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starlight-shades · 1 year ago

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Called Home to the Depths of the Forest Ch 2

• summary – Ghost, retired from the military, finds a pair of orphaned werewolf pups. He calls the only werewolf he knows for help. Soap and Ghost become (not so) reluctant dads.

• rating – M

• wordcount – 3.3k

• warnings – references to Ghost's backstory, mentions of previous character deaths

• This is my first fanfic, so please let me know if there's anything I forgot to tag. Feedback is welcome and encouraged

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

There was some sort of feeling in his chest that Simon struggled to describe. He and Johnny sat on the bench he had on his porch as Ailsa and Duncan explored the area around his cabin.

After their bath, it became evident that they had to relieve themselves when Duncan pissed all over himself in the tub. After cleaning him off again, Simon and Johnny took them outside since they were in no state to be using his bathroom.

They were just spending time in the sun now, getting some much needed fresh air.

“Why won’t they shift back?” he asked, his voice low.

“Probably feel safer like this. They’ve got a way to defend themselves if they need it where they don’t in their human shape. I suspect it’s all instinct for wee ones like this after what they went through,” Johnny explained.

Outwardly, they seemed fine enough, Ailsa chasing her brother in a friendly game of tag, weaving through the rocks and bushes around them, but Simon knew, perhaps better than most, that these sorts of things left lasting scars, even if no one else could see them. They still startled at every unexpected noise, no matter how small.

“What are we going to do, Johnny?” He sounded lost even to his own ears.

Johnny let out an exhausted breath. He still hadn’t had a chance to get some sleep.

“Fuck if I know, Si…”

“I had hoped you would,” Simon laughed mirthlessly. “That’s why I called you.”

Johnny chuckled, dragging his hands down his face. “Unfortunately, I ken shit-all about kids. There’s not really a possibility for them in my pack, so I haven’t had to think about it.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Oh, uh…” Johnny looked a bit sheepish. “It’s just the three of us, me, ’n Price, n’ Gaz. And none of us can get pregnant as far as I know so…”

“No kids,” Simon finished for him.

“Yeah no kids.”

Silence fell between them. It was uncomfortable in a way that had not happened in their relationship before. To be fair, Simon had mostly been a reluctant participant, but Johnny had somehow managed to keep any potential awkwardness at bay. Now that they were getting more personal than he had ever anticipated, Simon found himself lost for words.

“I mean, could you take them?”

He shot Johnny a wildly incredulous look, coughing as he choked on his own spit.

“Hear me out! Hear me out!” he started, hands up to placate Simon. “They’ve already gotten attached to you, and you seem to have done alright so far…”

Dragging his gaze away from Johnny, Simon stared out at Ailsa and Duncan as he caught his breath.

They had moved on from their earlier romping and had begun investigating one of his dormant garden beds. Ailsa looked up at him and they just stared at each other for a moment. Her brother chose that moment to trot over to them with a stick in his mouth. He proceeded to stop in front of Simon, his eyes darting up to look at his face then moving away again.

A soft smile on his face, Simon gently reached out to take the stick, not quite sure what Duncan wanted from him. His smile faded to a perplexed look when Duncan backed away from him, taking the stick out of reach before he could grab it.

“Si, look,” Johnny said gently, so he did.

On the very tip of the stick was a ladybird. A little red jewel crawling about without a care in the world.

“Oh…” he breathed. “That’s lovely, Duncan, thank you.”

Apparently, he just wanted to show them the bug as he turned and bounced his way back to his sister, tail wagging.

The two men lapsed back into silence as they watched the children together. Simon clasped his hands together.

He could get used to this. It wasn’t anything like the life he had imagined for himself; Simon had quickly let go of any imaginings he had of being a father when he was still a child himself. But in this quiet moment, with the sun streaming through the trees, and a gentle breeze passing through, with the pups playing together in the dirt, and Johnny by his side, Simon found that he was content.

His life had been bloody and dangerous for so long. He had been broken beyond repair and put back together to become a new creature several times over. Could he do it again? This time not through violence, but through a more radical act. Could he choose to take in Ailsa and Duncan in all their innocence? His hands, stained in every way imaginable, would be the ones to guide them through life if he decided to do this. Was he even capable?

Images from another life flashed through his mind. Laughter from another child, abruptly silenced. Warm smiles and family photos and the happy ending that didn’t last nearly long enough. The smell of copper, oppressive in the air.

Was he truly a different man now? Was it enough?

He looked at Johnny.

Maybe he wasn’t enough on his own, but if he had a partner in all this…

“Okay.”

Johnny startled, looking back at Simon.

“What?”

“I’ll take them… if you help me.” He had to chew through his ingrained reluctance to ask for assistance.

Johnny’s whole expression softened. “Of course I’ll help you Si. Anything you need.”

“I—I need you to be in this with me, Johnny. I can’t do it by myself.”

He absolutely melted at that, reaching out to place his hand over Simon’s, still clasped tightly together.

“Okay,” he whispered. “You and me.”

His eyes were so impossibly blue. Simon could get lost in them if he let himself. He could feel the warmth from Johnny seeping into his hands, feeling like it was life creeping back into his soul.

The moment was broken by the loud call of a crow. It startled the pups who immediately bolted to Simon.

Johnny burst into laughter at the look on his face as he was suddenly swarmed by a combined 45 kilograms of werewolf pup moving at speed.

The rest of the day passed in a blur after he had finally voiced his decision to look after Ailsa and Duncan. He and Johnny discussed logistics while the pups wrestled in front of the fireplace that they had lit to chase away the chill of an early spring evening. They would all live together, in Simon’s little cabin, at least for a little while. Johnny would move in with them. At least as long as it took for the pups to get comfortable with them as their guardians and shift.

“We can reevaluate then,” Johnny proclaimed with a grunt of affirmation from Simon.

They lapsed back into a comfortable silence as they stood in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the four of them. Simon bit back a smile as he watched Johnny with his own knife and cutting board that he had brought from the place he lived with the rest of his pack. The pups had needed an afternoon nap and he ran back for supplies. Now they had enough plates and silverware and glasses for all of them. Simon wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

He had also brought some of his own things, and had fully dressed in his own clothes upon his return. Simon really didn’t want to examine his feelings about that.

“I’ll need to go into town again tomorrow,” he announced, abruptly changing the subject. It had been weighing on him.

“Okay. I’ll stay and watch them?” Johnny asked, a little unsure what Simon wanted from him.

He nodded. “I don’t have enough to keep up with four people. And they’ll need things of their own.”

Johnny gave him that cocksure smile he had grown familiar with. “Of course.”

Simon’s brow furrowed as he thought out loud. “And we should probably let them know what’s going on. I don’t want them to feel like I’m leaving them here and not coming back.”

“Oh Si,” Johnny murmured.

There was far too much of something in the way he looked at him.

Turning abruptly, Simon turned the stove on. They lapsed into silence. Taking a chance, he stole a quick glance at Johnny, and the way he moved around the kitchen with ease made him realize that he had no need to feel awkward. Johnny had let it go. He wasn’t going to push him. Simon felt a weight lift from his shoulders that he hadn’t noticed was there.

“What’s a wolf’s favorite time of the year?”

Confused, he looked up at Johnny only to find him smirking like he had a secret.

“What are you on about?”

“The howl-o-days.”

Simon’s blank face was not enough to keep the shit-eating grin off Johnny’s face.

“Two goldfish are in a tank.”

It was Johnny’s turn to look confused. Maybe it was his deadpan delivery, but it was not immediately obvious he was telling a joke of his own.

Simon continued, unbothered. “One turns to the other and says ��You know how to drive this thing?”

Johnny’s grin returned.

With a small smile of his own, Simon said “Little army humor.”

“Very little.”

They finished cooking in that comfortable silence, plating up four servings and setting two of them at the table while setting the other two on the floor where Ailsa and Duncan could reach. The sound of the ceramic hitting the hardwood was enough to have the two of them come running, without the need for Simon or Johnny to call them.

Simon sat perched on a stool he had had tucked away somewhere while Johnny sat on his only chair at the table. They sat opposite one another, but where they could still see where the two pups were happily munching away at their supper.

“Ailsa, Duncan,” Simon started, making his voice as soft as he could. He set his fork down and made eye contact with the both of them. They stopped eating. “Tomorrow, I’m going into town for supplies. You will stay here with Johnny. He’ll be looking after you with me from now on, alright?”

Duncan darted a look at Johnny and quickly dropped his gaze back to his plate, but not going back to his food. Ailsa stared at Simon and cocked her head.

“Can you nod so we know you understand?” Johnny asked gently.

Slowly Ailsa nodded her head a few times. Duncan gave one that was almost imperceptible.

“Is that okay, Duncan? That Johnny will watch you tomorrow?” Simon asked him directly. Something was bothering the boy, and he wasn’t sure how to get to the root of it.

The pup gave another nod, still not looking at either of them.

“Is something else worrying you?”

A quick shake of his head. Simon glanced at Ailsa as she shifted towards her brother, nosing at his face. She licked at his muzzle and nudged him with her paw.

“It’s okay if you’re sad,” Johnny told them. “You’re safe here, and Simon and I will do our best to take care of you, but we know we can’t replace your mum and dad.”

Simon slipped off his stool to sit on the floor with them, only hesitating a moment before gathering Duncan into his lap. The little wolf sunk into his arms, whining softly. He imagined he would be crying if he was in his human shape.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured into his fur, stroking him softly on the back of his head.

Ailsa started whining as well, pushing into Simon’s lap alongside her brother. He didn’t exactly have enough room and had to shift a bit before he wrapped his arms around both of them, holding them as solidly as he could.

Echoes of his own grief flashed through his mind before he pushed them away. He had dealt with it. It was time to dedicate his energy elsewhere.

Simon startled when he felt the heat of Johnny’s arms around him. Wordlessly, he gathered him into the embrace as well. They were together, the four of them, and they’d get through it… somehow…

Dinner was a subdued event after that. Ailsa and Duncan weren’t up for much after the reminder of their parents’ deaths, eventually falling asleep in the combined warmth of their bodies.

Simon prepared to take the exhausted pups down the hall to his bedroom, accidentally waking them as he moved to get up from the floor. He wasn't sure how to hold both of them comfortably in his arms. Luckily, he was rescued.

“Och little one,” Johnny cooed softly, scooping Ailsa into his arms.

Rising with Duncan, he padded down the hallway on soft feet, Johnny behind him. It was far too domestic, and yet some fragile part of him fluttered. Could he grow used to this?

Maybe he actually wanted to…

He pushed into the bedroom, the bed still made with military precision. There was a single window with the curtains drawn, letting in the light from the moon. His rather spartan furnishings had never been an issue before when it was just him, but he found that they looked inadequate now.

With one hand, he pulled back the comforter and settled Duncan in the depression where his body would normally settle, leaving enough room for Johnny to slide in beside him, tucking Ailsa next to her brother. They almost immediately began crying again until Simon settled into the bed with them. It took him a minute before he began stroking down their backs, hoping that this was what they needed.

Their fur was thick between his fingers. Not as coarse as he expected. After their bath, he could see that Ailsa had the typically grey-wolf coloring. Her fur was a warm grey on her back, fading to a soft tan, almost white in some spots. She blinked up at him sleepily. Duncan was darker, the grey of his darker spots was almost charcoal. His underbelly was a sandy brown. As Simon stroked through his fur, some strands of red glinted subtly in the light.

“I’ll, uh, be out in the living room…” Johnny whispered to him, with a thumb hooked over his shoulder. There was a soft, knowing smirk on his face that Simon decided not to interrogate in front of the little ones.

On his way out, Johnny flicked off the big light, leaving only the moon to illuminate the room. A cry from Ailsa had Simon turning on his bedside lamp, casting a warm glow through the space.

He was a different man than the one who used to be a child. Simon felt so far removed from his youth. It was like he had been born when he clawed his way from the depths like a Lazarus risen from his own Hell. How could he have any idea what a child would find comforting?

But this? Their pain? Their grief? This was something he understood. He wished they didn’t know what the blood of their parents looked like, but they did. And their parents were gone. It was just him and Johnny.

Flashes of the brittle fear he saw in their mother’s eyes haunted him. Ghost had been the reason for fear like that before. He was just as much a monster as the hunters he had killed.

Duncan nosed his way closer into Simon’s side, startling him from the dark turn of his thoughts. Big brown eyes framed by the most delicate-looking lashes gazed up at him. The boy gave him a soft yip, as if expecting something.

“I don’t understand…” he whispered, all his concerns about his capabilities as a guardian racing back to the forefront of his mind from the shallow spot they had sunk to.

Duncan just flopped further on top of him, now laying half of his body across his lap as Simon leaned back against the headboard. Ailsa once again came to his rescue, nabbing the dog-eared copy of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” from the table at his bedside. With new, baby-tooth shaped indents, she plopped it into his lap and settled down, mirroring her brother on his other side.

Smiling softly, he rubbed her ears in a silent thanks.

He began reading, starting at the beginning rather than the spot where he had left off. Simon had reread it enough times that he could probably recite certain passages from memory.

The low cadence of his narration was enough to begin to lull both the pups to sleep.

When he was sure that the woes of Victor Frankenstein and sent them off to the warm embrace of dreams, Simon dog-eared the page he was on and set to extracting himself. Before long, his movements had woken them up and set them crying again.

Johnny ducked his head into the door at the sound, but chuckled at the scene before him. “Don’t think you’ll be sleeping anywhere else, Si.”

“Oh piss off,” he retorted before remembering the young ears. Shit. He was going to have to get better about that.

“Sweet dreams,” he sang, leaving them once again.

When they saw he was settling into bed for the night as well, Duncan and Ailsa quickly went back to sleep. Exhausted, he joined them.

A howl woke him. It resonated deep in his bones, leaving him shaken and reaching for the gun he kept in his bedside drawer.

Ghost quickly cleared the room, finding no threat, but before he could put the pistol away, Johnny burst into the room.

“Put that away!” he snapped, moving to the crying pup in the bed.

Simon wiped a hand down his face, flicking on the safety and returning the firearm to it’s spot in the drawer. He turned to investigate the writhing mass of distressed puppies.

Johnny was softly cooing at them, stroking Duncan whom he held in his lap.

“Oh it’s alright, darling. You’re going to be okay.”

When he realized he has Simon’s attention as well, he crawled out of Johnny’s lap and into his own, pushing past his sister who was whining softly as well. Already wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, his mind caught up.

“Did you have a nightmare, love?” he whispered, pulling away only enough to look him in the face.

He refused to put distance between them, chasing after him as he nodded. Simon held him close again, moving up and out of the bed to pace along the bed, gently bouncing him the way he used to do with Joseph.

Glancing back at the bed, he noticed Johnny had gotten under the covers, crawling in to curl around Ailsa as she watched them, her expression worried.

“I’m going to go out into the living room. Get some sleep,” he murmured to them. As he stepped out of the bedroom, he heard Ailsa’s soft whine and Johnny’s quick reassurance.

Duncan still hadn’t settled, so he continued, walking back and forth along the length of the living room.

Evidence of Johnny’s presence was everywhere, from the blanket strewn along the couch where he had been sleeping, to the duffel bag in the corner, to the leather-bound sketchbook on the side table.

“It’s going to be alright,” Simon spoke quietly into the fur on Duncan’s head. His ears twitched, brushing the velvet-soft fur against his lips.

Another cry, quieter this time, was his response.

It took about another forty minutes before Duncan fell back asleep in Simon’s arms. They had eventually made it onto the sofa, but he carefully stood up, returning to the bedroom. His mind was utterly blank beyond the need to get back to sleep, so it didn’t faze him when he returned to find Ailsa and a shifted Johnny curled up together in his bed. Simon just pushed Johnny further over, and crawled in with Duncan.

His last thought before he fell into a dreamless sleep was that he ought to get a bigger bed.

#soapghost #fic #ghostsoap #my fic #werewolf soap #reluctant dads

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uwukillmenowowo · 6 months ago

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𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥 [Tokyo Debunker X F!Reader]

[ 6 | Cursed] 『😈』

Key's for the story: Insert - Narrative - And then she stared at her reflection in the mirror [Insert] - Author speaking - [Eyyy there- wazzup readers] "Insert" - Talking - "Hey there!" [But can also be air quotes] 'Insert' - Thinking - 'Dame he's cute...' "Insert" - Whispering - "I- I messed up..." [But can also be an emphasis on a word/phrase, or flashback] (Insert) - Inner mind..? - (Deadass doesn't know how to explain it here) *Insert* - Action - *Sighs with their head down*[INSERT] - Magic - [OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!] or [IGGNAIM!]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: [ 5 | Quiz] 『❓』

━━━✦❘༻🔮༺❘✦━━━

[Book 0] The Academy of Ghouls

[Chapter 6] I've Really Been Cursed..?

