE Oda Nobunaga? Here in Echigo?

That’s the Oda Princess! Isn’t she lovely?

Is she really marrying one of our samurai?

Why is Kenshin allowing Nobunaga to walk before him?

Nobunaga chuckled at the not-so-quiet whispers. I looked back over my shoulder to find that Shingen and Kenshin walked beside one another… and that all the people who had watched us pass had now fallen into line behind us.

This wasn’t just a crazy proposal setup…this was a damned wedding procession. And I’d unintentionally added to it with the matching clothes I’d made for us. And I was wearing red. All I needed was the elaborate headpiece and I’d be a perfect picture for the history books.

“Um, Nobunaga? Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Am I getting married tonight?”

Nobunaga laughed, long and loud. The sound drew the stares of everyone around us and it kind of annoyed me. I was tired of being laughed at, coddled, head-patted, and treated like some dumb little girl. So far the only person who had been straight with me at all was Kenshin and I was willing to bet a year’s salary that he was only doing it to be spiteful.

“I assumed when Yukimura came to me asking permission to wed you that he had discussed the arrangement with you first.”

“No…no, he hasn’t.”

That only made Nobunaga laugh harder. “Then it appears I’ve ruined a grand surprise.”

“Kenshin already beat you to the punch. Sort of. He told me Yukimura was planning to propose. He didn’t tell me the rest.”

“Well, then I suggest you act surprised, because he has gone to a good bit of trouble on your behalf.”

“Thanks…that doesn’t make me nervous or anything.”

Nobunaga glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, ignoring the continued stares and whispers around us, and when I looked up at him, I discovered the humor had gone from his face. He looked every bit the imposing warlord…or yet another concerned father. I had the dad-trifecta going on here…all I needed was Hideyoshi to be waiting at the end of this mess to fuss over me a little bit.

“Do you love him?” Nobunaga asked, startling me out of my thoughts.

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

“Then what is there to worry about?”

He was right, of course. Nobunaga was always right. As the shrine came into view, the anxiety that had crept into my mind vanished. I loved Yukimura more than I’d ever loved another person. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Just because he jumped the gun a bit with the plans didn’t mean I wasn’t ready to take that dive with him.

The sea of excited onlookers parted to reveal a truly magnificent sight – flowers everywhere, candles and lanterns, and nearly every person I’d come to care about during this time. It was such an over-the-top setup that I began to laugh.

It was not a delicate giggle befitting a princess. No, this was an out-loud, braying horse-laugh that rattled up and out from my toes.

“Mai?” Nobunaga questioned though he couldn’t hide the humor in his voice.

“This…this is…ri-di-cu-lous!” I barked out, leaning into his side to keep myself upright as the hilarity of this situation took over my better sense.

Yukimura was not, and never had been, the romantic type. We weren’t a lovey-dovey couple that surrounded ourselves with hearts and rainbows. We were loud and obnoxious, stubborn and argumentative, and passionate in both our beliefs and our love for one another. In that moment as I stared at the carefully-orchestrated circus my soon-to-be-husband had created, everything began to make sense. I understood exactly why was so weird.

He’d embarrassed himself trying to make me happy. Silly boy.

Besides, I knew it wasn’t him at all. This whole thing smacked of Yoshimoto’s influence, down to the very last, perfectly-placed flower. He was also conspicuously absent.

“I agree that it is a little…extravagant,” Nobunaga said as we neared the shrine where Yukimura and Sasuke waited, groom-and-best-man-style.

“Yukimura is an idiot,” I said once I reined in my laughter. It would do no good to let him see me laughing. “I don’t need all of this nonsense and I have no idea how Yoshimoto talked him into it. It’s almost embarrassing.”

“Almost?” Nobunaga asked, raising one eyebrow at me. “The fact that your face is bright pink says otherwise.”

“Hush.”

Nobunaga chuckled again and let me past the point where the onlookers halted, onto the grounds of the shrine. Hideyoshi and Masamune waited for me to pass—bringing about another near-hysterical giggle in the process—before falling in step behind Kenshin and Shingen, followed by Mitsunari and the ever-grumbling Ieyasu. Only Mitsuhide’s presence was noticeably absent. But I didn’t have time to wonder, as I was suddenly face-to-face with the love of my life.

“Hey,” Yukimura said with an infuriating smirk.

“Hey yourself,” I answered. “You gonna tell me what’s going on here?”

“No,” he replied curtly, though he held out his hand. “Not yet. Now come on.”

I let go of Nobunaga’s arm and reached for Yukimura’s hand, and that’s when he noticed my clothing choice. His eyes went wide and perfectly round while his mouth fell open with a small gasp. Heat bloomed up the back of my neck and over my cheeks, rising in time with the flush of his skin.

“You…what? What are you wearing?!”

“Surprise?” I tried to smile but my nerves kicked into high gear and my heart started to race. “I thought…it might be fun if we, you know…matched.” Yukimura continued to gawk at me, and the look of shock on his face made me wonder if I might have made the wrong choice. “Do you like it? I…um…I can go change if—”

“No!” he shouted, startling me and causing everyone around us to laugh. “I mean, yes. I do. I mean…changing would take up too much time. Just…come on.”

“A word of advice as your Best Man,” Sasuke said, stepping up beside us, “you might want to compliment your bride. And, uh, you know…ask her to marry you now,” he stage-whispered.

“Damn it!” Yukimura growled. “Yoshimoto…”

“Where is he, anyway?”

“Inside with… wait. No. This is stupid. I’m not doing this.”

He tried to pull away but I held tight to his hand, making him stay beside me.

“Yukimura, look at me.” He hesitated but ultimately turned back toward me, keeping his gaze on his feet. “I figured out what was going on a long time ago, okay? You didn’t exactly keep your plans a secret from anyone except me and all of our surprise guests kinda gave away the punchline here.”

“You think this is a joke?!”

“No, you idiot! I think it’s sweet. A little overdone, but sweet. And beautiful. And romantic.”

“Oh gods!”

“And you don’t need to ask me to marry you, Yukimura. My answer is yes. It has always been yes.”

“You don’t have to—what?” He finally looked at me, his surprised expression almost comical.

“I said yes.”

“But…why?”

“Yuki,” Shingen chided, reminding both of us that everyone we knew was watching, “stop talking and accept the poor girl’s lapse in judgment. Or are you now trying to talk her out of it?’

“No!” Yukimura snarled.

“Then shut up and marry her before I steal her away!” Masamune called out, earning groans from both of us and an elbow to the ribs from Hideyoshi.

“Don’t ruin this for her!” he hissed, causing our one-eyed friend to giggle.

“Go, Yuki,” Shingen ordered. “One step at a time. Left-right-left-right…”

Yukimura groaned audibly and pulled me along with him. We glanced at each other again and started to laugh.

“This is dumb,” he said.

“It’s your fault,” I told him.

“No, it’s yours. I was told girls like this kind of thing.”

“By who?”

“Sasuke and Yoshimoto ganged up on me. And Shingen told me I had to be romantic. Like I said, stupid.”

“And sweet. It’s beautiful.” Yukimura went silent as we entered the shrine and found Yoshimoto waiting with a wide grin on his face. “Do you really need me to tell you why I said yes?” I asked as we turned to enter the shrine.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Because I love you, dummy. Now let’s get married.”

Yukimura groaned beside me. “This did not go at all how I planned.”

“Honestly, when it comes to us…does anything?”

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen fanfiction #ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen sengoku fanfic #yukimura x mc #ikesen yukimura #ikemen sengoku yukimura #ikesen yuki #fluff #fluffycrack

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mymelodyheart · 4 years

Text

Starting Over Chapter 12 ~The Reckoning~

Jamie quashed his growing irritation as his brothers happily hijacked Claire's attention at the table. After they've gatecrashed their date earlier, somehow, amidst the mayhem of surprise, introductions and small talks, he and Claire ended up joining them. How the hell did this happen?

He resisted the urge to slam his whisky glass down on the table as he thought of how close he had gotten to kissing Claire. What exactly had he done to warrant this particular brand of torment? He paid his taxes, he'd brought joy to his thousands of fans over the years by playing top of his game in rugby, recycled like nobody's business, donated to worthy causes, and yet the universe chose to fuck with him big time.

