#and instead of doing anything he keeps shaking his head in disapproval and criticizes everyone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leviiattacks · 4 years ago

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Two Faced | Chapter Eight

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it’s all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared, for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au ??? (at this point idek) angst, fluff, slice of life etc ?? word count :: 4.8k author note :: i’ve been very ill so yeah, not the best writing but i really can’t go that long without wanting to write so i ended up writing an update, i hope you enjoy it, it’s longer than usual :D sorry for any mistakes it hasn’t been proof read at all :-( → next part coming soon!!

“Hey, newbie you haven't spoke about your home town much have ya?"

You lift your head, verifying Reiner's suspicions with a nod. You recall he's the same distasteful blonde brute who made those snide remarks about Hange. He must be at least a towering six foot if his shadow is able to cover the majority of the Sun's rays from hitting you.

You would maybe bother to give him and his inquiry more attention than you currently are if he hadn't been so unnecessarily impolite during the morning speeches.

Calves yelping in stinging pain from the first tastes of the full time training regime you simply cannot find the effort to strain your mind with small talk.

Temples throbbing it feels as if a sword has been forced through the side of your head, but that's not it at all. Reiner has thrown a small rock at you and you hear him chuckle under his breath.

Twisting your position so you face him you glare in displeasure.

Although you don't particularly enjoy the idea of joining Levi's unit and having to become a concealed agent of sorts you can't really take your pickings at how it is you wish to survive. You're going to have to deal with it and you've come to the stage of acceptance now.

However, you are not willing to respect the attitude some of these cadets are giving you, it's clear there's already a strong hierarchy in place.

Reiner just so happens to be one of the big guns from what you've been able to observe. He possess strong upper body strength and his hand to hand combat isn't a laughing matter either. That means he's higher up in the ladder of cadets, that's for sure. To top it all off you know you're not as powerful as other members in the team in terms of skill and he's probably silently making a mockery of you for it.

Pursing your lips you decide to play this game cautiously, asking him what it is he needs from you isn't the best option. You're aware he's after something, it's written all over his face. You practically know every deceptive look in the book off by heart. You suppose it's the only perk you got out of living in a noble household for most of your life.

"Why do you care?" You bluntly question him.

"Ohh, you're feisty. Might not want to butt heads with Annie."

"Not sure who that is but I don't plan on it."

Turning away from him it look like you're distracting yourself by collecting pieces of firewood. Trailing around you act as uncaring as possible to annoy him. You need to gauge this man's reaction somehow.

Your plan seems to be working in your favour because you're able to see his footing shift from his natural stance, it looks as if he's about to risk charging at you due to your vulnerable position but you rotate again offering him a knowing smile.

You don't tell him you're conscious of his suspicious nature but if he's quick witted enough he'll be able to figure out you aren't a threat and apparently don't have a clue what it is he's up to. The only reason he'd even consider attacking you would be if he saw you as an issue. For now your act should at least keep him at bay.

"Fine. I'll tell you about my hometown, I'm just..." You pause to make yourself look believable and proceed to look up at him through your lashes, you dart your gaze away and awkwardly scratch the back of your neck exuding coyness.

"I'm incredibly homesick. I miss mother. I always made supper for her, now I can only pray she's not eating burnt chicken." Your act has to be working because his eyes soften and he takes half of the firewood in your arms offering to help you carry it.

"My mum's a great cook, can't relate squirt."

"Who you calling squirt?" You playfully snap back.

"I call everybody that, even Captain Levi... Well, when he isn't around to hear it."

You bite the inside of your cheek at the mention of the Levi's name.

“So you and the Captain? What’s that all about?” His question makes no sense at all, one minute he wants to prod and poke in your personal home life yet the next minute he's asking questions about Levi. The doubts you have surrounding him only thicken.

You take a moment to consider his question,

“Whatever do you mean?” Clueless, you're delivery is excellent. Acting naive is easy enough, everyone within the corps has already decided that's what your automatic disposition is.

Reiner gives you a skeptical look then smiles faintly, “Glaring daggers at Jean after he got handsy with you?”

You cover your mouth with your free hand and laugh so hard the firewood nearly flies out of your grasp.

“Me and Jean are friends, and Levi? He just wanted to find a reason to get mad at us probably.” You hope the explanation suffices because you truly have no idea why Levi had done what he did.

Reiner hums in approval at your answer but he then grins.

“You on first name basis with the Captain?”

Fuck, you called him Levi.

Play it cool.

“Huh? When have I ever said his first name?” Clueless. Your delivery is still perfect.

“Just now.” He fires back, Reiner doesn't seem to be letting up but he doesn't know how smooth of a liar you are.

Living with your father for all those years conditioned you in ways you hadn't even noticed until quite recently.

“Did I? Pardon, I didn’t mean for it to slip out. Sometimes I silently curse him out in my head and forget to add his title.”

Your acting is impeccable, Reiner has no reason to doubt you. As you expect he doesn't instead he shifts the conversation to his hometown, just like you he doesn't explicitly mention a name. Reiner is sharp but he hasn't noticed the way you've left a name out just like him. He's terrible at catching out his own kind.

You decide at that moment that Reiner Braun is a liar. The accusation is more of a hunch meaning more investigation is required.

You won't inform any of the higher ups about it just yet.

The walk back to base is filled with excruciatingly troublesome small talk and you make a mental note to take Mikasa along with you next time it's your turn retrieve the firewood.

You can't afford any more close encounters with Braun or any of his possible accomplices.

Sniggers batter your ears as soon as you step foot onto the grounds, you have a sixth sense when it comes to spiteful bad-mouthing and after the abysmal day you've had you anticipate there will be unpleasant commentary.

"Seen the way Y/N ruined the assault course today?"

"We're the finalized cadets across all the regions of Paradis. That means we have to rely on that embarrassment to fight titans."

"Good Lord, someone have mercy on our souls."

Fellow cadets press on in their criticism thinking you aren't within earshot. That, or they purposefully aim for you to pay attention to the disapproval they have of your presence.

But, you do understand where they're coming from. You make another mental note - practice a bit more later today.

The gossiping isn't anything you're unfamiliar with, your father's palace never offered kindness to you or your existence. In fact it's rather comforting being talked badly about behind your back.

That statement sounds absurd but you can't explain it. Maybe it's due to Levi typically hurling his unnecessary remarks right at you without warning. Then again he does provide everyone with that treatment, even Commander Erwin.

As you hurry away increasing the distance between you and your loud mouthed team members you spot Levi from the corner of your eye. He's in conversation with Hange but you notice how his jaw is clenched in frustration, you feel a pinch over your skin when he spares you a fleeting look. Eyes acquainting yours. Paying no attention to him you walk away as fast as you can.

The cadets only blow up in volume now, they definitely want you to hear what they have to say.

"Maybe we should ask the higher ups to throw her ou-"

"Questioning authority? Pesky mutineers aren't you?" Levi's booming voice shakes anyone within a five metre vicinity, he comes out of nowhere and seems nothing short of furious.

"You're all," He continues, voice rising, "Incredibly spineless aren't you?"

One of the cadets embellishes their face with a scowl, it doesn't go unnoticed by Levi but he astonishingly doesn't lash out, physically at least. His deathly glare is more than enough to finish the job.

Stupidly you suffer feeling your heart palpitate in your chest watching him talk to the group of three. Stupidly, you're getting your hopes up again.

He scoffs coldly, "If you're all talk why not offer to duel her?"

It doesn't take long for your heart to stop throbbing with its previous intensity. You know it was too good to be true. Levi suddenly defending you that is.

The gesture isn't done to protect or shield you. No, you're sure this man loathes you and is intending to persist on making your life as bleak and dreary as possible.

"Up to a battle Y/N?" The unnamed blonde cadet's scoffs in derision and you find yourself wanting to punch her square in the jaw.

Irritation sears through you but you meekly shake your head mumbling a weak "No thanks.", you're much too afraid to duel anyone just yet and you don't remember her from the training sessions. She must have been in a corner keeping to herself.

With all that being said and done you pathetically withdraw, and just like the past few days you sense Levi's piercing gaze erupting into your soul.

The blistering Sun hits every nook and cranny of the training ground. Waking up early already has you wanting to pass out and the heat isn't any help.

The crowd of cadets mumble in fatigue but observant Mikasa jabs you in the shoulder pointing out how far away Jean has stood from you.

You feel guilty that Jean had to suffer through the humiliation tossed at him yesterday but you are grateful to not deal with his constant questioning and talkative self this early in the morning.

All the way at the other side of the throng of soldiers he stands with Bert, who might you add is a mammoth of a man.

Through some digging (more like asking Mikasa) you've discovered he's close with Reiner and the blonde cadet from yesterday's confrontation, turns out she's the Annie that Reiner warned you off.

"ATTENTION!" Hange sing songs at the front of the training ground. They're jumping around along with Squad Leader Mike checking if everyone's in the correct uniform - Apparently the year prior a cadet showed up wearing a thick cardigan and fainted from heat stroke...

“Today’s exercise is a time to redeem yourself!” Hange’s eyes dart towards you and you smile at one another.

“A FIGHT TO THE DEATH!”

Everyone murmurs looking at each other in pure confusion.

“A fight up against another person. Whoever wins their individual fights will receive extra special privileges." The explanation seems simple enough and you’re confident that if you’re put up against the right people you can make it out safe.

The promise of a reward is also enticing.

The 104th Training Corps are thrilled, there’s nothing too hazardous about the task and it’s nothing difficult to ask for. Even you’re looking forward to it. The chance to rescue your reputation has you pumped up with adrenaline.

“My, my my. Don’t excite yourselves just yet little hens, there’s a pretty little catch.” Hange's voice is laced in mischief. This can't be any good.

Everyone stops breathing in unison and it’s pin drop silent.

“You must cause harm to your opponent in some way. Whether it be making them faint, breaking an arm, breaking a leg. There are no rules when it comes to playing dirty!”

With a playful shrug of their shoulder Hange hops off the podium.

Squad Leader Mike pulls out the list of competitors. He’s decided the line-up on his own and begins the announcement with Bertholdt.

“BERTHOLDT HOOVER..."

Bert turns to look back at Reiner hesitantly and for such a giant it’s adorable how worried he is when everyone else is perturbed thinking about the poor individual who has to go up against him.

"AGAINST Y/N L/N!"

The crowd falls silent and your mouth is wide, this is unjust there’s no way this is allowed.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s kinda unfair?” Krista speaks out for you even though Ymir is by her side trying to talk her out of getting involved.

“She stands no chance against him.” Reiner is supporting your cause too.

Mikasa takes a step forward. “I agree, it’s not right, may I take her place instead?”

“No, no! It’s alright, I’ll go for it.”

Honestly you don’t want the corps to see you as a coward. Bravery and courage is what brought everyone here. Your story is different. You’re here to selfishly save your own life, you aren’t anywhere near as valiant as the rest of them. The very least you can do is partake in activities correctly.

Stepping up to the podium you stand by Bertholdt he gives you a pitiful look whilst he mutters an apology.

Mike continues announcing the names. A few include Jean against Mikasa (Jean may as well forfeit), Marco against Annie and Connie against Reiner - that pairing eases you. At least you aren't in this alone. You and Connie stand no chance against those beasts.

Everyone lines up in their separate areas and again Bertholdt is profusely apologizing asking if you want to fake faint or anything of the sort. You shake your head and promise to give it all you've got.

And then the games begin at the sound of the bell, and damn that Bertholdt because he isn't keeping to his end of the bargain. He lunges forward viciously aiming to crush your entire body but you swiftly dodge, he tries the same approach but when you duck out of the way again he stops knowing he needs to rethinks his strategy.

"Just give it up I'll win either way."

Well, the Mister nice guy act was definitely a believable performance. He was so convincing you even contemplated feigning unconsciousness when he proposed the idea to you.

Bertholdt is much slower than you giving you more time to deliberate your incoming moves. If you can get him to edge close enough to a nearby tree and deceive him into colliding with the oak trunk you should win - only on the condition that he passes out.

The scheme is far-fetched but it's your only hope.

Dashing from various corners he flies after you, each time unable to catch up to you.

That is until you stumble and lurch to the ground. The wind is knocked out of your lungs and you panic when a large hand clutches at your ankle. Your solution? Booting him right in the teeth.

However with an earth-shattering amount of force Hoover's hold on your ankle doesn't weaken. Instead he tightens his hold like a vice. You feel it bruise and the violet discoloration that'll be present in a few hours makes you wince.

Entire body going limp on command, you stop yourself from breathing - another talent you picked up back at the palace to avoid extra beatings.

When you no longer thrash around Bertholdt stalks in to check in on you and as expected he’s now towering over you, blood overflowing in terror.

"SQUAD LEADER HANGE, CAPTAIN LEVI SHE'S NOT MOVING!" He's roaring for their help frantic and anxious. If he's caused any permanent damage he's as good as dead meat.

"Oh my Lord. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

Bertholdt's voice is fractured in unadulterated horror and judging by the direction you hear it at he has to be facing away from you.

Unbolting your eyes you learn your assumption is correct and despite hurried footsteps being within audible range you take your chance by the reigns.

Leaping to your feet and with no forewarning you swing your leg to the back of his neck. Stunned by the surprise attack he falls to his knees and you situate yourself in front of the oak tree you've been eyeing from the time the exercise began.

"You cunning bitch." Staggering back up he makes a swift rebound. At this point all mercy has left him and his one true aim is to completely pulverize you.

Everything is falling into place. All you need to do is wait for the right moment and finally you come across it when he suddenly pounces for you. Darting to the left you leave the space open for your prey.

Poor Bertholdt falls right into the palm of your hands like a rag doll. His momentum can't be controlled and he smashes headfirst into the trunk with a loud crunch sounding out. Bark splits and scrapes off the tree upon impact.

His head has to throb and you don't want to imagine how painful it is to feel the rivulets of soreness.

He doesn't get up and only groans, you feel half bad but after the tricks and antics he pulled you come to the conclusion that it's all deserved.

"Well, Y/N, you've proven yourself to be quite quick witted." Hange's praise is strange to hear but you beam proud that you've proven your worth.

"Oi, don't get ahead of yourself." Levi orders. "It could have been pure luck."

In spite of Levi's pessimism you bask in the glory of your win.

A week into joining Levi's unit you're becoming more accustomed to the new environment, in fact the gossiping and horrible rumours stop completely after your win and interactions with your fellow comrades feel easier and lighter.

You think the taunts will have only got more relentless after the duel fiasco but you suppose Annie chose to be considerate and take pity on you.

"Your progress has been remarkable so far." You jump when you hear Jean's deep voice appear right next to you.

Looking around to see if any other cadets are around you finally release a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"Ah. Thank you." You murmur quietly.

"I know it's been a week since I was scolded by the Captain but this won't count as flirting will it?"

Impeding the one sided conversation you're reflecting, you're not sure what exactly about. Probably whether or not you should maintain the discussion - if it can even be referred to as such.

Forget it. You know what they say, you only live once.

Flicking his forehead you roll your eyes, "We were never flirting he's just an over dramatic, bitter hag. I put my money on the fact he's never felt the touch of a woman before."

Jean's eyes widen in disbelief, you half expect he'll split open in tremendous laughter but he looks terrified. Then you become conscious of the fact he's not even staring at you, his eyes are engrossed by whatever is behind you.

Unfortunately for you your body tells you all you need to know. His cologne floods into your nostrils, you can't even reassure yourself and pretend it's anyone else, you know he's the only one who smells that strongly of fresh linen.

Being unable to see him doesn't stop you from imagining his dark lifeless eyes accompanying themselves with what is before them.

It doesn't even take Jean a minute to abandon you, he breaks out into an awkward smile, hurriedly pats your shoulder before dashing away, dispersing all the way to the other end of the hallway in a matter of seconds and turning the corner away from you.

Heart rate soaring you hesitantly spin on your heel. Levi's stood there, looking beyond unimpressed.

You intend to breeze past him, cool and collected. You take a step forward but God has never been one to bless you with luck, stumbling and tripping over thin air lands you flying.

Ready for impact you brace yourself but it never comes, instead solid hands are firmly placed at the small of your back steadying your position and your palms have unceremoniously landed atop his torso.

"Play along." Levi's voice is low and rumbling, and you can't look him in the eyes. Not out of fear or dread, more so exhaustion but you muster the energy to look to your left. There Erwin and Hange stand giggling to themselves like children. As quick as you spot them they vanish in the same fashion. It's as if they were never there.

You're worn out and fatigued wanting nothing more than a good night's rest. If there's one thing you haven't grown used to it's the lack of sleep.

"Let go." Moving to shift his hands away from your waist you halt your movements when he without warning lets go of you, not even giving you the opportunity to renovate your balance.

Flying to the ground and landing with a thud you rub your backside at the blow.

Mirthlessly chuckling the lack of amusement is clear in the way he composes himself.

Making a dash for it sounds tempting but you may as well let him have his way. There's no action you can take to avoid him reprimanding you. It's your fault for having the gall to make that crude and foul-mouthed comment in the first place.

You gulp comprehending the situation is even worse now since you really only said it for the sole reason of Kirstein's amusement.

"Y/N, I'd like to have a word with you."

Hesitantly you look up at Levi, he has an indecipherable expression on his face, it's been a while since you've last been left in his company alone.

The two of you are stood in his office, his desk is flooded with papers, they're haphazardly scattered all over the place and spikes of worry weirdly make them self present in your belly. This isn't right. He'd never leave his work space in this state.

"Are you okay?" You ask it because you’re sure he isn't.

His shoulders and spine stiffen. "Cut the crap and keep the formalities to yourself." He chides, most definitely defensive in his stance.

Without asking him you shuffle to his desk stacking the papers into organised piles, most of the documents are related to an up and coming expedition and it's all beginning to add up. Even humanities strongest soldier has moments where he cracks.

Then you notice your name on the formation plan but before you're able to make anything out of it Levi snatches it off his desk and away from you stuffing it into his pocket.

Without another sound he observes you cleaning the rest of the mess away but doesn't ask for you to stop. There's no reason for him to.

If you do this maybe he'll go easier on you, yeah that's what your motivation is. That's not exactly the truth, really you're just concerned about whatever has him worked up.

Placing the last document in its rightful place you want to give your mind a moment to recollect itself but Levi doesn't think the same.

He places his arms on either side of the desk, trapping you with no way out. Oddly, there's nothing threatening about him looking down at you this time, the greys and blues of his iris' captivate you.

"Do you enjoy making a mockery of your husband?" The question is whispered. It's unanticipated and the title of husband is uncharacteristic coming out of his mouth.

"It was just a joke." You mumble your answer under your breath.

"Would you have spouted that shit in front of the rest of the unit?"

Mildly shaking your head he then sighs. He’s not angry, he genuinely seems let down.

"Do you prefer him over me?” You swear you hear the faintest hint of self-doubt.

His questions are getting more out of the ordinary by the second and you’re waiting for him to crack a malevolent grin before he ridicules you like he always does.

“Of course I don’t prefer him over you.”

“Prove it.”

Tilting your head up towards him you have no idea what he wants for you to do or say, why does this suddenly even matter to him?

And then you imagine it happen, him digging his hands into your shoulders. Your weight along with his shifting up against the desk making it creak. Your mind details how he would kiss you agitatedly and you flush thinking about how you would feverishly return the favour.

It seems like your imagination predicts the future. He grips your jaw with his hand, his touch isn’t firm and for once it’s quite soft. Relishing in the new experience as he leans in you secure your eyes shut in expectation.

Stroking your cheek with his thumb the warm sensation that courses through your body is rather pleasant. His hands come out to run against your body, pinching the sides of your waist. The motion makes your heart stall for a second. Involuntarily, you find yourself leaning into him.

“This seem like a man who hasn’t felt the touch of a woman before?”

And just like that he leaves you hanging. You flutter your eyes open and there he is. He’s back, the same cynical man, smirk etched onto his features, his body still parallel to yours.

You find yourself enraged at how he's just lead and dragged you on, you should have stuck with your gut feeling and not given into temptation but you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. It's very obvious who the cat is in this situation.

Brows furrowing you can’t face him ever again after the scalding embarrassment inhabits your abdomen.

"Going to cry, Cadet?" He's pushing all your buttons, eagerly choosing to provoke you.

The frustration you’ve been feeling fills you to the brim and you clamp down on your bottom lip. If you must turn to inflicting harm onto yourself just to muffle the sound of your whimpers you will.

“Did you need to do that?” You choke out your response feeling helpless, still not looking at him.

“Simply gave you a taste of your own medicine.”

Silence.

"Sometimes I wish you killed me back then."

Silver eyes become dark and he visibly flinches at your confession.

Still boxed in-between his arms you attempt to push past but he continues to obstruct the exit. He's not done yet.

"I gave you another chance at life." His blunt one-sided view is about to drive you crazy.

"Within my first day at this unit I had to avoid being attacked by another cadet in the forest if you call that a life I do-"

“Who?”

“Not important."

“If you know what's good for you, you'll spit it out."

For the sole purpose of irking him you heavily shake your head to emphasise your refusal to give in and name the culprit. It's not like you want Reiner to fall into trouble because of you. He hasn't shown any suspicious or out of the ordinary behaviour since then and you worry what Levi is capable of doing when given a reason to hurt someone.