━━━✦❘༻🔮༺❘✦━━━

{Your POV}

~~~~~

"I-In one year... I'm going to die?" I asked, shocked and not believing it. "At this rate, yes." The chancellor slumped his shoulders, then laid a pamphlet on the desk. Darkwick Academy is known as Japan's most elite educational institution. But that's just on the surface. This is our true form." He flipped the pamphlet over. "The Anomalous Investigation Institute...?" I read.

"Yes. This is an educational facility managed by the Anomalous Investigation Institute. For many years, we have nurtured extraordinary talents here to protect the world from the threat o anomalies." I bit my lip. "But no one knows about that... right?" The chancellor nodded. "Of course not. Only those associated with the Institute. If the public leaned of the existence of anomalies, society would descend into unnecessary chaos." I flipped through the pamphlet, mind racing.

"Our Mission... To face the unknown and the arcane without fear, and preserve world peace." 'Is this real..? I've really been cursed..?' I felt as though all the blood was draining from my body. I swallowed, but my throat was bone dry. I finally squeezed out a few words. "I was just taking the train home..." The chancellor gave me a sympathetic look. "Yes, terrible business, really. That anomaly is very troublesome... That's why we chose Hoshibami, one of the more aggressive ghouls, to handle it. But he failed to capture or even defeat it. What's the point of ghoul students if they can't do what's on the tin?"

"Ghouls..?" I questioned. "Yes, ghouls are not ordinary humans. They are physically tougher and possess certain special abilities. There's something in the pamphlet about them... ah yes, here!" The chancellor turned the Pamphlet and I read. "In addition to general admissions students, Darkwick has a special admissions program. Participants in this program must be ghouls to qualify..?" The chancellor explained, "Only ghouls can become special admissions students, so they're usually referred to as ghoul students."

"S-so they're not human..?" I asked unsure. "What defines a human is a hotly debated topic within the Institute.. There are many different viewpoints... Oh, don't get me started! We'll be here until the cows come home! Anyways, ghouls are kind of like the Darkwick special forces. Day and night, they risk their loves to preserve public peace... or they're supposed to, at least... It seems that this time, they were a little too late..." A wave of sympathy washed over the chancellor's face. It seemed my unfortunate incident was an exception. "Ordinarily, we would not be able to discuss these things with an outsider such as yourself. But the Mesmer Matches didn't on you, did they?"

The chancellor held out a small, familiar bottle. "Apparently not..." I responded. "Hmm... Perhaps the curse is canceling them out. If the matches worked, then she wouldn't be cursed anymore, after all." I sighed before taking in a deep breath again. "H-Have I... really been cursed..?" The chancellor didn't answer. "i-It's just a little hard to swallow."

The chancellor nodded. "It's true, I'm afraid." The chancellor smiled sadly at me, then reached forward and rang a little bell on his desk. Seconds later, a cat bounded down the spiral staircase adn rubbed itself against the chancellor's legs. "Ha ha, that tickles! Always after pats, aren't you?" The cat meowed and the chancellor asked the cat to get professor Nicolas.

'That can't be... Am I really going to die..? Just like that?' I thought before the chancellor spoke, "There's one more thing I must tell you." The chancellor's expression became suddenly grim. "We place all cursed persons under surveillance so we can observe the progression of the curse. This is to prevent more victims like you- and most importantly, it's for your own sake. We must study your curse in order to find a cure." I bit my lip, knowing what that means.

"By surveillance... do you mean..?" "Until your curse has been broken, you cannot leave this academy." Just then, Professor Nicolas came. "Chancellor? It's Nicolas." "Ah! There you are! Excellent timing! I was just explaining her curse and the detention process." I bit my lip harder, flinching at the word "detention". "Right... How are you doing, [Y/n]?" Professor Nicolas's voice was kind, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. Countless possibilities flashed through m mind, but trying to understand just made me more confused. "You're quite pale... Chancellor, do you mind if we stop by the treatment room before admitting her?"

The chancellor nodded. "That's fine. But Professor Nicolas... Please take care that she doesn't escape." ".....yes, I understand." "Ah, yes. We will need to check your belongings, so please leave everything here." I groaned and looked up at Professor Nicolas signaling to him that I wasn't going to hand over my wand. He just nodded and reluctantly I dropped everything else on the tray presented before me.

My phone, wallet, and my bag with Che'nya's keychain. What hurt me though is that some of my gifts from RSA were in my bag. "Let's go, shall we?" Professor Nicolas said. I nodded, stood up and started to follow him out. "Don't let yourself be too disheartened, [Y/n]. I hope you get some rest." I didn't answer him. Assisted by Professor Nicolas, I exited the room, still in confusion.

"Are you able to walk?" the professor asked me. I nodded. "I'm sorry. The treatment room is in Mortkranken, so it's a bit of a walk from here." "Umm... Professor Nicolas?" I called. "Yes?" I sucked in a breath. "The chancellor told me I was going to die in a year..." "Darkwick is on the cutting edge of anomalous research. Unfortunately, that means your diagnosis... is likely quite accurate." I sighed. "So it's true?" "We dedicate ourselves day and night to anomalous research to ensure that people everywhere can live in peace. That includes reserching ways to lift curses like the one affecting you. We will do our utmost to help you. Let's overcome this challenge together, okay?"

I narrowed by brow. "But why can't I leave exactly? I know curse research but can't it be like I stay home and inform you of new changes?" The professor sent me a sad look. "I'm sorry. This is Institute policy." I sighed and shoved my face into my hands. When suddenly, Professor Nicolas's phone rang. "Sorry, that's me. Could you hold on a moment? I need to take this." Professor Nicolas turned around, at that moment I thought of the worst.

'If I let Professor Nicolas take me wherever it is he's taking me, I won't be able to leave...' I took a slow step back. 'Now that I'm paying attention to my body, I can feel part of my magic being sealed. It's just a portion but still...' I then took another step back. 'If I stay here, I won't be able to find my actual way home.' I started taking more steps back, making sure that Professor Nicolas didn't hear me. When I got far enough, I started running.

'I refused to be a part of this!'

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: [ 7 | Run] 『🏃‍♀️』

#𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥 #original story #tokyo debunker x reader #twisted wonderland reader

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ninjnerd-anaklusmos · 1 year ago

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16 for for dia and luci? Either ship or platonic, it doesn't matter

You got it! Thanks for being my first ask <3. I hope you like it! (It can be read as platonic or romantic, so whichever you prefer to envision!)

If wanna participate in the drabbles, click here!

The wine was spectacular, expected from such a lavish establishment, but it was that much sweeter without six annoying siblings vying for his attention. Or doing something stupid and making themselves look like fools in his presence.

Audacity

Lucifer sighed as the tension of the past month finally started to bleed free from his posture, allowing him a brief reprieve from the chaos. The atmosphere of the restaurant was wonderful as well, soft lighting and streamlined service.

Although, that could be attributed to the Prince of the Devildom sitting across from him, swirling his own glass of wine in hand, smiling with delight. Lucifer took a sip from his glass, setting it down.

"I cannot begin to thank you for taking me out this evening," he said, a bit embarrassed recalling how Diavolo had managed to get him to leave his work for a few hours. He still didn't have all the details, but Barbatos had apparently claimed the paperwork for the next week had been completed already.

Lucifer knew when he was being played, but the idea of a few hours of relaxation had been far too good to pass up, especially when he didn't have to worry about falling behind.

Clearing his throat, Lucifer continued. "I didn't realize how badly I needed a break."

Diavolo waved his free hand dismissively, setting his glass down as well. "Of course. It certainly isn't healthy to overwork. I thought this would be nice for the both of us."

He smiled as he finished the sentence, and Lucifer returned the expression. It was a lovely way to spend an evening, with nothing to interrupt and ruin the relaxing atmosphere.

Buzz. Buzz.

Lucifer frowned, glancing down to the edge of the table, where he had set his D.D.D when he had sat down. He glanced between it and Diavolo, who looked amused, not annoyed. "I'll just look at it," Lucifer murmured, slowly grabbing the device.

He steadfastly ignored Diavolo's snickering. It was probably nothing anyway, just a quick check-in from Beel, perhaps.

HoL GC

[8:01 pm]

Mammoney: HOLY FUCK

L3V1: lmao

KittyDestroyer (fuck u amso): STOP PINGING THE GC. LUCIFER CAN SEE IT YOU MORONS

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, half-tempted to ask what was going on, but no. He had promised Diavolo that he wouldn't allow himself to be distracted by his siblings being fools. He was a better man than that, going back on a promise.

Clearly, they were all goofing around and nothing of consequence was going on. Although Satan’s message was concerning, Lucifer chose to refocus himself on dinner with Diavolo.

Setting his phone down, he opened his mouth to apologize, only to find Doavolo staring wide-eyed at his own D.D.D.'s screen.

"What?" Lucifer asked, fingers itching to grab the phone and read what it read. "What is it?"

Diavolo sighed loudly, wordlessly handing his device to Lucifer. He looked disappointed. Who had the audacity to disappoint the Prince of Hell?

Time Man

I am so sorry, My Lord, but Mammon is in the hospital. (8:03 PM.)

I would have sent this to Lucifer, but I didn't want to stress him. (8:03 PM.)

Lucifer gaped at the device, slowly looking up at Diavolo, who was torn between laughing and shaking his head in disappointment. "I… how?"

Diavolo shrugged helplessly, waving one of the waitstaff over. "I suppose we should go and yell at him for whatever idiotic accident caused the injury?"

"No wonder Leviathan was laughing at him," Lucifer fumed, angrily sending a quick message of his own to his family's group chat. They owed him another night.

#answered ask #anon asks #thanks for the ask!#obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me dialuci #platonic or romantic #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #my writing #my drabbles

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kaaytea · 3 years ago

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How about being the manager of Inarizaki, Nekoma, Seijoh and Shiratorizawa and how the boys would feel when they finally finally get a manager? :0

New Manager

⤷Includes: Nekoma, Inarizaki, Seijoh, Shiratorizawa

A/n: I haven't written for the HQ boys in a hot minute so I was sUper hyped for this! Thank you for the request, dear 💕

----------------------------------------------------------

Nekoma

Nekoma has been manager-less for so long that literally the entire team was dumbfounded when they spotted you chilling next to Nekomata

Like hello??? Who are you and what are you doing in their gym???

There's a good few seconds of silence when Nekomata introduces you

Despite being cats, they greatly resembled their Fukurodani rivals as they blinked back at you with big curious eyes

That is until Yamamoto slumps to his knees and starts tearing up, blabbering on about how they've been blessed with a manager while a quiet Fukunaga pats his back in an almost humouring manner

Yamamoto's out burst is what loosens up the team and they start making their way to introduce themselves to you

The first is Kuroo, who approaches you with a welcoming smirk which was quickly followed by a gentle smile from Kai and a reassuring pat on the back from Yaku

The first years are VERY eager to meet you! Lev and Inouka are bouncing around you spewing out questions to the point where Yaku has to kick them both and send them off to warm up

Sweet Shibayama very nervously bows at you and thanks you for taking care of the team (what a baby 🤧💕)

The entire team absolutely loves you by the end of your first day (yes even the aloof creature that is Kenma, though he'll never admit it)

Nekoma's inner team dynamic is very familial and you're immediately sucked into the little family vibes they got going on

The first years love to be around you! (Specifically Lev bc you're not as mean to him as everyone else)

The first years are always volunteering to help you carry equipment or water bottles

You once caught one of the jokes Fukunaga muttered during practice so now the two of you bounce little puns and jokes off of eachother to see who can get the other to laugh first (he is currently winning. although, you got him to tear up from laughing so hard once which you've been counting as 10 wins)

The third years tend to mother hen you a bit, specifically Yaku and Kuroo

Kuroo made it very clear to you that you're apart of the team even if you don't play on the court, so as captain it's his job to make sure all his players are ok (mentally, physically, socially, you name it! He's always looking out for you and is basically your big brother)

You and Yaku bond over the fact that you're both the unofficial team moms. The two of you are very organized and have a whole ass check list that you BOTH go over at least twice before the team leaves for a game or training camp

Kai is like your calm in the storm that is Nekoma. The two of you have had numerous conversations about anything from books to cafés and he's always willing to lend an ear if you need to rant

Kenma is a fairly distant person but he warms up to you when he notices how caring you are. He even let's you play his DS on the train rides to and from Nekoma

Inarizaki

You're a brave soul if you are willingly becoming the manager of Inarizaki

Kita is actually the one who asked if you wanted to be the teams manager

He saw you cleaning the board in a classroom during lunch break and was impressed by how well of a job you did

It doesn't matter if you said yes out of fear from Kita's blank stare or because you were genuinely interested bc now you're standing in the volleyball gym, clad in Inarizaki's signature maroon tracksuit

The team notices you instantly, particularly a certain blonde Miya

Before Kita even got a chance to introduce you to everyone, Atsumu had wandered over to you with a lazy smile tugging at his lips

Atsumu introduced himself and then started asking what you were doing here

"Are ya lost?" "Ya here to admire me?" "Ya dating one of the players?"

You didn't get a chance to answer his questions as Osamu lovingly threw a Volleyball at Atsumu, cutting off any moment you had to respond

The only problem was that Atsumu noticed the volleyball rOcketing towards him and scrambled out of the way like a startled cat, leaving the ball to hit you instead of its intended target

The silence that hung over the gym was deafening as the younger team members watched Kita and Aran rush over to assist your now bloody nose

Just as quick as it had started, the silence was broken by Atsumu yelling at his brother for hitting a helpless person in the face and the gym quickly descended into madness

Aran held a towel to your nose and gave you a few encouraging pats on the back as the both of you watched Kita chew out the twins (safe to say Kita was hard on them during practice)

Osamu approached you during a water break to apologize and, to the surprise of the entire team, gave you the extra pudding he had as a peace offering

Since that incident Osamu and Atsumu stopped throwing volleyballs at each other's heads (at least when you were around that is)

The team is also surprisingly protective of you

The glares people get at tournaments if they try to flirt with you are terrifying

You become pretty close with Suna as the both of you tend to sit back and watch Atsumu and Osamu fight (you tried to step in once but they literally only respond to Kita so it didn't do much)

Suna also pats you on the head whenever he passes you

(it's something he does to his little sister to show some form of affection/appreciation and now he does it to you for the very same reasons)

This goes with out saying, but the twins love you

Osamu still feels bad about the whole hitting you in the face thing so he always shares any snacks he's got on him with you

Atsumu truly just likes being babied by you

Any ounce of praise or happy smiles directed at him has him acting like a puppy

(does 'Tsumu have a tiny crush on you? Yep he totally does!)

Kita and Aran are absolute sweethearts!! They are both very grateful for all the work you put in and treat you to boba every other week as a thank you :))

Seijoh

It was a new school year and you decided to push yourself out of your comfort zone a bit

What better way to do that then be a manager for a sports team!

Apparently one of your classmates let it slip that you were looking to be a manager for a sports team because you were approached by a very buff and very attractive guy a few days after asking if you'd be interested in helping the volleyball team

You happily agreed to do a trial day that afternoon, to which the player, who you now know as Iwaizumi-san, breathed a sigh of relief and said he'd pick you up after school to take you to the gym

So the school day is over, Iwaizumi meets you outside your classroom and you're off!

As you walk to the gym he fills you in on some of the tasks the manager would have to do

The job didn't sound that terrible so you were a bit confused as to why Iwaizumi was having such a hard time finding a manager

"Let's just say that the applicants were more interested in staring at our captain than the actual job." He had told you

Ok so first unofficial rule....don't stare at the Seijoh volleyball team's captain? A bit odd but who were you to judge, maybe the guy was shy and didn't like attention

Your thoughts were cut off by the crisp slap! Of a ball hitting the floor followed by a few short yells from the players littered across the court

Your attention was then caught by the sensation of someone draping their arm over your shoulders and a tangy apple smell invading your senses

"Oh? I didn't know you were dating someone, Iwa-chan~"

Iwaizumi shoved the brunette off of you and quickly explained that you were just here to test out being the manager for the day

The player's eyes lit up and he turned to you with a bubbly smile, introducing himself as Seijoh's captain, Oikawa Tooru

Ah, Captain.... Now you knew why they were having trouble finding someone who didn't stare

Your first day went fairly smooth, just a few blunders that were quickly forgotten by the team after Oikawa cheerfully told you: "Everyone has to start somewhere, (y/n)-chan!"

After the first week you had to admit that the Aoba Johsai volleyball team were quickly becoming some of your best friends, you all fit together like a dysfunctional family

Makki, Mattsun, and Iwa would always agree/praise you when you joined in one the daily Oikawa roast session

Oikawa (when he wasn't pouting about how "mean" you are to him) was fairly sweet to you

He spent the first month helping you learn the rules about volleyball and explaining the lingo the team often used during plays

Although, he does jokingly flirt with you about 40 thousand times a week so...

Kindaichi is a nervous wreak around you the first few weeks. Eventually his nervous demeanor melts away. Now he goes to you whenever he needs someone to toss the ball up for him so he can practice his spikes

Kunimi likes you simply because you let him get away with napping during water breaks

Kyotani acts like you annoy him but if anyone made you cry or hurt you in some way he would burn the entire gym down in a heartbeat

Did I mention that Seijoh are also very protective of you?

When at tournaments they travel in a small pack with you in the middle to reduce the chances of you getting hit on

Shiratorizawa

Shiratorizawa is a very nice and prestigious school so you thought why not participate in an extracurricular that would be beneficial for, not only your resume, but you yourself as well!

Out of all the clubs you chose volleyball which you're starting to regret a bit since one of your friends informed you that the team is a powerhouse school

Which means you can't make a bad impression or silly mistakes.....at all

That entire philosophy is thrown oUt the window on your second day as the official manager

You somehow managed to trip over your own feet and slam into a cart full of spare balls AND spill the water bottles you were carrying all over yourself

You were hoping that the team, by some miraculous reason, didn't notice but the stifled giggles from a certain red head said otherwise

You would give anything for the ground to just swallow you up and disappear forever

But then you saw a pair of gym shoes standing in front of you and when you looked up you were met with THE Ushijima Wakatoshi, captain and ace of shiratorizawa, offering you help to stand up

You hadn't seen Ushijima be more than a stoic and intimidating guy so you were even more surprised when he gave one of his spare shirts to change into now that you had spilt water on yourself

I guess you could say your little clumsy episode was what broke the ice for you and the team

Tendou loves talking with you

You're an interesting person to him and he finds great pleasure in teasing you (in his own words it's "out of love")

Ushijima ended up not being as intimidating as you originally pegged him to be. Instead, he was just a quiet guy who surprisingly could say some pretty funny things (whether or not he intended it to be funny)

Goshiki just loves you. Period.

You praise him and give him head pats so he couldn't be happier!

Tendou and Shirabu tease him all the time about how he has a case of puppy love for you (which Goshiki aggRessively denies no matter how red his face is)

Semi is someone who is grateful for your assistance with the team and does his very best to get Tendou out of your hair when you're trying to do your manager work. He also shares his headphones with you on long bus rides so you can listen to music together!

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jmalchanceux · 4 years ago

Text

Pregnancy (Headcanon) - Sombra, Symmetra and Ashe

A little bit about these pregnant ladies

Sombra / Olivia

- She doesn't talk about children until you bring up the subject, due to her complex childhood and the lack of a family base she never thought she would be good enough to raise and take care of another life, when you finally bring up the subject she pretends she never imagined the possibility but talks about how she would be a terrible mother bringing all her insecurities to the surface, after being reassured by you Sombra would ask for some time to think;

- When she thinks a lot and comes to the conclusion you can bet she is 100% on it, so much so that she will spend entire nights researching and, if necessary, hacking clinics until she finds the most reliable one, when they go to analyze the sperm donors she will be a thousand times worse until she finds someone perfect;

- The first few months are difficult, she suffers a lot with constant nausea and has to refrain from her usual snacks because the baby doesn't like them, apparently the little bean loves light food and lots of vegetables which makes her upset. Olivia has never been happier to be able to work from home since pregnancy demands a lot of her;