Although he loved his brothers, right now, he was very close to disowning them. Not quite, but close. Resigned, he watched Claire chat animatedly with Willie, Rabbie and Ian, looking delighted and in her element as banters and stories were exchanged.

"So tell me, while growing up, did you all get along? Or are there a lot of sibling horror stories?" Claire asked, her twinkling amber eyes momentarily landing on him.

Groaning, Jamie buried his face in his hands. "Christ, I knew this was coming."

"Och plenty of stories, I can assure ye," Willie replied, leaning forward to draw her in. "Once, my sister and I convinced Jamie that he was adopted. It wasnae difficult considering he's ginger, and the rest of us all have dark hair."

"And then Willie told him that his real last name was McTavish ..." Rabbie added.

Jamie cut him off. "Aye, and I got back at ye lot when I said I wasnae coming back after I was sent to uncle Dougal and aunt Maura in Leoch to train for the under twelves rugby." He turned to Claire. "I told them I was glad I wasnae their brother and wee Rabbie here, and Jenny threw a fit. Eventually, Willie sent a message and admitted it was a bad joke. I didn't reply for days. In the end, he was grovellin' for me to come back like a wee daftie."

Her laughter nipped at his heart. "Too bad, I don't have many family stories. My life revolved mostly around museums, archaeological sites and lecture halls. and we're constantly on the move."

"Sounds pretty exciting to me," Rabbie grinned. "Say, have ye thought of where ye want to continue yer residency?"

Claire sighed, swirling her glass. "Just loosely. Nothing definite. I've thought of Glasgow and Inverness. Or maybe Boston."

Jamie nearly choked. "Boston? Ye better mean Boston in Lincolnshire and not Massachusetts." His voice sounded the furthest thing from normal to his ears.

"Oh, nothing is planned yet," Claire dismissed his question with a flutter of delicate fingers. "To be perfectly honest, they're just rough ideas."

"Weel, whatever ye decide, don't go too far, Claire. I dinna think our lad here would be tae happy to see ye go so early in yer relationship," Ian teased, winking at Jamie.

Ignoring the jest and the uncomfortable shift in his chest, he looked into her amber eyes. "Plenty of time to think things over, aye?"

She gives him a slow nod. "Of course."

"Claire?"

His head jerked up to find Frank Randall standing next to their table. A trickle of sweat beaded and slid down his spine as silent fury gripped his guts. A sudden realisation hit him then as he looked at the man that Claire nearly married and he was shocked to the core. Amid this blurring between real and fake, there's always a constant—which was his jealousy for Claire's ex. It was something he never experienced before. To know that Claire was once his, made him sick and want to throw up. But the unexpected gentle squeeze of her hand under the table immediately stopped the unwanted bout of paranoia in its tracks, taking him by surprise.

His brothers and Ian leaned back on their chairs, waiting for something to unfold as they eyed the doctor with caution. They knew Claire's story, and he could see they were prepared for whatever was to come, their bodies tensed and their faces impassive.

"What is it, Frank?" Claire asked, glancing nervously around the table.

His first instinct was to drag Claire's ex-fiance out of the bar and give him a sound beating. Too bad there's a restraining order on him. Despite wanting to tell him to fuck off, he kept his mouth shut, afraid of attracting attention from those who might recognise them. The thought of all three of them being photographed and their picture passed around on social media was enough for him to restrain himself. He knew it would devastate Claire if ever that happened.

"Sorry to disturb your meal, but can we talk? It won't take a minute."

"Ye don't have to do this, Sassenach," he murmured for her ears only.

"I know, but I must. It won't take long."

Helpless to do anything, he could only watch as she stiffly stood up and followed Frank.

..........

Claire peered over her shoulder and saw Jamie and his family looking at them with the intensity of wild cats ready to pounce. Not wanting to cause a scene, she refocused her attention on Frank and took calming breaths, reminding herself she was in control.

"What do you want, Frank?"

He shifted on his feet. "Claire, I want to apologise for ..."

She raised a hand and stopped him midsentence. "If we're going to rehash everything that happened between us, I'm not interested in hearing it. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I've said what I had to say to you, and nothing has changed." She made a move to go, but Frank's hand shot out and grabbed her elbow, making her jump. The sudden harsh sound of a chair scraping on the wooden floor told her someone stood up abruptly. She turned to look and found it was Jamie, his face looking like thunder. Even from where she was stood, she could see his jaw bunched and his massive chest rising and falling beneath his shirt. She could almost hear the cranks turning in his head. With a stern look in her eyes, she warned him to back off and faced Frank. "Let me go," she hissed in a whisper. "You've lost your right to touch me."

Frank flinched and let go, swallowing audibly when he looked beyond her. "I'm not here to talk about us. I understand it's over. I get it now. I only want to apologise for the things I've said the other night and to tell you that I want to return your belongings."

She looked into his eyes to judge his sincerity but witnessed only honest resignation in his steady gaze. Something had changed in him, but she didn't want to over analyse, still too fraught about what transpired at the hospital less than twenty-four hours ago. "Very well then, I'll get someone to collect it from your apartment."

"No need. I can drop it off at your place." When she eyed him suspiciously, he sighed. "Look, Claire, I said things the other night that I shouldn't have. I was so desperate to get you back no matter what. After you walked out of the A&E, I realised I went too far. I don't want to drag this on any more than you do. The sooner I have your things out of the apartment, the better it is for both of us. I'll have your stuff boxed, and I'll bring them to your place ...Friday at six?"

She wanted to think it over, but that would mean prolonging things between them. Frank was right. The sooner their connection was severed, the better for both of them. "Fine, Friday at six. You drop off my things, and then you're out again. I don't intend to serve you drinks, nor exchange pleasantries with you."

His expression turned grim; nevertheless, he nodded in agreement. "I'll see you at six this coming Friday. Enjoy the rest of your evening." And then he turned and left the bar.

She watched his retreating back as sadness settled over her. It was hard to imagine that she used to love him and that they had been happy once. Where had it all gone wrong? Had she been so blind to all the warning signs? How long have they been together before they started to lose their way? What made him turn so cold and vicious? She remembered the many hours they'd spent making love in the beginning. He'd worshipped her and told her over and over again how much he desired her. And then as time went on, his needs became a priority, and she was just a vessel to relieve his needs. He became more critical of their lovemaking, continually telling her that she lacked techniques to satisfy him until she began to doubt herself.

And then she thought of Jamie and almost laughed. She was drawn to a commitment-phobe and a sexually experienced man. So what were her chances in inspiring the type of lust and attraction to make someone like Jamie wholly want her? Only in your dreams lass.

A hand grasped her wrist. "Sassenach, are ye alright?"

Claire spun around, and her eyes shot to Jamie's, startled by the intense emotions swirling from them. He looked on edge, the combined effects of worry and something else she couldn't put her finger to etched on his face. His grip on her wrist was like steel, and his shoulder muscles looked tight with strain as if his control could snap at any moment. The instinct to reassure him rose within her, and she lifted a free hand and touched his face. "I'm fine, Jamie. I think I'd like to go home now."

When he spoke, his tone sounded like it could cut glass. "Good. Stay here. I'll tell the lads and sort out the bill."

She wondered what was wrong as she waited for him. Did his brothers say anything about him dating a runaway bride? Did they disapprove? Was it Frank? Unlikely . Most of the evening, he'd protectively slung his arms around her shoulders or had a hand on her knee, play-acting his claim on her, even though they were sat in the hidden corner away from prying eyes. If his family had been surprised to see that they were together, they showed no indication—only warmth and friendliness.

Scenes from earlier played in her mind, beginning with Jamie's parcel that morning and ending with the way he'd looked at her as if he wanted to kiss her. And in between, a whole lot of touching and holding. Reminding herself constantly that this was just a stunt to help Jamie get his job at the network, would be the smartest course to take. She couldn't mistake sexual attraction, albeit a powerful one, for anything beyond a bodily need. With her mind made up, Claire swore to keep it together, thinking her friendship with Jamie was more valuable than a passing fascination for her crush.

Seeing Jamie walked towards her, she smiled at him, but his face remained expressionless, as he took her hand and led her out of the bar without a word. When he hailed a taxi instead of taking his car, she surmised he'd had a bit to drink.