Glancing at him dismissively you try to make your point again. "They haven't done anything since. Therefore, it's of no importance."

Conflicted emotions scurry over his face as he looks at you.

"It's of importance if my wif-" He growls and stops midway. His hands grip onto the desk even harder, knuckles turning white.

Was he about to say, wife?

Levi immediately realizes what he's nearly just said sounds exceedingly questionable. A look of uncertainty flashes over his face and then it seems he loses all regard for self-control. His willpower isn't enough to get him through this situation and he only amplifies.

Encroaching further into the very little space amongst the both of you his tone is icy. "Tell me." He's glowering and for Reiner's wellbeing you decide you should just come out with it now. He'll be in an even more difficult spot if you don't.

"Reiner, it was Reiner." You gasp out the answer, shallow breath ragged. Head turning away to the side you're not particularly sure why you're so shaky and why you feel a tremor flood past you inundating your movement. It may all be a combination of how close he's standing to you and how intoxicatingly strong his aura is.

Or, perhaps it's due to how he nearly referred to you as his wife during his primal outburst of anger.

He turns away. Automatically creating yet another blockade between the two of you.

"You're dismissed."

#levi #levi ackerman #aot #snk #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #levi x y/n #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #duke levi #levi smut #levi angst #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks

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livingbecauseofwriting · 5 years ago

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Hi all! So here’s the first requested fic! Yay! It took me a while because 1) I got really carried away with it and 2) I didnt know how to end it and it took a while. I still don’t really like the ending, I feel like it could be smoother and offer a better resolution but I honestly had no idea what else to do with it and I really wanted to get it out. Anyway so I hope you guys like it! Keep sending stuff in! Love y’all! (I’m posting this from my phone instead of a computer so if the format is weird let me know)

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Requested by @diana-24-world

“Can you write what it would be like to be married to Draco Malfoy if Voldemort won the war.”

I don’t know if this is exactly satisfies what is requested or what you were looking for but I hope you enjoy it anyway! If you don’t like it I can try to write up something that better follows the request. Thank you!

Ps. There’s a lot of backstory....I really like back story...sorry not sorry

In this together

No one ever expected life to be like this.

When the war started, everyone had so much hope in Dumbledore’s army. There was no way Voldemort would win.

But then it happened. Harry Potter was actually dead.

When you walked through those large doors of Hogwarts for the first time over 10 years ago now, you could have never expected that your life would have turned out like this, Voldemort controlling the whole magic world and you married to the one person no one has expected...Draco Malfoy.

Draco caught your eye in your first year. You would have never admitted it and with you being in Gryffindor and he in Slytherin any chance with him was doomed. He was never outright mean to you, which was always kind of odd seeing as you were friends with the golden trio. He would mock and criticize them but when he got to you, it was almost like he was trying not to be as harsh, trying not to hurt you but still wanted to look tough to his piers. This went on for almost two years.

Your romance started that summer before your third year. Your father recently started working with Lucius at the ministry so you found yourself suspending a lot of time close to Draco and despite how hard you both tried to deny it, something drew you two together. Draco has never experienced anything like it and it terrified him, but you took it slow and showed him that he was worthy and capable of love.

When you went back to school, you both knew you had to keep your romance a secret. Draco occasionally yelled at you in the halls as you walked with the trio, trying hard to cover up the stutter and hesitation in his voice as he called after you with some “supposed to be insulting” comment. However, he would always seek you out later in the day, pulling you into some unoccupied classroom or a dark hallway to kiss you and apologize reassuring you that he didn’t mean it and you’d always laugh and assure him that you knew he didn’t and you still loved him.

Your secret rendezvous didn’t stay a secret for very long. Professor Lupin has come in as the new D.A.D.A and turned everything on its head when one day you all arrived at class to find the desks and chair pushed aside and a wardrobe sitting in the middle of the room. Hermione, of course, was quick to answer the question of Boggart and you were quite intrigued by the lesson. You didn’t know what to expect when you stepped in front of the boggart for your turn. Anything would have been better then what you saw.

It was Draco. He stood there in front of you, that cocky ass smirk on his face, the one that made him look like he thought he was better than everyone. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion along with the rest of the class who were whispering and chattering behind you. Draco too was stunned as he watched the scene in front of him unfold, slowly pushing through the crowd to you.

You just starred, looking at the boy you loved in front of you. You weren’t scared of him how could this be your boggart. But then he opened his mouth. Vile, cruel words pushed past his lips like a flood. The boggart slowly inches closer to you as he spoke.

“Now how could you ever believe I’d love something as pathetic as you...a mudblood at heart. A traitor to the pureblood name. How could anyone love such a horrid person? You are nothing. Nothing compared to me. A disgrace to the magic world, and a burden

On all those around you...why are you even still here...”

Tears began silently falling from your eyes as words continued to pour from

His lips as he walked closer and closer and standing just inches from you he rose his hand ready to strike you but before he could his eyes went wide and the light flooded from them. Blood soaked his shirt and the boggart Draco gasped for air collapsing in front of you. He was dying. And even with his last breath, he spoke nothing but cruelty towards you, yet you still loved him. Collapsing by his side you screamed in agony at his dead body. It was all so real that you jumped when Professor Lupin interfered and changed the blood-soaked Draco Into a cloud of bubbles that drifted away.

You lifted your tear-filled eyes to finally meet the stunned class in front of you, Draco standing in the front, mouth agape. You got up as quick as you could a ran out of the classroom, Draco close behind.

You turned down a dark hallway and collapsed to the ground when you felt like you were far enough from everyone else. Draco soon came and fell down next to you, cradling your shaking figure in his arms.

“Shhh..shh I’m here love. I’m here. I’m ok....” He whispered in your ear as he caresses the top of your head softly, just letting you cry into his robes for as long as you needed. He felt so stupid. You spent so much time assuring him that you still loved him and that he was worthy of your love that he didn’t even think that maybe you needed to hear the same. You always told him that the fake insults didn’t hurt, and yes you knew it wasn’t real but deep down you latched on to them and let them consume you, but never showed it. He had no idea and he hated himself for it. You were terrified of losing him..but worst of all losing him and him never having cared about you.

When your cries finally turned into soft sniffles Draco pulled away, cupping your cheeks in his hands and tilting your head up so he could look you in the eye.

“I’m so sorry...Darling...I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you until the very end. I love you sweetheart...and I always will...I have never felt like this before...not even with my own family. You make me want to be good, want to be a better person. You make me want to defy my parents and be better than they’re trying to make me....you make me a better man...I’m not going anywhere...I’m sorry love but you're stuck with me...and if you ever doubt that...if you ever feel that fear of what we just witnessed in that classroom, then I will be here to tell you it’s not true....I’m in this forever...if you’ll have me....”

He chuckled and you smiled kissing him deeply. You say there for a while just in each other presence. The teachers had been informed of the incident and knew not to worry or go looking if you didn’t show up to class, you needed time to process.

Lupin found you later and sat down with you and Draco to make sure everything ok and assured you, you didn’t fail the lesson. But that’s not what worried you. It was your classmates. The next few days were tense. The trio walked on eggshells around you but you could tell they were upset. Hermione has to keep the boys from voicing there opinions and disapproval. It took a while for everyone to accept and get used to it but it happened. Obviously, Draco didn’t suddenly start hanging out with all of you and become best friends with the trio. There was still a lot of tension there and despite your pleads, there were still quite a few fights that happened between them.

The worst of it came during your 6th year. Draco was...off. You had barely seen him all summer and when you both finally got back to school he was very closed off and even avoided you at times. You didn’t take it well when one night Harry in the dorms Harry accuses him of being a Death Eater. Hermione yelled at him quite a lot for having just said that to you when there was no evidence. You knew his parents where Death Eaters but Draco had tried so hard to NOT be like his parents, you just couldn’t believe it.

But one by one, things started happening at Hogwarts. First the necklace than the wine Ron drank. Draco was fully on avoiding you at all costs and it was taking a toll. When the trio came into the dorms one day to find you distraught and crying over him, confused because he refused to talk to you, they knew something was wrong. As much as they disapproved of Draco, they knew he’d never treat you like this...unless he had no choice.

You were the first person he came to after the fight in the bathroom with Harry. His blood covered clothes scared you half to death. He was distraught. He looked sick...like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. You collapsed in your arms a began telling you everything. When he was done you were crying as well. You tried to reason with him, beg him to stop, and you knew he wanted to, but you also knew there was nothing either did you could do.

You were relieved when he couldn’t go through with it, heartbroken that Dumbledore was gone, but so thankful it wasn’t by Draco hand, that would have destroyed him.

You see, no one saw the real Draco, they only saw who he wanted them to see. The tough, powerful pure lips who didn’t have a heart or empathy. But you knew a different Draco. No one saw the boy who felt everything but refused to show it, burying it deep inside only letting it come out when he was alone. No one saw the boy who crumbled under the pressure to live up to his father’s impossible standards, despite every fiber in his being telling him to rebel. No one saw the boy who just wanted to be recognized and loved. The boy who just wanted to make his family proud despite what it did to him. No one saw the boy who would take a curse for you, the boy who would lay down his life for you. No one saw how deeply he could feel, and how much he cared for the ones he loved. No one saw any of it, except you.

Recovering from the events of that year took time. Especially with Voldemort on the rise and the war rising at an alarming rate. Draco wanted to run away with you, get away from everything and just be together, but you refused to leave your friends.

During the war you let the tears fall as Draco walked over to his Parents standing outside of Hogwarts with Voldemort and the other Death Eaters. His eyes were so sad, so ashamed with himself. He knew you wouldn’t join him and it broke his heart but the control his family had over him was unbearable. He was like a puppet in their show and not even you could save him from it.

Your heart tore in two as Harry’s lifeless body dangled in Hagrid’s arms. It must be a joke you thought, some part of his plan. Any minute he would wake up and save the day.. everyone waited..but nothing happened.

Voldemort had won.

The world was never the same after that. Voldemort has destroyed Hogwarts and most of Dumbledore’s army. Ron and Hermione fought to the last second but managed to get away when it was clear there was no hope. They lived off in some small house on the coast out in the middle of nowhere, where no one could find them. They made do, refusing to be apart of a world controlled by Voldemort.

Amidst the fight, Draco has managed to pull you away, dispirited your protests, and led you to safety. You stayed in hiding with him and his family for a while and a lot came to light. Despite what everyone thought, the Malfoys weren’t evil. Lucius was kind but refused to show it. He had been corrupted by a life of fear and servitude to Voldemort. Narcissa had never wanted any of this but she loved her husband and would follow him to the ends of the earth even if it meant being on the wrong side, not to mention the family she grew up in. But as much as they wanted to get away and run from this new world. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. Lucius would continue to follow Voldemort and work in his new ministry of magic to help slowly destroy the muggle world. Draco refuses to be a part of that. While the fear and pressure his parents may have bestowed on him was heavy, he was learning to be his own person. But, not being able to break away completely, he accepted a small job within the ministry but was determined to keep his personal life with you untainted but the dark world Voldemort had cast upon them.

Draco and you got married a year after the war. It was at the Manor and wasn’t big as most of your friends and even your family were either killed or in hiding.

Draco had bought you a small house out in the country, just far enough from the city to make it feel like it was its own world where nothing bad could happen. It wasn’t easy but you made do. Draco worked at the ministry but promised never to bring any of his work life home with him. You stayed at home mostly, and you and Draco had a hand in some rebel movements, helping to bring resources to those in hiding and help hide those who needed to be hidden. It was extremely risky for Draco, given that he was a member of the ministry, but he wanted to do some good for once, even if it meant risking everything. These were dark days, but you and Draco survived and were happy together.

Days like these, when Draco didn’t have to work, were your favorite.

You both were lying in the bed as the sun softly trickled in through the windows.

You smiled softly at his sleeping figure lying beside you moving some of his platinum blonde hair from his eyes. It was longer than usual but he refused to grow it as long as his father’s.

He stirred slightly and slowing opened his eyes adjusting to the light before looking at you, pulling you closer to his bare chest.

“Darling what are you doing up? It’s too early. On my days off we like to sleep in remember?” Draco stared groggily as he shit his tired eyes again slowing running his fingers up and down your bare arm.

“Believe me I’d love some sleep. But your child has other ideas.” You retorted scoffing softly with a smile and you ran a hand over your 7-month baby bump.

When you a Draco found out you were pregnant it was quite a shock. You were both terrified and excited. Draco, of course, thought he was going to be a terrible father seeing as he didn’t have much of a good father figure growing up. You were quick to assure him he would be a far better father than his father ever was and their child will be the luckiest on the earth. Once those fears were resolved, you were both left with the very real fear of bringing a child into the world at its current state. This was never how you had imagined raising a child, in a world of so much fear and darkness, but you were determined to make sure this child was loved and taught how to see the light. This child was your light, it was your beacon of hope in these cruel times.

Draco smiles and brought his hand to rest on yours on your bump. It was his favorite thing he loved to feel his child and to be as close to you both as possible. You rest your head just under his chin and he kisses your head softly.

You lay like the for a while longer before Draco finally pushed himself up despite your groans of protest and got out of bed slipping on just a pair of sweatpants. He kissed your lips softly before disappearing into the kitchen to make breakfast. That was another thing that had wildly changed in his life. With everything becoming so hectic, you and Draco wanted some simplicity in your life, and despite Draco’s complaints, you convinced him that you didn’t need a house elf. You wanted your home life to be simple and just the two of you and after a while Draco adapted, he even learned how to cook..with the help of magic of course…

You soon join him in the kitchen, your red silk robe draped over your shoulders with one of Draco’s casual t-shirts and a pair of sports shorts underneath. You duck under the fresh plate of pancakes levitating onto the dining table and wrap your arms around Draco’s bare torso kissing his shoulder as he finishes making some coffee.

You watch as he waves his wand to open the fridge and make the pancake toppings fly to the table, all of your favorites, especially the pregnancy favorites. Chocolate, strawberries, blueberries, peanut butter, and syrup, even the pickles you craved so bad. He turned in your arms and smiled sipping his coffee. You shift and reach out to make yourself a cup but Draco is quick to stop you, swatting your hand away which earns him a nasty glare from you.

“Coffee is bad for the baby. I read about it in those books mum sent. I’ll make you some tea though darling” He says kissing your parted lips as you stare at him in disbelief.

“If you want what’s best for me, the baby, AND YOU, you’d move out of my way. Or else you will be dealing with a very cranky pregnant woman in about three hours.” You threaten. Draco couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as he shrugs. You were trying so hard to be threatening and serious, but you just looked so funny and cute. You hit his arm and groan turning to go sit at the table. Draco shakes his head smiling as he makes you the tea and brings it over setting it infant of you before sitting down as well.

You both ate and chatted here and there. It was perfect and peaceful, almost making you forget of the horrors of what lies beyond your little home in the woods. However, in this world, happiness never lasts for very long, destruction and hurting are always right around the corner waiting to strike.

Draco started to clean up and put away the dishes as you went to put on something a little more appropriate for the cold weather as you and Draco hoped to take a walk down to the lake for some fresh air. You had just finished putting on your clothes when you heard Draco groan and curse loudly in the kitchen. You walked out and furrowed your eyebrows as you saw him standing there clutching his forearm.

“Draco, darling, what's wrong?” You asked worried, walking over to him. He winced and closed his eyes singing softly.

“I don’t know…I think...I think it’s the mark..” He said looking down at the dark mark on his forearm.

You looked at him shocked and scared. He hasn’t felt anything from that mark in years, they told him he was out, that they didn’t need him anymore. They made a deal. He wasn’t a Death Eater despite what some may think.

Draco looked at you, his mind going a million miles a second. “Love, listen to me. Go in the bedroom, hide, and don’t come out no matter what. I need you to be safe…I need you both to be safe.” He said panting softly as he placed his forehead against yours and his hand on the back of your neck.

“No. I won’t leave you. Either I’m staying here or you’re coming with me.” You protested making Draco groan. He always hated how stubborn you were.

“Love I can’t. They’ll find me. No matter where I go they’ll find me.” Draco whispered, his voice cracking softly. He was a slave to this, no deal in the world would ever keep him from this reality.

Before either of you could speak again a dark shadow was cast over the house, the once blue sky outside filling with dark thunder clouds. There was a high pitched ringing that made the furniture shake slightly right before the windows shattered. Draco moved around to shield you from the glass The black clouds of smoke rushed into your home one by one taking the shape of a man until finally 3 Death Eaters were standing in front of you. Draco stood infant of you hoping that whatever they were here for they’d leave you alone.

“What do you want?” Draco spoke venom in his voice as he stood his ground pointing his wand at the men. He might have been one of them but he will always despise them, especially when they come in like this and threaten his family.

All the men were cloaked with masks and you couldn’t make out who anyone was but the man in the middle stepped forward chuckling deeply.

“Well now Draco, is that any way to talk to your guests? We just want to have a little chat.” He spoke. He sounded so sinister and you both knew there was more to this than just a ‘little chat.’ He slowly paced the small lounge area right outside of and open to the kitchen, running his fingers over furniture as he walked.

“You see Draco. We’ve stumbled on some rather interesting information and the Dark Lord was very insistent that we bring it to your attention immediately….You see, it is our understanding that there’s been a recent uprising of rebel movements. Some of Dumbledore’s army that has survived the war and others that have turned against the Dark Lord are receiving help and relief to hide or stay hidden.” HE explained, drawing out each word and sentence as if he had been put in slow motion. Goosebumps rose on your skin and Draco’s grip on your hand tighten slightly as he spoke, your stomach twisted and you knew nothing good was going to come from this.

The Death Eater stopped in front of the fireplace and stared at the portrait of you and Draco on your wedding day for a bit before continuing.

“You see we were recently able to bring in one of these rebels and at first it was quite difficult to get her to talk. It always is, you know how it is, they never want to be the one to tattle on their friends…but…when you give them no choice..say the life of there child is on the line…people tend to tell you whatever you want to know..and then some.” He chuckled and returned back to his original spot standing across the kitchen from you, playing with the wand in his hands. A lump welled in your throat and your eyes brimmed with tears as he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Most of the information she had to share came as no surprise to the Dark Lord…however right before we got to see the life drain from her eyes, she told us something rather interesting….It seems that these people have been receiving not only help...but help from inside the ministry…a traitor…now you can imagine the Dark Lord’s shock when he heard this. I mean we simply can not have that in his close chambers. The ministry, the people he trusted to be at his right hand. It simply cannot be.” He took a step forward slowly making sure to stare you both right in the eye. Draco shifted back until you hit the counter, not being able to move back any further.

“You know Draco…your father is a good man, always been so loyal to the Dark Lord. And in turn, we gained quite a respect for you. I mean let us not forget who the Dark Lord trusted to be the one to kill Dumbledore….even if you did marry a mudblood…He’s always had such great respect for you, thought of you..well.. like a son…So just imagine…his absolute shock to find out that the traitor within his walls….was you…” The Death Eater was now only just 2 or 3 feet infant of you. The look on his face was dark and sinister, he grinned devilishly and lifted his wand.

“Such a shame your child will have to grow up fatherless….AVAD-“

But before anything could be done you quickly grabbed Draco and apparated out of the house and the next moment found yourself in the middle of the woods but far far away from your home. Draco gasped when you appeared and you sighed softly. You’re lucky he wasn’t hurt as he hadn’t been prepared to apparate.

“I'm sorry love, but we needed to get out of there..and we need to keep moving.”You said hugging him tightly as you briefly let a few tears fall as you both knelt there in the middle of the woods. Draco her you tightly trying to come to grips with the reality that he wasn’t dead.

“It’s no use…They’ll find me…as longs I have this mark, they’ll find me…you’re not safe with me.” He said sternly looking you in the eyes and carefully wiping away your tears with his thumb.

You melted into his touch and kissed the palm of his hand softly. “I already told you Draco…I’m not going anywhere without you...We’re in this together.”

He sighed and kissed your forehead once more before standing and helping you up as well. You set off through the woods towards a secret rebel location hoping to find allies and friends to protect you and help you figure out how to get rid of the mark so Draco could finally be freed of the slavery that it forced him into.

There was no clear path ahead and you were both terrified but as long as you had your little family, you knew you could overcome anything, even Voldemort himself.

#draco malfoy #draco malfory imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter #fanficrion #writer #imagine #draco malfoy x reader #if Voldemort won

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ashantesstuff · 6 years ago

Text

Us Against The World

Chapter One: The New Girl

Summary: Alyssa Williams meets Billy Hargrove, the stereotypical bad guy and arsehole of Hawkins High but instead of stiring away, something about him draws her to him and him to her. They are contrasting in every way but find a way to fight together perfectly.

3.7k words

A/N: Horrible summary but I hope you enjoy and sorry for any mistakes. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated 😊

DISCLAIMER: Imma put it bluntly...I don't care if you hate the fanfiction because you believe Billy is a racist. Either way, this is a different representation of the character as is most romantic fanfictions about him. Also if you're going to criticise me while reading Billy x Steve fics or tbh any Billy x anyone fanfiction...please reevaluate because either way, you're reading material that doesn't conform to how Billy on the show acts. You can also keep in mind that people grow and it may surprise some of you that not all racists...stay racists. Some get educated and change. I don't condone the violent actions of his character all of this is a different representation of the Billy in the show. Good day :)

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK!