- There are many conversations in Spanish with her own belly, almost always it is her arguing with him or complaining about her back pain, but sometimes you catch her singing lullabies or getting excited about telling him about her next job, she is pretty sure the child will be born knowing how to hack like his mother;

- She will nickname him "El Jefecito" (Little Boss) because he started to boss her around from conception... And this annoys her a bit because she has never taken orders from anyone before;

- You chose not to know the baby's gender until the time of birth, she really doesn't care about that and likes the idea of having a surprise at the birth, you even thought about betting but you know that you are competitive and will find a way to cheat. The baby's room had been decorated with lots of purple and blue things, Sombra even wanted to put in some neon details and managed to get you to agree with the famous abandoned dog's face. There is also the best technology for the safety and well being of the baby, the best for El Jefecito;

- The delivery is incredibly scary in the videos she watched and she literally freaked out when she woke up with a bed soaked when the bag burst, pushed you out of bed straight to the floor with no patience to try to wake you up in a conventional way;

- But when you stand by their side and are there for them at every step she felt calmer, so between handshakes, words of encouragement, a few tears and lots of swearing she gave birth to your little bundle of joy, your son, Nicolas Colomar - (your last name).

(Nicolas means victorious/victory of the people, I think it is a simple but strong name like Olivia)

Symmetra / Satya

- She has always wanted children even though it doesn't seem like it and she is very idealistic, a copy of herself to spoil and teach everything she knows, she wants to raise genius children to improve the world and already imagines how they will be in the future, but no matter what they choose to do she will always support them and be very proud of them... even deep down she wishes they would follow in her footsteps;

- Satya is very direct in approaching the subject when she thinks it is time, she even has a list of handpicked clinics and donor catalogs saved to present to you after you say yes;

- As incredible as it may seem, she takes the first ones of pregnancy in a calm way, balancing a healthy and regular diet, hydration and regular physical exercises, in which you always actively participate, you also go to many courses on maternity and get an extensive collection of books on pregnancy and how to deal with the baby's first months;

- Both of you almost faint in the doctor's office when you discover in the fourth month during the gender consultation that you are expecting twins and the other baby had been hiding behind the bigger one during the previous consultations, by the way, they are two strong and healthy identical boys;

- She used to call the babies according to their size, like "Little Bean" and "Sweet Pea", but since the discovery of the second baby they are now called "Thing 1" and "Thing 2", you couldn't resist the urge to buy little boys printed clothes with their nicknames on them and she cried a lot with the gift;

- Symmetra wanted to design their room by herself at first and it seemed that nothing would change her idea, until she woke you up with a water-green color palette and made you choose one. The babies' room is mirrored (one side equal to the other, symmetrical), the walls were painted white with many details in light aqua green and salmon, there are also many stuffed animals and it is full of toys, mainly Montessori since she values development and education;

- The idea of childbirth doesn't really scare her and as you have read many books about during the whole pregnancy you feel prepared in some way, when the time comes everything is already prepared for the trip to the hospital, everything that is needed organized in a bag;

- The delivery went as planned and Satya seemed calm the whole time (at least calmer than you), only when you are with your boys in your arms she confesses that she was terrified when she entered the delivery room but that every second and every twinge of pain was worth it for Darsh and Evak Vaswani - (your last name).

(Darsh means sight and Evak means equal, they are two different names, full of meaning that match Satya's personality type, and they are also striking)

Ashe / Elizabeth

- Ashe never thought about being a mother, she didn't want to be like her parents or raise neglected and troubled children like her but watching her take care of her friends' children she began to imagine what it would be like if you added a third member to their little family, she wondered if the child would have your eyes or her hair, if they would be explosive like her or inherit your intelligence, endless possibilities;

- "Do you think I would be like my parents?" she asked over dinner, you denied confusedly not quite knowing what this was about or what direction the conversation was taking, but you didn't have to since you knew she was very different from her progenitors, whom she abhorred in a way. "I think I want to be a mother." She spoke as if it was nothing, but you could see in the depths of her eyes that it was a big deal. After a long talk with you calming her down and telling her how she would be a perfect mother she was finally convinced of this and the next month they looked for a renowned clinic;

- She was extremely irritated during the first months since she could do almost nothing under doctor's orders, this woman just desperately wanted to shoot someone, not to mention the nausea and vomiting that pulled her straight to the bathroom every morning, she almost pulled her own hair out in sheer frustration;

- She was nervous about the ultrasound, because seeing that blur on the screen meant that it was something concrete and it was there between you, when you heard the little heart beat was the first time you saw her crying uncontrollably, the second time was when you found out you were expecting a girl;

- At first Elizabeth thought nicknames were ridiculous and called the baby just baby, but as soon as she found out it was going to be a girl she started calling her "Little Princess", "Mama's Little Girl", and "Little Rose", sometimes the baby seems to understand and react to affectionate nicknames;

- It is already a fact that this little girl will be very spoiled, it was a little strange for the footmans to see such a sweet and soft side from their usual tough boss, she didn't mind showing her drooling mother side as long as they continue to respect her. She made everyone work to create a room worthy of a princess, Ashe monitored every detail and made you make sure everything was as she wanted it, the end result was a big pink room full of frills, teddy bears, dolls and expensive furniture with roses carved and designed;

- Her waters broke during a work meeting and she panicked immediately since she hadn't really thought about the birth, the family doctor had been called in immediately to deliver the baby at home. Soon the shock turned to frustration and the contractions turned frustration into irritability. "You're going to carry the next one, this pain is unbearable!" she shouted in between and you just laughed nervously "Are you laughing at me? (your name), I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!";

- By the time the doctor arrived the dilation was enough for labor, after almost an hour of pushing and her destroying your hand the spoiled little princess finally came into the world, for three days the Deadlocks celebrated the birth of Emmaline Rose Ashe.

- "I was serious, you carry the next one."

(Emmaline means paceful home and I thought it was extremely cute and chic and Rose there's not much to say, it's the flower literally. Ashe has this classy look and roses seem to have real meaning for her, so I think the combination is valid)

Buy the author a coffee / Masterlist / AO3

#overwatch #overwatch headcanons #overwatch imagines #sombra overwatch #olivia colomar #sombra x reader #symmetra #satya vaswani #symmetra x reader #ashe overwatch #elizabeth caledonia ashe #ashe x reader

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voiceswithoutlips · 4 years ago

Text

Calico - Chapter Eight

— pairing: Hybrid ot7 x Human Reader (Female) — genre: hybrid AU, fluff, angst, slow burn (like real slow), eventual smut — word count: 3k — Rating: G — warnings: Slight mention of past abuse, description of a panic attack. — beta: Thank you @taegularities and @joheunsaram <3

Tag List || Masterlist || Schedule

— chapter summary:

Y/N is having a hard day, who will comfort her?

— A/N: Guys, I’m so bad at summaries, if this was an exam my grades would’ve been in the negative. Anyway, welcome to the new chapter! I know I was supposed to post fallen, but somehow I ended up writing Calico instead.

I’ve had a bad case of writer’s block this week so writing this chapter was really painful, words refused to come out of my brain xD I hope you like it! You guys have been so awesome, all your feedback is really helpful. Thank you so much <3

— taglist: @lovelyseomin @anaac28 @ghostkat23 @btswdwsmhrdt @sweeneyblue1 @luvtaeha @taegularities @ aajames217 @ littlewolfieposts @nochujeonjk @hamiltrashlebo @minyoonsh @hoebii @ sunshinee0-0 @egm09 @cstobitk @splaterparty0-0 @missseoulite @mirawi-fox @sea-nevermind-enthusiast @hemmofluke @seaoffangirling @gee-nee @woopetals @secretbangtnn @vminkook-ownsme

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 3.5 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8.5

I made my way downstairs in search of breakfast. Ice cream, that’s what I needed. It was that kind of a day. I was tired, jet lagged, and the tension in the house had me on edge. The flight home was fairly uneventful, except for the part where Jimin had gotten scared of flying. He had asked to hold my hand, but by the time we were in the air, the hybrid was practically sitting on my lap. Not that I minded, he was hella cuddly and his purring was downright therapeutic.

When I had asked Jungkook, if it would be okay to bring the newer hybrids home, the bunny had sounded excited, but as soon as we had gotten home, the mood had suddenly shifted. It was not the welcome I was expecting.

First, Jungkook’s hair was the color of the rainbow. His beautiful black locks were turned into a colorful mess, his white bunny ears poking out of it in stark contrast. It was a riot of colors, artfully mixed together, and I felt like I was looking at rainbow pasta. Not that the bunny didn’t pull it off, he looked really cute in it, but somehow I had a raging suspicion that it hadn’t been Jungkook’s idea.

Then, there was the growling match. I had never seen Jungkook so aggressive before. The usually sweet and well behaved bunny had started growling at Jimin as soon as we’d entered the house.. That had set off a chain reaction with Namjoon and Seokjin joining in to protect their younger packmate.

On top of that, I had to go to Seoul for three days to take care of business. I had to visit the main office to attend a few meetings and sign some papers. The whole time I felt guilty about leaving the hybrids alone. I was constantly worried that somehow they’d end up fighting. By the time I came back, somehow, someway, Jason had managed to convince Jimin to dye his hair pink. He was on a warpath.

And lastly, there was the issue of a certain stuffed penguin that went missing - my nights were sleepless without him. All in all, this had to have been one of the shittiest weeks, and it felt like I was losing my grip on reality.

I stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, struggling to keep them open. Unlike Jason, who was cheerfully humming, I was not a morning person. Seokjin was busy near the stove, cooking something and by the smell wafting from the pan, I could tell that it was something delicious. I had thanked every existing god when I’d learned that the sugar glider hybrid was actually an excellent chef. The first morning, he had seen Jason cook breakfast, he’d been horrified, promptly taking over the kitchen after that. Even Jungkook had begrudgingly ate his food.

My stomach grumbled as I peered in the pan. Kimchi fried rice, delicious. Unlike Jimin and Jungkook, the two older hybrids weren’t really that affectionate. I wondered if it was because they weren’t used to me yet or if they just had a different temperament. I needed to do more research on that.

I plopped down on the chair with a groan, resting my head on the counter, hands securely wrapped around my stomach. Jason gave me an enthusiastic “good morning” and I shot him a middle finger, too tired to curse at him. The bastard chuckled.

I was debating if I should stab him with a fork when I felt hands wrapping around my waist, long fingers intertwined with mine. Jungkook bent down to nuzzle the side of my face. His muscular body pressed close. My lips curled into a small smile as I made small happy noises. My brain wasn’t awake enough to form coherent sentences yet. I needed my cup of coffee or better yet, some delicious ice cream.

Jungkook’s arms tightened around me possessively, I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he let out a low growl. I opened my eyes to see Jimin standing near the chair, looking distressed, hands balled into fists at his sides. His tail was swishing rapidly in agitation, ears flattened to his head. He was biting his lower lip, trying his best not to respond to Jungkook’s hostility.

“Bunny no,” I croaked, patting his hands, my voice thick with sleep. I lifted my head, extending a hand to Jimin. Jungkook took his cue and reluctantly let me go, keeping hold of my other hand. Jimin grabbed my hand and with his other one checked my forehead, a worried look on his face.

“Are you sick?” he asked, gnawing on his lip.

“I’m just sleepy.” He giggled at my pout and graced me with a forehead kiss. He sat down next to me, and now I was sandwiched between two hybrids who were holding my hands, glaring daggers at each other. I rested my forehead on the counter with a sigh. What was I going to do with them?

Once again I was in a dilemma. I could scold them and make them shake hands, like a couple of kids, or I could let them handle it on their own, like adults. Taking care of four hybrids was tiring. I shot a quick glance at Seokjin, who was now setting up the table; he was ignoring the two younger hybrids in front of him, but his tail was curled tightly, ears flat. It seemed as if he was tense too.

“Guys, I need breakfast,” I said, reluctantly pulling my hands from their grip. I made my way to the fridge to grab a tub of my favorite ice cream, ignoring the stares that the hybrids were giving me. I had to stop myself from pulling Jason’s ear as I passed him, not now Y/N. The revenge for ruining Jungkook’s hair had to be elaborately planned, something memorable, just like old days. Like the time when I had super glued his shirt cuffs closed, so he couldn't put his hands through the sleeves. He had started this war, I was going to finish it.

“I like your garden!” Namjoon said as he walked in through the back door. Ears perked up, an excited glint in his eyes. I didn’t even know he was out there. I wondered if he could help me with the hybrid situation, he was a pack leader after all. He had informed me about hybrid pack dynamics on the plane while I cuddled a sleepy Jimin. Apparently he was their alpha, the leader of their pack, Seokjin was second in command and Jimin was their maknae. He was excited to meet Jungkook, since he was a rabbit hybrid, they're usually very docile and friendly. Needless to say, we had both been shocked at the bunny's behavior.

“I’m glad you like it. Maybe you could help me with it?”

“Really? I would love to!”

We all moved to the seldom used dining table for breakfast - now that there were six of us, the kitchen counter was too small to occupy us all. I debated where to sit, I didn't want to take sides in the hybrid cold war, so I chose to sit at the head of the table, safe middle ground. I knew Jungkook would want to share the ice cream. I wondered if the other hybrids would too, so I had brought extra spoons, just in case.

"Seokjin, this is delicious!" Jason said as soon as he took a bite of the fried rice. "Where did you learn to cook like this?" I couldn't help but smile at the hint of envy in his voice.

"Madame hired a professional chef to teach me when she found out I liked to cook," he said shyly, ears turning pink from all the attention. It was his cutest trait: whenever someone looked at him, his ears would start to redden.

"That was nice of her," I said dryly, the distaste apparent in my tone.

"She was really nice," Namjoon said pointedly, clearly disliking my tone.

“Clair was kind, she saved us from our previous owners and gave us a home,” Jimin joined him.

"Oh?" Jason said, trying to coax some details. The three hybrids shared a quick look. Jungkook had abandoned his fried rice and was digging into my ice cream, his ears perked, listening in on the conversation.

“My first owner was a gambler, but he didn’t play poker. He and his rich friends were into blood sports. They had their own dog fighting ring. He had raised me since I was a pup, trained me to be a fighter, forced me to participate. One day, Clair saw me at a party and she wanted to buy me, she offered him so much money that he couldn’t refuse,” Namjoon finished with a sad smile. I wanted to go and hug him, but I was sure the hybrid wouldn’t welcome the gesture.

“I…” Jimin paused, looking down at his hands. “The lady who raised me, she brought me clients. She’d sell me to people… sometimes it was for a night, sometimes it was more. She used to tell me that I was her lucky charm. Clair rescued me from her, she was really kind to me.”

The spoon in my hand clattered on the table. There was a ringing in my ear. My limbs were paralyzed, heart pounding in my chest as I felt the panic rise, almost drowning in it. I couldn't get enough air, finding myself on the verge of hyperventilating while my brain went into overdrive. It wasn’t my first panic attack, I was aware of what was happening to me, I knew I had to get a hold of myself. I couldn’t lose it here, not in front of them.

“Y/N? Hey can you hear me?” I turned towards the voice, Jason’s face slowly came into focus, “are you okay?”

“Y/N?” Jungkook said, looking extremely worried. He was holding my hand like a lifeline. I slowly removed his fingers and took my hand back.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I murmured, trying to control my breathing. I got up from the chair with wobbly knees, making my way towards the door. “You guys finish up, I’ll be in my office.”

Redemption, what a joke.

It was well into the afternoon when my stomach informed me that I was hungry. I was swarmed with paperwork. I’d been busy the whole week, running errands, filling forms, trying to keep the hybrids from tearing each other apart, so the paperwork got neglected, and now I was paying for it. I briefly wondered if I should go back home and grab something to eat, but then I remembered the look on everyone’s faces this morning. I had panicked in front of them. I had been feeling restless the whole week without a certain comfort penguin. I was too embarrassed to ask the guys if they had seen it.

I groaned, leaning back in my chair. How was I going to face them? What would I tell them if they asked? A knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. “Come in.”

It was Jungkook, holding a bowl. He tentatively entered the office, looking everywhere but at me. His ears were drooping behind him. “I brought you lunch,” he said, setting the bowl on the table.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away this morning,” I apologized, extending a hand towards him, which he took hesitantly. I pulled him in my lap and buried my face in his chest; he smelled like vanilla.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, wrapping his big hands around me.

“No,” I whispered. “But don't worry bunny, I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Is it because of Jimin? Can’t we just send him away?”

That made me raise my head to look at him. “Why don’t you like him, bun?”

“He’s too clingy,” Jungkook pouted, jutting his lower lip out. It made me giggle.

“What about Namjoon and Seokjin?”

“They can stay, Seokjin hyung makes delicious food and Namjoon hyung is so cool.”

“Oh, did you talk to them?”

He shook his head no. I almost cooed at him - the poor bunny was too shy to talk to the older hybrids. “Why don’t you try making friends with Jimin? I bet you’ll like him if you got to know him better.”

He buried his face in my hair and shook his head, “...don't wanna.”

I took his hand in mine. “Won’t you do it for me?” I asked dramatically, trying to sound upset.

Jungkook leaned back to look at me, pout more pronounced. He knew exactly what I was doing. “Fine, I’ll try,” he agreed with a defeated sigh.

“Thank you, baby.” I kissed his palm in gratitude. At least he had agreed to try. “Why did you dye your hair?” I asked curiously, running my hands through his multicolored locks.

“Iwantyoutolikeme,” he said in one breath, hiding his face in my hair again.

“What?”

“I want you to like me.”

“You dyed your hair because you want me to like you?” Jungkook nodded. “Oh baby, I already like you!” I squeezed him tight, letting him know how much he meant to me. Is that what Jason had told Jimin? That I’d like him better if he dyed his hair? Jason was diabolical, I really needed to come up with a good plan to get back at him.

“Bun, next time, don’t listen to Jason.”

I was curled up on the sofa with a blanket. It was past midnight but I was wide awake and restless, staring at the ceiling. I had almost turned on the TV, but then I remembered that there were four hybrids in the house with phenomenal hearing, and I really didn’t want to wake them up. And thus, I suffered in silence.

I hadn’t seen the three new hybrids all day; they hadn’t been introduced to the shelter yet, so they stayed at home. When I came back from work, they were already in their room. They had insisted on staying in the same room, something about new places and pack bonding. I was giving Jason the cold shoulder, at least until he apologized for his crimes. And Jungkook was busy playing his new video games.

Clair had saved Jimin.

The thought rang in my head. Why hadn’t she saved me? Would things have been different, if she had stepped in? I had to admit, I was a tiny bit jealous of the panther hybrid. She had saved him.

Madame was so kind.

I was furious. How dare she? Clair had been a coward, had lived and died as one. I knew it in my soul, never in a million years would I ever forgive that woman. She didn’t deserve it.

“You’re angry,” a quiet voice said. I looked up to see a tall silhouette standing at the bottom of the stairs. Seokjin stepped out of the shadows, clutching a pillow in his hands.

“I was thinking. Can’t sleep?”

“Namjoon snores really loudly,” he complained. It made me laugh. The three of them were always attached to the hip, I had wondered if it was because they were uncomfortable here.

“You know we have plenty of spare bedrooms, you can take any of them.”

“Why are you here?”

“I can’t sleep.” I shrugged. Seokjin nodded understandingly, but he didn’t move an inch. “Do you want to sleep on the couch?”

He hesitated, looking as if he was unsure if he should accept my offer before he murmured, “can I?”

“Of course! But I think, a bed would be more comfortable,” I said, moving from the couch to the armchair. Seokjin sat down on the couch, placing his pillow near him.

“Why can’t you sleep? Is it because of what Jimin said?” he asked cautiously, ears erect and attentive.

“I have insomnia.” I shrugged, but Seokjin kept staring at me. I squirmed under his piercing gaze; staring at me like he could see right through my bullshit. “I didn’t have a good relationship with Clair. She raised me, but she was cruel, unkind. I just… can’t fathom her as someone nice.”

“So it had nothing to do with Jimin being a prostitute?” he asked suspiciously.