They rode in silence, but the quiet got too disconcerting. Claire opened her mouth to initiate a conversation and ask if anything was wrong, but she held back midway. His rigid posture told her now was not the time to talk. The air around them thickened and the longer Jamie remained silent, the more agitation gnawed at her. Something was definitely off. What the hell is wrong with him? Finally, when the taxi finally pulled up outside her cottage, she was about to thank him for the dinner when he took out his wallet and handed the driver a few pound notes.

"It's late Jamie. Aren't you going home?"

"We need to talk."

"Can we leave it for another day?"

"No."

She didn't like his short, clipped tone. "If you're planning to argue, maybe you ought to leave," she said, as she got out of the car.

She fished for her keys in her handbag, aware he was following close behind. "We need to talk." Oh, such bloody arrogance!

Once inside the house, she threw her bag on a nearby table and faced him. "Fine! Stay. But only if you tell me why the bloody hell you're acting weird all of a sudden."

"Boston. Ye never told me ye were thinking of going to Boston."

"Wot? Boston?" This time she was confused. "It's just an option among many. I've thought of going there years ago before I started at the Royal Infirmary. Joe has friends there and knows people who can get me into a residency program."

"Ye belong here, Sassenach. Yer friends are here, and ye have yer uncle to think about."

How dare he question her choice when he would go to London in a heartbeat once their fake relationship was over! Inwardly she bristled but forced a sunny smile. "Well, I can say the same thing about you. All of your family and friends are here, and you have obligations that are expected of you. And yet, that wouldn't stop you from going to London once you get the job, now would it?"

"Your circumstance is different. There are plenty of hospitals here in the UK where ye can continue yer residency."

"I know that. But have you considered that maybe I need a change of scenery to find myself again? It's no different to you trying to find your identity and purpose in a new career. I'm supportive of your life choices, so why can't you be supportive of mine?

He pulled back at her words and scrutinised her. The idea of him moving to London made her think of a parade of women eager to get their paws on him. She didn't like the idea at all. But she'd rather die before admitting it. She turned away and sat down on the sofa, fiddling with the straps of her shoes, cursing her inability to remain indifferent. A moment passed before he finally spoke. "What did Frank say?" he asked.

Irritation coasted down her back. Jamie was avoiding her question, and if he thought he would get away with that tactic easily, he was sorely mistaken. "Not much." She slipped off her shoes and massaged the back of her leg. "Same old. Apologies and whatnots.

She sensed his frown but refused to look at him in the eyes. "Is he still trying to get ye back?"

"No."

"Did he want ye to go back to the hospital then?"

She scooped up her shoes and placed them in a shoe cupboard in the hallway. "No. He wanted to apologise. And since you mentioned Boston, I'm beginning to think it's a brilliant idea. No one will know me there - at least not as the runaway bride. It will be a perfect place to start over again."

His eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened into a thin line. Did he look disappointed? Refusing to decipher the meaning in his expression, she made her way to the kitchen. He followed shortly after.

"If the tabloid stories about ye bother ye so much, why are ye doing this fake relationship with me then?"

She opened the fridge and got a bottle of white wine. "I told you my reasons already. I'm helping you get the job at the network which I'm quite sure you'll get. And meanwhile, while we're a fake couple, I can start planning what I want to do with my life." After grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, she finally glanced at him. "Wine?"

In the kitchen lighting, Jamie's blue eyes were shadowed and the scruff on his face more pronounced. He nodded at her offer, his gaze moving like a rough palm over her skin. Uh-oh, not good. Despite dampening her emotions with cold logic, her traitorous body was not having any of it, as her face heated at his perusal. Damn him! She hated not being in control. Quickly turning away, she poured the wine in the glasses.

"There's no need for ye to go so far to dodge the tabloid stories. In a year, it will all be forgotten."

"You have a point." She handed him the glass of wine and took a sip from hers.

"Or ye can come to London if ye want to get away from Scotland. London is far enough," he said, looking directly into her eyes.

"Wot? London?" she gasped. "London is a crazy place, and rents cost a premium."

He placed his glass on the countertop with a clack. "Ye were confident earlier that I'll get the job in the network. Well, so am I. We can share a flat in London."

She nearly laughed out loud. "Share a flat? With you?" All sort of thoughts and images leapt at the back of her mind. But the one that stood out the most is the ridiculousness of his suggestion. It could never work. "What if you want to bring a girl home? What then?"

His face flushed, but his gaze didn't waver. "Not once have I ever brought a lass to my apartment nor to Lallybroch."

"Oh ..." If he'd never brought a girl to his home, it could only mean he took them to fancy hotels. That thought brought a stab of pain into her heart. Life was already complicated as it was, and the last thing she needed was to hear stories of his escapades with his dates. Better scrap London off her list of options. "Well, London is certainly an alternative. So is Manchester and Liverpool. But I'm kind of warming to the idea of Boston," she said casually as she could muster.

"Ye can't just up sticks and move to a country ye've never been to before. Don't ye want to visit the place first?"

"I don't have to. I'm flexible, and I adapt quickly. My uncle and I have lived in many countries while I was growing up. I never had trouble adjusting."

"Sounds to me ye're running away."

"I'm not running away," she shot back. "I'm done with Frank. As I said, I need a change of scenery. I've looked up Boston on the internet in the past, and it seems like a fascinating place. Who knows, I might meet a cute American guy and end up staying there for good." Who am I kidding?

Darkness clouded his face. "Ye are running away."

"I'm not!"

"Ye are. Ye are putting an ocean between ye and whatever ye're running away from."

Claire snapped. Somehow the thread holding her composure had been stretched so thin by recent events, there was almost nothing left. Red fogged her vision as she put her glass down to face him full-on and gave him her truth.

"Bollocks! You ... of all people have the gall to point out to me that I am running away from my problems. Ha! You can't even commit to anything or anyone that doesn't involve rugby." She shook her head at him. "I've never judged you on how you lead your life, so I would appreciate it if you do the same for me. And even if I'm running away, what business is it of yours? It's my life, and I decide what I want to do with it."

"Sassenach, I'm..."

"NO! I'm not done yet." She tilted her chin in anger. "In as much as I love Edinburgh, it is a reminder to me how I allowed Frank to break me to the point that I don't feel worthy. It's a bloody sad state of affairs, but hey, I am trying my utmost best to do what's right for me even if it seems like I'm stumbling in the dark." She let out a hysterical laugh and shoved her curls back, beyond caring what sprouted out of her mouth. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to feel undesirable and less of a woman? Frank used to criticise how I look, how I touched him when we made love. And, oh, how he would mock me endlessly when I gagged at the things he made me do, making me feel like I'm not enough to tempt a man to lose his mind and heart to her. So I remained with him thinking I'll never be good for anyone else. But you wouldn't understand, would you? Because women come easily to you."

He muttered a string of profanity as he took a step forward, but she pushed him with full force on his chest, making him stagger a step backwards.

"How do you do it, Jamie?" she taunted. "Do you have a small talk beforehand, letting a girl know it's just a bit of fun and you don't do relationships? At least you can make yourself feel better by saying you were honest and then walk away with a clear conscience and satisfaction on your face. How many orgasms does it take to assuage your guilt?"

Jamie remained silent, his gaze ensnaring her and refusing to let go. How dare he remains so unaffected and calm?

And then she lost it. "Get out!" she screamed.

"No."

"I said, get the fuck out!"

"I'm not leaving ye." Determination etched out the lines of his face.

"You won't go until you hear it, don't you?" she hissed in crazed vehemence. "Fine. I'm running away! There you have it! Are you happy now that you've finally figured me out, huh? I ran away from my own wedding, and I ran away from my job. Appears cowardly, doesn't it? But I'm too broken to fight, but one day I will get up, and I will heal. And I will find someone who will love me and my flaws."

He made a move towards her, but she stopped him. The last thing she needed was his pity and for him to see her tears that were threatening to spill. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me, James Fraser! I need you to leave now and let me be." Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. "I'm begging you. If you're a true friend, you'll do as I ask."

Exhausted and nothing left to say, she turned and faced the window. Jamie didn't move nor speak, and the only sound that permeated the room was the ticking of the wall clock. She waited and mentally prayed for him to go so she could cry in privacy. Tomorrow was a new day, and everything would be alright. But tonight she felt precariously out of control, on the peak of something so intense, she didn't know how to handle it.