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Without removing the cover from her head, Alyssa smashed her fist down on the alarm clock, silencing it and letting out a triumphant grunt. Immediately after, she was ready to go back to sleep not wanting to deal with the challenges of the day; however, her father, as usual, was not giving her that chance to avoid school. “Before you think about going back to sleep, I suggest you get yourself out of that bed.” He strolled in with no care in the world and pulled back the curtains allowing light to flow in. Alyssa let out a frustrated and annoyed groan, fully burying herself in her covers and pillows to hide from the light as well as her father.

“Dad, please, can I just stay home?” Her voice sounded rough from just waking up. “I promise, I’ll do some school work, just don’t make me go.” Her voice sounded whinier than she cared to admit and without seeing her dad’s reaction she knew he probably had his hands on his hips and was shaking his head in disapproval. It was to be her first day at Hawkins High after moving to the city a few days ago; she’d been dreading the thought of starting at a new school and had begged her father to change his mind and let her be homeschooled but came to no avail.

Alyssa felt the edge of the bed dip on the opposite side and then decided to sit up, removing the covers; knowing her father was going to begin his grand speech about how starting at the new school would be a good change and a chance for her to make friends. “Listen, Pumpkin, I know how much you’ve been stressing about this and I know what I’m asking you isn’t easy,” Alyssa lifted her knees and rested her head on them as he spoke. “But please try and just socialise with the other kids. I know it’s been tough since-” Alyssa raised her hand as a signal to stop him.

“I know, dad. It’s just what if there is a repeat of last time? What if the other kids don’t like me?” Her voice was small and filled with sadness. She could feel the tears forming in her eyes, despite trying to fight them off. Her dad sighed and pulled her into a hug, holding her tight and stroking her hair; without being able to stop it, tears flowed down her face and she couldn’t help but sob into her father’s shoulders.

After a few moments, she calmed down and her father looked at her with reassuring eyes. “Hey, if those kids don’t like you, it’s on them because they are missing out on befriending a cool girl like you,” He wiped away her tears and she couldn’t help but smile. “It doesn’t matter if they like you or not. What matters is that you stay true to yourself and don’t lose yourself trying to please other people,” He gave her a serious look, placing a hand on her shoulder and forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll try to engage with others and you won’t lose yourself for any of those people.”

“I promise,” Sniffling a bit then nodding. “I’ll be myself and…I’ll try and make friends.” She hesitated on the last part but couldn’t help it. She knew that her dad wouldn’t go easy on her if she didn’t make that promise. Promises in the Williams’ house were sacred and had to be kept which Alyssa had apparently made law when she was five years old.

With that, he gave her a satisfied grin. “Breakfast will be ready.” He got up from the bed and made his way to the door. “Start getting your stuff together, then.” and with that, he left the room. Alyssa plopped back down on her bed, looking at the ceiling while the urge to scream began growing inside her. She knew the week to come would most likely suck and she hated the fact that there was no way to avoid it.

The drive to the school was short. The whole ride, Alyssa could feel her stomach sinking like she was on some rollercoaster that she desperately wanted to get off of. Her hands began to feel sweaty and warm. When they arrived, she looked at the students piling into the school. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she turned to her dad. “I’ll see you later then, love you.” It was quick short and without emotion. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, before making her way out of the car. Her father repeated the words before waving goodbye and speeding off.

The smell of sweat, rubbish canteen food and cheap cologne filled the halls of Hawkins High School. The corridors were overtaken by students either chatting or making their way to their assigned classrooms. Alyssa rushed through the crowd, brushing past people as she tried to navigate through the sea of bodies. She muttered a sorry, here and there to those she bumped into and received glares in return by some. So far so good, she thought sarcastically to herself.

Alyssa had made it to her classroom in record time, considering that she got lost a few times and had to ask people for help. Though she was sure classes started at eight, the classroom barely had any students occupying the seats. The teacher looked unimpressed as he sat down looking around at the scene that he must have come accustomed to. Alyssa walked up to his desk, feeling a little uneasy as the eyes of the students were glued to her. “Erm, hi.” She sounded awkward and unsure

“Can I help you?” He looked at her with dead eyes that were emphasised by the eyebags under them. He had a thick beard, that looked slightly unkempt, and shaggy brown hair that looked slightly greasy and untouched in a while. He tapped his pencil on the desk and rested his hand underneath his chin, as he waited for her to answer.

Alyssa couldn’t deny the annoyance that coursed through her at his tone and posture. She kept a smile on her face, though, like she practised many times. “I’m new here so I just wanted to-” She was cut off when he slammed the book down in front of her. Blinking a few times, she looked down at the book then back at him as he began to speak.

“This booklet has everything you need to know about what we have covered so far,” he leaned back in his chair and looked over at the door as the late students began to pile in. “If you need help, ask someone in the class and you’re seated front row at the window” He nodded his head in the direction of the seat, as he got up from his seat and got ready to begin his lesson. Alyssa grabbed the booklet feeling annoyed but not daring to say anything as she quickly took her seat.

Math wasn’t her strongest subject and she struggled to actually focus on the lesson as she kept looking outside daydreaming about what she wanted to eat later and whether or not her father would be home to have dinner with. Ever since he had been promoted from his job, he spent less time with her and though she tried her best not to show it, she really wished he’d settle for a nine to five job knowing full well that her father’s dream as a doctor had existed longer than ger.

As she began getting lost deeper and deeper into her thoughts, the roar of a car engine stole her attention. The car was electric blue and what looked to be some kind of Camaro; Alyssa sat there with both hands on her chin taking interest in the scene outside over the algebra equations Mr Mundy had been throwing at the class. The longer she watched, she saw the driver emerge from the car; the guy had blonde loosely curled hair that was longer at the back than the front, thick eyebrows and overall attractive features from what Alyssa could see.

“Alyssa!” she jumped at the sound of her name and quickly whipped her head around, Mr Mundy looking displeased. He had one hand on his hip and the chalk in his hand was pointing towards her. “For someone who is struggling in math, you seem to be talking quite the interest at the ongoings outside.” Heat rose to her cheeks as those around her snickered and she felt herself sink slightly in her chair. Mr Munday was about to continue before the bell rang and Alyssa let out a little sigh of relief.

Quickly heading for the girl’s toilets, she pushed past everyone not caring about their reactions. The door hit the wall when she pushed it open, she immediately closed her eyes and calmed herself down before any tears could escape. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her chestnut eyes were slightly red as they were readying the tears, her curly afro was a cloud around her head as her bangs cover her forehead. “Hey.” A soft voice spoke to her and she turned to find a girl with short brown hair in slight waves holding her books to her chest and giving her a sad look. Alyssa felt like she recognised her from somewhere but she couldn’t think where.

“Don’t let what Mr Mundy and the rest of those arseholes get you down,” That’s when she realised that she probably recognised her from her math class. “He’s just bitter that his wife cheated on him and the other students are just…arseholes, for lack of a better word.” Alyssa gave her a small smile picking at the edges on the grey jumper she had on. The girl stepped forward to extend her arm. “I’m Nancy Wheeler.” Alyssa accepted the handshake.

Alyssa found herself to be taller than Nancy by a few inches. “I’m Alyssa Williams.” They both stood there in a while of awkward silence for a minute, not really knowing what to say next to one another. Alyssa was tempted to exchange goodbyes and leave but then Nancy spoke up.

“So I’ve got science in a few minutes and lunch after,” Nancy began. She had a hopeful look on her face. “When is your next free period? We could meet up and chat. I could also show you around the school.” Nancy shrugged. Alyssa could almost hear her dad nagging her to say yes so she nodded with slight eagerness. Nancy looked relieved and they both exited the girl’s toilets.

“I’ve got literature now so we could meet in the canteen after?” Alyssa suggested. They both parted ways agreeing to meet at lunch and Alyssa felt proud of herself. It had been a couple of years since she dared to make friends and talk to people. When she strolled into her literature lesson, she had a smile on her face.

For that lesson, she was met with a much kinder teacher than Mr Mundy had been. Alyssa took a seat at the back of the class. She couldn’t help but feel in a better mood knowing that she had befriended Nancy; It had been too long since she had been very social. Less than ten minutes into the lesson, the classroom door swung open to a tall figure. The whole class automatically looking at the door to the face the intruder; Alyssa was quick to realise that it was the same guy she had saw during her math lesson.

The teacher, Ms Peterson, looked unamused but not surprised either so Alyssa assumed it was a regular occurrence. “Nice for you to join us, Mr Hargrove.” She greeted him with sarcasm evident in her voice and the reply she received was a disinterested grunt as the boy made his way to the back of the classroom setting to the right of Alyssa. When Alyssa turned to have a better look at him, she found that he was already studying her so she immediately faced the book in front of her feeling slightly embarrassed.

Throughout the whole lesson, she could feel his gaze on her but she avoided looking at him, happy that her hair covered most of her face and hit her nervousness. When the bell rang, she let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “Before you all leave, there’s a group assignment on Shakespeares that I want completing by next week.” She was met with groans. “You can choose your own partners if that makes you happier. That’ll be all.” And they all piled out of the classroom; Alyssa feeling too shy to ask anyone to be there partner.

Heading straight for her locker, she couldn’t help but think about that guy from her lesson and whether he was watching her or her paranoia was playing tricks on her. She couldn’t deny that she felt flustered at the thought of him watching, after all, she found him extremely attractive. As she was thinking about him, a small smile was turning the corners of her mouth. “What’s got you so happy?” The voice startled her and she jumped, whipping her whole body around to see who spoke. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” His apology didn’t seem so sincere with the grin on his face

“It’s fine.” Was all she could say when she finally settled down from her fright. They both stood there staring at each other for a minute, while the other students around them were staring at the Hawkins bad boy engaging with the new girl but neither noticed them. Instead, she was staring into his ocean blue eyes as he was staring right back into her hazel ones; after a while, she realised what she was doing and then diverted her gaze. “Did you want something?” Her voice caught him out of his daze and he blinked a few times looking away. She thought she saw a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks and heard him curse himself under his breath.

He leaned against the lockers and tilted his eyes to look at her. “I was thinking we should be partners for that literature assignment,” It didn’t sound much like he was asking her. “Seeing as either of us has a partner.” He shrugged. Alyssa couldn’t deny that she was surprised, out of everyone in that lesson he was asking her, She immediately became suspicious of him. Her eyebrows furrowed and shit bit her lip, thinking about all the reasons he came to ask her about it; she’d noticed his eyes had moved to her lips while she did that.

“Is this going to be a one-sided partnership where I do all the work?” Raising her brows while questioning. A smile played on her lips as he fawned being offended. “What? You ask, out of everybody in our class, me to be partners with and expect me not to be suspicious?” Though she was being serious there was a playfulness in her tone and he laughed a bit, smile lines forming at the corners of his eyes. She couldn’t help but chuckle, his smile and laugh were a bit contagious.

Those around them looked shocked by the interaction between the two. Probably never once seeing Billy interact with a girl like Alyssa before; he placed his left hand on the locker beside Alyssa and leaned in close enough for her to smell and feel the cigarettes and the mint from his breath. In a pathetic attempt at a shield, she raised her books to her chest and tried leaning back at bit though she was met with the cold surface of the locker. “From what I’ve seen of you today, you’re the smartest girl in class,” Then she started noticing the people watching. “And I need some help in the subject so how about it, doll?” Her heart raced at the nickname.

With a chuckle, she playfully shoved him away from her as she contemplated her answer for a few moments. “Sure.” He looked surprised by her answer, almost as surprised as her. She had no clue what was coming over her but she felt something in her gut telling her to agree to it though her head was screaming at her. “As long as you take part and don’t lounge about, we have a deal.” She straightened herself and presented him with her hand to shake. Smiling, he accepted.

After exchanging contact details, Alyssa was getting ready to leave, remembering that she told Nancy she would meet her at lunch. Before she could go, he grabbed her arm gently, sending a jolt straight through the both of them and he pulled his arm back like he’d been electrocuted. Clearing his throat, he looked bashful. “There’s a Halloween party tonight,” he began. Alyssa could help but notice a bit of his confidence gone as he scratched the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

Before she could think to reply, an unfamiliar voice came from behind her. “Leave her alone, Hargrove.” The guy the voice belonged to had thick brown hair, an average build and displeasure written all over his face. Beside him was Nancy who had her arms folded while giving Billy a stern look. Alyssa looked back and forth between them all, confused by the sudden tension in the air.

Billy’s demeanour changed from the nice guy he was being only moments prior and he snarled at the other guy looking ready for a fight. “What’s it to you, Harrington?” They were getting into each other’s faces, daring the other to make the first move and Alyssa stood there baffled as it had all escalated in a matter of seconds. The two guys gave each other such intense glares that if looks could kill, they’d both probably drop dead but before anything could happen, Nancy stepped in between them.

“Steve leave it and let’s just go,” she placed her hand on his chest but he didn’t move his eyes for Billy’s. “Please,” she stressed. Clearly, Nancy didn’t want a fight to break out, just as much as Alyssa didn’t. Reluctantly, Steve backed down and began walking away with a huff; Nancy then turned to Alyssa signalling her to come along to. “Let’s go.” She grabbed Alyssa’s hand as they walked away. Not before Alyssa took a quick glance back at the gorgeous blonde. He just gave her a wink and then turned to leave as well.

Once they got to the lunch hall, Nancy grabbed Alyssa’s shoulders looking at her with concern “What the hell was that all about?” Her voice sounded shaken with worry and anger; Alyssa was confused as to why she was being so overactive, considering the fact that she had only been talking to Billy and nothing major was happening. Steve was even giving her a glare, not necessarily targeted towards her but towards the thought of what Billy had been up to.

Looking at Nancy, Alyssa spoke. “He was just asking me to be his partner for our Literature assignment” Alyssa shrugged and frowned. “What’s the big issue, anyway? you guys are making such a big deal out of this.” Looking between Nancy and Steve as they exchanged glances with each other, Alyssa stared at them urging them to answer her. Besides the fact that he was a huge flirt, Billy didn’t seem that threatening towards her so couldn’t understand the tension.

Steve sighed. “Listen, that Hargrove guy isn’t someone you want to be around,” he gave her a soft expression, continuing. “My name is Steve, by the way, wish we could’ve met under better circumstances,” He outstretched his hand for her to shake and she accepted it. “Hargrove is an arsehole and the only reason he was speaking to you was to get into your pants or something. The guy has anger issues and an ego bigger than his future, so I suggest staying away.” While he said it with a joking tone, there was still a seriousness to his voice and the way his brow twitched when talking about Billy, proved that he was holding back insulting comments.

Alyssa just nodded, not really knowing what to say. She knew that she probably should head her friend’s warning but there was something about Billy that got under her skin and not in a bad way. It felt like an invisible force drawing them in together and she just wanted to get to know him. All of him. Not in the way that most people would interpret, though.

After, they all sat down to enjoy their lunch while asking questions about Alyssa and vice versa. They all seemed genuinely interested in the fact that she wanted to become a doctor in the future and enjoyed hearing her tell stories about her life back at home in England. “Hey, maybe we should take Alyssa to Tina’s party as a celebration of her arrival,” He asked Nancy and then turned to her. “What do you think? Would you dad be alright with that or do we have to sneak you out?” He had a mischievous grin on his face.

“No, he’ll be fine with it. Most likely excited that I’m going out a being a teenager and stuff,” Though she didn’t say it out loud, she wanted to also see Billy again but she kept that to herself knowing that it wouldn’t garner a positive response if she said that. “Though, I don’t really have much to wear.” She stated. Never have gone to a party before, she didn’t have many clothes in her closet that screamed “I’m here to party” and Alyssa wasn’t keen on getting bullied for her choice of clothing.

“How about I come to your house and help you pick something out? I’ll bring some of my own clothes just in case.” Nancy suggested and they all agreed on the plan and with Steve picking them up from Alyssa’s house. The bell rang and they all parted ways with farewells; Alyssa’s mind couldn’t help but stray towards Billy and even though her friends told her to stay away, her heart was telling her otherwise.

Tag list: @charmed-asylum

#billy hargove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x black!oc #billy hargrove x black!reader #Billy hagrove fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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sosthemortalcoil · 6 years ago

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KoFi Request: Michael and Family Dinner (Dark F!Gabriel)

This is a sort of follow-up to a previous NSFW KoFi request.

Tone: Awkward, funny, black/edgy humor

Same Gabriel as the previous KoFi

Synopsis: Family dinner where Gabriel and Michael announce that she’s expecting their child.

A good relationship with Daniel and Lucifer

Bonus: She originally tried to shank Daniel

Humor isn’t my forte by any means, but I hope you enjoy it anon! Total word count is 5,223 words and if you would like a pdf or word document copy, let me know via private messages here or on discord! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael keeps looking back at you with wide, pleading eyes, tweaking the tie you had talked him into. He keeps complaining that if you wanted him collared and leashed there are more pleasant ways to go about it. You insisted on the tie; as fun as the other option is, it’s really not a topic you wish to broach with your father. Besides, he should know by now that you always get what you want. The color of his wings proves that your control over Michael is greater than even Heaven’s pull had once been.

“This seems like a bad idea,” he protests, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. In the end, however, he’ll participate. Grumbling and fretting are how Michael shows he cares, even if it does occasionally grate on your nerves. The day he does something without some sort of token protest is the day you start to truly worry.

You reach up and retighten the tie, pointedly doing it with more force than you had previously. “Stop fussing.” The tone of your voice dares him to disobey.

Michael grimaces. “This is a cursed invention of humans,” he complains, flirting with the idea of disobedience without fully engaging with it. “Why would they wish to feel like there is a noose around their neck? Who decided that should be part of formal dress? At least cravats had some elegance to them.”

It’s your turn to pull a face. If you left Michael to his own devices, you don’t doubt that there would be some terrible mishmash of clothing from different eras and regions. And you’d only just disposed of the last Miami vice style outfit he had squirreled away. Falling hadn’t improved his fashion sense, sadly.

Rather than indulge him in his whinging, you simply say, “Relax,” and stroke over the back of his hair, noting that the locks are almost down to his collar. He’d chopped them off on an impulse, but since becoming involved with you was trying to grow it out again. Turns out Michael has a bit of a kink when it comes to having his hair pulled, which suits you perfectly. “It’ll be fine,” you reassure him.

He leans into your touch. “You say that, but I remind you that based on my previous encounters with your father, fine is an exaggeration.” Considering everyone came out of it relatively intact and not too burnt, you think fine is an apt description. You didn’t have to replace any dishes or chairs, which was a fortunate event; no matter how recently you seemed to have acquired belongings, the moment you needed a replacement you could never find the exact item again.

There’s one sure way to distract Michael from his concerns, however, a recent development you have been using and abusing to your advantage. You take one of Michael’s hands and pull it to your stomach. “What do you think, sweetheart? Think your daddy is overreacting? I know I do,” you coo down at the faint bump.

It’s amazing how effective this behavior is at getting Michael to agree with you and stop all forms of whining. Being pregnant is an automatic win to every argument, not that you need it, but it’s amusing to see Michael turn into soft, gooey ball of emotions, unable to help himself. It’s endearing.

“They aren’t capable of that level of thought yet,” Michael grouses, even as he gets to his knees and presses his ear to your stomach. A grin creeps over your face, and you tousle his hair again.

“But they’ll be like daddy, I’m sure, and admit that mommy is always right,” you murmur, fingers trailing down to stroke over his cheek.

Michael grumbles some more, turning to press a kiss to your belly. You’re barely showing, but you want to tell the rest of your family before it gets to the point that it’s obvious it’s not just a few extra of Persephone’s cookies.

Especially because you’d rather no one level a city block upon finding out. The amount of paperwork that humans generate sometimes makes Heaven seem like an efficient machine in comparison, and that isn’t a compliment to either institution.

A timer starts going off, and you clap your hands together. “They’ll be here any minute. Daniel!” There’s a clatter, and your adopted son appears on the spiral staircase, dressed up in black slacks and a gray-green collared shirt that brings out his eyes.

“Yes mom?” You’ve come such a long way to have him call you that, from trying to remove what you thought was just another satanspawn from the earth to calling him your son.

“Help me set the table, please,” you call as you bustle into the kitchen, hiding a fond smile. He’s a good boy, and often times more mature and dependable than Michael. Not that Michael doesn’t try, but if you want something done without twenty questions Daniel is your man. Not to mention, sometimes Michael still gets caught up in ‘that’s not how Heaven does it.’

While he understands that he’s yours, utterly and completely, he fails to understand that this city is under your dominion as well. The only higher power that rules here is you. Perhaps the difference is that Daniel has always used you as his moral compass, so adjusting to your laws is easy enough.

Michael had spent so long picking fights with you over the slightest issue that sometimes he would still balk at the way you handle problems. He’s learning, though, coming around to your way of view. It’s harder to teach a millennia old angel compared to a boy, but then again Daniel has always been an exceptional child.

That thought makes you pause. He is a young man, now, isn’t he? Not the scrawny, terrified boy you’d met that fateful day. Growing up and going out into the world, ready to make his mark. Your eyes flit to your stomach. Don’t humans have a word for this feeling? Empty nesters? Oddly accurate for Fallen, too. Idly you rub your stomach. Maybe you have grown accustomed to having a little one around.