“WAIT! Is that what you guys thought? Oh my god, I would never…” I was shocked. No wonder the hybrids were avoiding me like the plague. “I’m really sorry, if it seemed that way but it's not like that. I’m really happy that Clair rescued him. He deserves a good home, a family. I don’t think you’d believe me, even if I told you what my aunt was like. I’m really sorry, if I hurt you guys. But believe me when I say that this is not a place where you’ll be judged for your past.”

“You mean that.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I do.”

“You could sleep on the couch with me?” Seokjin offered sheepishly, ears turning the color of strawberries. I was surprised to see him be so direct. He had been very reserved around me till now, only talking when necessary.

“Are you sure? Won’t you be uncomfortable?” I asked, eyeing the couch. It was big enough to seat five people comfortably, but Seokjin was big too.

He nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

Seokjin adjusted the pillow and laid down on the sofa, leaving room for me. I stood there with my hello kitty blanket, wondering if it was okay. The sudden change in the hybrid’s demeanor was unexpected and I gave up trying to dissect the situation. I had to admit, I was feeling a bit cuddly since the loss of my penguin and I desperately needed sleep. I scooched on the sofa, covering both of us with the blanket, resting my head on his arm.

“You’re not okay,” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around my waist, his tail curling around my thigh.

“I just need some sleep,” I sighed. Seokjin was like a furnace behind me. I wondered why all hybrids were this warm.

“Lies,” he said as he lightly nibbled on my ear. I gasped at the unexpected contact, my heart beating so loudly in my chest that I was sure he could hear it.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” my voice came out breathier than I had intended.

“I do, I just didn’t know how to approach you. You seem so independent, I didn’t know where I could fit in your life. The only thing I could do for Clair was look pretty. But this.... this I can do, I can comfort you. I want to be useful.”

I turned around to look at him. “Oh honey, you don’t have to be useful. You’re you and that’s enough for me. I just want you to be happy.” I lightly kissed his cheek.

“I’m going to be your comfort blanket,” Seokjin said with a smile and hugged me closer.

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240 notes · View notes

taeyongdoyoung · 3 years ago

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summary: you have a crush on college student renjun so you make use of your best lamest flirting attempts and surprisingly they work?!

pairing: renjun x gn!reader

genre: college!au, romance, pure fluff

warnings: very lame jokes, mentions of a cruel prank in the past (someone asking out renjun as a joke, pls never do that to people!), lots of awkwardness & sweetness, a bit of swearing, reader has an obsession with renjun’s pretty hands

word count: 4.7k

It had been a while since you had a crush so strong you even had a hard time focusing in class. Usually, you were a very good student, diligently taking notes and participating when the professor asked questions. But that was until you saw Renjun for the first time.

It was like something possessed you and suddenly you couldn't think about anything else but his pretty, gentle face, his angelic voice and his lovely hands always drawing something in his notebook. It certainly didn't help much that you were seated right next to him during your shared lectures. It most certainly didn't help that you forgot all your vocabulary when you were in his immediate vicinity. Usually, your teachers and friends described you as well-spoken and eloquent, always knowing the right thing to say.

But that was, of course, until Renjun. All words disappeared from your poor brain whenever he was around. And it's not like you didn't want to talk to him, get to know him better. But you physically couldn't bring yourself to form a coherent sentence. You kept telling yourself it was just a silly crush and it would pass in time. But the more time passed, the stronger you felt the need to do something about your feelings. Naturally, you couldn't speak, but there was still something you could do. Something you probably did best. Write.

So one day, after what felt like an eternity of yearning, you finally gathered the courage to act on your emotions. Taking a small sheet of paper out of your notebook, you wrote a little something. It was probably super lame but apparently, even your writing skills were affected by your crush on him. As soon as your "masterpiece" was done, you slid it towards Renjun before you could chicken out and change your mind about this whole thing. The note had the following text:

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Your drawings are almost As pretty as you. P.S. Key word: almost ;)

The second he spotted the little note which was folded in a hurry, he opened it curiously. Once he read its insides, you could hear him snort under his breath. Was it that bad? You couldn't help but worry. Then, he took his own pen and started writing something under it. That was a good sign, right? You were feeling hopeful. Once he was done, he slid the paper towards you. You opened it in a rush. His response was:

Hey! Are you bullying my art?!?

You looked at him in confusion. How could he have possibly misunderstood? However, he was too focused on multitasking (drawing most of the time and occasionally taking notes based on the lecture) to spot your reaction. You decided you had no choice but to be as explicit as possible and wrote another note:

Nooo, I meant to compliment both you and your art, sorry if it came off wrong and lame :(

When he received it, you could swear you saw him smiling a little, which made your heart melt. How was he so beautiful? Soon enough, his reply came:

That's alright, I'm just teasing...Also, it worked.

You couldn't believe it. It worked? You'd successfully grabbed his attention by using this first-grade flirting method in college? You were suddenly feeling brave and kept writing. It was too late to turn back time.

I just think you're really pretty and cool especially when you draw but I was too hesitant to talk to you directly...

When he read your most recent note, he even gave you a look of disbelief, which you couldn't interpret until you saw his response:

Cool? Wow, that's a first...And it's ok, I don't bite.

You chuckled quietly and suddenly noticed that class was ending soon. You couldn't wait until tomorrow so you hurriedly wrote the content of your next note:

What do I have to do to get your number?

Renjun shook his head in amusement and this time, his reply came quicker than before:

*number enclosed* Here, that wasn't so hard, was it?

You could hear the lecturer saying his words of conclusion and you hurried to respond via another note, because you couldn't trust your voice to actually speak to Renjun. Not yet, at least. So, you wrote:

Thank you!!! Here is mine: *number enclosed*

And just as he received your final note, the students around you started gathering their things. You simply looked at Renjun and you still couldn't believe he'd actually replied to your silly flirting and even gave you his number! You waved him goodbye like a lovesick fool and practically ran outside of the lecture hall. Stage fright whomst? Try having a crush on the prettiest boy in the world.

After you went back home, you debated calling Renjun. Eventually, you talked yourself out of it. What if you said something stupid and embarrassing? With texting, you could at least have more time to think things through before sending them. Actually speaking to him seemed too terrifying a task to accomplish. So, you texted him excitedly and your heart did a back-flip when he replied. Was it strange that you already missed him, even though it had only been a couple of hours since you last saw him? Naturally, you couldn't tell him that, it would probably freak him out. So, you settled for texting (for the time being).

Renjun: Why did you run away after class?

You: I was too nervous to speak to you, I'm sorry!!!

Renjun: That's strange, I see you talking to your friends all the time...Am I so scary?!?

You: Nooo, you're not scary, I'm just being an idiot 😔

Renjun: Top of the class does not equal idiot but I'll let it slide this time

You: Thank you for your generosity!

Renjun: What are you up to?

You: Probably gonna work on that assignment for next week

You: Sorry, I'm so boring 😔

Renjun: First of all, you don't have to apologize so much, you did nothing wrong

Renjun: Second of all, saaame. We can brainstorm together if you want?

You: Sorry, I'll stop. Oops, I did it again. Pretend you didn't see it.

You: Also omg, yes pls, that would be great!

And that is how your friendship with Renjun started. Texting on your phones and exchanging notes during class lasted a week until you finally decided to ask him out. Again, via text, because you were feeling too shy to speak to him. The only other contact you'd had was waving at each other. And it's not like he spoke to you, either. There were two explanations for that: 1) he chose to respect your decision or 2) he was possibly just as shy as you were. Whatever the reason, you thought this could not go on forever so you managed to find the bravery to propose a date.

You: Do you wanna go out with me? 👉🥺👈

Renjun: Sure, where do you wanna go?

You: Oh, wow, I didn't think I'd get this far lol

You: Where do YOU wanna go?

Renjun: Hmm, there's this new art gallery I've been meaning to visit...if that's okay with you

You: Anything is good with me as long as I get to see your pretty face

Renjun: What

You: I said you're pretty

Renjun: Shut up, oh my God...

You: Do you want me to stop?

Renjun: Say that again

You: You're pretty

Renjun: 😳😳😳

Renjun: I can't wait to see you again

You: Same here

Once you got to the front of the art gallery, it struck you how strange it was that you would speak to Renjun for the first time ever. You mentally braced yourself as you awaited his arrival anxiously. Your nails were digging into the inside of your hands and you were terrified you'd pierce holes through your own skin. You told yourself this was silly, you had no reason to be so nervous. Renjun was a total sweetheart and he obviously liked talking...well, writing to you. You needn't worry that much, you kept repeating in your mind. You were too busy hyping yourself up to notice him approaching behind you. Too busy to be prepared for what came next.

"Hiii," Renjun greeted you with a surprise back hug.

"Oh dear," you jumped in shock as you turned around.

"Did I scare you, angel?"

Shit. Already with the pet names? How were you supposed to survive?

"No, it's fine," you waved him off, trying to play it cool. "Isn't it weird this is the first time we're actually speaking to each other?"

"Um...kinda," Renjun scratched the back of his head. "But I like it, it's what makes this so special."

"Wow, you sure do have a way with words," you chuckled.

"Shall we go inside?" he suggested.

"Yes, please."

As you looked around the art gallery, you kept pointing excitedly at the paintings, while Renjun was quietly evaluating them and telling you interesting stories about the artists. You couldn't help but be amazed by how attractive he was as he exhibited his knowledge. And of course, you couldn't help but wonder at how he was so much more beautiful than all the art you've ever seen. Naturally, you wouldn't tell him that. First of all, because it was too lame to speak aloud. Second of all, because your voice would undoubtedly betray you and crack or something even more embarrassing. As time passed, you were surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, despite your previous concerns. Renjun was very polite and soft-mannered and he made you feel comfortable, while the two of you looked at the paintings and discussed them. Once you'd seen everything, you were starting to feel a bit bummed out that your lovely date was coming to an end. When you were outside the art gallery, you impulsively asked:

"Can I walk you home?"

"I mean...sure. On one condition."

"Anything."

"I get to walk you home next time."

"There'll be a next time?" you whispered hopefully.

"I hope I don't sound presumptuous if I share my observation we both had a wonderful time."

"That's perfectly alright. Your observation is correct," you admitted.

"I live just around the corner, though. You really don't have to-"

"But I want to."

"So do I," Renjun said and the two of you began walking towards his home.

"I was wondering about something...You already know I didn't speak to you because I was feeling shy, but why didn't you? I have two theories, but I'm curious which one is more on point."

"Do tell and I'll try my best to enlighten you," he joked.

"Okay, so theory number one is you were being respectful of my wish not to talk yet. Theory number two is that you're just as shy as I am."

Renjun laughed and you could swear this was the sweetest sound in the entire universe.

"Am I so transparent? Honestly, it's a little bit of both. But there's another part you didn't guess. But it's too embarrassing."

"Come on, tell meee! It can't be more embarrassing than my lame attempts to flirt with you."

Renjun smiled gently.

"Well, to be honest, I couldn't believe you thought I was cool and pretty...I even feared this was some sort of prank. It wouldn't be the first time someone decided to mess with me like that."

"Renjun, are you serious? I don't understand why anyone would...Scratch that, whoever messed with you didn't deserve even a fraction of your attention. I meant every word I said. I really like you...and your paintings. And I'm sorry I couldn't say it aloud earlier. You genuinely deserve to hear nice things more."

"Thank you. I appreciate it," he blinked cutely. "But enough about me. I never told you...how beautiful you are. How kind and smart."

"I know," you waved him off teasingly. "But coming from you, this means a lot."

Renjun shook his head, amused by your words.

"We should go somewhere you like next time. Maybe a bookshop?" he suggested.

"Am I so transparent?" you repeated his words. "But sure, yeah. That sounds nice."

"Well, this is me," he said, pointing towards his home.

"Already? Aw, time sure flies by when you're having fun."

"I'll see you tomorrow in class, right?"

"Of course," you promised and before you could talk yourself out of it, gave him a quick but heartfelt hug. "Bye, Renjun."

"Bye, angel."

After your first date with Renjun, things were going quite smoothly. You finally got over your nervousness when it came to talking to him and the two of you would occasionally whisper things to each other during class. The first time he held your hand under the desk your cheeks filled with colour. Despite your embarrassment, you held his hand right back and granted him with a grateful smile. After that, holding hands in class (whenever you weren't busy taking notes) became like second nature to you two. It just felt so sweet and comfortable to be close to him. You couldn't wait till the next weekend for your second date. Even though you were just going to a bookshop and had nothing that special planned out, you enjoyed being around him so much that you were more than excited for spending time with him one-on-one. No professors or other students to distract you.

When the day finally arrived, you were surprised to find out your anxious self had made a comeback. Even though you were around him everyday and had grown accustomed to holding a conversation, it had been an entire week since your first date when it was just the two of you and you couldn't help but get cold feet as you were waiting in front of the bookshop. This time Renjun didn't surprise you from behind, you could see him approaching from a distance. Mentally bracing yourself for his inevitable arrival, you knew you'd be an awkward mess no matter how hard you tried.

"Hey, angel," he greeted you with the usual hug.

"It's nice to see you again, Renjun," you replied dumbly, briefly melting into his arms.

"You saw me yesterday, remember?" he teased you.

"Um, yeah, but still," you chuckled.

"Is everything okay? You don't seem like yourself," Renjun immediately noticed the change in your behaviour.

"Why wouldn't it be? Everything's peachy," you lied, but he didn't seem to believe you.

"Be honest with me, please," Renjun asked. You suddenly remembered what he'd confided in you during your first date. It was no wonder he had a hard time trusting you after someone in his past had had the nerve to pull such a cruel prank on a soul as sweet as his. You felt guilty for lying rightaway and began explaining yourself.

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. I don't want to fuck anything up. Like I just did by lying and swearing. Fuck. I did it again, didn't I? I'll shut up now," you were rambling anxiously.

"Relax, Y/N, I totally get it. I was just worried maybe you didn't want to be here...with me."

"What? Nonsense. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. No one else I'd rather be with."

"Well, the feeling's mutual so there's no need for concern. Let's look at those books, yeah?"

"Yeah, sounds good, Renjun."

As the two of you went inside and started exploring the hundreds of shelves together, you felt yourself relaxing a little. Being surrounded by so many familiar titles, so many gorgeous covers was comforting. And as you kept showing Renjun some of your favourite books and telling him about your most beloved characters, he realized you were back to your usual self in no time. Attentively listening and occasionally sharing his opinions on certain authors, you didn't notice how quickly time passed by and how much you had enjoyed yourself and each other's company. Once you had looked through the bookshop in its entirety, you felt like it was too early to put an end to your date, but you didn't want to come off as too clingy or something. So, you simply looked at Renjun, expecting him to say what he wanted to do next.

"I promised you I'll walk you home this time, didn't I?" he smoothly said.

"I believe you did," you giggled. It was so sweet of him to remember such a detail.

"I'm a man of my word so lead the way," Renjun replied, offering you his arm.

"It will be my pleasure," you eagerly took his arm and the two of you began walking. You were deliberately moving at a slow place, simply because you didn't want this to end and felt like prolonging the time around him.

"Your hands are so pretty," you blurted out at one point.

"You like my hands, huh?" Renjun smirked.

"Did I say that out loud?" you were undoubtedly blushing really hard.

"I'm afraid so."

You felt completely mortified as you covered your face with your own hands.

"Hey, hey, it's fine. You can tell me anything. Chances are I'll take it as a compliment."

"Really?" you sneaked a peak. "You don't think I'm weird?"

"Maybe a little bit, but it's one of the things I like about you."

"One?" you blinked curiously.

"You're really fun to be around and you've been nothing but sweet to me. And of course, you're stunning, but that goes without saying."

"Without saying? I don't mind hearing it, though."

"I'll have that in mind," Renjun smiled gently.

"Renjun?"

"Yes?"

"Can you hold my hand?" you almost begged.

"I don't know, can I?" he tormented you with a joke.

"Will you hold my hand?" you corrected yourself.

"All you had to do was ask," Renjun acquiesced and intertwined your fingers.

Walking hand in hand, you eventually reached your place. As you two stared at one another, you refusing to go inside, him refusing to go, both of you refusing to let go of the other's hand, you thought to yourself how badly you wanted to kiss him. You had no idea if it was too early for that but you knew that the longer you tried to postpone it, the more you'd crave him. And you were an impatient person. So you quickly kissed him without thinking much. It was a bit awkward and rushed but at least, you had finally done as you wanted. Renjun looked taken aback and blinked at you a couple of times.

"I'm sorry," you apologized again. "I just..."

He silenced you softly with another kiss, this time more slowly and putting your mind and heart at ease. You lost yourself in the feeling of his plush lips against yours, finally letting go of his hand so that you could wrap yours around his neck. Hesitant at first but growing bolder by the second, you could sense Renjun's tongue testing the waters. You slightly parted your lips, letting him in. As the kiss intensified, you could feel him becoming more eager to touch you, his arms wrapped around your lower back. When you were seconds away from losing your breath, you finally broke the kiss. Opening your eyes to look at him, you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. He'd kissed you back.

"I thought I told you to stop apologizing so much. Especially, when you haven't done anything wrong," Renjun scolded you politely.

You opened your mouth to argue, but when you realized your immediate response would have been another 'I'm sorry', you closed it. A second later, you came up with a different reply.

"I guess you'll have to discipline me, then," you huffed in a challenge.

"Dumbass," Renjun flicked your forehead.

"Hey!" you complained with a pout. "That hurts."

"What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?" Renjun gave an unamused look.

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea," you mumbled, not expecting him to actually...kiss your forehead. But he did. And damn your knees for threatening to give out.

"Feel better yet?"

You nodded enthusiastically.

"Get inside already," Renjun tickled your sides, nudging you in the direction of your door.

"You want to get rid of me so badly?"

"No, but we can stand here forever if you don't," he rolled his eyes.

"Do you want me to invite you in?"

"Don't tempt me and go," he was impossible to sway.

"Okay, okay," you relented. "See you tomorrow, Renjun!"

For your third date Renjun suggested something different. While your first and second date had all taken place in public locations, this time he offered going to his place. And maybe the shock on your face was too obvious, because Renjun was quick to keep talking and almost take it back.

"We don't have to if you don't want to! We can just watch something at the cinema or whatever. Forget I mentioned it if you're uncomfortable."

You quickly shook your head.

"No, no, I do want to come over! I was just...not expecting it."

"Yeah? You sure?"

"A hundred per cent," you nodded excitedly.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I'm at two hundred per cent," Renjun teased.

"It's not a competition," you reminded him.

"It's not if I'm winning," he kept playing around.

You rolled your eyes.

"So what are we watching?" you asked.

"You can't go wrong with Harry Potter, am I right?"

"You are so right," you squealed. "Which house are you in?"

"Don't get me started. Sometimes I get Ravenclaw, sometimes Slytherin, it's a mess."

"That's pretty cool, though," you were practically staring at him with heart eyes at this point.

"You're a Hufflepuff, aren't you?"

"Am I so transparent?" you complained, this line becoming something of a running gag between the two of you.

"Cute," he mumbled under his breath and you blushed, not managing to maintain eye contact.

When the time arrived for you to go to Renjun's place, you were more excited rather than nervous. He was so easy to talk to and you were genuinely making so many wonderful memories that you had made it your mission to not waste any second worrying needlessly.

"I have arrived," you announced the obvious as you stood at his door.

"I can see that," Renjun chuckled. "Come on in."

"I wasn't sure if I should bring something so I bought some pizza on the way. It's still hot, so I hope you're hungry," you said as you followed him inside like a puppy.

"Oh, that's very thoughtful. And I always have enough space left for pizza."

You grinned and the minute you put the box on the table and your arms were free, you wrapped them around Renjun in a hug.

"You're so warm," you murmured against his skin.

He kissed the top of your head swiftly. Soon after, the two of you were too busy re-watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, eating pizza and holding hands to talk much. Once the movie was over, you realized how badly you didn't want to go home and how cozy leaning your head on Renjun's shoulder felt. And how much you liked him and couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his smile and his overall existence.