The floorboards creaked, and she held her breath and waited for the blessed silence, but instead of walking out, Jamie stopped right behind her. His body heat enclosed, wrapping her in a protective blanket. She held the edge of the countertop in a deathlike grip, sensing him move closer inch by inch until his rock-solid chest pressed against her back.

"Sassenach, look at me," he said in a low gravelly voice. Although she wanted to remain still, she was helpless to resist his command. With no more fight left in her and feeling spent, she faced him but avoided his gaze. Then he tilted her chin up.

To her surprise, raw lust shot out from his eyes, and his grip tightened, refusing to give her room to retreat. He crowded her space by leaning in so close, the edge of the countertop dug into her lower back. His scent of citrus and cotton steeped her senses, drowning out the voices in her head and their surrounding.

"I'm going to tell ye something, and I need ye to listen very carefully because I'm only going to say this once. Am I making myself clear?"

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. She could only summon a shaky nod, too mesmerised and unable to form words.

"I'm done with pretending, rationalising and civility. That wanker Frank has messed up yer mind that ye have nae idea the power ye have to grip me in a hold so tight I can scarcely breathe. I'm so bloody over analysing why I feel the way I do right now even though I still don't understand anything. I'm tired of walking around with a cock that won't go down and sleepless nights every time I think of ye. Are ye with me, Claire?"

A swirling combination of heat, dread and anticipation diffused inside of her, turning it into a fierce ache coursing between her thighs and tightening her muscles. The way he easily made her body respond left her intoxicated, seizing her with a need she'd never felt before. "Y-yes," she whispered.

Then he spoke slow and deliberate. "Good, because tonight I'm going to make love to ye. If I were a true friend and gentleman, I'd do as ye asked and walk out of that door to give ye the space to rebuild your damn walls. Ye deserve that and much more. But I'm a selfish prick who wants ye so bad I'll trade my soul to the devil for a night with ye. Still listening?"

"Y-y-yes."

"I'll give ye three seconds to get away from me and lock yersel' in the bedroom. That would be the wisest thing to dae. And if ye choose to walk away, I'll take it like a man, and we'll never mention this again. We'll go back to being mates, forget this whole incident, and go on pretending. But if ye're still here after that, ye're mine. Every inch of yer beautiful body. And I promise ye, ye'll never doubt your ability to cast a spell on a man so powerful and encompassing he'll spend the rest of his life comparing ye to every woman he meets and touches."

Her head began to spin, as her brain scrambled to catch up with the meaning of his words. "Jamie this is ..."

"We're done talking, Sassenach. One."

Her heart lurched, and her stomach dropped to the ground as he moved closer.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!"

"Two."

She gulped, her body poised for escape, knowing it could destroy their friendship, change their relationship forever, opening a door that could never be close again.

"Christ, Jamie, I'm..."

"Three. Too late, Sassenach."

"But ..."

"Nae buts." And then he kissed her.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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nate-santos · 5 years

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Am I Alive? || Nate & Remmy

Nate didn’t often let people into his life. The few friends he had were the result of long and tiresome interactions as they slowly infiltrated his careful barriers. His own assistant had never been to his house and never knew where he was from. But something about Remmy felt...familiar. They’d both been through hell, though Nate would never pretend to know what war was like. They seemed like kindred spirits, and Nate wondered if he might actually have found someone who could compliment his neuroticism. Plus he knew better than most how hard it was to acclimate after a traumatic event and he wanted to help any way he could. So he donned his puffiest coat – offering more cushion should something happen. He also made sure to grab his sturdiest umbrella, one that he’d reinforced should any fish come flying down at him. The medical examiner had said four people had died so far, and Nate was not gonna be the fifth. After carefully making his way to Coffee Plus, he set up his little area and ordered a latte, waiting patiently with his hands cupped around his mug for his potential employee to arrive.

The offer for another job was extremely enticing, but Remmy would have to make sure it didn’t pay too much, because they could lose their disability if it did. And then, no more writing off Moose’s food, no more HSA, and no more cheap meds. But Nate seemed like a really nice guy, and he seemed to know how Remmy felt. How hard it was to reintegrate into society after witnessing something that inherently changes you. Inside and out. This time, they made public transport didn’t make them late but catching the bus early. Coffee Plus was the station they’d met Deirdre outside of, and if they didn’t get thrown in front of a car again, then it would already be a better meeting. They’d even tried their best to clean themself up this time. Combed their hair, put on their best jeans-- the only pair with no holes or rips-- and their nice jacket. When they arrived, they had to pause a moment outside, give themself that little pep talk that usually given in front of a bathroom mirror. But Remmy’s room didn’t have a bathroom mirror, despite the landlord saying they were going to replace it two weeks ago. The little bell chimed as Remmy pulled the door open and they glanced around. There, in the corner. Right wher eNate had said he would be. He looked almost as nervous as Remmy felt, bundled up in a puffy coat, tucked into a corner, cupping his coffee. They waved as they approached tentatively. “Nate?” they asked. “It’s um-- Remmy. Hi.”

A large grin spread across Nate’s face as Remmy appeared. Thank god they actually showed up. He shifted in his seat and motioned for them to sit. Nervously, his hands fumbled with the pages of one of his old sketchbooks, one that before this morning he hadn’t looked at in years. It made him want to start drawing again, drawing things that weren’t buildings at the very least. He’d have to thank Remmy for reminding him how much he’d loved doing it. “Hey! Nice to meet you!” He held out his hand, careful not to bump into anything. “I’m so glad you came! You want something to drink?” Nate caught his usual barista’s attention and waved her over. “I personally like the lattes, but everything’s really good!”

Remmy noticed the way Nate stayed tucked into himself and close to the table, but didn’t think it was anything they needed to point out or think about. They took his hand, giving it a firm shake. His hand was large and warm and it reminded Remmy of Dario’s hand. They smiled back. “Nice to meet you, too! Finally.” They slid into the booth across from Nate, glancing around. The coffee shop was small, but had that busy, local atmosphere. It was different from any place they’d been in Bangor. “Oh, um, sure! I’ll just have a um...Americano? Thanks!” Looked back over to Nate once the lady took their order. They had their sketchbook tucked under one arm and their eyes fell onto the one Nate had on the table. “Thanks for um-- agreeing to meet me. And-and offering me a job. And...all that other stuff.”

Nate grinned and took a long sip of his coffee. “Really, it’s nothing. I uh, you seem like good people!” He chuckled nervously, trying not to think about how cold their hand was. He drummed his fingers on the top of his sketchbook and fell silent for a moment. It had been years since he’d shown his drawings to anyone when it wasn’t work related, but this...sort of was. “The job is mostly menial, nothing too exciting, but I could definitely use the assistance.” He shrugged, thinking about the kid currently interning for him. Bobby was next to useless, especially when it came to moving samples around the office. “But whether you take the job or not, I’m happy to have met you!” He began to slide his sketchbook over, his knee bouncing at a hypersonic rate. “Plus I never get to trade art with anyone! Not trade trade, but like...look over pieces...share, that sort of thing.”

“You seem like good people, too,” Remmy said back. This was nice. This felt nice. And normal. Pleasant, almost. They eyed his sketchbook, before setting theirs on the table as well, still holding tightly onto it. They’d never actually shown anyone else their stuff. Except some of the other officers at the camp. “Oh, um-- I’m not sure mine are gonna be really good enough to like...compare to yours, I’m sure. But I’m glad I get to see yours! I’ve never exactly….shared this kinda stuff before. Wasn’t exactly um-- encouraged in the troops.” Stop bringing the mood down, Rem. They shook their head. “But, I mean-- I’m good with menial things! And physical labor. Also good at running errands! Whatever you need! If um-- you decide you like me.”

Nate laughed, wringing his hands anxiously in his lap. “Oh, definitely no comparing here! That’s the worst thing artists can do, really. Everyone’s styles and strengths are so different, like…” He reached out and opened his book to a rather choppy looking portrait. “Soft lines, not my thing. But straight edges, flowing concrete, somehow that I can do.” A hand reached up into his hair and began to twirl. “I’m sorry you weren’t uh...encouraged. Art’s….soothing. Even if what you draw isn’t.” Nate had specifically not brought the book he’d kept right when he first found himself in White Crest. All the images in there were charcoal drawings of pure angst, sadness and desperation. These sketches weren’t great, but they at least weren’t morosely depressing. “Well I already think I like you!” Nate grinned, hoping he wasn’t coming on too strong. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed something as normal as coffee and a job interview, even as lax as this was.