Daniel enters the kitchen a moment later, moving carefully around you. He already knows about your pregnancy as it’s been impossible to keep Michael’s behavior from giving it away, and Daniel is far more perceptive.

However, it’s made it so that between the two of them, you’ve barely been able to lift anything lighter than a book without them fussing over you. At least Daniel listens to you without arguing when you insist on doing things yourself. You’re pregnant, not an invalid, and barely pregnant at that. If you don’t put your foot down now on the special treatment it’s only going to get significantly worse later. You know Michael. Going overboard is his modus operandi.

“You really think a dinner party with this family is going to go well?” Daniel asks as he pulls out plates and silverware, balancing them with a grace he’s only recently grown into.

“This family? You’re a part of this family, need I remind you,” you gently chide as you pull out the casserole and set it on top of the oven. The top is a light golden brown, almost as good as the picture next to the recipe you’d followed.

“Yep. Which is why I can call it a functional disaster,” Daniel retorts, gliding out of your reach as he moves to the dining table, setting out six place settings and flashing you a cheeky grin. “Things get done, sure, but rarely the way you expect them to or without something nearly catastrophic happening. Not to mention we’re like a bad joke setup.”

“Excuse me young man,” you call, hands on your hips, one eyebrow cocked in a pose you’ve coined as ‘disapproving mother.’ Even without saying anything, Daniel and Michael recognize they’ve done something wrong when you strike it, though depending on his mood, Michael has known to persist.

Turns out someone enjoys a little punishment, but now is not the time to be thinking about that. Definitely not with your father and siblings coming over.

Daniel gestures at Michael, who is standing poised like a statue in front of the front door waiting for the doorbell to ring, giving you a raised eyebrow in return. “Tell me I’m wrong. Satan, his daughter, and three angels—”

“Fallen,” Michael corrects, the word still full of a bitterness you haven’t shaken him out of yet.

You glance at your lover. “Just remember you’re stuck with this family,” you respond, avoiding the topic. Michael is a walking disaster all on his own and everyone knows it, even you. Of course, he’s your disaster and he has made great improvements. It’s a wonder what happens when you listen to others instead of stubbornly defending your position even when it’s glaringly obvious you have no ground to stand on. Only a few years, however, doesn’t quite begin to make-up for millennia of bad behavior.

Falling helped take him down a peg or two. He’s been much better behaved without an entire Heavenly Host watching him, ready to criticize any perceived weaknesses. Plus, you’ve learned ways to keep him leashed and obedient.

“For better or for worse,” Daniel chimes, smile soft. “Though, when your granddad’s the Devil, hard to top that.”

“You know he hates that moniker,” you scold.

“Not like he cares for Grandpa either,” Daniel replies impishly. Teenagers.

Shaking your head, you grab a few cork trivets and toss them towards Daniel. He catches them, laying them out on the table while you bring the casserole over. Another timer goes off. “Grab the mushrooms and put them on a serving platter please,” you say, heading towards the wine rack. While it’s difficult to get an angel drunk on human liquor, it won’t hurt to mellow moods, though you can’t partake.

You grab an old vine Zinfandel for Lucifer, and a sweeter Orange Muscat for Israfel. The latter isn’t really suited for the meal you made, but Israfel prefers sweet wines. Ramiel will drink whatever you put in front of him, and you have whiskey for after dinner, assuming you make it that far without anyone pulling an Angel Blade.

The doorbell rings.

Michael springs into action, smoothing his crisp ironed shirt once before jerking the front door open. The pleasant smile on his face evaporates as he stares into the chest in front of him.

“I forget you’re shorter in this form,” Ramiel rumbles, eyebrows raised in the precursor to an amused smirk.

“Sadly, while I can change my size there’s nothing to be done about your ego,” Michael snaps. Ramiel chuckles, musses Michael’s hair, and enters, pushing Michael aside.

“And here’s my favorite nestmate,” he says, spreading his arms for a hug. You set the wine on the table, letting Ramiel wrap his long arms around you. He pulls back, eyes going wide and eyebrows again shooting up. “Now I understand what the dinner is about. Got a bun in the oven, don’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ramiel. Everything is already out of the oven.” Michael sounds petulant, displeased by the brusque dismissal of your fellow Fallen.

“Oh Michael. Don’t ever change,” Ramiel replies, his condescending tone making your lover bristle.

“Anybody breaks anything other than bread in this house and I will kick your sorry feathers,” you threaten, wagging a finger at Ramiel. “And I don’t want to see any wings popping out. Save it for not in my home.”

Your most troublesome nestmate holds up his hands, feigning innocence. “Well, at least with Michael around you’ve already experienced the level of hand-holding and monitoring a kid requires.”

“I am not a child! Point in fact Gabriel is younger than me,” Michael pipes up.

“So that—”

“Ramiel,” you warn, knowing he was going to make another comment at Michael’s expense. “Is it really that amusing to battle wits with an unarmed opponent?”

“Sporting, no,” Ramiel says, pulling out a chair and sitting down, leaning back on two legs, ignoring your sigh. His grin is wide and unrepentant. “Entertaining? Most definitely.”

“Why did you insist on inviting him again?” Michael demands, sitting across from Ramiel and glaring daggers at your prank-prone nestmate.

“Because we can’t choose our family, and he’s part of it,” you say in a voice so sweet sugar has nothing on it. Both Michael and Ramiel appear to stop breathing, turning to look at you with wary eyes. Sometimes, you think, it’s easier to play nice. Makes them paranoid without you having to go through the effort of concocting a punishment or figuring out what to leverage to make them behave. Let their imaginations run wild thinking of what you might have up your sleeve.

“I see I’ve arrived just in time.” You look up to find Israfel has invited himself in, a much quieter entrance than Ramiel’s. He’s dressed with a kind of casual elegance, a long cream cardigan over a white ensemble that on anyone else would look over the top. On his long frame, however, there’s a dignity and grace that makes your attempt to dress Michael up look cheap. You glance over at your lover. At least he hasn’t clawed the tie off his neck yet, and for the most part it’s still straight.

“Israfel,” you greet, letting him sweep you into a hug. He kisses the top of your head, smiling fondly down at you.

“Hello little sister,” he greets. Things had been strained for a while after your Fall, but much of it had been mended when Israfel showed you his own black wings. If you weren’t in Heaven, then he didn’t want to be either. He still doesn’t approve of everything you do, but that’s one of the beauties of being Fallen; you can disagree without there being a wrong and right party, as there’s not much of a governing oversight on Fallen.

And what there is happens to be headed by your father, allowing you to quite literally get away with murder.

“It must be big news you have to share,” Israfel whispers, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Narrowing your eyes, you scowl at him.

“Why do I even bother?” you ask.

He shrugs. “The most oblivious party here is half-responsible for your current state, so I’m not certain. Perhaps you should sit down before your father arrives; I doubt you want him knowing before the food is at least served.”

Rolling your eyes—you aren’t fooled, you know he’s using it as an excuse to get you off your feet—you pull out the chair next to Michael and sit down.

Immediately you catch Ramiel’s troublesome grin, and groan.

“You know, Michael, humans may not be your favorite creature but even they are aware enough to make sure their pregnant mates have, say, their chair pulled out for them.” He swirls the wine he’d helped himself to around his glass, watching it with faux fascination, as if the conversation were of no importance.

Michael’s face goes white, a retort on his lips when Israfel sinks into a seat, hands folded neatly on the table in front of him, head tilted to the side. “Gabriel might not be quite as she once was, but she is no delicate human either,” he comments, reaching out and pouring himself a glass of wine, the color matching his ensemble well.

Daniel glances around, ensuring everything is out where it should be before he takes a seat as well, his eyes darting eagerly to the food.

“Great. We’re all here. Can we eat now?” Michael’s petulance is one of the few qualities that hasn’t markedly improved since falling, and you can practically hear the collective sigh everyone holds back.

“Still never learned to count, I see.” You don’t bother turning around, knowing full well who it is. Lucifer had this building built for you and you’ve long since stopped expecting him to enter through the front door like a normal visitor. He has a flair for the dramatic, and at least it’s not another Hellhound pup.

Speaking of which, you reach out with your foot, encountering other feet but no hound sneaking around for scraps.

Michael pastes a smile on, his hands disappearing under the table. “Lucifer,” he greets. Ramiel gives Lucifer a two fingered salute, once again leaning his chair back. Israfel inclines his head to Lucifer, a gentle smile on his face.

“Oh good. You remember my name. I had feared that your memory might have been going along with your inability to count.”

“Dad, be nice,” you warn before gesturing to the open spot. “You are in his house.”

“A house I paid for, had built, and warded,” Lucifer responds, moving fluidly to his seat, seeming to simply pour himself into the chair without having to pull it out from the table. It’s a little disconcerting to watch but reminds you that he isn’t always so human in appearance.

“If you weren’t Gabriel’s father, she wouldn’t need half of these wards,” Michael points out.

“If I weren’t Gabriel’s father, you wouldn’t be here either,” Lucifer retorts. Israfel and Ramiel takes sips of their respective drinks, one resigned, the other amused. Michael opens his mouth to retort and you clear your throat. This could go on all night and you haven’t even gotten to share your news yet.

“So… can we eat before it gets cold?” Daniel asks, looking at you with large eyes. You give him a nod, and he immediately starts piling food on his plate. A curious phenomenon you had observed with teenagers, or at least the three who frequented your house for a long time, is that they eat far more than the average human, and yet never seem to feel full.

Being pregnant seems to be roughly equivalent to being a teenager, at least in terms of food consumption. You always seemed to be running by the stores, picking up groceries and whatever odd combination of food your unborn child seems to crave. One good thing about having Michael for a partner is that he’s unfamiliar with normal human cuisine and thus sees nothing wrong with combinations such as peanut butter on pickles and cheese with ice-cream.

Daniel has learned to be cautious when he hears the fridge open at odd hours lest his appetite be ruined. Watching him now, it seems like that would be an impossible feat, but you have seen it happen,

The table falls blissfully silent while food is served, everyone respecting the sanctity of a good meal—or the fact that you won’t hesitate to kick any of their asses if they don’t.

“Not that I don’t enjoy getting to sit down to a meal with my daughter,” Lucifer is the first to break the silence, “but I doubt you would get the entirety of the nest together just for family dinner. Something you want to share?”

It’s your turn to play innocent. “What, I can’t just enjoy a family meal? The family that Falls together, stays together don’t you know.” No one laughs at your joke, though Ramiel shakes his head in pity

You glance at Michael. Might as well tell him now, then. In the future you’ll have to schedule more family dinners, if only to prevent your nestmates from being suspicious. Being predictable has never been a compliment as far as your concerned. Predictable is only one step away from complacent, and with the kind of enemies you have, you cannot afford either, especially when you’re about to bring a new life into this world.

Michael shakes his head, jabbing with far more force than required at his food. You tilt your head. Michael flicks his gaze to Lucifer. You roll your eyes. Michael’s fork screeches painfully against the plate.

Lucifer clears his throat, gaze resting on the pair of you.

“I’m going to college!” Daniel’s announcement blessedly drags the attention of the group away from your and Michael’s silent argument.

“It’s not that far,” Ramiel comments. “It’s not like this is your last supper.”

Silence greets his comment.

“Oh come on! Last supper? I mean, sure, there’s only six of us total, but I mean we’ve got the King of Hell himself so it’s like—like some sort of hellish version.”

You reach over and pat his arm. “Ramiel, dear, if you have to explain it… it’s not funny.”

“It was better than yours,” he mutters, retreating behind his wine glass.

“Didn’t you know that human?” Michael asks, eyes narrowing as he looks at you.

“‘That human,’ Michael, was one of the most brilliant minds humanity has ever hosted, I’m sure in no small part to his personal muse,” Lucifer comments, smiling at you. “My daughter is quite the inspiring force.”

“But it’s a rather strange painting don’t you think? First of all, it’s not accurate at all to the region or the time period he’s attempting to paint, and then everyone is gathered on one side of the table—that would be terribly awkward and far overcrowded and—”

Daniel clears his throat. “Anyways, since I’m going off to college, we thought this would be, uh, a nice way to send me off.”

“But you’ll be back,” Michael states, brow furrowed, successfully derailed from his rant but now busy trying to apply his brand of logic to Daniel’s statement. Daniel glances at you for help. Subtlety is not Michael’s strong suit. “It’s not like you’re dying or anything. By my understanding humans can live for a century or so now. And you aren’t human, so you’ll be around for longer than that. I mean, you survived Gabriel.”

The smack to Michael’s arm isn’t gentle.

“And what does that mean?” you inquire, head tilted to one side, a dangerous glimmer in your eyes. Michael’s eyes widen, recognizing danger in the faux sweet smile you flash him.

“Nothing, dearest.” You turn back to your food and manage to get a bite in before Michael opens his mouth and sticks in his left foot, his right foot, and all six of his wings.

“Well, not nothing. I mean, you did try to kill him when you first met.”

You can feel your left eye twitch. “So I did,” you state placidly, taking your napkin and dabbing at your lips.

Israfel reaches for the wine and refills his glass. Ramiel reaches for another helping of food. Lucifer leans back in his chair, though unlike Ramiel he keeps all four feet of the chair solidly on the ground, watching with amusement, while Daniel looks between the two of you as if to play referee.

“And the fact that you can go from nearly obliterating him at first meeting to having him reach the age of legal majority by which human laws state he is now responsible for himself is a feat that should be celebrated. He’s—”

You hold up your index finger. “I’m not the only one who tried to kill him.”

“Well, no, of course not. But you were never very good at the whole loyal to Heaven bit and following orders. I mean, there’s a reason you Fell.”

Israfel drains his glass. Ramiel arches an eyebrow. “There’s a reason all of us here have Fallen,” he points out, for once acting like the voice of reason. “At least Gabriel Fell of her own choice. You were the whipped one who couldn’t stand to live without her. So really, who has the greater reason for Falling? Gabriel because of her beliefs? Or you because of love?”

“Thank you, Ramiel,” you say in a brittle tone. He shrugs, and then continues because he’s never known when to stop.

“Look, I know to knock on your door for a reason now because, well, if you weren’t already Fallen, I don’t know, seeing some of the things you two get up to—”

“THANK YOU, RAMIEL.” Your voice is louder this time. Daniel is staring fixedly at his plate, and Michael is gawping next to you.

“When did he—?” your lover demands, turning to you.

“He’s not the only one,” Daniel mumbles. “If brain bleach were a thing…”

Thoroughly scandalized, Michael turns to Daniel. “I would have noticed if you walked in!”

“I’m pretty sure the time I stopped by you were too busy on your knees,” Israfel adds, one elegant finger flicking out to the side. “Your windows aren’t nearly as one-way as you think they are.”

Michael looks apoplectic, his skin turning an interesting shade of mauve. “Excuse me?” he demands, starting to come out of his seat.

“Oh please, sit down. It’s not like those of us with wings haven’t seen all that and more,” Lucifer replies, sounding bored. “Just because you thought it was kinky to hold hands doesn’t mean that the rest of us live under a rock. Good thing you live on earth; I think Hell would make you combust on the spot.”

“I did—holding hands—I know what sex is!”

“I’m glad you know what sex is. I hope for my daughter’s sake you’re at least passable at it.”

It’s your turn to want to sink into your seat. This is not a conversation that you wanted to have happen. Ever.

“More than passable,” Michael snaps. “In fact, if we—”

“Why is this a conversation for a family dinner?” Daniel asks you with desperate eyes, his voice raised to cut across Michael.

“Because this family is literally from Hell?” Ramiel supplies. He winces abruptly, and glares at Israfel who hasn’t appeared to move at all.

“Not from Hell,” Lucifer corrects, taking a bread roll, completely unperturbed by any of the topic changes. “I might rule it, but we are all from Heaven. Except for Daniel, but he’s the least disastrous one here.”

“Dad!” It’s your turn to be shocked, staring at your father in betrayal.

“You picked him,” Lucifer says mildly, gesturing to Michael with his bread roll. He rips it in half, sets half down, and then rips the half into quarters. “Daniel had no choice in the matter. That, my dearest, makes you a bigger disaster than him.”

“And how did I earn disaster?” Israfel asks, blinking at the King of Hell.

“Guilty by association,” Lucifer comments. “You would think after a few millennia some of your tranquility would have rubbed off on this lot, but they seem impervious to it.”

This time he gestures to you, your lover, and Ramiel.

“Ramiel is like a brick wall; oblivious to almost everything,” you point out dryly.

“If I’m a brick wall, I hate to think what that makes Michael,” Ramiel retorts, lips twitching up. Oh. No.

“Don’t you—”

“I mean but at least he knew he was in love with you. What do you call someone who doesn’t notice that for—”

The rest of Ramiel’s sentence is lost as a bread roll smacks him in the middle of his obnoxious gob. The smirk that he’s wearing as he catches the falling bread roll is almost worse, however.

“At least nothing is on fire?” Daniel supplies with a sheepish grin and a shrug.

“Daniel, if you’re considered normal, it is in spite of all of us,” Israfel informs him drolly.

“Normal is overrated. Besides, next to Josie? I think just about anyone could be considered normal,” Daniel responds.

You preemptively reach over and step on Michael’s toes to prevent something uncouth from pouring out of his mouth.

Michael looks affronted, but it’s better than the alternative.

Lucifer yawns, and shakes the empty wine bottle. “So, are we going to get to the elephant in the room or not?”

Everyone else exchanges glances, you hunting for the source of the leak and finding wide-eyed innocence—Daniel—resigned sibling apathy—Israfel—a mixture of amusement and the knowledge that he’s going to get in trouble no matter what he does—Ramiel—and finally panic verging on stubborn refusal—Michael.

“There’s no pachyderm in the room, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ever predictable, Michael,” Lucifer comments with a sigh, elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of his goblet. That’s not the dishware you had set on the table to begin with, but you’ve been around Lucifer long enough to cease being surprised by his quirks, such as altering his surrounding to suit his aesthetic. The first few times he had visited you had found various pieces of furniture changed, or one time, an entire painting that hadn’t been there before. You kept the latter—Da Vinci holds a special place in your heart, and you were the inspiration behind it.

“How?” you ask.

Lucifer arches one elegant eyebrow. “How? My dear, I have been around since before any of you were even a thought. I’ve observed worlds come into existence and be snuffed out. I’ve even been pregnant before—the signs are not difficult to discern.”

He lifts his glass, liquid filling it from the bottom up, a deep blood red wine. “Not to mention that you forget that the wards on this building keep auras and the like undetectable from those on the outside. I could feel my grandchild the second I entered the building.”

“My child,” Michael corrects, scowling.

“Ours,” you say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

“Hopefully they take after their mother and not their father,” Lucifer says, draining his glass. “And you’ve known I’m Gabriel’s father longer than anyone, Michael. You can’t deny I’m part of the family. In fact, I think humans might even consider me your father-in-law.”

The horror on Michael’s face makes you sigh. Back to zero.

“You’re a Fallen now, Michael. There’s no Host to condemn you for dating the ‘Devil’s’ daughter. Hell, I wager there’s a few Fallen who would envy your position.” Lucifer’s eyes flick to Ramiel.

Ramiel clears his throat and sinks down in his chair.

“Alright, enough. Michael, get over it.” Michael turns to you, and you look at him with narrowed eyes.

“I’m Fallen. You’re Fallen. Everyone here has black wings. Pointing fingers is literally like the pot calling the kettle black.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Cookware doesn’t speak.”

You can feel an impending headache.

“On the plus side, since Michael is pure Fallen, he doesn’t require sleep like you.” Lucifer’s smirk is wicked. “So every midnight crying, every two am feeding… I think that’s his by default.”

You perk up. “That’s a very good point father,” you say, pleased to see that no one has appropriated the cutlery for a preemptive strike.

Israfel quirks his lips. “Would a onesie with the word’s Little Angel be considered ironic then?” he wonders.

A laugh, perhaps a tinge hysterical, bubbles from your lips. It spreads, Ramiel starting to chuckle, then Daniel, Lucifer, Israfel’s light lyrical chuckle, and lastly even your mate.

“This isn’t funny,” Michael tries to say while trying to contain his own laughter.

You shrug. “Matter of perspective, love. I prefer puns to fireballs.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” Lucifer comments. “I want dessert first, and then I might threaten to introduce Michael to a few of the old, extraplanar creatures that go bump in the night. Burnt feathers is a smell that doesn’t come out of your clothes easily.”

Michael’s laughter stops completely. “That was a joke, right?”

Lucifer tilts his head and smiles. “I guess we’ll see.”

#Michael only ro #Michael Ro #Michael romance #f!Gabriel #ko-fi request #dark!Gabriel #thanks for the coffee!#extra #humor #Kofi Request #Hope you enjoy

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izayoi-no-mikoto · 7 years ago

Text

100 words of kneeling - Shirogane no Ou

(set immediately after Fenrir Craft and thus contains spoilers for the entire series)

As he sat on the veranda, His Majesty dozing at his back, Right-Eye took stock of the situation and concluded that it remained entirely untenable.