"Do you want to go home already?" Renjun asked the dreaded question.

"I mean, not really, but I don't wanna impose myself on you," you whispered.

"Don't be so formal," Renjun replied. "Just stay a little longer."

"Yayyy!" you were quite overjoyed and kissed his cheek. "What do you want to do?"

"Hm, I don't know. I could give you a tour around the place."

"Sure, that sounds fun," you immediately agreed.

"Don't get your hopes up, it's just a regular college guy's apartment."

"I'm sure I'll be amazed by every little detail."

"Even my socks?"

"Especially your socks," you joked.

As he showed you around his apartment, you couldn't help but be amazed by how Renjun-like everything was. From the snug kitchen to his art supplies scattered around. Every corner made the atmosphere feel extremely homey. Until you saw something that you hadn't expected, something that hadn't come up in conversation before. A stunning grand piano. You looked at the instrument and then at Renjun and finally, back at the piano.

"Do you play?"

"No, I just keep things like that as an accessory," he responded sarcastically. "Of course, I play."

"Can you...no, wait," you stopped yourself before making a similar mistake to the one you made a while ago. "Will you play something for me?"

"Right now?"

"If it's not too much trouble," you gave him the very best pleading look you were capable of.

Renjun sighed reluctantly and sat down on the bench in front of the piano.

"Don't just stand there awkwardly, sit next to me," he urged you courteously.

You followed his advice and took the free spot. However, nothing could have possibly prepared you for witnessing Renjun's skills up-close. Watching him play was like magic. You were simply in awe and couldn't help but stare at his pretty fingers hitting the keys in just the right ways. When he was finished performing the piece, you were too frozen to do anything. Couldn't even manage to clap, even though he deserved it so much. But you were too transfixed by his playing and those damn hands of his you couldn't possibly move.

"Earth to Y/N?" Renjun went as far as snapping his fingers right in front of your face.

"Huh?" you let out.

"Did I enchant you or what?"

"I think you did," you chuckled. "Just...wow. You're insanely good."

He looked away bashfully.

"Thanks. It just takes practice."

"Nah, I've heard people play before but what you have is different. So pure and genuine. Like a blessing. And I'm not just saying that because I think I'm falling in love with you. I really mean every word."

"Care to repeat that?"

"I really mean..." you started, still not registering what exactly you'd said. How far you'd gone. What you couldn't take back.

"Before that," Renjun reminded you gently. "You know. The part about falling in love with me."

"Shit. I was thinking out loud again, wasn't I?" you asked dumbly. "It's too early for that, I know. I'm really sorry. Let's just pretend I said nothing and forget about it, yeah?"

In your panic, you jumped up from the bench and were about to escape like a coward but Renjun grabbed your hand before you could take another step.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, too," he said.

"W-what?" you stammered.

"And I don't care about whether it's too early or not. And I'm not going to pretend I didn't hear it. So the question is...what are you going to do about that?"

"Me? What...am I supposed to do?"

"What you want to do," Renjun clarified.

"Um...I want to keep falling in love with you, Renjun. And holding your pretty hands. Spending time with you. Listening to your angelic voice. What I want...is for you to be my boyfriend."

"I thought I already was."

"You were?"

"We went on a couple of dates...we kissed...Haven't I made it obvious enough?"

"Oh, right," you chuckled. "Sorry."

"Say that word one more time, I dare you," Renjun slowly ran a finger down your lips.

"S-sorry?" you had to test his patience. Before you could argue, he kissed you fiercely, wrapping his palms around your cheeks. You were drowning beneath his touch, which was ridiculous, considering he was also setting your lips on fire. You figured if saying sorry too much was going to end up like this, you would be a fool not to take advantage of it.

"Pretty angel," Renjun whispered against your mouth. "My pretty angel."

You were practically melting and the only thing holding you together were Renjun's arms.

"For fear of sounding lame, I'm inclined to say your pretty angel's almost as pretty as you. Key word: almost," you giggled, recalling your earliest attempts at flirting with him.

"Lies," Renjun shook his head.

"Hey, it worked the first time!" you pouted.

"It only worked because you're the pretty one," Renjun ruffled your hair playfully.

"Oh my God, shut up," you covered your face to hide how red it was.

"Never."

The End

#nct #renjun #nct dream #renjun x reader #nct fluff #renjun fluff #hwang renjun #nct romance #hwang renjun x reader #college au #writing

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cassanovancats · 3 years ago

Text

herding cats

becoming nekoma's manager

You really didn’t want to be here. Here being Tokyo, here being Nerima ward and, most importantly, here being the hallway of your new school. The uniform is itchy and you’re being dragged along by some student council member because, apparently, first years can’t be trusted to walk around themselves.

He was nice enough, though he certainly seemed more excited to show you around when he got a look at you. Then he got more excited when he found out your mom’s occupation was what brought you to Nekoma High halfway through your first-year. “So, what’s it like having a famous mom?”

Your eyes darted to the side instinctively. What kind of question is that? How are you supposed to answer? Like having a mom except you get asked things like that. “Uh, fine. She’s really not that cool.” Especially for moving you so late into the school year because her animation studio decided working distantly wasn’t working. “I get spoilers sometimes.” It’s exactly what he wants to hear.

You can hear the next question already, so you cut him off before he gets a chance to ask about the upcoming episode of the anime your mother was working on. “Ah, it seems we made it to the classroom. Thank you for helping me, Senpai.” You bow half heartedly and knock on the door before he gets a chance to respond.

This is exactly what you told your mother would happen. Even as you introduce yourself to the class, there’s a few people who instantly recognize your last name. Those students turn to whisper or pass notes and you know by lunch, you’ll be crowded by people hoping to become your friend purely for bragging rights. The teacher seems tuned to your inner angst, as she gracefully directs you to a seat in the back of the class, where you can watch instead of be watched.

The first subject of your people-watching is next to you - the one person who did not look up as you introduced yourself. A curtain of dark hair kept you from seeing any details of his face (and you can only tell it’s a he because of the uniform). What you can see is the screen of his handheld console and the bright features of one of your favorite games.

Which is why, during break, instead of making eye contact with any of the students striving to talk to you, you turn to him to complain about the latest update.

congrats, you befriended a wild kenma!

he’s the first person you’ve met in a while who doesn’t care about what your mom does, or how much money you have

he literally only cares about your ability to hard carry a team through a dungeon

a few weeks go by, with you basically just coming to school, talking to Kenma, and going home

until the student counselor comes to you and says you have to join a club

even though it’s the end of the year - some policy to ensure you have a club going into next year

“I hate this,” your complaint comes out severely muffled thanks to how you buried your face into folded arms. Kenma gives a noncommittal hum.

“Are you going to finish that?”

You glare at him but still shove the snack closer to his desk. One hand breaks away from his controller to snatch it, before it gets glued back to his PSP. “I’m serious - if one more club tries recruiting me, I’ll scream.”

He answers, sparing a side-glance towards you. The only hint he actually is listening. “Just warn me when that happens.” You groan and go back to your folded arms. It’s been hard to make friends despite people seeming desperate to be your friend. Well, that’s the problem, you think. You don’t particularly want friends who are planning what questions to ask before even greeting you, you want friends like Kenma who can treat you like a normal person.

Minutes before break ends, the president of the Anime Club approaches for the third time this week. “Hello, (l/n)-san. Have you thought any more about joining our club?”

You feel bad for the instinctive grimace. Really, she’s quite nice. It’s just an anime club is the last place you wish to be. Before you can find another polite way to let her down, Kenma interrupts. “Sorry, Sato-san. (y/n) is joining the volleyball club.”

“I am?” You can’t help but question. He shoots you a look, slighting narrowing his eyes.

“She’ll be meeting the captain at today’s practice.”

Sato-san tilts her head suspiciously but doesn’t press. “I hope to still see you around, (l/n)-san,” she says before flouncing off. You take a moment to reorient yourself.

“I am?”

Kenma sighs, saving his game and shoving the console into his bag. “Yeah, you are. Don’t worry, Kuroo will just be glad a girl is there. Coach Nekomata won’t decline help either.”

You blink at him. “Are you aware the only rules I know about volleyball is to not let the ball hit the ground and to only use your hands?”

“The last one isn’t true.”

“Do you see my point, then?”

yes he does, but he simply chooses to ignore you

it…. does not go well

Kuroo was awkward around you, which turned into a mischievousness when he realized Kenma was the one who brought you in

he kept insinuating you and Kenma were dating which like… no you were just a girl (space) friend

Yaku and Kai were normal-ish though Yaku straight-up asked if your mom was the (l/n)

he let it drop after confirmation at least

then… there was the students in your year

Kenma hovered near you, feeling responsible for putting you in a situation nearly identical to what Kuroo did to him

Yamamoto seemed flustered by your presence and also irritated that Kenma already was your friend

Fukunaga just kinda waved and went back to practicing

it took a while for everyone to get over their initial awkwardness, mostly being helped by having to constantly explain what was happening

but the time spent together meant you quickly found friends

friends who, similar to Kenma, dgaf about anything besides your personality and ability to quickly refill water bottles

Maybe you should have realized sooner what joining the volleyball club entailed. It’s not like you ever really participated in an organized sport though, so these summer practices were kicking your ass. The early morning and heat.... You felt pity for your boys; at least you weren’t having to run. Speaking of, the new members of your team just rounded the last bend.

“Come on, babies,” Kuroo cups his hands over his mouth to ‘encourage’ the first-years. “Even (y/n) could beat that!”

“Don’t say that; Lev’s gonna wanna see it!” you hiss, hitting his side.

Speaking of, the giant, silver puppy heads straight to you. After introductions, his upperclassmen quickly understood Lev required a, well, firm hand. Something you lacked which made you the target of his affections. “Woahh, (y/n)-senpai must be fast! Why don’t you actually play any sports?”

Yaku’s eyes level a harsh glare on him, “Are you trying to insult our manager?”

Shibayama steps forward, saving Lev from having to repeat his run. “I am curious why you chose to be a volleyball manager. No offense, but… you don’t seem to care about the sport.”

“Ah, none taken,” you easily wave off his concern. “Volleyball’s cool enough, but you’re right that I’m not passionate about it in the same way as others on the team. I mostly joined because of Kenma, actually.”

The first-years felt confused. How could their quiet, cat-senpai pull in one of the most popular girls in school? Even last year, when they were in Nekoma's middle-school, they had heard rumors of you. When you joined the volleyball club, even teachers started giving the once-golden club attention again. It was how the club received funding to travel to Miyagi next week. (In addition to a large donation from your mom, who was overjoyed you actually made friends.)

“He was my first and only friend at Nekoma for a long time,” you explain. Lev gasps dramatically. It seems impossible to imagine you without lines of admirers. “It doesn’t matter now since everyone in the club is my friend! Take your bottles and get in the gym; we need to talk about the logistics of going to that camp with Karasuno.”

the ones who stay behind are upset </3 cough cough lev

you’re pretty surprised you do get to go

but you’re excited - from what you understand it’s a rural area and you’ve been in Tokyo your entire life

maybe you'll even see a cow!

except you get there, walk a few feet and then notice Kenma is missing

excitement: ruined

Kuroo panics while repeating that he is not panicking

then you both get a text that’s just “in a playground”

when you find him, you scold him on talking to strangers

anyways the rest of the day is spent familiarizing yourself with the gyms and rooms

you run into Kiyoko while preparing dinner for your team

she explains she’s the only other manager at the camp, but she won’t be staying with you

You’re a lil upset bc sleepover ruined but it seems weird to complain about getting your own room and bath

(you still spend most of the time in the team’s room because it got really lonely without your boys :( )

the next morning, the day of the actual match, you get to wear your Official Manager Clothes

which is really just the track jacket, but it makes you feel cool

meeting karasuno is,,, interesting

you’re starting to think you’ll never find a normal volleyball player

From the corner of your eye, you spot Yamamoto attempting to intimidate some Karasuno players. With a sigh, you go to fetch him.

“Tora-kun, can you please help me bring in some supplies? They’re too heavy,” you whine. It’s you’re tried and true method to keeping him on a leash. If he’s helping you, he’s with the team.

Except you don’t just get his attention, you also get the attention of the boy he was staring down. Tanka startles at your sudden appearance behind Yamamoto and loses the harshness in his face. “G-girl-”

You make eye contact with Kenma who looks amused. He ignores your plead for help. Yamamoto takes the opportunity to flaunt you. “This is (y/n). Talk to her and you’ll learn how much pain a volleyball can inflict.” As he finishes his threat, he gets distracted by Kiyoko’s appearance over Tanka’s shoulder.

You decide it’s a lost cause and subtly inch away until you’re walking with Kiyoko. The boys are unable to hear what you’re talking about, but both stare dumbfounded as the only two girls in the entire camp gossip and laugh. Tanka and Yamamoto share a look; maybe there’s something shared between the two they didn’t see before.

“Is your idiot always like that?”

“Yeah, I assume that’s normal for your team too?”

#cass.writes #manager!reader #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #female!reader #nekoma #also lots of info from the wiki #so pls don’t jump me if it’s wrong

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legendaryandroid · 3 years ago

Text

For Every Object, a Home

Aelfric|Aeber ver1|Bifelgan

Summary: Cyrus is invited to the exclusive Bifelgan’s Market and brings Therion and Tressa with him. [words: 3.6k]

A/N: Apparently I am continuing to use Cyrus as a vehicle to explore lore I make up about Octopath’s gods

Sunset was swiftly closing in on the outskirts of Victor’s Hollow, where four travelers had pitched camp. The inns in Victor’s Hollow were packed to the brim with people both participating and watching the tournament and the travelers had been lucky to to procure rooms for half their group through Cecily, who had been determined not to let her soon to be champion fighters sleep outside. That left the rest of them to fend for themselves among everyone else who had no choice but to camp outside the city’s limits.

The four that were left were currently sitting around a fire, there was H’aanit, who was polishing her bow while Linde playfully jumped at shadows beside her, Therion, who was idly tossing a dagger between his hands, Tressa, who was scribbling away in her journal, and Cyrus himself.

As everyone idled away the time until they chose to retire, Cyrus pulled out an item he had been given that day while perusing the merchant stalls. It was the symbol of Bifelgan, with the appearance of a silver leaf, but twice the size, with one side silver and the other a metallic black. Cyrus turned the coin over in his hand, examining it and wondering how someone had created the darker side. It didn’t seem like a tarnish, nor did it scrape off like paint. Had someone managed to mold two different metals together?

While Cyrus was looking the coin over, he suddenly felt the presence of a person on each side of him.

“Holy shit Cyrus,” Therion breathed from where he was pressed up against his left side.

“How in the world did you get that?!” Tressa demanded in excitement, clinging to his right arm.

Cyrus blinked and glanced at his two companions, who were staring at the coin he held with the intensity of a wolf about to jump upon its prey. Vaguely confused, he explained, “A book merchant gave it to me after he failed to have the tome I was looking for. He explained that it was feasible I could find it at a market being held tomorrow and would need this to get in. What is the excitement about?”

“Because that’s an entrance token to Bifelgan’s Market!” Tressa squealed.

“Quiet!” Therion immediately hissed at her, “Do you want everyone to hear you? Who knows what kinda trouble will come looking for it.”

Tressa bit her lip guiltily as she glanced around but it seemed nobody but H’aanit had heard, so she looked up at Cyrus, her face shining brightly, “Only the best of the best of merchants picked by Bifelgan’s clerics are allowed to hawk their wares there.” Tressa was practically bouncing in her seat, shaking Cyrus’ arm with her excitement, “Oh Professor please, you have to take me with you so I can see their skill at work!”

“I do not see whyever not,” Cyrus said, “You can come with me if that’s what you would like.”

Therion, who had been staring at the coin like he was contemplating whether he could get away with stealing it directly from Cyrus’ hand, snapped his head towards Cyrus, “What? No way!” He tugged at Cyrus' cloak to catch his gaze and said, “Bifelgan’s Market is a thief’s paradise, there are merchants there who’ll buy anything you have, no questions asked. You should bring me instead of the brat.”

“Well that’s-”

Tressa snapped forward in front of Cyrus, interrupting him to glare at Therion, “I’m not a brat! And I have to find something to show off at Grandport! So I should be the one to go!”

“Oh please,” Therion retorted, rolling his eyes, “You’re so green you wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself if you went!”

“I am not!”

Cyrus felt entirely forgotten, not even getting a word in as he was tugged back and forth while Therion and Tressa argued. He vaguely wondered if this was what it was like to have children. If so, he now understood the exasperation he’d seen many a parent have.

The argument came to a sudden halt as both Therion and Tressa looked at him and commanded, “Well?”

Cyrus did his best to smile calmly, “Well…”

“Which one of us are you going to take with you?” Tressa demanded.

Which one indeed. They both had a reasonable interest in going, and Cyrus would hate to disappoint either of them. With a troubled look, Cyrus glanced towards H’aanit, who had been listening in even as she finished maintenance on her bow, now putting it away.

H’aanit caught his desperate gaze and raised her eyebrows, “Ifen they both wishest to go, then thou merely needeth to bring them both.”

Cyrus nodded firmly at H’aanit’s sage advice, “There you have it, the both of you can accompany me to the market tomorrow.”

“Ugghhh,” The both of them groaned simultaneously, Tressa with a pout and Therion an eyeroll.

“Do you really have to bring Therion along?” Tressa asked with puffed cheeks as she crossed her arms.

“Hey, I don’t want to go with a goody-two-shoes merchant like you either,” Therion shot back.

“Cyrus needeth not bring either of you,” H’aanit cut in, “If you wilt cause him nothing but trouble.”

That comment finally ended Therion and Tressa’s back and forth as they went quiet and sulked back to their original seats, returning to their previous activity. Cyrus could only sigh in relief as he gave H’aanit a grateful smile which she returned with an amused one of her own.

><><

During breakfast the next morning, Tressa and Therion had given him a more thorough rundown of what Bifelgan’s Market was; it was an event dedicated to one of Bifelgan’s central tenets, ‘For every object, a home.’ In essence, it was a market that allowed merchants that sold their goods legally and illegally to mix together without fear in hopes that whatever items usually only circulated in one kind of market would have the chance to reach another and find an appropriate buyer. The tokens were both a form of vetting merchants that followed Bifelgan’s Code and keeping window-shopping customers to a minimum.

After that rundown it had been time to catch up with Olberic, Cecily, and the rest of the party to figure out the day’s plans. It wasn’t until afternoon when Cyrus, Tressa, and Therion found themselves in front of a church dedicated to Bifelgan, a building that had been constructed with stone rather than the wattle and daub of its neighbors.

“I’m surprised there’s such dedication to Bifelgan in Victor’s Hollow that there is a market,” Cyrus said, “One would assume the Coastlands would have one instead, as that is where Bifelgan is most deeply worshipped.”

“There is one!” Tressa cheerfully replied, “It’s in Goldshore though. And there was a third one in the Highlands, but I hear the temple it was held in got destroyed decades ago and they never managed to fully rebuild it.”

“I see,” Cyrus said in understanding, then moved forward to open the large wooden door.

Inside the temple a cleric was waiting for them, wearing robes in mostly neutral tones but accented with the occasional bright red or yellow. “Welcome,” the cleric said warmly, they were tall and willow-y, with dark grey eyes, “Are you here for Bifelgan’s Market?”

“Indeed we are,” Cyrus responded.

“Then I will need your tokens.”

Cyrus nodded and pulled out the coin, which was taken by the cleric, who then eyed the other two, “Are these your guests?”

“That is a correct assumption. Will that be a problem?” Cyrus asked.

The cleric shook their head, mouth quirked upwards, “Not at all. But as the one who had the token, you will be responsible for any trouble they cause.”

Cyrus very carefully avoided glancing at Therion, while hoping Tressa’s excitement wouldn’t get too out of hand as he said, “Understood.” He then ruffled through his cloak and pulled out a book that he had carried with him throughout his journey and held it out to the cleric, “We also bring offerings to Bifelgan, that they may be found by the hands searching for them,” Cyrus quoted.

In keeping with the idea of Bifelgan’s Market being about finding where an item belongs, it was traditional for customers to donate an item of their own that their clerics would then sell or give to someone who needed it more than they. Along with Cyrus’ own offering, Tressa offered a hat Cyrus had seen her wear several times before, and Therion one of his whittling projects.