“Really?” Remmy asked. They leaned in a little more when Nate opened his book, gazing in with wide eyes. “Wow, that’s so good! You’re really good.” Hands tightening on their own book. “Oh, it-it’s okay. I don’t think I coulda done anything with it, anyway. I guess it just helps...occupy my mind. I don’t mean like..busy work, or whatever, but yeah-- soothing. Like you said, it’s...soothing…” They remembered how the group therapist had encouraged writing or drawing as an outlet. Remmy had taken quite to it. They liked drawing what they saw, copying down detail in an almost hyperfocus manner. “Well, I think I like you, too! You’re really nice and open and...not weird. If that makes sense? Not that weird is bad! I’ve just met a few...really weird people, too.”

Nate nodded, sucking down more of the hot bean juice. “Like I said, anyone can be an artist. Doesn’t matter if you do anything with it. Just so long as it makes you feel good.” He shrugged, his eyes falling to his lap and his cheeks flushing. Nate never could take a compliment. “I cannot promise that weird won’t end up popping up,” he laughed nervously. What was he supposed to say? I’m normal now but wait till I die in some freak accident and come back trying to eat your brains? “But I’m glad I’m not the weirdest person you’ve met here. I mean, I hope.”

“Hey, a little bit of weird isn’t bad. Don’t they say like, normal is boring or whatever?” Remmy grinned. “You’re not, definitely not. I think the woman I met who tried to push me into a car is the weirdest I’ve met so far.” They shrugged it off. Deirdre was a mystery they didn’t really wanna think about right now. The waitress came back with their order and they took it gratefully, taking a long sip. “Um…” they pushed their notebook over towards Nate, a little tentative, a little shy. “I-if you wanna look.” Though they would never admit it, as they weren’t sure of their own talent, their eye for detail gave them the ability to draw from life fairly well. Thin pencil lines, sketchy figures, and some doodles of animals riddled the sketchbook, an unorganized mess, unlike every other aspect of their life. Some drawings layered on top of others, like stacks of photos. They sipped their coffee again.

Nate smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “I respectfully disagree with those people. I’d take normal over weird any day.” Nate’s life was already filled with too much weirdness. “Wait- like she was shoving you into a car or...throwing you in front of one?” Nate’s brow furrowed and he felt oddly protective over this person he just met. “Of course I wanna see!” He reached out, delicately turning the pages of the sketchbook. It was practically exploding with creativity. Lines and shades he’d seen but never really seen, it was so unlike his personal style and so refreshing. You could see real heart. “These are amazing, Remmington. Remmy? Which do you prefer?” He glanced up for only a moment before being sucked back into the book.

“Kinda...both? I’m not really sure. She said she wanted to test something and almost threw me into a taxi. It was fine, obviously, but I got kinda mad at her after that,” Remmy said, as if getting thrown in front of a car was a normal thing. In all honesty, it just didn’t strike them as odd. After all, they’d stuck their hands into a live case of TNT before. Was getting hit by a car really that much different? They felt their chest tingle as Nate delicately flipped through the notebook, suddenly so nervous they couldn’t even drink their coffee, just hold the cup tightly. “What? Really? Y-you think so?” Swallowed. “Oh, um-- either! Either is fine! I don’t mind.” They rolled their bottom lip between their teeth nervously. “I just...like drawing what I see. Nothing special…”

Nate’s mouth dropped open and he had to actively think about closing it so as not to be overly rude. “She- on purpose?? Yeah! I’d be mad too!” Nate nearly had a heart attack just thinking about the ordeal. But he looked back down to the drawings to distract himself. They were really good. Not professional, but that didn’t mean anything to Nate. He actually felt most professional artists were stuck up and rarely creative. “Yeah, Remmy, these are awesome!” He beamed up at them. “I like what you see.” It had been so long since Nate had really stopped to look around, flipping through Remmy’s sketches was like being unafraid to wander through town. It felt free. “You should keep this up. Seriously. Even if it’s just for you.”

Remmy couldn’t help but give a shy smile. “Th-thanks. I, um-- I will. I haven’t had much time lately between all the...stuff, but...I think I’ll try and make time.” They smiled over at Nate, finally relaxed enough again to sip their coffee. “So, um-- do you like, design the buildings and stuff? Or just do more like...blueprints stuff? I’m not-- sorry. I don’t mean to sound like...rude, but I’m not really sure what architects do, like a hundred percent? I’m totally willing to learn though!”

Nate cocked his head to the side. “Like all the getting shoved towards taxis?” He frowned, hoping Remmy wasn’t befriending people that would willingly shove them into oncoming traffic. It wasn’t entirely unheard of in White Crest, especially in the seedier areas. Yet another reason to never leave his house. “Oh, yeah! It really depends on the project, and most of what I get to do around here is restoring some of the town’s older buildings, making sure they’re up to code while maintaining the historical integrity of the design.” He smiled softly, taking another sip of coffee. “But every once in a while someone wants to build an entirely new house or business, then I get to flex my creative chops.” He sighed dramatically. “Those fun projects don’t tend to come around as often, though, so sometimes I just teach a class at the college.”

“Yeah,” Remmy sighed, “like that.” They still hadn’t parsed out Deirdre’s actual intention with doing that. Was it to see if Remmy would move? If they would let her? If they would get scare and run away? It still baffled them, but she hadn’t been eager to talk after that, so the answer would likely never come. So Remmy would concentrate on the here and now. “Wow, that’s so cool! I had no idea that’s what architects actually did...do you go to the houses and like actually help build stuff? Or do you just do more of the like...drawing and planning stuff?” They couldn’t help but be excited by all this. They’d always loved learning new things, even if public schooling had made them feel inadequate. “And you get to teach at the University?? That’s SO cool!”

Nate frowned, already feeling the twinge of protectiveness over this person he’d literally just met. Remmy had already been through so much, they needed a soft place to land, not a place where people literally threw them into oncoming traffic. But he would drop it- for now. Not like he was in any position to go hunting down this person, and to do what, exactly? Yell at them? Punch them? Neither of those things were in Nate’s wheelhouse. “I don’t do too much building, but I do get to visit the sites sometimes to help oversee everything! A lot of what I do is actually project management and organizing the construction crews, but I’ve gotten to know most of the crews around here pretty well, so they send me progress photos and stuff. It’s really cool to see an idea you have come to life right before your eyes.” Nate paused, smiling sheepishly to himself. “It’s really not that cool, most people find it kinda boring. But I love it.”

“Oh, I think that sounds amazing!” Remmy blurted, without thinking much. They reigned themself back in sheepishly. “Sorry. I just-- I don’t think it sounds boring at all! I think that sounds amazing. Getting to do something that actually changes the world around you...even if it’s just a building. And seeing it in progress? That’s just…” they trailed off a bit. “That’s incredible.” They took another long sip of the coffee, realizing it didn’t much taste like anything. It didn’t fill any sort of need inside of them. Not like it used to. “It sounds kinda lame but...when I was younger, I think I always wanted to do something that could, like, change things for the better. I guess that’s why I thought going into the military might...you know. Be like that.”

Nate’s eyes lit up. He so rarely spoke to anyone, let alone about his work, it was refreshing to be able to gush about it to someone who thought it was as interesting as he did. Well, maybe not as much, but at least Remmy was feigning interest! “I’m glad you think it’s interesting! I could definitely tell you more about it, and I mean, if you come help out, you’d get to see a lot of it first hand, too.” Nate knew exactly what they meant. It was the reason so many of his high school peers had enlisted, not knowing what else to do but needing and wanting to do something. He smiled softly, feeling his body loosen a bit from the tense ball it had been in. “I’m Sorry. If it wasn’t, I mean. Like that. Doing something for the better. Or that’s presumptuous- was it?” And he tensed right back up again as he stuck his foot in his mouth.