Immediate catastrophe had been averted--the King of Zephil had been turned away, His Majesty was safe, Right-Eye hadn't been thrown out of the palace or executed for treason--but still, Right-Eye knew his position remained tenuous at best. It galled him to acknowledge that; what else did he have to do to prove himself? The tattoo on his left arm was largely unrecognizable now, ink replaced by damage that would soon become scar tissue; Ulysses was dead twice over, once a decade ago and again today by his own proclamation; he had defended His Majesty against Zephil's plot, raised his sword against his own blood brother. Most importantly, his king wanted him, trusted him, believed in him.

But it wasn't enough. The fact remained that Right-Eye had been born and raised a prince of Zephil, and if so many people had distrusted him when they didn't know his provenance, then surely they would feel their distrust justified when they learned that his veins carried the royal blood of an enemy nation.

And it wouldn't stay secret, Right-Eye knew that. Too many people knew, now, and those who didn't would be able to put all the clues together soon enough. And between the Royal Guard and His Majesty's advisors, there were plenty of people who wanted nothing more than to run Right-Eye out of the country--or run him through with a blade.

Right-Eye wrapped his arms around his knees and took a deep breath. His Majesty wants me here, he reminded himself, clamping down the anxiety that gnawed a hole in the pit of his stomach. As long as His Majesty sits on the throne and wishes me to be his right eye, I will remain by his side, and nothing and no one can change that.

"Right-Eye? Have you seen--oh."

"See, I told you he'd be here."

Right-Eye looked over his shoulder and saw Wolfgang standing at the veranda door, Lord Shirogane draped over one shoulder. "Sorry for barging in," Wolfgang said. "I knocked, but you didn't answer."

"My apologies," Right-Eye replied. "I didn't hear you from out here. How can I help you?"

"I was looking for that idiot," Lord Shirogane announced, nodding at His Majesty. "Is he asleep?"

Not anymore, Right-Eye thought. His Majesty hadn't moved, and his breathing remained soft and steady, but he was pressed up against Right-Eye's back, a long line of warmth; when his muscles tensed, Right-Eye could feel it.

"It's been a long day," Right-Eye said apologetically; an understatement if there ever was one. "I didn't want to wake him."

"Well, at least send him to bed," Wolfgang said, half scolding, half fond. "If he wakes up with a crick in his neck, he'll make everyone else's lives miserable, you know he will. He's a pain in the ass like that." He deposited Lord Shirogane in Right-Eye's lap. "You need to take care of him, Right-Eye," he said, his expression sober. "He won't let anyone else even try."

Right-Eye gently gathered up Lord Shirogane. "I'll do my best."

Wolfgang nodded and turned to leave. When he reached the door, though, he paused, one hand grasping the doorjamb as though for support. "Right-Eye," he said, never turning around, "you're going to stay, right? Stay with him?"

Right-Eye lowered his eyes to Lord Shirogane, who gazed back up at him speculatively. "Of course," he said, to both of them. "As long as His Majesty will have me, I will be his right eye."

"Good," Wolfgang said, as thought that was the only thing he had wanted to hear, and he left without another word.

For a few moments, there was silence. A few seconds of peace and calm. Then Lord Shirogane said, "Hey," brusque and unyielding, and he thwapped his tail over Right-Eye's shoulder and smacked His Majesty on the back of the head. "You're a terrible actor."

"Lord Shirogane," Right-Eye said reproachfully.

"What? I know he's awake."

"Shut up," His Majesty grumbled, and now he was sitting up, no stretching or yawning, not the slightest pretense of sleepiness. "Can't a man have an hour of peace?"

"Not around here," Lord Shirogane said, far too chipper. He wriggled out of Right-Eye's hands and up His Majesty's arm, settling around his shoulders like a mantle. "Did you properly talk things out? He looks like he's about to run away again." He glanced slyly at Right-Eye as he spoke.

His Majesty scowled. "He's not going anywhere," he growled, and then he turned and looked at Right-Eye. "You're not going anywhere," he repeated. Right-Eye couldn't tell if it was more question or threat. His Majesty kept glaring, and Lord Shirogane abandoned subtlety and craned his head to peer at him, too.

Right-Eye averted his gaze; those three eyes staring at him were three too many. "As long as you want me, Your Majesty," he said, "I'm yours."

His Majesty snorted, unimpressed. "But?" he asked.

Right-Eye lowered his head. "But people will ask questions," he said. "If you thought it was bad before, it will be many times worse now. Once it gets out who I am--who I was...." He shook his head. "There's only so much you can do to protect me, Your Majesty."

"A king's duty is to protect," His Majesty replied. His voice was disgusted; Right-Eye had to tell himself, more than once, that the disgust wasn't directed at him. "You're my right eye. Anyone who still has a problem with that can go fuck themselves."

"It isn't that easy, King," Lord Shirogane said.

His Majesty let out a sound like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to be sick or to shoot someone. He grabbed Lord Shirogane by the nape of the neck and dragged him down to stare him in the eye. "Not you, too," he snapped, giving him a disapproving shake.

Lord Shirogane wormed out of His Majesty's grip and inched back up onto his shoulder. "They're idiots," he said, "but they're idiots who are helping you run the country."

"I'll fire them."

Right-Eye closed his eyes. "The younger brother of the King of Zephil went undercover as a nameless mercenary, infiltrated the palace, won the king's trust, and began exerting his influence on the king. Eventually, the king became nothing but a puppet, and the foreign prince effected a purge of the Quatredina government, eliminating everyone who criticized or questioned the king's decision to keep the heir to the Zephil throne as his personal bodyguard and bringing the country one step closer to being overthrown by Zephil."

The story practically wrote itself. And Right-Eye didn't know how to change the narrative.

"That's absurd," His Majesty snapped. "You're not working against me. You're protecting me. You're my bodyguard. You would take an arrow for me."

"I would," Right-Eye said softly. "And yet I’m not the one who did take an arrow."

His Majesty recoiled, his expression stricken. "That's," he snarled, his voice ablaze, but nothing followed, as though he, too, began to sense the futility of it all. He turned away, teeth gnashing, and then he let out a sound of utter frustration and braced his forehead against his clasped hands.

"King," Lord Shirogane said, sounding surprised.

Right-Eye's stomach twisted and curdled inside him. "Your Majesty...."

"You're my right eye," His Majesty muttered. His shoulders slumped with bone-deep exhaustion. "I gave up my right eye once. It was my choice, it was my responsibility, and I won't let anyone else take the blame." At last he looked up, and Right-Eye's breath caught in his throat, because His Majesty's single pale eye glinted with that absolute refusal to surrender that was part of his blood and his bones. "But what happens to my other right eye is also my choice and my responsibility, and I'll be damned if I lose my right eye again."

Right-Eye swallowed. "Your Majesty," he whispered, his voice thick, and found no other words to say.

What had he done to deserve this? After everything that had happened in his life, how had he earned such unshakeable trust and loyalty?

The moment was shattered when Lord Shirogane spun about, landing his tail square in His Majesty's face. His Majesty spluttered on a mouthful of fur and scowled, but Lord Shirogane merely huffed, looking at them in turn. "This is touching and all," he said, sardonic, "but what are you going to do about it?"

"Do about it?" Right-Eye echoed.

"We shouldn't have to do anything about it," His Majesty said crossly. "It should be a non-issue."

Lord Shirogane smacked him in the face again.

"Do about it," Right-Eye repeated, ruminating over the words. Now that he thought about it, what had they done about it? Right-Eye had always tried to stay present but unobtrusive--to remain by His Majesty's side enough for his loyalty to be known, but not let anyone look too closely for fear of what they might see. His Majesty had not always kept his cool, but he had at times shied away from being too full-throated in his defense of Right-Eye, lest people think the king protest too much. They had tried to let the evidence of Right-Eye's actions be enough to defend him. But what had that achieved? Nearly the entire court and Royal Guard had stood up against him, and that was before his past had been revealed.

"Perhaps we should confront it head-on," Right-Eye said slowly, pondering even as he spoke.

His Majesty raised one eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"My past is out," Right-Eye said. "There's no way to unopen that box. So instead of trying to keep it quiet, we announce it to the world."

His Majesty's draw dropped. His gaze went incredulous, then sharp. "You're an idiot."

"We can make a whole production of it," Right-Eye continued, warming to his subject. "We announce that I was a prince of Zephil, and then I publicly renounce my birthright. I'll swear a formal oath of fealty. I'll kneel before you, vow to serve you, pledge my loyalty to you. My tattoo is mostly unrecognizable by now, I think, but I'll take a brand to burn the rest of it off, and--"

"Enough!"

His Majesty surged to his feet. Lord Shirogane yelped and clung to his shoulder by the very tips of his claws. Right-Eye stared up at him, shocked into silence.

"They'll eat you alive," His Majesty snarled. He clenched his hands into fists so tight they trembled; his voice was so livid it could have sparked a wildfire. "You'd be throwing yourself to the wolves."

"Hey," Lord Shirogane objected.

"It's not happening," His Majesty spat. "I won't let you hurt yourself for me, and I won't let you kneel before me. They've done enough to you as is. If the choice is to have you humiliate yourself in front of the world, I'd rather throw them out, and fuck the consequences."

Right-Eye stiffened. "Your Majesty," he said. He couldn't keep the edge from his voice.

"You aren't even going to hear him out?" Lord Shirogane asked.

"No." His Majesty tore Lord Shirogane from his shoulder and practically flung him at Right-Eye. "And you're going to convince him that he's being a fucking idiot, because I'm not listening to this anymore."

And without another word, His Majesty turned and stalked away, his shoulders tense and his footsteps heavy. He slammed the door behind him with a bang.

In the ensuing silence, Right-Eye felt the tension drain from his body. He slouched where he sat and let out a heavy sigh. "I didn't think it would upset him that much," he admitted, settling Lord Shirogane more comfortably in his lap.

Lord Shirogane snorted. "King isn't exactly known for his composure," he said, "but he has even less of it when it comes to you."

Right-Eye lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Wait, wait, why are you apologizing? I'm sorry! It's not your fault!" Lord Shirogane frantically patted Right-Eye's leg with his tail, a gesture that was probably meant to be comforting. "It's just the idiot being an idiot!"

"The idiot," Right-Eye said, "is my king."

Lord Shirogane deflated.

Right-Eye took a deep breath and collected himself. Then he picked up Lord Shirogane, lifting him until they were eye-to-eye. "Do you think it's as bad of an idea as he does?" he asked.

"It's a crazy idea," Lord Shirogane said bluntly. "And it'd probably blow up in your face. But it just might work."

It wasn't like anything else had improved Right-Eye's standing in the eyes of the country, so he saw no reason they shouldn't give it a shot. There was only one problem. "But he'll never stand for it, will he?" he said, glum and rhetorical.

"You might be able to convince him," Lord Shirogane said doubtfully.

Right-Eye sighed again. "I know he's trying to protect me," he said, lowering Lord Shirogane onto the bench beside him. "But I'm his bodyguard. More than that, I'm his right eye. He gave me a name, and a place, and a purpose. A king's purpose may be to protect his country and his people, but my purpose is to protect him."

Lord Shirogane's ears drooped. "Protecting him as his bodyguard is one thing. But he doesn't want you lowering yourself for his sake."

"He is my king," Right-Eye said through gritted teeth. "I would gladly take His Majesty's brand on my arm. Swearing my loyalty to him in front of the world is no humiliation. I would be honored to kneel at his feet."

"Kneeling for your king is great and all, but you realize that I'm the important part here, right?" Lord Shirogane asked dryly. "I'm the reason he's the king, after all."

Right-Eye dredged up a fraction of a smile. "I would kneel for you too, Lord Shirogane," he said. "If you wanted me to."

Lord Shirogane wasn't wearing his regular smirk anymore. Instead he gazed back, his eyes uncharacteristically frank. "I would let you kneel for me," he replied. "But only because he wouldn't let you kneel for him."

#fic #fanfic #100 words #(or so)#Shirogane no Ou #Right-Eye #King #Shirogane-kou #drabble #kneeling

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feelsgood-anon · 7 years ago

Text

EROS - BAR AU [SEASON 2] CHAPTER 3

DISCLAIMER: THIS PIECE IS A MYSTIC MESSENGER AU. IT IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THE AMERICAN SITCOM CHEERS, A SHOW CENTERED AROUND A BOSTON BAR CALLED CHEERS AND IT’S REGULARS. EVEN THOUGH I HAVE TRIED TO KEEP AS MUCH OF CANON PERSONALITIES WITH ALL THE MYSTIC MESSENGER CHARACTERS JUST REMEMBER THAT IT IS AN AU AND A FEW THINGS MAY BE DIFFERENT THAN IN GAME OR YOUR HEADCANONS. THIS HAS BEEN FUN TO PLAN AND I HOPE YOU FIND A BIT OF JOY READING IT!

PG13+ FOR SWEARIN’, BOOZIN’, AND ADULT THEME-IN’.

[Season 1]

[Season 2] | Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 |

“Hey doll, could you grab some ticket books from my office?” It looks like you guys are running low,“ Zen called out over his shoulder towards Sunny.

She didn’t look up from the notebook she’d been writing in, only giving him a subtle grunt, “Get Cannon to do it, I’m busy.”

He whirled around and stared at her with a disapproving look, “Excuse me? You’re cheeky today. Keep that up and I may end up falling in love with you. I absolutely adore sassy women.” With a grin he leaned forward to take a peek at whatever she was working on, “What is this, anyway? writing me love poems?”

This interaction between the two had become the norm for them once he opened up the day he returned to Eros. He was a different type of flirty with her and everyone noticed. It was a gentle tone, the comments not as predatory as before. In his defense, his mannerisms around women had changed drastically. It seemed that keeping sober kept him a bit more calm and reserved.

That’s not to say he didn’t relish in the constant attention - no, he still lived for it. But with the regular therapy that he was attending, a lot of the old thoughts and habits returned to him. He had become very aware that many only concentrated on his looks instead of his personality and that was always a sore spot for him.

But when it came to Sunny, it was different. She was one of the few he knew would accept him in every way possible and every compliment - and criticism - was pure and genuine. This quality was something he needed, something he was starving for, without Scarlet. Naturally, he gravitated towards Sunny to fill the void in comfort.

She let out a frustrated sigh and crossed out a few things from her page, “You wish! I write beautiful poetry! I took a few creative writing courses as electives. My professor told me I had talent and to continue practicing!”

“Pretty sure that’s the nice way to say your assignments were shit.” Cannon snickered as he plopped into the seat next to her, “Did he tell you that to your face?”

“Well, no. He always wrote it on my graded papers! See! I would continuously improve and he always encourage me to keep practicing my craft!”

Zen pursed his lips, trying to hold back a laugh, “Regardless of your talent, I would love to read anything you create. I’m sure you put in a lot of effort into everything you do.” He reached out to pat Sunny’s hand but Cannon’s arm shot between the two as he went to grab a napkin, “I used to write poetry too! I studied literature in college! So I know a thing or two. You should have me read it instead of Zen. Who knows if he can even read.”

Crimson eyes hardened towards Cannon as Zen turned his attention from Sunny, “Of course I can read! How do you think I got through all the scripts? I may have dropped out of school but I did learn the basics. Sheesh.” He looked back towards Sunny with a smile, “I bet your poetry is lovely.”

Sunny blushed furiously, her fingers fidgeting with the pen she was holding, “W-why thank you, Zen. That’s sweet of you to say. Let me, uhh, go get those new ticket books.”

“Cannon, go grab the books for her, they’re in the office. You keep working on your stuff, Sunny,” Zen instructed before walking off to converse with some patrons. She cleared her throat and quickly looked down, continuing to write in her notebook.

Cannon watched her reactions to Zen and a wave of anger surged within him. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “You know, you two should just start dating and get it over with. The flirting is disgusting and obvious.”

Sunny turned her head sharply towards him and even though she was ready to chide him for the comments, she was stopped by how close they both were to each other. Another inch and she would be locking lips with the mouth she constantly tried to silence for insubordination.

Cannon froze immediately; any sudden movements would cause the most embarrassing scene the bar would encounter. As he stood there, hoping she would back way, he couldn’t help but notice how good she smelled. Was it her shampoo? Her perfume? And those big brown eyes that were hidden by the long lashes every time she blinked. Her button nose twitched as it often did when she got nervous - something he always took note of. Her pink lips that he suddenly had an urge to suck on to make them even more plump than they already were.

“I'm going to get those ticket books, “He spoke lowly, backing away like a frightened animal in the wild until he had ample space to run off into the office. Sunny clutched at her chest, feeling her heartbeat racing beneath her palm.

She had felt this sense of thrill before but the last time she acted upon it, she ended up kissing Zen and making him angry. This time, though, the feeling wasn’t due to pity or sympathy. She had never been that close to Cannon before - mostly out of fear that he’d blow up and tell her to get lost - but there was no vibe of hostility just now.

That look in his eye was strangely familiar, though. Where had she noticed it? “Oh no,” She whispered to herself. It was the same look of carnal desire that she often saw in Zen’s eyes when, in the past, he found a woman he wanted to conquer. Now that their boss had discontinued that type of behavior, did it rub off on Cannon? When she heard Zen clank around behind the bar, she straightened out her shirt and buried her face back down into her work.

“Hey, you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.” Zen spoke to her as he fixed a few drinks nearby.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing! Cannon was just being weird again, you know how he is! Always trying to get under someone’s skin!” She laughed nervously.

He frowned and leaned towards her, speaking in a serious tone, “What did he say? Did he make you uncomfortable? I can have a chat with him. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to quit. I don’t want him hurting your feelings.”

Sunny bit her bottom lip and looked at Zen, shaking her head quickly, “N-no, no! It’s okay! I don’t get offended by him. I know he just acts tough to try to show off.”

“I’ll still talk to him. He’s been pretty off lately, even for my standards.”

Jingle~!

As soon as Sunny was about to further insist that speaking with Cannon wasn’t necessary, Clicks and Sugar came through the doors, their bickering distracting any previous conversation.

“She was just angry, Sugar! She can’t help herself when she’s like that!”

“There is no excuse for that type of aggression, Clicks. I don’t care if smoke comes from her ears and she starts breathing fire. It was inappropriate and uncalled for.” Sugar huffed as he sat on his barstool, “Wine, Zen. Now.”

“A ‘please’ would be appreciated, Sugar. I’m not your slave.” Zen furrowed his brow and passed the drink tray he was working on towards Sunny, “Can you take this to table six for me? I have to appease his highness right now.”

“I don’t need your remarks right now, Zen. Just get me my damn drink.” Sugar growled.

Shooing her off, Zen turned to stare down Sugar, “I’m not the one that came in here making all sorts of demands. You could always walk your happy ass behind the bar to pour yourself a damn glass.”

Clicks sighed and sat next to Sugar, “Don’t mind him, Zen. We had a small run-in with Goldie at my apartment. You know how they don’t get along.”

Sugar stiffened, jaw clenching tightly, “Small? You call that behavior small? She threw a water bottle towards us! Be glad I dried off before we got here!”

Zen let out a low whistle as he poured the wine, placing it in front of Sugar, “Shit, she threw something at you? I mean, I knew she could say some real nasty things but I didn’t know she got physical.”

“It was a plastic bottle!” Clicks let out exasperatedly, “She doesn’t get physical, it was just this one time! Come on, don’t you get so mad that you want to throw something?”

“Sure, but I’m in therapy for my issues.” Zen said flatly, sliding a whiskey on the rocks over to Clicks.

“That’s different, you were drinking.”

Zen’s eye twitched slightly, backing away from the two, “Yeah, like Sugar said. There is no excuse for that type of behavior. Anger, no matter the reason of provocation, should not cause harm to anyone.”

Clicks’ eyes opened wide as he immediately became apologetic, “I’m so sorry, Zen. I didn’t mean anything in a spiteful way. All I’m saying is that this was a one-time ordeal and once she’s cooled off, I’ll talk to her.”

“You always say you’re going to talk to her but she continues to act up. That or you temporarily break things off. Why bother at this point? It’s obvious that she will always take precedence in your life. I just have to adjust now.” Jumin responded, running a finger along the edge of his glass.

Clicks looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquid around, “That’s not fair, Sugar. You know I try to keep everyone happy. I thought you understood what I had to do in regards to her.”

“For a while I did. But if you think I’m going to sit back and allow my best friend to be stepped on by some spawn of Satan then you are sorely mistaken. And now she has turned her bad mood towards me? I have half a mind to sue her for assault. Maybe you’ll finally understand how serious I’m being.”

Zen cleared his throat loudly, clapping his hands a few times to get their attention, “How about we all take a few deep breaths, yeah? Calm down a bit? We can talk about this when the threats of lawsuits are dropped. Come on, you two-”

No, you’re right Zen.” Clicks interrupted, “I think we both need time to calm down.” Finishing off his drink, he dug around his pockets for money, slamming a few bills on the counter, “Keep the change. I’m going for a walk.”

Sugar rolled his eyes as Clicks left, motioning to Zen for a refill of his wine, “He’s being irrational and ridiculous.”

“And so are you.” Zen chirped as he poured the drink, “Dude, I get just as frustrated about Goldie but I’m at least tactful. Clicks is sensitive about things and you know he’s trying his best. Cut him some slack.”

“I’ve been cutting him slack for years now, “ Sugar said bitterly, “She has no respect for boundaries or any other human life, for that matter.”