“I take these offerings gratefully in the name of Bifelgan,” the cleric intoned, taking the objects, “May they find themselves in worthy hands.” They then smiled brightly and gestured towards the hallway behind them, “Just go straight down that way and you’ll find the market, can’t miss it.”

After thanking the cleric, the three of them headed down the hallway, the sounds of people growing louder as they approached, until they found themselves in open air cloisters. Stalls made with sturdy wood and covered with colorful cloth to keep out the weather lined the square, manned by various merchants calling out their wares. Between the stalls were a surprising number of people milling about, filling the air with buzzing human activity.

“Do you see all of this?!” Tressa exclaimed and pointed excitedly at everything that caught her eye, “Those ceramics are so finely decorated, and those paintings over there have such a unique quality to them!”

“The jewelry here ain’t half bad either,” Therion stated calmly, though his eyes sparkled with interest, “I see plenty of precious gems, and ornate metal filigree indicating a master’s hand.”

Cyrus stayed near the entrance, letting Tressa and Therion walk on ahead with their heads tilted together conspiratorially, so he could better take in the surroundings and try to determine where he would find the book he wanted. When he had a plan of action, his two companions had already disappeared into the crowd, so Cyrus decided to make his own way into the throng. He followed the flow of people towards where he conjectured a book merchant would be, glancing over the other goods for sale as he did so and stopping to buy a sweet bun from a food stand run by one of the clerics. It seemed once one was inside, Bifelgan’s Market was like any other market day.

Eventually Cyrus encountered a merchant whose stall was stacked with various books and tomes, a shelf stuffed with scrolls behind her. Speaking with the woman, who’s slow way of talking and drooping eyes gave the impression she was moments from falling asleep, Cyrus found out that she did indeed have a copy of A Treastise on the Founding of the Kingdom of Wald which she ponderously slid towards him, asking, “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Cyrus picked up the book and flipped through it, the book contained exactly what he hoped, though there were dark stains on some of the pages that he carefully chose not to think about. With a satisfied nod, Cyrus smiled at the merchant, “This is exactly what I desired, how much are you asking for it?”

There was a sluggish blink before the merchant said carefully, “Nine hundred leaves.”

As Cyrus reached for his coin pouch to pay, he heard Tressa call out, “Hold it!”

He looked up to see Tressa bustle over to him, gently plucking the book from his hand with a business-like, “Let me see that,” and began flipping through it. Once she was done she closed the book with a firm thump and said, “This book could hardly be considered in any kind of good condition, four hundred leaves.”

The merchant’s eyes flashed and she sat up a little straighter, her manner still had a sleepy quality to it, but now there was something sharp beneath it, “Aye, it may not be in the best condition, but it’s a first edition which is worth its salt.”

“Tressa, there is no need for this,” Cyrus said with some amusement, “I can pay for it.”

“We’re at Bifelgan’s Market,” Tressa hissed at him, “How can you not haggle?”

So Cyrus found himself politely pushed aside as Tressa and the merchant began debating the price back and forth. Cyrus simply took the time to admire the impressive amount of focus and determination that Tressa brought to bear when it came to negotiating.

When the two of them settled on a price Tressa turned to him with a grin and a gesture of victory, “Alright, so it’s six hundred fifty leaves, not so bad if I do say so myself.”

“I thank you ever so much for the help Tressa,” Cyrus said, pulling out the coinage while Tressa beamed.

As Cyrus handed over the payment the merchant gave him a lazy grin, “If you plan on buying anything else here, I suggest bringing your friend along with you. She’ll save you a lot of coin.”

“I thank you for the advice,” Cyrus said with a polite bow. As much as he would like to perhaps buy more and see what other books were for sale, he had learned the hard way that he could only carry so much reading material before it became a detriment to his travels. And paying for postage to send books back to his home in Atlasdam had a way of proliferating in cost quite rapidly. So he would satisfy himself with this single book for now.

“Well, I am content with my purchase,” Cyrus said, turning to Tressa, “Have you seen everything you’ve wanted to see of the market? Or shall we be residing here a while longer?”

“Not yet!” Tressa squeaked, “I forgot something!” And before Cyrus could even question her on what she forgot, Tressa had taken off, rushing through the crowd and leaving Cyrus staring after her in disbelief.

With a shrug, Cyrus took his purchase and made his way through the market. He would leave Tressa to finish her business, and in the meantime there was no reason he couldn’t sightsee. As Cyrus meandered through the markert he heard a voice call out to him,

“You there! Scholar! Yes you!”

Cyrus glanced over to see a merchant with long curly hair flowing past his shoulders, on the table in front of him were a bunch of packets and several devices that he vaguely recognized, but couldn’t immediately recall their use.

Once the merchant had Cyrus’ attention, he smirked, “You seem like the type who’d like a mind boost once in a while eh? When deadlines for research are getting tight?”

“He’s not interested,” Therion stated flatly from behind Cyrus, making him jump. “We’ll be going now.”

As Therion subtly pushed Cyrus along, creating distance away from the merchant, Cyrus looked over at Therion curiously, “What would that happen to be about?”

“He was trying to sell you Shuteye, it’s a powder that’ll up your ability to think greatly for twenty-four hours, but the crash is so bad you’re basically incapacitated for at least two days.” Therion shook his head, “I don’t care what you do on your own time, but I’m not lugging your useless body around if you decide to take the drug while we’re travelling.”

Cyrus smiled, “I appreciate the consideration, thank you.”

Therion frowned at him, then sighed, “I still have a few more stops to make, you can come along, just don’t embarrass me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Cyrus didn’t have much interest in the rest of the market, but it was pleasurable enough looking at the goods for sale and of the craftsmanship on display. At some point he and Therion met up with Tressa again, and finding everyone had accomplished what they wanted, left the market area and headed down the hallway where they were stopped by the same cleric at the entrance.

“If you would pardon me for a moment,” the cleric said, and muttered a quick cantation and with a hand gesture a gentle breeze blew over the three of them, ruffling their hair and clothes.

Once the wind was gone, the cleric turned to Therion and addressed him sternly, “Sir. You either need to return the items you stole, or pay for them now. You will not be leaving this building otherwise.”

Therion quirked an eyebrow as a small annoyed frown crossed his face and immediately disappeared, “I’ll pay for them now,” he sighed.

As Therion pulled out his stolen items for the cleric to determine how much he had to pay, Tressa said in complete disbelief, “You actually stole from Bifelgan’s Market? Do you have no respect for Bifelgan?”

Therion shrugged, “Hey, from what I understand, Bifelgan has a soft spot for thieves.”

“Are you crazy!?” Tressa bristled, “Bifelgan is a merchant, there’s no way she would forgive thieves who take other people’s hard work without a fair trade! Haven’t you heard the tale of Bifelgan and the Stolen Opal??”

“As I recall Bifelgan has a problem with greedy merchants who don’t give out like they should,” Therion retorted, “And that’s where he has an allowance for thieves, just like in The Storm of Bifelgan,”

“You’re making things up! She would not be okay with thieves!”

“And I’m telling you, he is!”

Cyrus put a hand to his forehead. Normally he would try to tune out Therion and Tressa’s arguments as best he could, but his fascination for their differing perspectives on Bifelgan was keeping his attention, and the contradicting desires was making him develop a headache.

A chuckle from the cleric ended up cutting the argument off and drawing all three of their attention.

“Sorry, sorry,” The cleric waved apologetically, “It’s just that, you’re both right, in a sense.”

“How can this idiot be right!?” Tressa demanded with a pout.

Therion crossed his arms, saying nothing, but he was clearly thinking the same thing.

The cleric smiled cheerily, lifting up one hand, “The lady is right that Bifelgan disapproves of those who take without giving something in return, and she is not afraid to punish those who do not correct their ways.” The cleric lifted up their other hand, “But the gentleman is also correct that Bifelgan also disapproves of those who hoard things to the detriment of others. And it is with this belief he will turn a blind eye to noble thieves who redistribute wealth from the greedy to the poor.”

Bringing their hands together the cleric continued, “Both of these tie into what Bifelgan strives for, for everyone to be able to have what they need and then to trade equally with each other to receive the things that bring life joy and meaning. Bifelgan’s symbol as a coin is very apt,” The cleric moved their hands to reveal they were holding one of Bifelgan’s coins, showing them the silver side, “One aspect of Bifelgan focuses on giving to those in need,” they flipped to show the ebony side, “And the other on taking from the selfish.”

A flick sent the coin into the air, and was caught in the cleric’s hand, “But they’re both tied to one god.” The cleric grinned at Therion and Tressa, “It sounds to me like both of you have only heard one side of Bifelgan, may I suggest sharing those tales with each other to get the full story?”

Tressa and Therion shot each other a look, reluctance clear on both their faces.

“Please do share the tales you know,” Cyrus said eagerly, “It would infatuate me endlessly to hear the stories from both of you. I could even recount a couple of my own.”

“Ugh, fine,” Tressa said, dropping her pout, “If the Professor wants to hear them then I guess I don’t mind telling them.”

Therion shrugged, “If the brat’s going to do it, I guess I can do it as well.”

“Excellent!” Cyrus grinned, “Then let’s be on our way so we can go over these tales!”

Once Therion’s payment was settled, the three of them left the church with a cheerful wave from the cleric. Then at Cyrus’ insistence they made their way to a small tavern that was thankfully uncrowded so they could speak of Bifelgan without having to shout.

But as Cyrus took out his writing kit to take notes he couldn’t help but frown in disappointment at its contents. In his excitement he had forgotten that most of what it contained had been destroyed in an encounter with a ratkin just the other day. It left him with only a dried up inkwell he hadn’t had time to take care of and a rather limp quill.

“Here,” Therion said and placed a small wooden box stained a dashing shade of red with a decorative symbol burned onto its surface on the table and pushed it towards Cyrus, “This is for you.”

Cyrus took the box, but didn’t open it yet, frowning with confusion as he asked, “For me?”

“It’s from both of us,” Tressa said, “As thanks for taking us with you to the market!”

“Why thank you,” Cyrus smiled at them, “though there is no need for such gifts.”

Therion rolled his eyes, “Just open it.”

“Yeah! Open it!” Tressa said, bouncing in her seat.

Dutifully, Cyrus lifted the top of the box, and his whole expression lifted in delight as he stared at what was inside. It was a new writing kit, with a perfectly carved quill, writing knife, along with other tools of the trade, it even came with a pen.

“And here’s some extra ink, just in case you need it,” Tressa said, placing two inkwells on the table.

Cyrus knew he must look ridiculous as a wide grin split his face, but he didn’t care as he glanced up at his two friends, “Thank you, I will treasure this gift.”

The two of them returned Cyrus’ smile in their own way as they said in unison, “You’re welcome.”

Truly, Cyrus had been blessed by Bifelgan to receive such friends as Tressa and Therion.

#octopath traveler #i write sometimes #cyrus albright #therion #therion octopath #tressa colzione #bifelgan #bifelgan octopath #to be continued??????#will i come up with more ideas for the gods?#i don't know #this idea surprised me by suddenly demanding i write it #i changed the title/tenet like 5 times and I'm still not happy with it #but i refuse to think about it anymore

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ready-to-obeyme · 4 years ago

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[OM!] College!AU Zoom University Headcanons

For the 7 Demon Brothers + Solomon

Scenario: Headcanons about how you interact with the demon brothers online during online lectures via Zoom (an online video platform that universities have been using to teach classes) and their habits using it

Notes: gn!MC, Considering most universities (including mine) are all online AGAIN fall quarter and we’re going to be using Zoom forever……. i kinda wish i DID have online classes with the demon boys (and Solomon)

Lucifer

Video off, mic off, no profile pic just the typical first and last name, so you don’t really talk to him but you do see his name pop up in the Zoom chat to ask clarification questions

Accidentally has his mic on sometimes

First time you interact with him is when you private message him “hey, I think your mic is still on” because everyone can hear his brothers arguing in the background

The mic is soon turned off and you get a response back “thanks. Sorry you had to hear all of that”

“Yeah no prob. How many brothers do you have anyways?”

“Too many.”

Thus starts your relationship with him as zoom buddies, asking each other privately what the professor just said and some clarification questions

If you’re shy about asking stuff, he has no problems asking for you; never makes you feel dumb about your questions

first time you hear his voice during midterm season when the professor doesn’t see your messages (“you’d expect them to know how this all works by now” he messages you dryly) and he asks his question out loud before the professor can move on

(lowkey think he’s hot just from his voice)

Then highkey finds out he’s hot when his video is accidentally on for a few seconds when he’s distracted with Asmo or Mammon in the background

Bonus points if you tease him about it

Shows up at office hours when the TA is late and you just talk to him, exchange emails and numbers ;) y’know for homework help

If you’re going to do group projects, he seeks you out first-- god forbid he’s stuck with someone who doesn’t do the work ONLINE

Mammon

Mic is ALWAYS accidentally on until the professor mutes him or tells him to mute himself

“Oh, sorry prof!!! My b!!”

Private messages you on purpose to ask a clarification question because he doesn’t want to seem dumb asking it to everyone or to the professor

You wonder why he chose you but then you realize it’s because you had asked a question yourself earlier in the lecture or answered a question

It becomes a recurring thing-- like EVERY lecture

If you’re not annoyed at him, then you might suggest that the two of you share a document for notes or tease him about just having you teach the lecture if he’s confused

“Actually, that sounds great!” he types to you before you could say jk “that’d help me a lot, thanks!!”

Smh why did you sign up for more work for yourself but oh well, he seems like a nice guy

Is also a very attractive guy, you realize, when you schedule a zoom meeting with him and actually see his face

Realizes why he keeps asking questions is because he plays card games on a split screen instead of paying attention to lecture (same tho)

Invites you to join him by private messaging you a link to join (and you do eventually when lectures gets boring)

Sometimes sends the invite link to the whole class by accident

He admits he wouldn’t even attend lecture and would just watch the recording but you’re always there so he goes

Which means you suppose you should keep going to lecture if anything to have him go as well

Leviathan

Already the master of online classes tbh and has no problem with the format

Finds it kind of annoying when there’s technical difficulties, but he just quickly switches to a tab to watch anime

Probably is just watching anime on another tab if the lecture gets boring or slow anyways

He’s always the first one to answer forum/discussion posts because he’s just very tech-savvy and good at replying to people

First interaction is probably him answering one of your questions on the discussion question and from then on after you start messaging him privately during lecture when you have a question you think he can help with

A little hesitant on helping you, but you’re also just really nice to him so he’s okay with helping you, I guess

Give him your email? Why? So he can send you the book pdfs and previous practice tests of course, why else??

O-Oh, you want to add him on social media? Just to ask for homework questions right? Okay, yeah, sure! o////o

If video is on, you see the reflection of anime in one of his mirrors and casually ask him which episode he’s on

Has never been so shook or attentive in his LIFE

Satan

He is a godsend during every breakout room because he ACTUALLY TALKS instead of leaving you in a quiet room alone with three other strangers

You think you’re lowkey in love with him when he has no problems volunteering to present to the professor and putting his thoughts into words so eloquently

He also appreciate you talking during discussion too, and enjoys the conversations the two of you have while you’re not even sure the other blank profile pics are even there anymore

He’s the one to suggest making a shared doc to share notes and study together-- the man is productive and efficient about this, what can I say?

Manages to convince you to go to office hours with him and meet up for studying hours and ooooh he’s hot

He’s actually a very good study buddy, especially when he’s teaching you something you’re confused about, but also just good to study together with (when you’re not too busy staring at him)

The only reason why you’re focused during class because he’d look disappointed at you if you weren’t-- that’s on you for caring about what he thinks, but he’s just so PUT TOGETHER how do you NOT look up to him?

Finds out that he’s actually just a mess like everyone else when his brothers come in during one of your study session and he says “excuse me,” mutes the mic and goes off screen; you can see some shadows in the back as satan shoves his brothers out of the room and manhandles them till they leave

Is kind of embarrassed he forgot to turn of video too but you just think it’s funny because you relate to the lack of privacy of online classes (and perhaps annoying siblings)

Asmodeus

How the hell does he look awake and lively at a 9am lecture class????

Is that make up??? Is he… wearing PANTS??? (you don’t remember the last time you put on actual pants)

The most functional-looking person in the entire zoom lecture, asides from the professor

Has video on all the time-- because honestly why wouldn’t he? He actually looks good

Definitely not paying attention most of the time, and you see it on his face

Messages you first when you actually wear something nice for once because you’re going to go to the supermarket afterwards

“Ooh, where’d you get that accessory??”

The two of you end up not paying attention AT ALL and instead just gush about each other’s outfits

Definitely is not afraid to ask for your social media so you can follow each other and ask for homework help I guess but MAINLY to talk to each other because online classes can get sooooo tedious

Really really wants to be able to meet you in person someday when it’s safe (“we’d look so cute together!!!”) but settles for facetime or zoom meet-ups

Really does not hesitate to make friends and make the best out of social situations despite remote format bless him

The only time he doesn’t turn on video is after a night of drinking with his brothers (“it was mammon’s birthday” he types into the chat with you, “ugh i’m probably going to go lie down, let me know how lecture goes”)

Beelzebub

Always eating-- even if this wasn’t online, he’d also be the one to bring snacks-- his whole LUNCH to class to eat so this isn’t too surprising

You think it’s hilarious when he actually brings his laptop or phone (whatever he’s using zoom with) to the kitchen and literally makes dinner during the lecture

Sometimes you watch his tiny video of him putting stuff into the oven than the lecture slides and you bet your entire class is doing that too

Sometimes you ask him jokingly what he’s cooking and you’re surprised when he pauses and answers your question mid-dinner making

“Lasagna. You want some?”

“Yeah send it over through mail bro”

You don’t actually know if he’s actually retaining any lecture information, but apparently he’s doing decent enough-- still, if you offer to share your notes, he’d be so grateful

“Where do you live?”

“Ldfjalskjd why are you going to send me food?”

“Yeah. What’s your address? I’ll send you a box of cookies or something.”

Basically he just does NOT care what the entire class sees him doing; he could be cooking, eating, working out-- he’s listening to the lecture out loud but he’s giving you a show (whether it’s a cooking show or a work out video depends on the time of day)

Belphegor

If the lectures are recorded, you’ll never see him, especially if the class is early in the morning LOL

If you do see him during lecture and video is on, he’s always in his pajamas or sleep clothes, a pillow in front of him

During discussion, if video is required, he probably has a screenshot of himself awake as a profile picture so he can snooze away pretending like he’s actually there

You definitely notice because he’s the first video to show up in your gallery and his video is like never moving HAHA

You finally message him when the TA splits you all into breakout rooms when you’re all supposed to be finding the answer or discussing something to be shared later

Kind of awkward at first because he’s like… asleep, but when he wakes up blearily, he does participate-- if only for your sake and for discussion points

“Hey… wake me up if the TA or professor asks us any questions, will ya?” he says as he puts his head down and sleeps

Since you and him are now officially breakout room buddies, you message him when you have a question and know that he’ll probably respond to you by the end of class because he actually knows the material despite sleeping through half of the class

Is actually very appreciative of you that you volunteer to speak on behalf of your breakout room if no one else does because that means HE doesn’t have to do it

Bonus:

Solomon

The one to make the groupchat/slack link and send it to everyone in the class so we could actually help each other in the class

Shares a link to a google folder with resources

Highkey more useful than a TA sometimes

Super helpful, efficient, and charismatic… but suspiciously so

Like where did he get all these pdfs? Where did he get all these 100% test from previous years? And-- is that an answer key??? To what???

Video isn’t on ever, so you have no clue what he looks like… until you’re in the same discussion as him and he turns on his video for breakout rooms

He always, ALWAYS sits at the island in the kitchen and sips coffee whenever you have discussion with him

Responds back to you almost immediately if you ask him questions during lecture (because honestly, why not-- he seems smart and has his life together) but if anyone messages him in the groupchat, surprisingly takes a while to reply… maybe he’s busy?

Anyhow you’re not gonna question it; you’re gonna pass this class and Solomon is carrying everyone to an A+

#obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me #ZOOM UNIVERSITY BABY