“Oh, yes! That would be great!” Remmy said excitedly. They had no idea someone would think they were just pretending, because Remmy didn’t have it in them to lie or pretend. “I’d love to learn all that stuff! Even if I’m no good at it, I think it’d be cool to know!” They sipped the coffee again, their legs twitching excitedly. Remmy had never been this excited before. Was this was it meant to find something they loved? “Oh, um-- I think it was, a little. I don’t um-- it’s hard to explain. I think there’s better ways to change things, but...it felt like my only option. I wasn’t the smartest or funniest or strongest. So...that was pretty much it.” They shrugged. “But, I mean-- as far as job offers go, I um-- think I’d be happy to come work for you. I-if you’re still looking.”

Nate sometimes felt like he was looking in a mirror when he talked to Remmy. They’d only known each other a short while, but he felt like he understood them in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Sure, some of that might be how excited they were about architecture, but it was something more than that, too. Nate remembered what it felt like to be so lost, heck he was still unbearably lost. But when he did what he loved, it wasn’t quite so unbearable. It was part of the reason he hadn’t tried to just end things. Seeing Remmy light up like this, it ignited something in Nate too. “I would be more than happy to have you join the team, Remmy.” He grinned, holding out his hand more confidently than before. “Welcome to the family.”

Remmy couldn’t remember the last time they’d been this excited. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt this hopeful. Sure, it was just an assistant job, helping out around Nate’s firm, but it was more than anything they could’ve hoped for in coming to White Crest. Being a security guard was easy and it paid the bills, but it wasn’t exactly the most riveting job. After being in the field for so long, Remmy had found life wasn’t exciting anymore. Remmy took Nate’s hand eagerly. “Thanks, Nate. Really, thank you so much.”

@whatsin-yourhead

#remmy1

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virgilantejustice · 5 years

Text

Sea of stars: the infection

Well, @depressed-but-doing-my-best, here you go! It’s maybe not my best writing, but I’m fond of it all the same.

Trigger warnings: Mention of past death, i think that’s it?

Word count: Approx 1600!!

Pairings: Logicality

Chapter one. Chapter two. Chapter three. (This fits in here in the chronology). on the church steps Heartbreak.

masterpost link

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The sun had set an hour ago. The church was swathed in darkness, save for the small bubble of light and heat that the fire provided.

Logan could feel Patton’s weight on his chest as he leant against him and twisted his somewhat ragged tie around in his fingers, humming quietly. Virgil sat on Logan’s left, fiddling with some string and twigs. Logan kept looking over at what they were doing, but couldn’t quite piece the object that they were constructing together in his mind.

“There,” they said proudly, but quietly, seemingly more to themself than to the others.

“Whacha got there kiddo?” Patton asked, stopping his mindless humming and shifting slightly on Logan to look.

Virgil recoiled slightly, not looking uncomfortable per say, more surprised at the question. They held out their creation into the light of the fire with a smile on their face. “I thought it was a little quiet in here is all.” It was a small set of panpipes.

“Did you play the panpipes?” Logan asked, chuckling slightly at Patton’s protests as he sat up a little straighter to see.

Virgil simply shrugged in reply and placed them to their lips, trying them out. Logan wasn’t entirely sure how they had gotten the sound so clear with just twigs, but the sound rang as clear as crystal.

A small tune filled the air, wandering down the pews and swelling sweetly to fill the slightly cavernous room.

Patton clapped long and hard when Virgil finished, and they nodded their head in a little bow, making them both laugh.

“Not bad,” Logan remarked, his voice shaking slightly from Patton’s excited clapping as he was still leaning on him. They must have caught him looking so intrigued at the pipes and they handed them to him. Logan passed them over in his hands, they must have spent a while on them, the pipes were straight and the bindings strong.

“Well, I used to be into music,” they shrugged as Logan handed them back.

Patton sat up, and Logan immediately missed his warmth. “Why’d You give it up?” he asked, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his folded legs.

Virgil didn’t give an answer other than gesturing around the room with it’s peeling paint and smashed windows and giving them a mock-whithering look.

“Aw, but that’s no reason to give up your hobbies,” Patton said.

Then something clicked in Logan’s mind. “You’ve never heard Patton sing before, have you?” he asked.

“No?” they replied, sounding uncertain.

“You’re in for quite a treat.”

Patton swatted playfully at him. “Oh, stop,” he giggled, his breath warming Logan’s face.

Virgil still looked uncertain over what was happening. “Go on,” Logan urged, nudging Patton’s arm. “Show them.”

“Only if you play along,” Patton said, rolling his eyes and smiling.

Smiling himself, Logan went into the room at the back of the church where they kept most of their supplies, but he wasn’t looking for a can of food or a bottle of water or a scrap of clothing this time, as were most of the things that filled the place, he was looking for something far more special.

“Here it is,” he exclaimed, holding his prize firmly in his hand as he went back into the chapel.

“You can play the guitar?!” Virgil exclaimed, looking up at Logan like he was some kind of apparition.

“Is that so surprising?” Logan replied. He supposed it must have been, he didn’t exactly seem like the most artsy type. But after so many years of having nothing to do and an over excitable scavenger, apparently you end up with a salvaged guitar and some self-taught skills.

Logan ran his hand over the scratched and faded writing on the side for what must have been the millionth time. The words didn’t mean anything to him, probably just the name of the maker of the instrument, but there was something about them, a tie to a world that he’d lost.

Softly strumming his hand over the strings, Logan tweaked with the tuning pegs a little before turning back to Patton who was practically bouncing with excitement.

“Can we do Our Song?” he asked hopefully, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“We can do whatever song you like,” Logan replied, lining up his hand for the starting chord.

Patton noticed Virgil’s slight confusion and began to explain. “When Logan learned the guitar, I showed him a song that I had written with my sister before-” He cut off suddenly with a sharp breath. Logan placed a hand on his arm but he gently shook him off, smiling. “It’s just a nice way to remember her, y'know.”

Something flickered across Virgil’s face too quickly to register at the mention of Before, but the thought was quickly pushed aside as Patton began to sing.

Unsurprisingly, Patton had an incredibly sweet voice, and soared over high notes as easily as a swan through the water. It was that kind of voice that you simply couldn’t not listen to, even if for some reason you wanted to.

The song was about the sea, the salt, the water, the sky; the lyrics and the chords melting together like waves on it’s surface. It came up and down and up again, the words winding and rhyming and swirling around like a hymn, like a siren song, but one that lured you to real treasure.

It ended on a plagal cadence, the final notes hanging on the air as if by delicate silver threads, years of practice leading the singer and the guitarist to a clean, perfect, ending.

Virgil stood up and clapped, exaggeratedly posh like an aristocrat at an opera. Patton tugged Logan onto his feet and took giggley curtsey as he took a small bow, probably failing to hide the blush that was spreading over his cheeks.

The clapping and laughing was replaced by a warm silence as they sat back down near the fire, the instruments laying next to each other a few feet away. Patton lay his head on Logan’s shoulder, his slow, soft breathing matching his pulse perfectly.

Virgil sighed. “I wish I could see the sea again,” they said quietly, their shoulders drooping slightly. “One last time.” There was still a faint trace of a smile on their lips, but a sort of sadness had cast a shadow over their pale face.

“Logically, if we drove in one direction for long enough we would get there,” Logan commented, possibly not as softly as he meant to sound. “But I don’t think that that’s really possible at this point.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t as sensitive as he should have been, but it got a small giggle out of them anyway.

Patton shuffled forward slightly, his expression warm. “Kiddo,” he said softly, placing a hand on their knee, causing them to look up at him. “Let me show you something.”

He took their hands and stood up, leading them over to one of the stained glass windows near the front of the building. His tread was light and careful, and somehow even his walk was calming in it’s nature. Logan followed behind them at a distance, knowing full well that he was nowhere near as good at being comforting and not wanting to intrude.

The stained glass window that they now stood in front had the top half of it missing, and the bottom didn’t make a huge amount of sense, just legs and feet of some religious figures long forgotten, but Patton looked at it as if it were everything.

“This is my favorite stained glass window in this whole place,” he said dreamily. Well, this was news to Logan, and he leaned in to listen.

Virgil looked at him, perplexed. “But half of it is smashed in,” they said in a bemused voice.