“Hey now, just drop it. Fighting with him won’t make her stop being a bitch so I beg you, please, try to keep the arguments to a minimum.”

Jingle~!

“Hey Everyone!”

Zen turned when he heard Red’s voice, “Hey! What brings you here on your day off?”

“Eh, forgot to ask Cannon if he needed anything from the grocery store. He wasn’t answering my texts so I just stopped by. Where is my brother, anyway?”

Zen opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out as he realized he wasn’t quite sure where his waiter had snuck off to. He took a look around to see if he spotted the twin and when he didn’t, he began to think if he had assigned him a task for the evening. He snapped his fingers once he remembered asking Cannon to grab supplies, “Ah! He’s probably slacking off in the office. That or he went to use the restroom.”

Red shrugged and started walking towards the back, “I’ll find him, thanks!” Knowing Cannon, he was probably taking a nap since business was slow. He rubbed his hands together as he stood at the door, hoping that kicking the door open suddenly would scare his brother.

“I found you-” Red started yelling as the door swung open, but he choked on the rest of his statement when he saw Cannon flail about and cover his lap with a cushion from the couch. “What the fuck, Red? Can’t you knock like a normal person?!”

Red looked around and noticed, on the floor in front of his brother, a group picture of the Eros staff and a few dedicated regulars. “Dude, were you-”

“Get out of here!” Cannon howled, throwing the ticket books he was sent in for earlier. Red ducked and quickly closed the door. He stood shocked for a moment as he internalized what he had just witnessed. When it finally registered, his shoulders started shaking until he progressed to a grand fit of laughter. Barely able to breath, he made his way back to the bar.

“You alright, Red? Hey, do you need water?” Zen asked worriedly, “What’s so damn funny?”

Red went behind the bar, took a few deep breaths to gather his composure, and leaned in to speak in hushed tones towards Zen and Sugar. He was so quiet that even they had to focus to hear all of the words but once he made the obscene gesture with his hand - the one that was universally recognized as a symbol of pleasuring oneself - Zen too burst into a fit while Sugar managed to let an amused smirk cross his lips.

“What picture was he looking at?” Sugar inquired, clearly interested in all the details.

“All I saw was that group picture we took a few weeks ago. You know, boss, the one you have framed on your desk?”

“What?!” Zen cried out between staggered breaths, “Why would he be using that?”

“Perhaps he is attracted to someone in that photograph. Interesting indeed.” Sugar contemplated, now thoroughly distracted from his previous anger.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s going to need anything from the grocery store. Unless they sell pills to reduce embarrassment.” Red chuckled, still clearly proud that he walked in on his own brother.

“He just needs to get laid. Crap, I hope he cleans up after himself. Sunny goes in there a lot and I don’t need to explain this to her.” Zen said, now calmed just in time to see Cannon rush out of the office. “Hey, hope you didn’t make a mess! I work there!” Zen yelled out after him.

The tips of Cannon’s ears turned bright red, his eyes honed onto his twin, “You’re the worst, Red!”

Red burst out into laughter once more, waving a hand as he stepped away, “I need to go before I either die by his hands or of lack of oxygen. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

Zen chuckled a bit and turned back to Sugar, leaning himself against the bar, “It’s always something, isn’t it?”

“Yes, something is the correct word.” Sugar sighed as he looked over at the empty seat beside him, “I should try to go talk to him. I know I shouldn’t have lost my temperature when he really is doing everything he can.”

Jingle~!

Clicks came back in silently and made his way over to Sugar. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he motioned his head towards the back, “How about a game of pool, friend? We can talk about things.”

Sugar nodded and stood, leading them both, “Sounds like a good way to spend the evening.”

Zen smiled softly to himself, glad that the two were in better spirits. His attention was diverted, though, when Cannon approached with a tray of dirty dishes. He slide over and put an arm around the waiter’s shoulders, “Alright. Spill it. Who was the focus for you in that picture. I promise I won’t tell!”

Cannon closed his eyes slowly, the annoyance of his boss making him want to smash the tray to the ground. But instead, he let out a slow exhale and looked up with a shy expression, “You mean, you don’t know? It was you. Sometimes I can’t help myself when I’m around you. I have needs too!”

Zen blinked slowly at the response. Cannon had spoken so sincerely that it was damn near believable. He leaned forward and whispered, “For real?”

“No!” Cannon barked into Zen’s ear, “I wouldn’t look at you if I didn’t have to. Idiot.” He shook Zen’s arm off and went to clean the dishes.

Zen let out a flustered sigh, disappointed that he fell for Cannon’s hijinxs.”Fine! Don’t tell me. See if I care!”

“You do care, that’s why it’s even better for me to keep you guessing.” Cannon said over his shoulder, “Always remember, boss - you try to get under my skin and I’ll retaliate twice as bad.”

Zen looked over towards the tables where Sunny had taken to reciting some of her old poems to patrons, then looked back at the smug man bent over the sink. He shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yup, it’s always something.”

tag, you’re it! @illneverrecover @zenscrotch @serensama @suzunesays @sinfulinsecret @forever-ender

#mystic messenger #Eros Bar AU #mystic messenger fic #mm #mystic messenger AU #Zen #Hyun Ryu #Unknown #Saeran Choi #Jumin Han #V #Jihyun Kim #Seven #Saeyoung Choi

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big-stupid-jellyfish · 8 years ago

Text

doc: i have an idea for you to write! “bakugou undresses kirishima”!

me: ok let’s do this

me, 1.2k words later: bakugou puts clothes on kirishima

me: what the fuck

now on ao3

2,3k words, bnha, very pg, nothing too complicated or shippy, maybe i should’ve written a pwp instead

In retrospective, relying on healing powers of the school nurse was pretty damn stupid when Kirishima broke his arm.

He didn't intentionally break it, sure, he wasn't just quick enough to harden and prevent the damage, but what he did afterwards? When he hardened skin on his arm to support the broken extremely and continued the fight in fears of being discredited from the festival? Intentional and pretty damn stupid. The sustained damage from bone shards made Recovery Girls shake her little head in disapproval and declare that he still had to undergo a minor surgery and wear a cast for at least a week before she could use her powers.

"You keep that smile on your face all the time, but this is a serious matter, boy," she told Kirishima when he apologized profusely for making it such a mess of a simple case of a broken bone. "Treat your body like that more, and even I won't be able to fix that."

Kirishima just smiled more and apologized again. Internally, he was freaking out pretty hard. The high from the competition wore off, and he was left to process the fact that he never broke anything in his life before, and the pain and the surgery were just an extra. His own quirk made a pretty good splint - or rather, an exoskeleton, so he didn't get to properly freak out about seeing his limb deformed, but the idea of having his arm immobilized for some time had a vaguely nauseating feeling he really, really didn't like.

Now, sitting in the class without being able to write down anything, - why did it have to be his right arm? - he thought that he wouldn't have been freaking out half as hard if he knew how incredibly boring this week was promising to be.

He honestly tried to stay attentive in class, but soon he found himself staring at Tokoyami instead, trying to catch the moment when (or if) his classmate blinked. It was far more interesting than Mic's speeches in English that sounded like gibberish no matter how much Kirishima wrestled with irregular verbs and tenses or trained his pronunciation. Unfortunately, that was the only thing he could wrestle and train for now, as PE was off the tables for him until he made full recovery.

He wondered if their nurse's stage name had something to do with recovery. Recovery Girl. Making recovery fast.

Kirishima blinked as sudden revelation in foreign language flashed before him like fireworks. Maybe he wasn't that bad at this, after all.

The flash of the academic discovery faded, and he was bored again. The painkiller he took in the morning was wearing out as well, and he fidgeted in place, trying not to distract everyone when he started feeling dull ache in his arm again, the limb's awkward position behind his uniform jacket making it even more uncomfortable. He could wait until the break to take another pill, that wasn't worth to get attention to. He had completed the festival without any help, after all.

It was only the first day, and he already knew that he absolutely hated having broken bones. Taking shower? Hell. Bumping his cast into things and yelping in pain? Hell. Not being able to put his clothes on normally?

Kirishima took a quick glance behind him, spotting Bakugou who looked as bored as Kirishima was, though likely for different reasons. He didn't notice Kirishima looking, and that was probably for the best.

Turned out, putting clothes on or taking them off with just one functional hand while the other one just getting in the way was also hell. After going through questionable pleasure of changing his (once again) ruined training uniform into clothes for sleep in the evening, he woke up early to make sure he wasn't going to be late to classes because he couldn't put on his uniform in time. It wasn't working out very well, sleepiness and clumsiness somehow having multiplicative effects on each other.

The only reason Kirishima was actually in class, not late and looking decent was Bakugou.

Being neighbors for so long, they had established a routine when whoever was ready first would to go to the other and pester him about hurrying up. Somehow, it went from Kirishima just paying a friendly visit occasionally to Bakugou consistently checking on him in the morning and fussing that he was oversleeping. It was great: Bakugou was never late, and some days Kirishima actually slept through all the alarms.

This morning, this arrangement (which neither of them ever discussed) worked out in Kirishima's favor again, in entirely unexpected way.

Bakugou's usual greeting was: "Get the fuck up already, I don't wanna be late because it takes you forty fucking hours to get your ass up". This morning it was just a quiet, genuinely surprised: "What the fuck?"

In response Kirishima waved at him with his good hand that was currently stuck in the shirt he was struggling to put on. He was so, so glad he managed to put pants on already.

"Sorry!" He smiled at his classmate. "I think it's going to take a while." The frustration at his own ineptness flared up in him.

Bakugou just stared at him as if he was some kind of bug he found in his food - or at least that was what his face resembled. It was hard to tell sometimes, but Kirishima knew that there was a difference between Bakugou actively loathing something and him just having his face stuck in permanent scowl.

"You can go without me," Kirishima said, trying to convey not so subtle hint to Bakugou. "I don't want you to be late because of me."

He attempted to figure out how to fit his immobilized hand into the shirt and button it with left hand again, trying to ignore the fact that Bakugou hadn't moved and was still staring. Frustration mixed with embarrassment now, not really helping Kirishima to get a hang of the task before him, and he was wary he could spill his morose mood at his classmate.

"This is fucking painful to watch," Bakugou muttered.

Kirishima looked at him sharply, preparing a retort or something in response, because he really didn't need his classmate's snarky comments at his fumbling right now. Bakugou was already closing the distance between them with that weird look on his face that Kirishima could parse as something between his "Help your own damn selves" and "Fuck this, I'll do it myself" expressions. In the next moment, Bakugou was buttoning Kirishima's shirt, leaving it unbuttoned where the cast was in the way.

"Uh," Kirishima said eloquently.

"Shut the fuck up," Bakugou answered and fetched his uniform jacket. He helped Kirishima to put it on, not bothering with buttoning it, one empty sleeve hanging awkwardly by Kirishima's right side.

Then, Bakugou looked at Kirishima's hair critically. Krishima didn't have time to set up his hairstyle yet, and he honestly thought it would've been better if he didn't try right now.

"Nope. Not fucking doing this."

Bakugou looked around the room, got Kirishima's hairbrush and a headband. He sat Kirishima down on his bed and got on brushing his hair with what in other people would be called nonchalance. With Bakugou, that had a special flavor of fury, making Kirishima sit in place frozen and wondering what the hell caused Bakugou to fuss around him. In the meantime, Bakugou finished brushing Kirishima's hair back with a little more professionalism than expected from a teenager and fixed it with headband so the bangs wouldn't get into his eyes. Kirishima was too stunned to ask him if that was from his internship at Best Jeanist's.

Next were the shoes. Kirishima dreaded the moment when he was alone because he honestly had no idea how to tie shoelaces with one hand or reach out with both without hurting himself more. Now, though?

To Kirishima's horror and utter confusion, Bakugou was evidently going to help him put on his shoes as well. He kicked out Kirishima's shoes from under the bed and sat before him on his knees.

"Sit fucking still," Bakugou snapped at him, gripping him by the ankle when Kirishima tried to do put on the shoes himself, just to make sure he wasn't that useless. From that point of view Bakugou's frown was even deeper, and Kirishima honestly had no idea how to proceed.

"Thank you," he said nonetheless. His ears were burning from embarrassment as he watched his classmate tie his shoelaces. "That's very nice of you, Bakugou."

Bakugou looked up briefly, angry scowl ever present on his face, threatening in what Kirishima sensed was more of defense mode than actual aggression. It argued silently with Kirishima's assertion that he was being nice, but Kirishima still appreciated the help he got.

"We're going to be late," Bakugou said in snappy tone. They weren't, actually, as Bakugou took less than five minutes with dressing him up, but Kirishima didn't argue. "Let's go already."

What Kirishima appreciated even more was lack of obvious judgment from his classmate, except that exclamation that prompted him to act in the first place. He cast a glance in the mirror as he grabbed his bag and said with a grin:

"Heh, my hair looks nice."

Bakugou was already heading out of the room, pointedly ignoring the compliment. Kirishima wondered if that was going to be another thing they won't discuss ever.

Aside from those tricky parts where he needed help, classes weren't terrible to manage with a broken hand. Classmates were sympathetic, but also more than one of his friend expressed their admiration to Kirishima's dedication to completing the festival no matter what. It made Kirishima feel warmer inside, even though he knew they praised the action that was actually pretty stupid.

By the end of the classes, Kirishima thought that it wasn't so bad. Then he remembered that he couldn't do his regular workout routine. He also didn't have written homework.

Suddenly, he had a little bit too much time on his hands that he didn't know how to pass by. He didn't feel good about going to pester his friends while they had their normal load of homework. He decided that to compensate for that, he was going to read textbooks in advance, thus hopefully helping him pass time. He got on it as soon as he got to his room, sat at his table and opened the closest textbook.

A knock on the door woke him up. Disoriented and confused, he found himself behind his table. The knocking repeated.

"Come in," Kirishima said and tried to rub his eyes, but one hand wasn't moving. Right, he remembered, the cast was there. It was getting pretty annoying.

He turned to look at the visitor and was surprised to see Bakugou standing in the doorframe with incredulous expression on his face.

"Hey. Do you need something?" Kirishima asked. It was pretty rare for Bakugou to show up at his place without any obvious reason outside of their morning routine.

"I fucking knew it," Bakugou said in disbelieving tone.

"Knew what?"

Bakugou approached him and leveled him with a glare. Up close, Kirishima noticed something resembling concern behind the frown, and he didn't know what to make of it. With a frustrated sigh, Bakugou reached to him and started undoing the buttons on Kirishima's shirt in the same manner as in the morning.

"Dude," Kirishima said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Don't dude me," Bakugou yanked the shirt off his left shoulder, making Kirishima want to cover in rock skin where Bakugou's hands brushed on it. "If you can't do basic fucking things, you should've stayed in the hospital."

The shirt was off, and Bakugou decisively reached to his belt, and in that moment Kirishima thought he understood what got his classmate so riled up.

"Dude. It's fine! I can undress on my own, oh my god." He slapped Bakugou's hands away. "I just fell asleep while reading the homework, that's all."

Bakugou stared at him for the longest moment. Briefly, Kirishima thought that Bakugou was going to throw his shirt into his face.

"Putting that all on is terrible, yeah, but I can handle taking clothes off," Kirishima rushed to explain. He didn't want to seem ungrateful, and he felt that unless he was clear, Bakugou was going to turn hostile. "I really appreciate your help in the morning, but I can do it, see?" He reached to unbuckle his belt, and while he did the trick with just one hand without problem, he thought that he also made it even more awkward. Bakugou's face colored with bright blush was a pretty good indicator.

"Fucking hell, Kirishima." Bakugou turned away. That sounded a bit like admittance of his mistake.

"Yeah," he laughed in response lightly. He was so over these broken bones shenanigans.

Bakugou looked around, carefully avoiding Kirishima, clearly in search of excuse to leave his room.

"Will you help me tomorrow morning?" Kirishima asked tentatively.

That made Bakugou look at him again. As much as dealing with Bakugou resembled defusing a bomb all the time, Kirishima found the idea of his explosive friend fussing over him interesting. It felt nice to be taken care of with such fury, like jumping off heights with a rope, but even cooler.

Bakugou's expression was complicated, his eyes darting between the cast on Kirishima's hand and his face.

"Fine," he grumbled at last, calmer, placated. "But I'm not doing your fucking hair like you always do."

"Deal," Kirishima grinned. "You're terribly nice, Bakugou," he added for a good measure, to properly express his gratitude, and he thought he imagined the choked sound that came from his friend in response.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Look decent," Bakugou muttered and left his room.

"I'll count on you with that!" Kirishima laughed at the burst of swearing that it got him in response.

This week promised to be a rollercoaster.

#:y #bnha #bakushima #i write stuff

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feynites · 8 years ago

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Tagging @selenelavellan for more Concert AU shenanigans!

NSFW again! <3

Deceit’s grandmother ends up visiting for about a week.

Fear gets home, and barely checks their text messages in time to avoid being surprised by Gran-Gran accosting them with hugs at the front door of the apartment. As it stands, they have some forewarning, and so they are ready for having their face pat and their person scrutinized, and the inevitable worried clucking over how ‘tired’ they look.

Near as Fear can tell, they have looked ‘too tired’ since highschool.

But Gran-Gran does not actually make that comment, this time. Instead she says they look ‘healthy’, which is a pleasant surprise. She still makes them sit down and eat half a mango cake, but that is not actually something Fear objects to. Des and Selene are home, and both look faintly mowed over; and Deceit is wearing an expression that says that the baby photo album came out.

Fear sighs, inwardly. That means their school photos were likely to be included. Eighth grade, when they tended to starch their shirts. And ninth grade, when they decided to use an eyebrow pencil to try and give themselves sideburns.

Their goth phase was not quite so embarrassing, all things considered.

“What are you and Nona fighting about?” Fear asks, while Gran-Gran sits with them in the kitchen, and nosily asks Selene about her cooking practices. Selene seems a little defensive, at first; just until she realizes that Gran-Gran’s not actually disapproving of anything. Then she relaxes, somewhat.

Gran-Gran sniffs.

“We don’t fight,” she claims, of course.

“Hypothetically,” Fear counters. “If you were to fight…”

The little old woman sighs, and then reaches over and pats the back of their hand.

“Hypothetically, Enfanim, that would be nothing for you to worry about,” she insists. “You worry enough. Now, where is Dirthamen? Is he still at work? Should we send someone to go and get him?”

“He should be home soon,” Fear assures her.

“Good. Don’t let that boy work himself silly, it’s not healthy,” Gran-Gran insists.

They fall into relatively pleasant silence for a moment, then. Until Deceit comes, and the conversation starts up again. By the time Dirthamen gets home, Gran-Gran’s energy is flagging; but as ever it seems to come rearing back up at the arrival of a person she likes, and she spends several solid minutes patting Dirthamen down, asking about his health and complimenting his new hair style, and telling him that he’s a good boy and she’s happy to see him.

She’s always very firm on those points, with Dirthamen. Fear thinks it must be good for him.

They give Gran-Gran their room for her stay. It’s the cleanest one, and contains the least amount of ‘contraband’. Des and Selene go back to their apartment for the night, so Fear climbs into bed with Deceit.

They love Gran-Gran. They really do. She’s a kind woman, exuberant, and it’s good to see her. She and Nona were always very welcoming to Fear. And to Deceit, too, for that matter; he doesn’t talk about it a lot, but Fear knows that his mother wasn’t the couple’s biological child. She worked for them, when she was a teenager, and then fell on hard times. Got sick, and the medical bills stacked up. Her own parents disowned her after she had Deceit. So Gran-Gran and Nona stepped in, and took her in, and treated her like their own. They helped raise Deceit – Harel – and became his legal guardians after she died. And when Fear’s own parents would lock them out of the house at night, Fear could go over to their house and they would always be welcomed in.

But that’s the thing, they suppose. Whenever they see Gran-Gran or Nona after it’s been a while, it drags them back. Makes them think about being a skinny fourteen-year-old, with bruises on their knees, overwhelmed by practically everything, it seemed, and living off of vending machine food and halves of Deceit’s lunches, bleeding through five pairs of jeans before Nona started stocking extra pads in their bathroom, and took Fear aside and told them to take as many as they needed. Shame and gratitude burning in their cheeks, like a fire lit on the hunger gnawing at their gut. Gran-Gran and Nona fed them, too, but Fear couldn’t always make it to their house. It depended on the day.

Climbing into bed with Deceit reminds them of the first time they did it. Back when their skin had always felt like it was trying to crawl off, and they’d been so nervous. Was their breath okay? What if they kicked him? What if they rolled over onto him? What if they were doing it wrong?

Deceit glances over at them, and without a word, snakes his arm around their shoulders, and pulls them to his chest.

Fear sighs.

“Cuddler,” they accuse.

“You’re warm,” he says. Which is a bold lie; Fear runs cold. They’re skinny and sharp and icy, their feet are almost always freezing compared to anybody else’s. But after a moment they just sigh, and rest their head against their oldest friend’s shoulder. Recollecting the fights they used to get into. Fear was not a kindly child, over-critical, paranoid, and anxious, prone to panic attacks and wild accusations, and Deceit was a chronic liar. He once spent a year trying to convince half the school that his father was a billionaire from Orlais. He would tell people his mother was still alive, and just ‘on business’. He spent a summer working as a counsellor at one of the seasonal camps just outside town, and when he got back, he told everyone he’d been abducted by aliens.