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hottestthingalive · 3 years ago

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ok my personal headcanon about wilbur soot’s samsung smart fridge parenthood is that wilbur’s fucked up “my father is a quasi-immortal bird man who’s apparently been wandering around for centuries just vibing and never quite figured out how to actually enter old age” biology resulted in his circulation being all kinds of wonky, so his body temperature is unnaturally low. he isn’t bothered by it, because of magic and also it being his normal state of being, but if you were to hold c!wilbur’s hand it would be like holding a block of ice.

philza also manages to make a high-five a frostbite risk, so wilbur didn’t think much of it until, as a very small child, he met some of phil’s friends (not techno and i’ll explain why in a sec) and one of them commented on how cold he was after dramatically shaking this toddler’s hand in the way that you do with small children. this resulted in said friend sarcastically asking phil “what, is his mother a fridge or something?” which devolved into joking about how “phil has taste so it must have been a samsung smart fridge, top of the market, he sure knows how to pick em,” which would have just been harmless fun except wilbur soot, the man who started a country just to sell drugs and sing hamilton and ended up fighting and also dying in multiple wars for said country because he’s a dramatic bitch, immediately accepted said joke as the gospel truth.

i’ve mentioned before that i think c!phil would be a total pushover when it came to his son. i still think this and i would like to add that i also believe that phil was a pretty good dad and did his best but also had no fucking idea how normal mostly human children work. and so when wilbur started telling people his mother was a samsung smart fridge, phil ended up assuming that his maybe three-year-old son was somehow in on the joke. phil, being a Good Supportive Dad Wanting To Encourage His Son’s Budding Comedy Career, just went along with it, only realizing what had actually happened when it was already far too late to fully amend the misconception.

maybe wilbur should have noticed that phil clearly also had the average body temperature of a dead body on Everest, but wilbur just assumed phil was that cold because he’d dated a fridge. the cost of interspecies relationships. sometimes your kid is a fox furry with abandonment issues, sometimes you are just really chilly for the rest of your life. unfortunate, thinks wil, and moves on.

so now we have wilbur, fully convinced his other parent is actually a samsung smart fridge, and phil, originally blissfully unaware and eventually simply unwilling to crush wilbur’s fragile beliefs and hopes and dreams. “okay, we got that,” you say impatiently, for my readers are ever my harshest critics, “but why can’t techno be the family friend?”

well, my dear, now think of techno’s similarly janky biology. think of how he usually seems to chose to live in very, very cold areas. think of when wilbur called techno his brother that one time.

what i’m saying is that when phil brought his son to meet his best friend for the first time since he was a baby, wilbur realized techno also felt as cold to the touch as a metal lamppost in a hailstorm, and immediately assumed that techno was somehow his estranged fellow half-fridge sibling. why had phil never introduced them before this? why had phil only introduced techno as a friend and not as wilbur’s brother? obviously, concluded wilbur “i make a greek tragedy out of a hot dog van” soot, techno was his half-sibling on the refrigerator’s side with some unknown other pig/piglin parent, and because of that phil had never truly considered techno his son.

and so wilbur, thinking himself on a quest of righteous vengeance against his cruel, stepson-abandoning father, immediately started referring to techno as his brother whenever possible, and phil, unknowing, just went along with it. techno never bothered to correct wilbur either, because techno participated in a lot of wars and probably heard people calling each other their [metaphorical] sibling a lot (since referring to your allies as family members is commonly used rallying language), and also just liked being able to use the advantage of being wilbur’s ‘brother’ instead of uncle or dad’s friend or something else to tease phil about being old. thus wilbur’s very dramatic mental portrayal of his family was never corrected, and led to

a. him coming up with a very questionable family tree that no one ever bothered to peer review

b. fundy being cursed to have a mild crisis every time he thinks about his father’s parents.

in conclusion: wilbur soot isn’t the son of a fridge, he’s just a dumbass with an even dumber father and father’s best friend, neither of which ever even thought to try and fix his truly atrocious grasp of metaphysical biology.

(wilbur did fuck a fish though. you can’t change that undeniable canon. even if fundy could be saved from the idea that his grandparent is a fridge, he will never escape knowing that his mother is a literal salmon)

#dsmp wilbur #dsmp philza #dsmp techno #dsmp fundy

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

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I was going to write this for the Aspec Archives week, but I got overexcited, so here we are.

AU: Mythical creatures. OG Archive team.

Some CWs apply, see tags.

The sea is more than water, her elder brethren taught her, warned her, chided her. It is home and harm and hungry, and you should not face it alone. Her siblings were older, ever knowing better, boisterous and boasting braver, but even they worried, scolded and fretted when she swam out too far alone into deep waters.

It will love you, but it will not always be kind, her eldest sibling bit out, snapped to mask their anxiety. There can be no bearings, in the deep-deep down, no anchors to denote where the sky lies.

When her people sleep, they rest wedged into some secure rock or crevice, tails looped around tails so no one is lost while dreaming.

You cannot be a shoal of one, my dearest, my youngest and bravest, the oldest of their shoal had said, when she told her she was planning on taking the rising when the waters warmed. Ascending landward on the tide swell, letting the shimmering scales of her tail split into skin.

She had not used the name Sasha at that time because that was a landward name she chose with care. Her folk gather names like a garland of pearls, to be constantly strung longer through life as age advances them; names for qualities, for momentous events, for hopes and desires. Her first name, gifted by her shoal, was guttural. It starts at the back of her throat, trails off into a susurration through gills. Mer is a difficult language to learn, though not impossible.

Tim tried. There is no one singular language of those who skirt the deepwaters, so he attempts to mimic her dialect. His pronunciation stumbling, he makes tentative sentences with the butchered grammar of fry. Martin’s grammar is even worse, though he picks up the eddies and waves of the sounds easier.

Jon, like most things in life, takes it as a challenge. One day, almost stubborn with nerves, to perform his task to perfection, he pushes out a juvenile approximation of her first name. Clipped and textbook and the stress in the wrong places, but Sasha smiles, showing her sharpest teeth in delight. Instructs him where to hold the hum at the back of his throat, how to roll the third phoneme upwards like an air bubble. Jon repeats it and repeats it, quietly smug and pleased at his achievement, and the sea in her soul rocks fondly at the sight.

She broached landward in the rising two moons after her age of maturation. She was one of a handful to come to shore. A sibling in Brighton who she phones every week, another two in Holyhead. Her first shoal traverses to warmer waters when the season shifts, and she would feel the rock-hollow absence of them if it was not for Tim, inviting her to participate in a hundred-and-one inane activities that keep her from feeling swept out; Jon, with his libraries of questions and intrigues, his quick-silver tongue; Martin, who sometimes swims a little further out from them but who finds her small knick-knacks in charity shops and craft markets and leaves them on her desk for no reason other than he has thought of her.

She makes three necklaces, plain with a strong chain, a single pearl attached. And on a day where her folk traditionally string garlands of seaweed and mangrove roots and colourful plants from coral reefs in a celebration of family – there is no one word in her language for this idea; it poorly translates into hierarchies like sibling and brethren and elders, but these are not concepts that fit it exactly – she gifts them to the shoal that will anchor her in the depths of the sea, and bestows upon them names. Most Mer names are wishes for quick fins, calm waters, safe shores, and so she wishes these for them in a language they are not quite proficient in yet.

Her landward shoal is smaller than is traditional. But she loves them as treasures of her heart, and thinks she understands what her siblings told her, about anchors.

His parents, both harpies from local nests, are perplexed when his wings start coming in.

Must be a colouring from your mum’s side, his dad hums thoughtfully when Tim’s primaries grow in long and shining like struck bronze. He runs a careful finger down the central line of the rachis, and the wing shudders and jumps, the feathers still sensitive, and Tim complains that it’s ticklish. His wings are too small to fly away as his dad dives in, captures him in careful arms, corkscrewing upwards a little off the ground with Tim squirming and squealing and squawking in play, but they flutter and flap nonetheless.

The wing span’s from your dad’s side, no-one from my nest ever went more than five foot, his mother says, rubbing at the dark brown of his downy secondaries. Tim stretches them out wide, eager to boast at their length, the tips of his longest feathers reaching past his arms held out wide.

Danny’s wings are smaller. Magpie like, bold lines of white broken up by blue and black, the same as his parents. Tim’s wings, broader, a colour like beaten brass that tips into gold at the ends, draws attention, but he’s never been embarrassed. His family never treated him differently, so he didn’t dwell on it.

He can fly, though he doesn’t often. After his parents died, and after… after Danny, he moved to London, where there’s tighter airspace regulations and permits involved, so he mostly doesn’t bother. This doesn’t mean never, however. He has learned, while working in the Archives, that from the ground, his wings have enough lift to pick up both Jon and Sasha by at least a foot. He thinks he could probably manage Martin as well, if it wasn’t for the unfortunate fact that Martin is mildly allergic to a whole host of things, including feather dander, meaning he gets a bit watery eyed whenever he gets too close to Tim’s wings, and he’s a sniffing, red-eyed mess come moulting season.

Anyway, he can always fly when he leaves the city. When it’s been too long since Sasha’s scales touched seawater, she invites him out to the coast. Jon apparently has had enough of the coast to last a lifetime, and Martin gets funny about large bodies of water, so it’s often the two of them. She swims out, the greenish scales of her tail catching the sun-struck water, and he, above, feeling the breeze brush through his cramped wings, follows her wake. When she breaches the surface in a playful arc, he swoops down, trying to catch her at the same time as she tries to splash him.

“You never thought to look into it?” Jon asks. Always brewing with questions. Tim is obligingly holding out one of his wings, and Jon, who takes everything like a project, has books out and webpages up but with no further clue as to why his colouration and span differ so from his parents.

Tim shrugs. “Doesn’t matter really, does it?”

Jon hums, clearly not agreeing, and Sasha rolls her eyes fondly, and that is the end of that.

Marysia had hoped her child would not take after her husband. She’d lit candles and attended masses during her pregnancy, worn the beads of her rosary smooth. Her child had been born on land, miles from shore, and her husband had been a grounded man, who had folded up his pelt on their wedding night for her and swore to wear no other soul than his human one.

But then her husband leaves, the box where he kept his second soul empty, and Martin is eight years old, and he wakes up one morning glassy-eyed and complaining of nausea, his lip bleeding from where his sharpening teeth have ripped the skin, and she knows her prayers were not answered.

It is not unknown, for the second soul of some folk to flourish later. But it is a rough awakening, to have one’s body grow a new skin out of itself, and Martin is off school for over a week, riddled with fever and fervour, constantly parched, crying and sweating out salt-water.

She watches his skin prickle with grey and black fur, blotching with white over his stomach as he coils up under his covers, throws them off only for his limbs to reduce to shivering. His brown eyes have gone black-shot, his cries a mix of language and barks, and Marysia fears she will lose her only child to the sea.

It will be hard for him to fit in, she tells herself. It would be best to choose one, and he has his friends and family and her on land, and who knows where his father is now, and surely it would be cruel, an unnecessary agony for him to endure some other foreign pull away from all he knows.

She does what she thinks is a kindness, though that is neither excuse nor forgiveness. After nine days, his fur has come through, sleek and soft, his whiskers twitching, and she helps him peel it off as one would do clothes, revealing sweat-sheened limbs, his eyes slipped back into brown again. His gaze still distant and feverish, he tries to cuddle into her, and she soothes him while she finishes stripping off his pelt and folding it neatly.

While he sleeps, she burns it in a fire in the back yard.

When he comes back to himself, she lies and tells him that he’s been sick with a bad fever. And he trusts her, and never questions it. He doesn’t understand that she’s burnt a part of him up, scattered the ashes to the winds, but it was for the right reasons. To keep him safe, and happy, and with her.

He grows up human-limbed and cloven-souled, and she never tells him the truth.

Sasha floats in an ever-dark, stolen away and hidden. There is a knot, a cage-trap around her legs, which have fused into her tail although there is no water. The sea, far away, like the wail in a conch shell, throbs in her soul as she strains and shouts and snarls in the wrapping of spider’s webs.

The sea is the only thing with her in the dark.

Sound has a particular quality, underwater. She hears it first, an echo that shivers through her, like being thrummed on the backdraft of some shallow wave. And then it is a wash of insistence. A command.

The compulsion uses her names, landward and seaward and it pulls and demands her attention, and she shrieks and cries back, struggling in the depths. She is being called home, up up up to breach the surface, and she cannot help but answer.

There is a crack and the sea splits, and she is choking on cold and dusty air.

“Sasha!” someone is saying. “God, is she – she’s not – ?”

“Get that stuff off her, come on. Sasha. Sash, love, can you hear us?”

A series of thuds as she splutters. A twisting, gnarling screech, and several swear words.

“Jesus!”

“Shit – shit, get her out of the way.”

“Boss, move, give me the – ”

The screech degrades into a glitching, warping scream. There is the multi-layered sound of compressed air, and crackling fire,the woosh and stench of something burning.

In time, she cracks her eyes open to the punch of light. Her tail flaps weakly. Someone is pulling great strands of silk that has clumped like poorly soldered iron around her limbs, making visceral noises of disgust. She’s cold-stream shivering, surrounded by broken wood and chippings.

“Hey, hey, we got you. We got you. You with us, Sash?”

The faint scratch of feathers against her cheek. Furnace-warm arms are holding her.

Jon is kneeling down in front of her. Holding an axe and stinking of smoke, and she knows, she knows, that it was his voice she heard, although she doesn’t yet understand why.

Martin throws a blanket over her as she shivers, her tail shrivelling and bisecting into legs. He has silk in his hair, and his fingers are trembling, but his face is broken with a look of such relief.

“It’s you,” he says, and his hand touches at his throat, at the necklace she made for him. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

It’s Martin in the end that carries her out of the tunnels, tucking the blanket completely around her. He is talking in the scatter-gun way he does when he is anxious, babbling, and she can’t bring herself to listen. He smells of soot and saltwater, and she’s never noticed that before.

She falls asleep, curled up into his hold, drained and shaken, but feeling utterly safe.

Jon is human. Completely, one hundred percent, although Sasha had joked once that way way back there must have been some Spinx in the family. Tim’s long suspected that Martin’s not quite human, no matter how he presents, but that’s Martin’s business, not his. Some folks have lineages that are rare, or mistrusted, or misunderstood, and Tim’s not one to pry.

Jon, though. Human through and through. Which is why he’s so worried.

“I shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Jon says. Martin’s with Sasha, making sure there’s no nasty side effects to her imprisonment in the table. Jon’s had a face on him for a while which means he’s Worrying with a capital W, and it’s taken hours for him to untangle himself into a blustered declaration to the rest of the class, spiked with nerves. “That place, it had her. It shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I did, but I told her to leave, a-and she could. And she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“And you think that you did that?”

“I – I know I did that, Tim, I felt it, o-or. I mean, I felt something!”

“Ok, alright. Alright. Let’s, let’s calm down and look at this logically.”

Jon goes over what he said while they struggled to rescue Sasha from the deep. It was something he said, he’s sure of it, which is why he is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the main archive office space with Tim, his trousers getting dusty and his temper scraping frayed, getting increasingly frustrated when he tries recreating exactly what he did with his voice, going through questions and commands and instructions and inquiries. And while Tim answers, it’s clearly not what Jon’s looking for, and he’s rubbing the hair at the back of his head in the way he does when he’s getting increasingly frustrated and is too bull-headed to walk away.

Then Jon, rolling his eyes and seething in annoyance, asks him a throwaway question, one of many he’s been trying – what’s your favourite colour? (seriously, Jon, that’s what you’re going with?!); What did you do at the weekend? (you know what I did, you and Martin were with me!).

“Why did you join the Magnus Institute?”

They both sit, frozen and horrified as Tim’s mouth opens and his words trip over his tongue in their eagerness to leave his mouth. As his eyes grow wide and water with tears as he cannot stop speaking about Danny, about the Covent Garden circus and Joseph Grimaldi. As Jon sits, ramrod-backed and cannot stop listening, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His expression wars between frantic and panicking and hungry.

Tim feels wrung out and hollow once he’s finished. Jon’s manic with apologies. It takes both of them a long time to calm down.

“Maybe… maybe you’re a siren or something?” Tim suggests, but Jon is shaking his head.

“It’s this place, Tim. It’s those statements, when I read them. It’s … I – I think they’re doing something to me.”

Tim looks at Jon and the light strikes off his eyes in a way that it shouldn’t on a human.

He touches Jon’s arm.

“We’ll sort this,” he promises. “We got Sasha out, didn’t we? The four of us, we can get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

Jon nods, and gives a small fragile thanks, and that’s human enough for Tim.

Marysia told herself she was not a bad mother. That her son was simply a hard child to love, that he had all the worst trappings of his father, his brown eyes perpetually caught with a far-away look that doesn’t know where to place its longing. But even as she sickened, and he sloughed off every facet of himself in a pathetic attempt to please her, she couldn’t find anything but sorrow in her heart to look upon the man grown over familiar in face, a growth that grew deep-set and fungal into contempt.

She almost spat the truth out to him. Once or twice, with the thought that confessing might bring them closer. She wished he’d chosen the sea instead, so she wouldn’t have to look upon her amputated, half-formed child who would always be lost.

But she never did.

And Martin finds out alone, cornered in an unlocked office, his hands dropping the lighter as a thousand eyes open and watch satisfied as they pour his mother’s choices down his throat to choke him.

It starts when Martin starts sleeping in archive storage. When Tim watches worms burrow into Jon’s skin at the same time as they latch and gnaw and wriggle under his own. When they get Sasha back, and find Gertrude’s corpse and Jon leaves and gets hurt and hurt and hurt again, and the world around them gets smaller and meaner and there is nothing Tim can do.

He takes to storing food in their desk drawers. Nothing that will go off, or won’t keep. Tins and dried goods and non-perishables. He lines the walls of Martin’s storage room with fire extinguishers of different types, fire blankets, and spare first aid kits bulging with plasters and bandages and antiseptic wipes. He buys blankets and pillows and rope and penknives. He stress-moults constantly, and tucks his feathers out of sight, irritated and embarrassed at the sight of them, and it occurs to him that nesting is not a healthy way to deal with this.

He wants his family safe. He used to think it was such a small thing to ask for.

He thinks about that when the bomb goes off.

He burns, and he is dying.

His rage and fear burn off into a different fury. That it has come to this, his family so threatened, that all he has to his name is his sorrow and trauma and frustration and vengeance.

Tim wants nothing more than to live. To see them safe. To rail and rage against what seeks to harm them. So he burns and he burns and burns, his wings aflame and his mouth twisted in a scream, and does not die.

They dig him out breathing from the rubble. His skin stained grey with ash and soot.

His new wings stretch out red as the sunset.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #alternative universe #mermaid!sasha #pheonix!tim #selkie!Martin #regularOGhuman!Jon #with added Beholding spicyness #cws for implied child mistreatment #cw fire #cw burning #cw canon typical violence #cw compulsion #ask to tag

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kiruuuuu · 4 years ago

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Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

~*~

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

He needs to recover.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

~*~

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

~*~

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

~*~

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #lion #fanfic #protection mountain #I'm personally very happy with how all this is concluded #thank you to the one person who started all this you know who you are #thank you also to suzie for keeping this ship alive all this time #thank you all #💗💗💗#ALSO #CAN YOU GUESS WHO'S THE SNITCH?

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akasgisrightsactivist · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodied Lips

[Akaashi x fem!Reader] [Hurt/comfort] [Word count: 4.3k]