Letting out a small, tinkling laugh, Patton lay his hand on their shoulder. “I know, but, the sun rises over there every morning,” he explained, pointing at the black sky through the gap above the glass. He moved around as he spoke, slowly and deliberately, gesturing at the sky and the glass and the floor. “And the light shines through the glass that /is/ still there, making the floor all sorts of different colours.”

Logan could picture it in his own mind. He pictured the way the colours landed on Patton’s skin as his eyes fluttered open. He pictured the way they would dance through the sky to land on the ground. He pictured the way they came into their little nest and lit it up. He saw the way the moonlight now shone through the glass and cast a faint glow on Patton’s face. “It’s beautiful,” he agreed.

Patton spared him a smile, a whole smile, just for him. Not rare, still precious. Then he looked back out of the window, the stars’ reflections dancing in his eyes, as dark as the sky outside. “And through the empty bit, you can see the sky, the stars, the moon.”

“A sea of it’s own sort,” Logan added. “An eternal, endless expanse of stars and darkness.”

Virgil gave a small, tight-lipped smile. They started to twist their hands together as sadness filled their eyes. “My brother used to tell me stories about the stars,” they whispered, their eyes pressed closed. “We couldn’t see them in the cellar, and I couldn’t remember them, but Roman would draw the constellations on the walls and point out the shapes, and tell me stories.”

Ah, Logan thought, so that was what that flicker was.

“Now he is one of them,” Patton said, gazing out into that sea of stars. “With my sister. I bet they’re happy, wherever they are.” She gave Virgil’s shoulder a light squeeze.

“A story written in the sky,” Logan continued, squeezing gently on Virgil’s other shoulder. “Eternal,” he breathed, bathing in the starlight and the warmth of his companions. “Endless.”

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Writing taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed):

@soakinforsif @combine-the-kitchens @confusedbutamusedlolo @celeste-tyrrell @randomavengersquotes

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ask-the-riders · 4 years

Text

First Meetings

Mal nearly gets herself killed, but is saved by a stranger she's never even seen before. The years pass, she dies and makes her transition to becoming War, and only then does the stranger from all those years ago finally show his face again

Trigger warnings (because I'd feel really bad if I upset anyone somehow): violence/fighting, cursing, and guns. There's some angst at the start and some implied abuse/implications that Mal was being hurt (she's still working for Error and Nightmare at the beginning), and toward the end, maybe a hair bit of suggestive language (meant to be taken as a joke/in a teasing kinda sense)

This might also be a bit OOC for Mal, but eh

Mal let out a shaky breath, her sockets wide as she stole a glance at the orange bone attack that pierced the ground beside her. Lifting a hand and touching the edge of her sockets to produce her threads, her momentary look of fear shifted into determination; she had to tough this out just a little longer. Just a little bit longer, and someone would come for her, she knew it. There was a flash of light and she cried out, a searing pain rushing through her body. Glancing down, her sockets widened again at the loss of one of her arms and began to bead up with blue tinted tears. As her gaze slowly lifted and she looked up at the massive skeleton that loomed over her, she began to visibly shake, trying desperately to force out her words.

Another bone attack appeared and she screamed as it tore through her ribs like a hot knife through butter. This... This wasn't good. A large, gloved hand captured the front of her shirt, and then she found herself being thrown backward, colliding with a tree. At the crash, her back arched and she cried out again, her blue tears transforming into threads as she noticed the dust that began to appear down her shirt. Oh god... oh no, this couldn't be happening. This couldn't be... she COULDN'T be dying... not like this. As her attacker drew nearer, she broke into sobs, attempting to curl in on herself as she croaked, "Please, please no... I didn't mean it, I didn't mean anything bad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry... so, so sorry. Just... please... please don't-" She was cut off, wailing in agony again as a gloved hand summoned another bone attack, that of which sailed forward and cracked one of her hips.

"Hey, freak."

At the casual tone that pierced the silence, Mal's sockets widened in shock and she touched the rim of her socket with her good hand, shrieking, "GET OUT OF HERE, THIS DUDE'S A FREAKIN PSYCHO!" The stranger was silent for a moment before he laughed softly, "Hey, last time I checked, I'm supposed to be the one saving you, Beautiful." She flinched at the nickname, looking up at the stranger and blinking; it was... nobody she knew. Just some dude in a gross brown hoodie with... what were thoss? Medical syringes lining his sash and belt?

Without another word, the stranger drew some sort of gun, aiming it at her attacker. His voice lost its casual, lighthearted tone as he spoke, now turning as cold as the first snowfall of winter, "Last chance, bud. Back the hell off, or be sorry." Mal's assailant began to summon forth more orange bone attacks, seeming intent on dusting the stranger too. Sockets widening in shock as the stranger fired his gun, the glitch felt her entire body jerk, quickly biting back a yelp as pain washed over her from all the injuries she'd sustained. She was frozen, slowly shifting her gaze upward to her attacker; Upon seeing the way his magic fizzled out and his bones began to turn grey, more fear surged through her. She had no idea what the stranger had shot him with, but it's like he... got infected by something.

The pulses of magic his soul had been giving off began to weaken, and Mal could've sworn she saw the life drain from his sockets, only mere seconds before he exploded into a cloud of dust. The stranger seemed completely at ease as he turned to face her, squatting a few feet away. He held a hand out, his palm facing her, and as his left eye flared up with sickly green magic, Mal panicked, "Hey, just hold on a minute, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" In response, he arched a brow bone and offered her a lazy grin, "Uhh... I'm healing you? You clearly need it." The glitch gawked at him; He was going to heal her? Why? They only just met, so it's not like they were friends or anything. There was nothing to be gained from helping her. Nothing material, at least. Her mind raced, and as the warmth of his healing magic finally reached her, she whined, her shoulders slouching. She could only think of one thing that he might want from her, and blue tinted tears pricked at her sockets again.

Hearing the whine and seeing the look on her face, the other skeleton frowned, continuing to heal her, "Hey, what's wrong?... You ok, buddy?" Her figure began to glitch noticeably more than before and she looked away from him, not wanting to meet his eye, "Why are you helping me?... I'm not a good person, and there's nothing to be gained from this. The only thing I have that you could possibly want would be-" The stranger cut her off, his playful tone suggesting that he was trying to keep the mood light, "Whoa, hold on there, bud, you're movin' kinda fast. At least take me to dinner first." His healing magic momentarily faded, his normal magic enveloping her detached arm that laid nearby. It was pulled closer to the pair of skeletons and lightly dropped on her lap, and she flinched. As his healing magic returned, she unconsciously began to relax, and he smiled softly, "Can you reattach that on your own, or?..."

Mal nodded, using her good hand to grasp her disconnected arm. She was silent as she lined it back up with her shoulder, and she briefly met the male skeleton's concerned gaze, feeling her sockets stinging as more tears threatened to spill out. She hesitated, drawing in a deep breath and then slowly exhaling, before she forced her arm back into its rightful place. At the surge of pain, tears streamed down her face and rapidly shifted into sapphire threads as she screamed, her glitching seeming to worsen for just a brief moment. Her breathing began to quicken as she struggled to cope with the pain and she sobbed, gingerly holding her shoulder. The other skeleton gently shushed her, his healing magic now being sent to her as warm, soothing pulses, and he spoke softly, careful not to startle her or risk upsetting her further, "Shhh... It's all over now. You did a good job... It looks like you lined it up perfectly, too. I'm impressed." The glitch looked back at him, meeting his gaze as she sniffled, an almost desperate look in her eyes as she murmured brokenly, "You really think I did good?..."

He nodded and hummed in confirmation, offering her a tiny smile in hopes of providing some reassurance, "Yeah, of course. You reconnected it like a pro, so I take it you've done this before?" Mal made a soft sound of acknowledgement and gave a slow nod, her gaze breaking away from his as she looked down at her lap, suddenly appearing ashamed, "Mhm... I have. More times than I care to remember." The hoodie clad stranger quietly assessed the look she wore, his small smile becoming a frown again; If he didn't know any better, he'd assume she'd had to reattach her own limbs before. That meant that she constantly went through potentially dangerous situations and regularly risked being injured. Concern bubbled in his soul and he reached out to her. Feeling his hand stop just short of touching her face, she looked back at him, a tangible mix of confusion and uncertainty on her face as well as... Was that... Was that fear again?