They’d both been so insufferable, no one else could stand them. It was how their friendship was born.

“What do you think Gran-Gran and Nona are fighting about?” Deceit asks them, quietly, after a minute.

Fear shrugs.

“Not sure. Possibly Nona started smoking again. Or Gran-Gran is trying to get her to sell the market stand again. Or they might just have gotten bored.”

They feel Deceit frown, more than they see it.

“I hope Nona didn’t start smoking again,” he mutters.

“So do I,” they admit.

They fall into silence. Fear waits until Deceit’s breathing has started to even out before they roll away a bit, putting enough distance between them so that they can fall asleep, too; lulled by the rhythm of Deceit’s breaths, but not distracted so much by the press of skin against skin.

They wake up the next morning with their head wedged between six pillows, and two extra blankets thrown over them. Deceit is already up, it seems. Fear blinks, and stares at the clock. Six am, but Gran-Gran’s an early riser, and they can smell something delicious frying in the kitchen.

Fear sits up, and feels a moment of earl-morning disorientation. Their skin feels too-heavy on their own muscles. Everything a little bit askew, warmed from sleep, but itching unpleasantly, too. Old bruises ache a bit. They have to take a moment to look around the room, and remind themselves that this is a space they belong in. That the nebulous, purposeless apprehension suddenly fishing through their mind, looking for something to drag them over the coals about, is unfounded.

You slept in.

You didn’t check on Gran-Gran in the night.

You didn’t go to that meeting yourself.

You didn’t properly check in with Des about his doctor’s appointment.

You barely spoke to Selene last night.

You didn’t text Nona to tell her where Gran-Gran is and see how she’s doing.

Worthless, worthless, empty sack of bones…

Fear pushes it aside. Not helpful, not true, they remind themselves. It’s not always something they believe, but they murmur it aloud, in turn, and that makes it stick a little more. They feel… no. He. He’ll be a ‘he’ today, he thinks. He feels rested, at least. And after a few more minutes, the unease abates, and his heart stops trying to claw its way out through his throat. He gets up. Makes the bed. Heads into the bathroom, to comb his hair, and brush his teeth, and contemplates a shower, before deciding against it. Fear triple-checks his breath, and decides some eyeliner is order.

Maybe a little lipstick, too. He feels better when the scar on his bottom lip is completely invisible.

No reason for it to feel better. He just does.

He finishes getting dressed before he emerges into the kitchen. Last up for a change, it seems. Deceit is in his striped shorts and black raven shirt, polishing off a plate of eggs. Dirthamen in his robe, sitting beside him, and he and Gran-Gran both look over as Fear approaches.

“Masculine pronouns today, if you please,” Fear requests, checking the stove, before sliding onto one of the barstools.

Dirthamen nods, and so does Gran-Gran.

“Neutral for me,” Deceit requests.

Ah.

They’ve been reverted to the highschool standard, then.

Fear checks his phone, while Gran-Gran plates up too much food for him, and then settles into the seat beside him. He leans over and kisses her cheek.

“You did not have to go to the trouble,” he says.

She waves him off.

“I like to,” she insists. “Harel helped with the chopping, so don’t fret. They found me a good stool, too.”

Fear glances over, and confirms it to be the one from the hall closet – purchased specifically for these sorts of occasions – before nodding, and tucking in. Nothing calamitous seems to have happened overnight, at least. He fires off a pair of ‘good morning’ texts to Selene and Des, and mentally reviews the day’s plans. Ignores the voice that tells him he’s probably just going to make a disaster out of all of them, and that he should stuff himself into a closet somewhere and just sit in the dark until the day is done.

Someone would just come and get him, anyway. And then worry. And besides, the compulsion isn’t all that strong.

“You look tense,” Dirthamen informs him.

Deceit shakes their head a little, though, and he immediately changes the subject; and Fear is glad, because they are not good at explaining these things. Not even to Dirthamen, who understands better than Deceit does, sometimes.

Dirthamen is a good person. Better than many. Better than most.

And you cannot even figure out how to keep his wretched brother from ruining his life.

He should probably take his medication today, he supposes. His prescription is on an as-needed basis, which can get a little tricky because, in addition to numerous other factors, his paranoia likes to insist that he’s medicating himself too much and that his drugs have been tampered with. Even when he knows better.

Halfway through breakfast he gets too nauseated to keep eating, though, and he knows that’s a sign. He excuses himself, heading back into the bathroom, and when he gets back, Gran-Gran only asks if he’s finished and if he would like her to keep the leftovers. Fear gratefully asks her to, checks the time, and then sets out. He has a meeting with their accountant today. Their official accountant, anyway. Fear and Dirthamen both keep track of the financials themselves. Too many stories about successful musicians who lost every cent they ever made are cluttered in both of their minds; and the money they make from their music exists independent of Dirthamen’s family.

Dirthamen catches him before he leaves, though.

“I transferred some funds to my brother the day before yesterday,” he admits.

Fear purses his lips.

Dirthamen’s funds are his own. They all have their own money. Much of it gets withdrawn in thirds automatically to pay their various expenses, but they all have checking accounts and saving accounts. Fear keeps track of them, though. At the end every month, Dirthamen’s personal accounts hemorrhage funds – usually because his father has started getting Falon’Din’s bills, and subsequently started roaring about how he’s not paying for this or that or anything else, and Falon’Din gets cut off and goes and bullies his brother into making up the difference.

“You should not give him money,” Fear says. He always says that.

Dirthamen lets out a breath.

“It is my money to give,” he says, which is also what he always says.

Fear’s on edge, though, and it’s a bad time for this. He levels a finger at Dirthamen’s chest.

“You need to start thinking ahead more,” he tells him. “I know you love your brother. But he is not the only person who needs you. Who might depend on you. One day we might all get into terrible trouble. What will you do if you have given everything to Falon’Din, then, and have nothing left to help the rest of us?”

Dirthamen’s brows furrow.

Fear regrets his sharpness, almost immediately. That’s not fair, he knows. It isn’t even a very good argument. Dirthamen should stop giving into his brother’s demands for his own sake; not for the sake of Fear’s dark anticipations. Whether they are reasonable or not. On days like these, it is hard for Fear to tell what is pragmatism and what is paranoia.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, immediately.

“I…” Dirthamen begins, and then hesitates. Fear reaches over, and clasps his shoulder.

“No. I apologize, that was unfair,” he insists. “I dislike you giving him money. He doesn’t deserve it. I will barely concede that he deserves oxygen, and even then, mostly just because you’re attached to him. But you are right; it is your money, and if you think he deserves it, then that is all that needs to be said.”

Dirthamen manages a hesitant nod.

“I know you dislike it,” he confirms. “I would not give him more than I thought I could spare. Even accounting for emergencies.”

“Good,” Fear agrees, and leaves it at that.

He will have to be careful, he thinks, in getting through the day. Avoid major decisions, and be as mindful as he can manage. And make sure his boundaries are respected. No going to the coffee shop on third street, he thinks. They make good lattes but the barista there is very chatty, and tends to take opportunities to touch him without his permission.

He takes the stairs down and out of the building, and sets off, banishing old memories that surface like sunken wrecks from the back of his mind. Ghost ships.

By midday, though, his mind is much less cluttered, and his steps are lighter. He handles his business e-mails, gets through his meetings, works on some compositions and updates the band’s website, and their twitter feed. He gets a few texts from Gran-Gran, which are about dinner plans and advice for spots to visit in the city; and he gets a few sexts from Des, and some questions from Selene, who wants to know what kind of food Gran-Gran likes and if she’s allergic to anything.

Gran-Gran is partial to a lot of baked goods.

Fear opts not to mention that.

He doesn’t intend to, but he ends up getting back home later than he planned. Traffic is a mess. There’s an accident on his usual route, and a train crossing through his detour. He listens to some of the band’s latest practice sessions, scrutinizing them beneath the rumble of the passing train. He taps the steering wheel with both of his index fingers. Restlessness is a common side-effect of his medications, but it’s also something that’s apt to come over him during the evenings.

He manages to school himself into a semblance of calm and collectedness by the time he gets home, however.

The apartment smells like Selene’s cooking. Some Dalish spices, that she never seems to use in over-abundance, but that always have very particular fragrances. Fear is ashamed at the momentary relief he feels; scents have a way of drawing the mind back to certain times and places, and he doesn’t think today would be a good day to be jolted back to highschool by the scent of Gran-Gran’s cooking.

Tomorrow, maybe, will be better.

He doesn’t begrudge himself the happiness he feels when he walks into the apartment and finds everyone there, though. Whole and well, with Gran-Gran in the sitting room, and Dirthamen cleaning up something for Selene while she moves around the stove, and Deceit working intently on something with their laptop.

Gran-Gran gets up to give him his ‘welcome home’ hug, and Des moves in after she does, grinning slyly as he claims a hug, too.

“Babycakes!” Des greets.

“Hi, Fear!” Selene calls. Dirthamen turns and smiles at him. and Deceit offers a vague wave, not taking their eyes off of their laptop.

Fear pats the back of Des’ shoulder, and then peels him off.

“There. Now shoo,” he instructs.

“You see?” Des says, gesturing towards him. “I told you. So cruel with my affections!”

Gran-Gran pats Des on the arm.

“He let you touch him. He probably loves you,” she opines, which Fear supposes is true enough.

“A man can dream,” Des permits, with excessive dramatics. Fear actually manages to get his coat off, at least, and he’s surprised to find that he’s less impatient with Des’ over-enthusiasm than usual. He still makes his way over to Deceit, though, and promptly commandeers the square of couch beside them; wordlessly invoking their long-standing agreement where Deceit will sometimes act as a barricade between Fear and everything else.

When Des sidles over, Deceit dutifully sighs, and puts away the laptop - they’re playing a game, Fear notes – and captures Des against his side, opposite Fear.

“It’s Fear’s personal space time, Des,” Deceit declares.

“Whoever invented the concept of personal space should be shot,” Des grumbles. But he doesn’t actually make a point of trying to get to Fear after that, either. There are plenty of other people to cuddle with instead, and Des makes full use of the opening Deceit has given him, and sprawls across his lap like a bored cat asking for attention.

Des is entirely the sort of person who needs four lovers, Fear thinks, if only to give him the sheer amount of affection he seems to need.

Eventually Deceit’s attention starts to turn a little romantic. One of their hands slips up under Des’ shirt, and they press some kisses to his forehead, and then once to his lips. But Gran-Gran, though never condemning of such things, is still Deceit’s grandmother, and grandparents tend to be a major deterrent towards feeling up one’s lovers. When Des’ own touch starts fumbling with Deceit’s belt, Deceit halts him.

It’s a herald of things to come, in the end.

The second night of Gran-Gran’s visit winds up filled with more stories. Fear excuses himself from it fairly early in, and retreats to his room and his computer. The night ends with Gran-Gran in his bed, and Des and Selene going home, and Fear sleeping with Dirthamen instead of Deceit, in order to try and avoid dragging himself back in time again.

Sex isn’t really on the table for most of them, for a variety of reasons. And it stays that way for most of the week.

The third night of Gran-Gran’s visit, Deceit and Des take her out on the town, and Dirthamen ends up having to attend a dinner function with his mother, and so Fear and Selene end up spending most of that time making him text them every fifteen minutes, and worrying. They put in a movie to distract them. It is not a very successful method of distraction, but eventually everyone gets home, again. Selene and Des stay over that night. Crowded into Dirthamen’s bed, too quiet to be fooling around very much.

Work and Gran-Gran eat up most of the rest of the week. And it is, barring some bumps at the start, a good week. Fear and Deceit fail to uncover the reason for Gran-Gran and Nona’s fight. But seven days in, there is a phone call, and Gran-Gran goes and takes it out on the balcony. And when she comes back inside she seems satisfied about something. She leaves in as much of a whirlwind as she arrived in, though she makes Selene and Des both promise to come and visit in Rivain when they can, and to meet Nona, who is apparently green with envy that Gran-Gran got to meet them first.

Her flight departs in the late afternoon.

Fear gets back from dropping her off at the airport. He gets inside, and veritably sags into his usual chair. The apartment feels normal again. All pleasantness of seeing Gran-Gran again aside, he appreciates that. There are unspoken rules to the division of space in the apartment that are inherently understood by the five of them. Gran-Gran, through no fault of her own, had upset that equilibrium. Fear is glad to have it restored.

And there are other benefits to not having a beloved, elderly relative sleeping in his room, too.

Benefits that become clear once the five of them are alone together in the apartment for the first time in a week.

Des – instigator that he is – seizes upon the opportunity at once.

“I want to be the filling in a sandwich,” he declares.

Selene makes a pained sound, and her unruly associate levels a finger at her.

“Selene wants to be the filling in a sandwich too,” he insists.

“Des!” Selene objects.

She also, conspicuously, doesn’t deny it, as Des just looks at her in that unrepentant ‘well you do’ manner, and causes her to drop her face into her hands.

“Do I have the energy to be the bun in two different sandwiches?” Deceit asks the ceiling, from where they’re slumped across the arm of the sofa. They narrow their eyes, intently contemplative, and then nod to themselves. “I don’t know for certain. But I know I have the energy to try.”

Dirthamen raises a hand.

“I do not think I could manage more than one sandwich,” he admits. “Provided we are using ‘sandwich’ as a euphemism for three-way intercourse.”

“We are,” Des confirms.

Dirthamen nods, and then after another, internally contemplative moment, four sets of eyes turn questioningly towards Fear.

…Ah.

He considers the matter himself. But the prospect doesn’t seem unpleasant. Maybe even welcome, in fact. Contact could help with reaffirming their bonds, and he is confident that the encounter will end if and when he needs it to.

“I can be a bun,” he permits.

“Dibs!” Des shouts, sitting bolt upright from where he’d been lounging against Selene in a shocking hurry. “Dibs, dibs, dibs!”

Selene looks at Fear.

Fear inclines his head.

“Alright, alright, you get Fear,” she allows. “Stop yelling ‘dibs’, he’s not a pudding cup.”

“He can be my pudding cup anytime,” Des declares.

There’s a pause.

“…That sounded much filthier than I expected,” Des concludes. He seems pleased about it.

“I am rethinking this idea,” Fear announces, which at least puts an end to the terrible jokes. He isn’t really, though. Or at least, not sincerely. After a moment he gets up to go and fetch everything they require. Condoms, lubricant, and a few other items which may or may not be needed. He asks Selene if she wants her strap-on, but she answers in the negative. He considers taking his own out of the box in the bottom of the closet, but then gives it some more thought, and leaves it be.

“Who is going first?” he asks.

“Des,” Selene immediately declares. “It’s his idea. If Deceit gets too tired to keep going, I’m pretty sure I’ll be less broken up about it.”

Dirthamen nods in sage agreement, while Des looks momentarily conflicted. But then Fear deposits their supplies onto the living room coffee table, and he seems to get over whatever internal debate he was having in favour of stripping out of his clothes.

Fear and Deceit follow suit.

“Ground rules,” Fear announces, handing Des a packet of condoms. “Frottage is acceptable. If you want to penetrate me, you will help prepare me, and it will be anal penetration only. I know you know what you are doing there, so I will not give you my usual lectures on the subject, or warnings about what will happen if you violate my consent in this regard and try to penetrate me anywhere else.”

Des blinks, and Fear looks him in the eye.

“I trust you not to injure me,” he admits.

Des brows furrow, just a little.

“I won’t,” he agrees, with a surprising lack of his usual slyness or innuendo. Fear nods, and then nudges him towards Deceit. The two of them start getting into things, and for a while, it’s not that different from their usual scenario. Dirthamen and Selene stay to watch, hands roaming slowly and gently over one another, as Deceit pulls Des into their lap, and starts stroking him.

Fear watches for a few minutes, before sliding a lubricated condom onto his fingers. He passes the packet over to Deceit, and take up a position in front of Des.

“So,” he says. “In or out?”

Des laughs, just a little breathlessly. His cheeks are flushed, and there is a definite gleam in his eye.

“You choose,” he decides. “I’ll enjoy it either way.”

Fear inclines his head, and after a moment more of contemplation, makes sure the lubricant is close at hand. Then he spreads his legs, and starts working the already-slicked condom down and down, between his cheeks. Des’ breath catches, and his cock twitches; and Deceit watches them both, before moving back a bit, to start opening Des up in turn.

It always feels odd, to begin something like this, Fear thinks. Sliding his fingers into himself is not precisely sexy. He doesn’t get a whole lot of sensation, in fact; when he does it right, the goal is more to make sure he is relaxed and liable to stay that way, stretching the muscles open, keeping everything as loose and slick as possible. Anal tearing is not good. Any part of the body which, by necessity of its designed function, comes into contact with fecal matter, is not a good place to injure. And these are not terribly sexy thoughts; though Fear thinks they are important ones, because a few minutes of passion isn’t really worth the subsequent agony that might come from forgetting.

But then Des slides a condom onto his own digits, and starts to help. And that makes it a little better. Des has very pretty eyelashes. Very nice hair. He runs hot, like Selene, and his gaze is intent, and his touch is careful. The feel of someone else’s fingers running over such delicate, sensitive areas is both perilous and stimulating. Fear knows he can’t handle it all the time. But… he actually does trust Des. He trusts him with Dirthamen and Deceit, and that is only the smallest step removed from trusting him completely, and Fear would worry more about him making comments about this for ages after the fact, than doing it wrong and putting Fear in the hospital.

And he knows how to angle his touch, to stimulate Fear from the inside. He has access to a better angle for it, too.

As Deceit works him over from behind, though, Des’ touch falters a little. His breaths turn ragged, and his hips shift more, and he gets a little less coordinated. A little more wanton. It’s a good look on him, though. Fear tilts his face closer, and kisses his forehead, and takes over again for a bit. Slow and steady. Deceit knows the right pace to set, and does a good job holding off, even as their cock starts to look painfully hard. Des’ too, for that matter. Fear guides Des’ hand to his own arousal, pushing more lube towards him. More is always better, in that regard.

“Touch yourself,” Fear instructs.

Des grins, just a little.

“Always so bossy,” he says.

Fear kisses his cheek, pressing close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Yes. Because I am in charge, here.”

Des shivers.

Deceit just hums in agreement, and starts to push their way into Des.

Synchronicity is important in this kind of activity. So is positioning. Des wants to be a sandwich, so, the three of them end up shifting around quite a bit, before getting everyone lined up. Luckily, Deceit is strong, and Fear is stronger; and Des is very fit. But it quickly becomes apparent that the best idea is for Fear to lie on his stomach, and Des to go behind him, and Deceit to go behind Des.

It’s a little more stressful, Fear finds, when he can’t see Des pushing into him. He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the odd, heavy stretch, and the breaths brushing the backs of his ears. And he reaches back, and presses a hand to Des’ thigh, as Des kisses the tip of one of his ears.

“You feel so good,” Des tells him.

His hips rock, and then stutter, as Deceit enters him again in turn.

They keep going slow. It sounds like it’s driving Des a little insane, but in a way he enjoys. Fear takes deep breaths, that gradually turn more and more ragged. He gently cants his hips backwards, before long, as his perineum starts to respond pleasantly to the stimulus of Des’ thrusting. Once the warmth and pleasant slide has begun to settle into an easy rhythm, Fear slips a hand down between himself and the floor, and starts circling his clit, too. His vaginal muscles spasm, but with nothing inside, the sensation isn’t painful. Not like it would be with even a finger in there. Fear discovered the full scope of his vaginismus the hard way.

Des thrusts into him a little more firmly, at the same time Deceit does the same to him in turn, and Fear feels their shoulder drag across the carpet. He moves his hand away from Des’ leg in favour of propping himself up a little better. That’s probably going to leave some rug burn. But overall, the sensations are pleasant enough that he isn’t perturbed about it. He keeps on touching himself, imagining the picture Des and Deceit must make behind him. One he’s seen the likes of many times by now. It works more effectively on him than even the feel of Des’ thrusts, and before long, he comes, clenching down a little and wringing a gasp from the elf inside of him.

Deceit goes next. And when Des follows suit, he presses flush to Fear’s back; and Deceit obligingly clings to Des, in turn, and Fear just sighs, squished to the floor by the weight of two warm bodies. Des presses a lazy, sloppy kiss to his shoulder, and murmurs something completely unintelligible; squirming a little, still inside of Fear.

For a few minutes, Fear lets that stand.

Then he starts to sit up again, nudging Des off of his back. The man has gone limp. But Deceit helps shift him, and lets Fear up. Fear checks himself over. Rug burn, certainly, and his ass is a little sore. But not to a concerning degree. It was probably the weight of having two bodies pressing into him, aided by gravity, than anything else. He grabs up some wet wipes, and starts cleaning up before they can make a complete mess of the carpet. Handling Des, too, as Deceit draws in a few deep breaths, and then glances over to where Dirthamen and Selene are touching one another. Watching the three of them, still.

Selene’s face is dark, and her lips are slightly parted; and Dirthamen’s hand is thoroughly buried in her pants.

Fear is not at all surprised when Deceit grabs up the box of condoms again. He tosses some of the sanitary wipes at them, too.

“Clean up properly before you start again,” Fear insists.