What do Akaashi’s bloodied lips taste like after he fought for your honor?

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, injuries / wounds, strangulation / asphyxia

A/n: This happens somewhere between his first and second year of high school. I think everyone loses their cool at some point, and I wanted to explore that situation for Akaashi. This ended up being more autobiographical than I expected.

You found him hiding in the darkness of the club’s locker room.

As the opening door let in the light from outside, it revealed the bloodied lip, a red stain trailing down his chin. That detail was enough to make your heart rush inside your chest.

You’d heard rumors and you had run to find Akaashi. But it was the confirmation of such murmurs that made your head dizzy, unable to believe that your beloved friend had gotten in such a rough fight.

He was calm and collected. He never lost his cool, never lost sight of his goals —or so you thought, because the image of the guy in front of you sitting on the floor, knees pressed against his chest, arms hugging his legs, eyes lost in the void… that image told you a story you wished you’d never witnessed.

Akaashi averted his eyes as soon as you came into the room. After all, it was a story he also wished he’d never written with his own bloody hands.

Yet, you refused to run away. There was no way you’d abandon a friend in need, and you wanted to hear the story from his own lips —surely a different tale from the ones you’d heard around the corners of the school.

It was hard to find the proper words. What could you tell a friend who had just beaten the shit out of a guy? It had been a surprise to everyone —his volleyball teammates, classmates, teachers— how Akaashi, apparently inferior in physical strength to the guy from the soccer club, had destroyed him. One of your classmates had told you about the fire in Akaashi’s eyes as he had punched the soccer player in the face repeatedly —a frenzied expression that had terrified the witnesses.

Maybe you should be afraid too, but the Akaashi in front of you wasn’t that furious beast anymore —he was a meek and ashamed shadow of his self.

You eventually chose the diplomatic option:

“What happened, Akaashi?”

He buried his face into his knees, muffling his reply:

“You already know what happened.”

His voice was almost a sob, a plea for mercy. You entered the room, shutting the door, and you crossed the space in two long strides, finding the window under which he was sitting. You opened the blinds to let the natural light get inside, but his body remained hidden in the shadows, and you squatted by his side.

There was no angle from which you could see his face, but you could now spot the several bruises over his hands, arms, and even the neck, with bloody scratches here and there.

It had been a brutal fight.

“I want to hear it from you, Akaashi.”

You saw his head shake as a negative, his shoulders announcing a sob. Unconsciously, your hand found the space between his shoulder blades, and he winced —unworthy of your touch.

So you stood up, and crossed the room all the way back to the door. He held a sob, listening —expecting you to leave now.

But instead you opened the first-aid cabinet that hid behind the locker room door, and got out cotton, alcohol, and band aids.

As you made your way back to his side, you imagined the steps that had taken him all the way here. He had gotten in that fight until someone had called a teacher. He had then been taken to the vice principal for the corresponding scolding, followed by a punishment —knowing the gravity of the issue, you suspected that Akaashi had been suspended for a couple of weeks, completely unexpected from someone as polite and nice as him. Suspension included not participating in club activities, a big hit for the entire team and everyone’s reputation. And yet, Akaashi had hidden in this locker room… probably to avoid going back home, where his parents would be extremely displeased to learn about his behavior.

It was a huge mess he had gotten into, and you still hadn’t found out why.

You took his arm, poured alcohol on a piece of cotton, and warned him:

“This will sting.”

As you pressed the cotton against his first scratch located near the wrist, he hissed, raising his head and shooting a surprised look at you.

But he didn’t say anything, not after seeing your serious expression, your tightly pressed lips. He let you work on his wounds, no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, and he clenched his jaw to push through the pain —probably believing this to be another punishment for his actions.

The truth was that, in reviewing all the steps until he had hidden in that room, you knew that nobody had tended to his wounds. Surely someone had healed the other guy, but not Akaashi.

“So… Tell me what happened,” you insisted, emphasizing your point by pressing the alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the wound on his elbow.

He shut his eyes tightly, biting his already bruised lip to deal with the sting.

“Nakamura from the soccer club,” he muttered, as if the name itself explained everything.

“Aha. And?”

You knew Nakamura from the soccer club enough to suspect what had happened. He was a beefy guy with an inversely proportional muscle mass to brain cell ratio. You weren’t prone to classifying people by stereotypes, but this guy truly was the brainless athlete who gloated too much about his skills and insulted anyone he didn’t deem strong enough to compete against him.

You suspected he had insulted Akaashi, but your friend wasn’t the kind to fall for taunts.

It surprised you when he instead said:

“He said something very ugly about you, y/n-san.”

Your hand stopped mid-air, the cotton ball hovering a scarce inch away from his next wound.

“Did you get into this much trouble for me…? Akaashi, you didn’t have to, I don’t mind empty insults, I—”

“He called you a whore,” he added, a flame lighting up in his eyes again. “I couldn’t take it, I simply couldn’t.”

“Akaashi…”

“It wasn’t just an empty insult. It wasn’t just a word he said. He was attacking your honor and your dignity for no reason,” he explained, words rushing out of his mouth in a stream he couldn’t control. “He said you were a whore because you had become our manager just to be surrounded by guys, to get into our pants. I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t stand hearing another word, so I shut him up.”

He caught his breath as you remained silent.

Surely it was a hurtful insult, an unprompted one. You weren’t that kind of person, but you also knew how stupid Nakamura was, so paying attention to him was pointless.

Then again, it was time someone ended up punching him after offending everyone who had the bad luck to be around him. You just wished it hadn’t been Akaashi, of all people.

He could lose everything he had fought for —his reputation in front of the teachers, his good grades, his future as a college student, his spot in the volleyball club… all of it because of an insult to you.

The worst of all was the thought that Nakamura looked innocent to the eyes of the teachers, a kind of martyr.

“You’ve risked it all for me, Akaashi. You shouldn’t have…”

“I couldn’t help it.”

You pressed the cotton against a big scratch on his neck and he hissed.

“You are not like this.”

“Am I not?” He replied. “Maybe you don’t know me. Maybe—”

“Stop playing the edgy boy, it doesn’t suit you. We both know you aren’t like this, and you lost the game when you fell for his taunts. He wasn’t even targeting me when he said that, he was targeting you.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. That guy has always been jealous of your poise and your athleticism. He might have muscles, but he’s never had the skills or game intelligence that you have, Akaashi, and now you’re suspended from the volleyball club. Who’s won, huh? You never fall for those things.”

He let a deep breath out of his nose, an acknowledgment to his defeat. You circled his body to tackle the wounds on the other side.

“And he destroyed you, let me tell you,” you added, pointing at the bruises.

“He got worse.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in serious trouble.”

“It was worth it,” he replied, a childish pout on his lips.

You gave him a sad look.

“No, it wasn’t.”

Your reply made him bury his face in his knees one more time, and it made you wonder if maybe you had been too harsh at him. Yet it didn’t feel right to lie to a friend and tell him he’d done the right thing when it wasn’t the case. Nakamura had won the mental fight, he was the victim in the eyes of the world, and Akaashi could potentially lose everything he didn’t deserve to lose.

But he was probably aware of it. Facing the reality of how much he had risked in an inexcusable fit of anger, his only way to cope was to try to find a reason to justify it and make it worth it —a pure lie to himself.

You didn’t know how to comfort him, other than healing the wounds that nobody else had paid attention to. Arriving to his right hand —his weapon of choice— you inspected his purple knuckles, the prints of his vicious attacks.

“I appreciate that you fought for my honor, but I can’t stop thinking about how much you might lose as a consequence. You shouldn’t burn yourself to protect others,” you said, fingertips circling his knuckles and travelling up and down his exhausted fingers. “It isn’t fair.”

All you heard was a sigh as a reply.

“Let me check your neck.”

He reluctantly tilted his head enough to give you space to heal the wounds in his neck. There were red and purple marks that made you wonder if Nakamura had tried to strangle Akaashi, and a knot closed around your own throat.

“Do you hate me, y/n-san?” Akaashi asked in a timid whisper.

You surveyed the storm of emotions inside your mind, the conflicting feelings fighting each other, but it was hard to find anything that resembled hate.

After all, you found it impossible to hate someone like him, not even after such an unexpected but human reaction. Who wouldn’t get angry at such an unfair insult towards a friend? Had you been the one witnessing such a humiliation aimed at Akaashi, wouldn’t you have jumped for Nakamura’s throat?

“Of course not.”

And in the dim light, Akaashi tilted his face just enough for a tear in his eye to catch the light of the afternoon as it filtered through the window.

Your fingers found the space under his jaw, and you raised his chin towards you, examining his face. It was a party of bruises and scratches like the rest of his body, but what truly caught your attention was the broken lower lip, a red trail cascading down his chin.

The single tear dropped down his cheek and you caught it with your thumb.

“But I’d hate if something like this happened to you again.”

With your free hand, you pressed the cotton to the corner of his eyebrow.

“I hate to see you get hurt,” you added. “I don’t want you to lose everything you’ve fought so hard for.”

“I’d do it again for you.”

“No. It’s not worth it. It hurts to see you in this situation.”

You slid the cotton down the side of his face, all the way to his jaw.

Remembering the purple marks on his neck, knowing how brutal Nakamura could be, the image crossed your mind of Akaashi being strangled.

“I don’t want to see you hurt ever again,” you insisted, your thumb caressing his face.

“I can take it,” he argued.

You imagined Akaashi gasping for breath, failing to get air to his lungs. You imagined his life slowly slipping away from his body under Nakamura’s hands.

“If you got hurt again… if I were to lose you…”

You couldn’t find the words to describe the pain you’d feel. There was no other way to shake away the terrible images in your mind, or to describe the emotions inside your chest.

There was no other place in his face that wouldn’t hurt him, so you chose the bloodied corner of his lips to place a kiss, to land your feelings, to dissipate his pain.

You noticed the way his eyes widened as yours closed for a brief and eternal second before you softly pulled back.

In the following silence, his eyes looked into yours for answers.

It took a while to convince Akaashi to go home, and you only succeeded when you took his hand in yours and guided him out of the locker room, where his presence was banned, and promised to walk all the way to his house and speak to his parents.

You were afraid of the consequences he’d face at home, and you thought he’d already faced enough punishment. He regretted his actions, his body was full of wounds, and he got suspended two weeks from school. Aside from that, teachers had lost respect for him and the future of his grades was a big question mark floating in the air.

It was enough punishment for a mistake, you thought.

Upon arriving to his house, he stopped at the entrance, his legs paralyzed by the fear. Surely the teacher had already informed his parents, and he found no excuse around the incident. Telling the truth was the only possibility, and he dreaded the consequences.

After all, he had always been the quiet guy, the good student, the almost perfect kid. His parents weren’t used to this kind of disruption —they didn’t expect it at all from their only child. The destiny of his family relied on his shoulders, and he had betrayed the surname he had always carried with responsibility and effort. You knew all of this, and feared the consequences as much as he did.

You knocked on the door for him, aware of the terrified look in his eyes. Promising that the sooner he went through this, the sooner the pain would be gone, you stood in front of him at the doorstep, waiting for his parents to open the door.

When the wooden panel in front of you revealed the face of Akaashi’s mom, you stood firm, back straight, shoulders back, hands resting in front of your lap, a serene look in your face.

She was angry, but she politely greeted you, even if your presence disturbed her plans. Surely she had gone through the future conversation in her mind over and over, trying to organize the sermon she would throw at her son once he got home.

You were an unexpected event that disrupted the flow in their lives.

“Good evening, y/n,” she said, and her eyes flew to your friend standing behind you. “You’re very late, Keiji. There’s no excuse for you to get home this late after everything that has happened. We need to talk.”

Even if your presence only served for Akaashi’s mom to soften her angry words a bit, it was already worth the walk, but you couldn’t just stand still and let Akaashi suffer more.

He was in enough pain already.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, and I apologize for Keiji’s late arrival,” you explained. “It was my fault. I was talking to him, telling him that what he did was wrong, and tending to his wounds.”

Her angry eyes returned to you, and for a brief second you spotted a shadow of sadness in her expression before she forced herself to return to her stoic demeanor. After all, it was her job as a parent to not crumble in this situation.

“Keiji, get inside. Thank you for bringing him home, y/n.”

Akaashi walked past you, his fingers lightly brushing your wrist as he whispered “thank you, y/n-san” before he went inside and you lost sight of his shape.

In a desperate last attempt, you said to his mom:

“He made a mistake. It was a bad mistake, but he’s aware of it. He has faced the consequences. He was only defending me.”

Now that Akaashi wasn’t there, her face dropped all signs of anger, only leaving behind the pain of disappointment in her expression.

“I know, but some actions are inexcusable, y/n. Please go home, it’s late already.” She bowed at you, and you returned the gesture, bowing deeper. Before she closed the door, she whispered: “You won’t see him in a while.”

And as the door slammed closed, her words hit you deep in your gut.

In the end, there was nothing you could do to help him.

You didn’t see or communicate with Akaashi in two weeks. The despair of his absence made you take the decision of speaking to the teachers and the vice principal, not to revert Akaashi’s suspension but to put in a good word for him, explaining to them how much Akaashi regretted his actions. Some teachers were more understanding than others, and you hoped you could at least help them trust Akaashi again.

The volleyball club wasn’t the same without him, and you could feel the heavy atmosphere as a manager. The members of the team were displeased at Akaashi’s suspension, but after the first days you noticed that most of the guys were in favor of what Akaashi had done.

After all, Nakamura was a pretty unpopular character at the school, and Bokuto in particular had a hard time every time he saw the guy around the hallways.

Two weeks went by painfully slow, and then one morning Akaashi showed up at school again. He had changed, his demeanor even more stoic than usual, his eyes more serious. There was little trace of wounds on his body anymore, but you noticed a tiny scar crossing his lower lip.

Your first chance of talking to him was during lunch break. You sneaked into his classroom, finding him at his table minding his business. It was clear how careful he was in his actions now, afraid that any tiny slip-up would cause his downfall.

Finding a seat in the empty chair right in front of his desk, you shot him a smile.

“Hey, Akaashi. Nice to see you around again. How are you?”

Your stomach dropped when he didn’t return the smile. He continued eating his lunch as he said:

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay,” you replied, your happiness now gone.

“It’s hard to earn people’s forgiveness,” he explained, eyes focused on his lunch box.

“Are you angry at me?”

“Of course not.”

You sighed, resting your arms on the back of the chair, and pressing your chin against your hands.

It was hard to read Akaashi, a guy who wasn’t fond of letting his emotions seep through his face. But it was as if the punishment he had received from both the school and his family had hardened him even more.

What if he didn’t like you anymore? What if the feelings you had expressed two weeks ago in the locker room had no validity to him anymore?

“What did your family tell you?”

“They’re extremely disappointed. I know they don’t trust me anymore,” he replied with an apparent detachment that you found unusually painful to listen to.

“Keiji…”

You caught him off guard —chin raising, eyes abandoning the sigh of his food to land on your face. You had never called him by first name before.

“y/n.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He swallowed.

“Me too,” he whispered, almost as if it was forbidden to him to confess his feelings.

“The volleyball team has missed you too. They’re dying to play with you again.”

You leaned forwards, entering the space of his desk, trying to bring some semblance of normalcy and positivity back to his life. You couldn’t imagine what he had gone through in the last two weeks —he would never tell you about the words his family had scolded him with, or the phone talks he might have had with his disappointed teachers, or the empty and lonely nights thinking about how much he missed the school and his friends.

All you could do was to try to push those feelings into the past and help him move forwards.

He opened his mouth to reply when a voice disrupted your conversation. You turned your head to the source of the interruption, finding an arrogant Nakamura standing next to you.

“Well, look who’s back!”

Silence spread around the classroom, followed by the murmurs of classmates surrounding you to witness the scene.

Akaashi cast a glance at the unwelcomed visit, but before you could dread a second fight, your friend returned his attention to his food and to you.

“It was wonderful,” he told you. “I had to do homework, but nothing out of the ordinary. I skipped classes and slept until late. Then I had time to play videogames in the afternoon.”

You blinked at Akaashi. He spoke nonchalantly, picking a rice ball from his box and munching at it, talking with his mouth full. Your eyes widened as he kept explaining the wonders of his daily routine during suspension, and you couldn’t hide the shock at what was clearly a lie —yet Akaashi explained it with a spontaneity that almost sold it to you.

Nakamura tried to interrupt him, speaking louder and louder, only to get ignored consistently by Akaashi.

As if his enemy didn’t exist at all.

You were afraid that the soccer player would get so mad that he’d punch Akaashi, but surprisingly it didn’t happen. In a fit of anger, the guy kicked a desk nearby and eventually left the classroom.

A soft chuckle left Akaashi’s lips.

“He knows he can’t attack me, or he’d get suspended, and he has an important match coming.”

“You’ve changed, Keiji.”

“I have simply learned and evolved.”

He put the remaining of the rice ball into his mouth and licked his fingers. You sneakily removed a single grain from the corner of his lips.

“Did you really sleep until late and play videogames?”

“Of course not, but he doesn’t know that. So… the guys are dying to play with me again, you said?”

“Oh yes. And I am looking forward to seeing this evolved version of you play in an official match. They have a big storm coming.”

It was the first time you saw a genuine smile in Akaashi’s face after the suspension.

“I’m free on Sunday, by the way. I’m not grounded anymore, so how about we meet? My lips hurt so much lately and I need you to fix it.”

A rush of heat climbed up your chest and all the way to your face, which you buried into your hands.

Yes, Akaashi had changed. And you couldn’t believe how blunt he had become.

BONUS (end of first scene)

In the following silence, his eyes looked into yours for answers.

You had just kissed him —there was no room for doubt. Akaashi’s brain functioned at 3000 revolutions per minute, considering every possibility, discarding any that didn’t fit his hypothesis.

It was strange, the location you had chosen to land a kiss. The way your thumb caressed his chin would fit the romantic category better than the platonic one, yet every romantic movie he had ever seen had the couple kissing in the center of the lips. Unlike the traditional kiss, you had found the corner of his mouth instead, but the angle of your lips against his, the surface of your mouth that had come in contact with his… it was undeniably a kiss in the lips, not a kiss in the cheek.

Could this mean what he thought it meant? Could this be a confession of sorts? A revelation of romantic feelings on your part?

As unexpected as it was, it didn’t shock him. He couldn’t say he didn’t see it coming. He had considered this possibility in the past, the chances of this happening only increasing as your friendship with him became more intimate.

Heck, when he had punched that Nakamura guy in the mouth, he hadn’t even felt like a friend protecting another friend’s honor. He had almost spat a “don’t you dare insult my girlfriend” at Nakamura, and he was thankful he hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of everyone during the heat of the fight, for you weren’t his girlfriend —as much as he wished you were.

But if getting in so much trouble had brought about this sweet moment to him, he wouldn’t pull away from it now.

He wasn’t projecting his wishes onto your actions, no. This was a kiss in the lips, there was no doubt about it. This wasn’t a byproduct of his imagination.

Thus, there was only one possible answer.

One second later, his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, and he kissed you back —a true kiss, as it should be, right on the center of your lips.

And then he felt it, the pang of pain crossing his lips, a groan escaping from his throat as he pulled back.

“Your lip is broken, you idiot,” you chuckled, examining the wound on his lower lip as he hissed in pain. “Or why do you think I kissed you on the corner of your mouth?”

You coiled your arm gently around his shoulders, bringing him closer against your body, and you buried your face into his cheek, placing another kiss at the end of his lips.

He still felt the sting, but he smiled.

The pain was worth it.

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#akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji #keiji akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader

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