Her figure fizzled at the closeness of his hand, and as he began to withdraw it, she felt her soul swell, accompanied by some odd tugging sensation in her chest. Just what in the hell was happening right now? She hated touch; To her, touch never meant anything good, so why was she so disappointed when this guy pulled his hand away? Without thinking, she blurted out, "Why'd you stop?" He blinked in surprise, before that surprise morphed into a sad smile, "I can't touch you, Mal. I'm not supposed to." Her brow bones were knit in further confusion at being referred to by name, but she pressed on, "Why not?" He hesitated, lowering his voice slightly, "It'll make you sick, and I have no control over it. I don't know what you could catch."

The glitch frowned, her soul beginning to glow faintly through her shirt, "I'm not afraid of getting sick." He hesitated again, a faint green glow showing through his hoodie from his chest. Taking a deep breath, he slowly extended a hand to her once more, and she surprised herself by leaning into his touch as his hand gently rested on her cheek. She lifted a hand, delicately placing it atop his, and he stared at her in disbelief; He really... He was really touching her right now, and he could hardly believe it. Both of their souls suddenly manifested before them, causing both skeletons to immediately become flustered, their faces stained with slight blushes made of their own respective colors. The glitch raised her free hand and reached out, cautious as she lightly touched his face. As he leaned into her touch, a wave of what bordered on delight overtook her, and an uncharacteristically giddy smile stretched across her face. Meanwhile, the stranger appeared to be in total bliss, merely basking in the feeling of her hand on his cheek.

Breaking the pair out of the haze they were in, a voice called out to the glitch, and her soul quickly returned to its place within her ribs as her delight became panic again. The stranger, with much reluctance, pulled away from her, breaking the contact. As soon as his hand left her face, she pressed a hand over her mouth and began to cough violently, her body aching as her temperature started to rise. Already knowing what was happening to her, the male skeleton reached up one of his sleeves and withdrew a small vial of something, offering it to her, "Here, drink this... It'll cure you. I wasn't supposed to intervene and save you like I did, hell, I wasn't even supposed to be seen. I gotta get outta here before I'm busted." The glitch accepted the vial eagerly, her brow bones furrowing, "Before you disappear, can I at least know your name? And maybe how you knew mine, while we're at it."

He smiled slightly as she uncapped the vial and downed the antidote to his touch, shrugging his shoulders, "Are names really all that important right now, Sweetness? I'll be seeing you again eventually anyway, so we can talk more then. For now though, I really need to go." Letting out a deep sigh, Mal pouted, her cheekbones flushing a soft shade of blue, "Fiiiiine, whatever. Seeya round, weirdo." He chuckled softly in amusement and shook his head before playfully blowing a kiss at her, succeeding in instantly making her blush visibly darken. Just as she was about to give him a figurative ear full, she was caught off guard, yelping in surprise as his entire body exploded into a multitude of rats, all of which scurried away as fast as possible. As Cross and Dust came into her line of sight, her soul sank and she very slowly stood up, brushing herself off and pocketing the now empty vial. The vial was all she had left from her first encounter with who she assumed was supposed to be her soulmate, and she intended to keep it until she saw him again.

At least, she hoped he was her soulmate. He was so kind and gentle, he gave her praise, and not once did he make any unwanted advances on her. He protected and healed her when there was nothing to be gained from it; He did it because he was genuinely worried. From what he'd said, he wasn't supposed to help her, which meant he broke some set of rules to make sure that she was safe. A part of her was hesitant to believe any of that really meant anything, but there was another part of her that desperately hoped he'd let her go back with him next time they saw each other.

Even as Cross began speaking to her, she didn't hear a word he said. All she could think about was the stranger who saved her life.

The years passed, and as fate would have it, Mal had gone and acted impulsively, getting herself killed in the process. Only when she'd found a good family and a loving home, and only when she was happy would something like this happen. Why would life ever treat her kindly? After all, she was nothing more than some disgusting anomaly that shouldn't even exist in the first place. She'd gone on about her days, praying and pleading with whoever was in control of her fate to let her find her savior so she could properly thank him for what he'd done, but... she never did.

Not until today.

The tall skeleton before her sighed deeply and casually cracked his neck, perfectly at ease as Death firmly gripped her wrists, stopping her from producing threads and attacking her new teammate. The freakshow was staring at her, wearing a stupid grin that she wanted to wipe off of his equally stupid face. He was probably enjoying the show, seeing her get in trouble already.

Well, at least she already got in one good hit. That on its own would have to do, seeing as the reaper wasn't about to let her go just yet. He glanced back at the taller of the two males and dismissed him, waiting until he was gone before releasing her wrists, his magic holding her in place as he gently cupped her face. He used his magic, sending it out in the form of soothing pulses as he very gradually began to calm her down, bringing her out of the episode she'd been plunged into. Death sighed, waiting for her to completely relax before he spoke, "Alright... We'll work on getting you better acclimated to being around Famine later on. For now, you've got one more teammate to meet, and I think you're gonna like him." She narrowed her sockets in suspicion, "If he's anything like Famine, I wouldn't be so sure of that." The reaper arched a brow bone, now wearing a knowing grin as he called out, "Alright, Pest, it's your turn. Come on in and say hi to War."

Mal's... No, War's full attention centered itself on the doorway as the last of her teammates entered. Taking in that ugly brown hoodie he wore and the numerous syringes that lined his belt and sash, she froze in place, her sockets widening. He lifted his gaze to look back at her, an amused grin already stretching across his face, and the glitch felt that same tugging sensation from all those years ago. The memory of their first meeting returned in full detail, and at a loss for words, all the glitch was capable of nearly screeching was, "YOU." The stranger, whose name turned out to be Pestilence, merely tilted his head, arching a brow bone at her. Still wearing the same shit eating grin from moments ago, he hummed, his voice taking on a sing-song tone as he purred in delight, "Me~"

Death had no idea what was going on between the two of them, but sensing how strongly their souls were trying to drive them to make contact, he shrugged it off. Truth be told, he was almost disappointed that he hadn't made any popcorn to eat while he watched the encounter play out. While the pair of soulmates were focused entirely on their exchange, Death's good eye flared up with his own sky blue magic, and suddenly, he could see their souls.

The very culmination of both their beings, and their very cores, now on display for the reaper, courtesy of his magic. The pair didn't seem aware of Death's stare as he observed their souls, raising a single brow bone as Pestilence's soul grew brighter. Pairing that with the magic in the air, it was almost as if his soul itself wanted to make contact with War's. And the on the other hand, War's soul rapidly switched between growing brighter and dimmer; She was confused, and likely had no idea how to feel about everything right now. Her soul did the most adorable little flip in her ribs and Death smiled to himself, shaking his head. War was proving to be quite the stubborn one, and Death already knew how Pest could be at times.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he rolled his eye light, his magic fading away as he interrupted them, "God, get a room, will ya? All this sexual tension is gonna be the death of me." War's face erupted into a bright blue blush and her sockets became clouded with wars, while Pest stared at Death, visibly surprised at what he'd said. As the surprise faded into amusement, Pest wiggled his brow bones, jokingly moving closer to the glitch to wrap an arm around her waist, "Well, what do ya say, Beautiful? We should totally ditch this old dude and go back to my room. Or yours, that's fine too." Without warning, War crashed, a reboot bar appearing and floating over her head. As her legs gave out and she started to collapse, Pest was quick to catch her, all of his playfulness replaced by anxiety, "Shit, shit... I didn't just break her or something, did I? Fuck, I hope she's ok."

Death hummed, his expression softening, "She'll be fine, Pest, this just happens sometimes. The best thing you can do is get her back to her room and lay her down in bed, because it'll be a bit before she comes to." Pestilence nodded, releasing a sigh of relief, "Alright... Will do, Coffee Bean." The reaper brushed off the nickname, watching as Pestilence carefully lifted War up into his arms and held her close to himself.

They'd be alright. Sure, there'd be some bumps in the road ahead due to the differences in their personalities, but they'd be ok, and Death didn't harbor a single doubt about it whatsoever in his mind.

#this also takes place before she met ret #and before the other two riders became part of the group #writing #four horsemen of the apocalypse #riders of the apocalypse #undertale #undertale au #pestilence.exe #war.exe #famine.exe #death.exe #reaper sans #mal.exe

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