Deceit just nods, and duly sets about that task, while Des lounges into Fear’s lap with increasing bonelessness.

“You’re okay?” Des asks him, after a minute.

Fear looks down, and resumes cleaning him up.

“Yes,” he confirms. “You did well.”

Des smiles. Fear imagines he’ll be insufferable about this for months, but he anticipated that going into this. The only two real possibilities were that Des would do well, and therefore be smug, or that he would do poorly, and Fear would end up in the emergency room, and their relationship and Fear’s assessment of it would require some serious review.

This is the good ending.

Fear lets Des cuddle his waist, and sprawl out, and even ventures a few fingers into the strands of his hair.

Meanwhile, Deceit busily sets themselves to the task of helping Selene and Dirthamen to finish undressing. The three of them decide to use the couch to their advantage. Prudent, Fear thinks. He will have to keep that in mind for next time. Selene bends over, as Dirthamen and Deceit prepare her. Fear keeps an eye on her face for signs of discomfort, and after a moment, realizes that Des is doing the same. But their lovers know what they’re doing. Dirthamen’s hands are gentle at her rear, and Deceit pulls back a little to engage in their usual practice of kissing and cuddling, caressing her cheeks and letting their hands wander to her breasts, before the three of them shift their positions around; and Selene settles slowly into Dirthamen’s lap, taking him into her rear by gradual increments.

Deceit takes up position in front of them, and uses their mouth on her, at first. Stimulating her while she adjusts to having Dirthamen inside of her, and Dirthamen, in turn, kisses the back of her neck, and wraps his arms around her. Murmuring things which Fear can’t quite make out.

Des starts touching himself again, as he watches them. His grip firm on his bare flesh, as Deceit checks their condom, and then moves upwards to start pressing into Selene, in turn. Selene gasps as she is filled from both ends; but the position on the couch doesn’t allow for a great deal of freedom of movement. Dirthamen cannot shift around very much, and Deceit has to prop their hands on the backrest. So Selene is pressed between them, the three of them shifting their hips in small increments, as Deceit’s recent activities keep them from mustering up their usual athleticism.

It is very pleasant to look at, though. Selene’s legs wrap around Deceit’s waist, and Dirthamen buries his nose behind her ear, and all three of them let out the occasional breathless, low moan when their movements start to align better, and Dirthamen slouches a little on the couch and shifts the angle, rolling his hips as best he can.

They are at it for a surprisingly long while.

Des strokes himself, and nuzzles his face against Fear’s stomach, and watches with half-lidded eyes.

The highlight, Fear thinks, is when Deceit starts to recover a little more of their usual verve, and begins lifting Selene’s hips up. Dirthamen starts helping with that, and between the two of them, they manage to move her up off Dirthamen’s cock when Deceit thrusts into her, and then back down onto it while Deceit pulls out. Selene starts making some very loud noises, at that point. Her hands searching for purchase, moving from the armrest next to her, to Deceit’s shoulders, to Dirthamen’s thighs. The muscles of her legs start to tremble, and Deceit starts calling her name, and Dirthamen begins to murmur his own pleas.

Des starts stroking himself more intently. Fear reaches down after a moment, though, and stalls his grip.

“Wait,” he advises.

Des licks his lips.

“What for?”

Fear runs his thumb over the back of Des’ hand, and the other man shivers, a little.

“Come when Selene does,” he advises. “Imagine you can feel what she feels.”

The idea seems to go over well. Des glances back towards the trio, and dutifully slows his strokes – just a bit. Toying with himself, trying to build up his arousal, without crossing the line. So that he can crest over it when Selene does. It’s nearly perfect, in the end. Selene stiffens, and cries out in a familiar way; and a moment later, Fear brushes a hand down Des’ chest, and Des pumps himself, and comes onto his stomach.

Fear gives him a moment more in his lap, before he goes and gets more wipes.

He keeps one eye on the continued activities of the others, though, so that he can see when Deceit and Dirthamen follow Selene’s example. Dirthamen takes the longest; but Selene grinds down intently against him, and whispers something in his ear, and he comes with a soft oath.

Fear contemplates the messiness of them all.

He’s probably going to have to help Deceit shower, if the state of them is any indication.

But it was… pleasant, he decides. Worth it. His own skin is tingling, and this will provide the fodder for many evenings where the only touch he is comfortable with is his own. He nods to himself in satisfaction, and then sets about helping with the final rounds of cleanup, and making sure no one injured anything unawares.

He sleeps in his own bed that night, and he sleeps very well.

It’s about a month after Gran-Gran’s visit, and Fear is feeling more safely neutral and less reflective over many things again, when Des approaches them about the matter of his and Selene’s lease.

Fear hates Selene and Des’ apartment. This is not a secret. The building defies numerous health and safety code violations. It will not hold up well to earthquakes, the basement frequently floods – which contributes to severe mold problems – Fear is concerned about issues such as asbestos and lead paint, there is no air conditioning, the heating is terrible, security is a joke, and the wallpaper is eye-searing to behold. Fear would not feel entirely comfortable letting wild animals nest in that place; they absolutely object to Des and Selene living there.

But it is not their decision to make.

Even if the amount of money the two are paying for the privilege of ‘nearly dying from black mold spores’ is obscene.

Fear contemplates the matter carefully, after Des has left. They review the lease, and give further considerations to their plan for finding a suitable new home for all five of them. Deceit and Dirthamen have never been terribly particular about where they all live, just so long as it’s within relative driving distance of the studio, and isn’t next door to Dirthamen’s family (which Fear would object to themselves anyway). Dirthamen is, frankly, the kind of person who could survive in a Harry Potter-esque ‘cupboard-under-the-stairs’ situation if needed. Deceit, though more prone to enjoying certain luxuries and complaining about their absence, is very bad at the procurement end of things. ‘Get some place nice, Fear’ is the usual extent of his involvement on that end.

And Fear will get someplace ‘nice’, of course, because they are not letting them all live in squalor and danger, barely shielded from the elements. Fear did that for eighteen years. It was unpleasant.

They start looking for brightly-lit neighbourhoods, with reputable school districts, that would not demand heinous commutes of either Des or the band. They do a careful assessment of the financials involved, but also of the psychology involved. Selene is reluctant to move in with them. Reluctance is common of Selene. Fear understands caution, though they don’t always understand why she prefers some risks to others.

Manipulation is inferior to open communication.

Fear considers it anyway. They could easily file a report and actually push to get Selene and Des’ building inspected, and shut down for its violations. It would then only be reasonable to have Selene and Des stay with them while they looked for a new place. Or waited for their old building to come back up to code. That would make it much easier, Fear thinks, to convince Selene to make the move permanent. But… it would also be dishonest, and it would endanger the other occupants of the building, who live there mostly because they cannot afford to live anywhere else. Fear would not be able to find sufficient room and board for all of them.

They put the idea aside.

But they keep looking for houses.

The problem, they soon discover, is that most residences in neighbourhoods that are acceptable, have yards. None of them are the ‘yard work’ type, and hired help could pose a security risk. Fear supposes that they could repurpose some of the yards into low-maintenance rock gardens, or something along those lines, but that would depreciate the value of the property. They do not wish to pay for a yard they will only end up tearing out.

But most of the townhomes are insufficiently secured, and not big enough anyway. Fear is aware that most of them, should they live together, will end up sharing beds the majority of evenings. But everyone should have their own room and space, should they need it, as well. Retreats are mandatory. Des might complain, but he will not actually be deprived of affection or bed partners just because it isn’t a requirement of limited space – Fear hopes he learns this better as things go on.

They expand their searches to apartments, but most of the ones which meet all of their requirements are expensive enough to actually press their finances past the point of comfort. That makes them ‘high risk’, Fear thinks, because if they actually run into trouble, Dirthamen might do something stupid like go to his family.

Finally, though, their search turns up a good candidate. A two-story house with a finished basement, in a quiet neighbourhood. High, sturdy stone fencing, but very little in the way of yard; there are a few ornamental trees in front, but most of the landscaping has been taken over by a large garage, which could easily be repurposed as an at-home studio. Six bedrooms, three and a half baths… the kitchen is dated, but that is easy enough to rectify, and most of the failures are cosmetic.

It is well within budget, too.

Fear goes to inspect the property by themselves, for the first time. There is a security system installed, but it needs upgrading. There is no basement door, which is good, and the windows are too narrow for most grown burglars to fit through, even if they were broken or left open. Some of the windows on the second story are a little too large, but only in a way that makes Fear nebulously uncomfortable. The main window in their apartment’s sitting room does that sometimes, too. The building will require many modifications and a professional inspection, but Fear does a thorough tour before deciding that it may be suitable.

For the second visit, they bring Selene.

Convincing her to come is easy. Fear says “would you mind running an errand with me?” and Selene says “sure”, and then gets distracted talking about her part-time work up until the point where they are pulling into the driveway, with the real estate agent already waiting for them.

Selene blinks.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“A property,” Fear informs her, which earns them a wry look, until they elaborate. “I have been looking into purchasing an investment home. The market in this area is promising, and it would be more economically sound than continuing to pay rent.” There is a benefit to the concept of rent, of course, but Fear honestly would prefer investing their pay into equity over monthly bills that essentially vanish in terms of their finances.

Selene looks suspicious. But then the real estate agent approaches them, and the presence of the unfamiliar vashoth woman has her biting back whatever comment she had been on the verge of making.

As they go through the house, in fact, Selene becomes more and more interested in the building, and what Fear intends to change about it, and what the real estate agent is saying. Her eye for numbers make it easy to get her onto the track of considering the financial information and projections which Fear quietly hands to her, as they go along, and she seems very interested in the fact that renovating certain rooms – like the kitchen, and one of the bathrooms – will allow Fear to essentially customize the space.

And she likes the trees.

“I think it’s a good house,” she declares, once they are through.

Fear inclines their head.

“Yes, it’s the most promising one so far,” they agree.

There is a moment of silence. Selene shifts in the passenger seat.

“It’ll be more expensive for the three of you, though,” she reasons.

“We can cover it,” Fear counters. “And it may be much more worthwhile, in the long term.”

Selene nods, and glances at them. And then she shifts around some more.

“Des and I are renewing our lease,” she declares.

“On your deathtrap?” Fear mutters, signalling their next turn. Selene gives them a reproachful look.

“It’s not a deathtrap,” she insists.

“I disagree.”

“Well, it’s not your call,” Selene counters. “It’s ours. And it’s not that… it’s just that… look, there are some things that are… it’s…”

Fear waits.

After a moment, Selene lets out a gusty breath.

“You don’t want to live with us,” Fear surmises.

“No!” Selene says. And then shakes her head. “Yes! I mean… it’s complicated. Please don’t ask me why. It’s not you guys, it’s just… at the very least, we shouldn’t be rushing into things, right? I mean. Big decisions, and all.”

Fear glances at her, and finds her look away from them. Out the window, and towards the road.

They sigh.

“If you want to continue paying for the privilege of your deathtrap, I will not interfere,” they say. “But I cannot think of a single good reason not to allocate one of the rooms in that house to you. You spend enough time with us that it’s only practical. I wouldn’t expect you to visit any less just because we moved, the house isn’t even much further from your current domicile than our apartment is. And I would feel better if you worked from somewhere that is not rampant with toxic spores, and actually has a suitable work surface, so I would consider it a personal favour if you spent a good deal of time there, even if you would rather put your money towards your lyrium-dealer-adjacent-‘loft’.”

Selene blinks at them, and stills.

“What?” she asks.

Fear is a little taken aback by the sharpness in her tone.

“I… only meant that I would not stop you from keeping the apartment, either way…” they offer.

“No, at the end,” Selene says. “What the hell makes you think there are lyrium dealers in our building?”

Fear blinks.

“The fact that there are?” they offer. “The green patterning on the edges of your kitchen tiles? That is typically caused by chemicals that are used to reduce lyrium potency, reacting with the grout. It sometimes shows up in medical or scientific research buildings, too, but somehow I doubt that your downstairs neighbours are just really enthusiastic about the local science fairs.”

Selene looks more intensely disquieted than Fear expected.

“I didn’t think the carta operated out of this city,” she says.

Fear considers her for a moment, before they have to focus on the road again.

“They do not. Or, not as far as I know. Mostly because the criminal activities in this city are under the purview of elven organized crime families. They are responsible for the majority of bribes in the city, meaning the police tend to arrest carta members on sight, but somehow never seem to notice the lyrium dens or meth labs located in alienages.”

Some of the sudden tensing of Selene’s shoulders relaxes.

But only a little.

“Is something wrong?” they ask, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Selene lets out a breath, and shakes her head.

“I just… didn’t think something that would be so close,” she murmurs.

Fear nods in understanding.

“This is one of the reasons why I think your building is unsafe,” they point out. But not harshly. Selene isn’t naïve, they know. The world is often replete with nasty surprises that none of them, on their own, are wholly capable of anticipating.

The rest of the drive back is quiet, though.

Selene doesn’t bring up the subject of leases and houses again. Fear takes Dirthamen and Deceit and Des to see the new place. Des, predictably, thinks there are more rooms than they need, and doesn’t like all the things that Fear has already decided to change. Deceit is much the same, but also claims one of the bedrooms and starts poking through catalogues, expressing opinions on refrigerators and bathroom flooring. And Dirthamen simply deems it all ‘acceptable’.

Selene and Des start staying over at the apartment more.

There is a fight between them, Fear thinks. Or… possibly not a fight. But an intensely emotional discussion. They are not present for it, but they can detect signs of the aftermath. Des goes looking for affection and reassurance, and Selene veers off, becoming more detached, more hesitant. Trying to gain some distance, perhaps.

Fear can understand that.

She still helps them make dinner in the evening, and sits with them for while on the balcony afterwards.

They contemplate matters.

“When I was a child,” they begin. “My parents were intensely unpredictable people. Their demeanours tended to shift depending on the state of our finances. When I was younger, they were more generous. Affectionate. Forgiving. But when I was around ten, my father lost his job – and never managed to find a new one in the bottom of all the bottles he checked. There were windfalls, and things got better when there were. But that happened less and less often, the older I became. Deceit’s grandmothers let me stay over, a lot, which was good. When I was fourteen they offered to let me move in. But I declined.”

Selene looks over at them, and hugs her arms around herself a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she offers.

Fear shrugs.

“It wasn’t as bad as some,” they allow. “The point is, every year, Gran-Gran and Nona offered to just take me in. After a while, I could hardly even pretend that my parents would try and stop them. That wasn’t why I hesitated, anyway. I think I always had a predilection towards neurosis, but. Finances are a difficult thing for a child to predict. I would have had better luck if my parents’ mood swings depended on lunar cycles or star charts. Those, I could have learned. Not knowing if I would go home and find a warm welcome, decent food, and off-colour jokes, or a locked door with a passive-aggressive note on it, or shouting and fists, made obsessing over everything that might negatively impact my living situation perilously easy.”

Selene puts a hand on their arm. When they do not brush it off, she leans into them a little. Pleasantly warm. Fear shifts her grip down just enough to lace their fingers together.

“I was afraid that if I lived with Deceit, and his grandmothers, that… one day I would go home to them, and they would just start screaming at me. Or lock the door. Turn me away. And then what would I do?”

They go quiet. Letting the admission linger. Trying not to remember the first time they had come home from school to find the house dark, and all the doors sealed, and that note pinned to the front one. If you’re not going to come home on time, don’t bother coming home at all. They had tried so hard to never be late, after that. It had taken them two years to figure out that the pattern wasn’t determined by the time Fear got home, but rather, by whether or not their parents wanted to stay out all night.

They preferred locking Fear out to leaving the doors unsealed, and risking someone sneaking in and robbing them.

“It is alright, if you are afraid,” they venture at last, to Selene. “I understand.”

Selene turns her face in towards their shoulder.

She doesn’t really answer them. She just cries on them a while. That’s alright, too, though. Fear was planning to do laundry tomorrow anyway. Eventually it gets too cold to keep lingering poetically on balconies, though, and so they nudge Selene back inside. She hugs them, says something utterly unintelligible into their chest, and then goes to find Des.

The two of them stay the night.

Fear is unsure what they will decide. Or. Well. What Selene will decide.

They buy the house, regardless.

#filled prompt #concert au #band au #dirthalene #i did the last part after i read your latest #in a flurry of activity #citrus

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careofmagical-creatures-blog · 8 years ago

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Amy Writes [1]

Okay, so maybe wandering throughout the Forbidden Forest while daydreaming was not the brightest idea ever, Sam thought. They looked at the ceiling of the Room of Requirement, their left hand clenched around their Ravenclaw scarf while James, their Slytherin friend, assessed the damage done to their right cheek and arm. “You amaze me and worry me at the same time,” he spoke finally, chewing on his lip as usual when helping out a friend with an injury. “Glad to know I’m not a total disappointment,” Sam joked, giving James a shit-eating grin. James rolled his eyes in response. “I’m going to get supplies, Ellie and Quinn should arrive soon. I sent them an owl the second I found your note,” he opened a door to the left of Sam and entered, the sound of him rummaging through cabinets reaching Sam’s ears.

“But they’ll never let this go!” they yelled making James chuckle from the other room. Sam watched James through the door, frowning at the news of their other friends knowing about their late-night “walk”. Sam slouched back into their seat, breathing in deeply when the air stung the scratches all along their arm and cheek.

Bored as soon as James left the room, Sam’s eyes wandered around the room, observing the shape it had taken this time. It was similar to all the other times one of their friends got hurt and they didn’t want to be taken to Hogwarts’ nurse. There was the infirmary bed in the middle, which Sam was sitting on currently, with a small bedside table sitting next to it and the door to Sam’s left that led to the medical supplies closet. The room was cozy and small, about the size of a dormitory and the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of wood. However, Sam noticed a small difference in the room. There was a tree in the corner, which wouldn’t have warranted a second glance, had Sam not recognized it to be a Larch tree, or in other words, a wand-wood tree. Sam’s eyes widened and they glanced at their bag sitting on the table next to them. But just as they were about to look inside, the sound of shifting walls alerted them to the presence of the people about to enter the Room of Requirement. Sam frantically pushed their bag away from them instead, snapping their hands back to their lap in an attempt to look natural and less like a kid who got caught stealing candy.

“Walking around the Forbidden Forest at night because you couldn’t sleep?” Ellie, Sam’s crush and resident Hufflepuff prankster, announced her presence, throwing her arms up and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it is adorable but still, maybe you should have told one of us before you left?” She shakes her head with a slightly exasperated sigh. “And no, leaving a note for James does not count,” she continued when they opened their mouth to argue. “Honestly, why aren’t you in Gryffindor, that’s exactly what one of them would’ve done!” Ellie exclaimed, while behind her entered Quinn, the Gryffindor of the group and also James’s sister. She replied to Ellie’s comment, “Ravenclaw can keep them, we don’t want them.” She smiled at Sam who jokingly glared at her, sitting up with a flinch when James stepped back into the room holding medical supplies. “Forget Slytherins being the rude ones, I think Gryffindor just took the cake,” Sam grinned at Quinn who crossed her arms with a shake of her head.

James crouched next to Sam with a bucket of water and set down the sponge and bandages he had grabbed. “Sometimes I question my friendship with you all,” James frowned, eyes searching over their face with what would appear to be a blank look had Sam not known the boy since they were 1st years; he was clearly worried about Sam. “But still, that was careless of you, Sam. Is everything alright?” James spoke quietly, as he dipped the sponge into the water.

Sam smiled fondly at James and nodded. “James, I know it might be hard for you to have to stare so closely at my pretty face, but do try to help. How else am I supposed to ask someone to the Yule Ball? By having a nice personality?” Sam lightened the mood with a joke while the other three roll their eyes in unison. “Maybe if you had thought about not going into the Forbidden Forest, I wouldn’t have to stare at your stupid face,” James retorted, squinting his eyes as he inspected the wound.

“I get it, lesson learned,” Sam eyed the bucket with a sly grin. “James have you forgotten that there is magic for things like this? I mean, not that I don’t love your muggleborn ways, but magic would make it easier,” They grimaced slightly as James cleaned their wounds with the water and sponge. “Please just shut up, your note scared the crap out of me,” James looked down as he rubbed the sponge on Sam’s cuts, but Sam was certain his face appeared slightly darker than before. No doubt he still hadn’t learned the spells for this sort of thing yet, but Sam wouldn’t tease him on it. No, they were much more preoccupied with observing their bag, which had just shook as though something was inside it, and determining whether or not their bag was going to move again.

Ellie and Quinn had been quietly conversing from where they stood, but when Ellie noticed Sam’s eyes glance over at their bag-which they had taken into the forest with them for God knows why-she elbowed Quinn and they both observed it for a minute. Just as they were about to determine that it had been nothing, it moved, the bag getting dangerously close to the edge of the table it had been set upon. The two girls shared a look, both obviously suspicious, and Quinn stepped forward, grabbing the bag, holding it open for Ellie to look into.

“What are you two doing?” By now, James had noticed what was happening, and finished wrapping the bandages around Sam’s arm. Quinn kept the bag open, giving Sam a disapproving look. “Sam, you never did tell us how you hurt yourself. Mind explaining?” She questioned. Sam gulped. “I didn’t mean to put it in my bag, but I wasn’t sure what to do! It freaked me out when it attacked me so I flung my arm and hit it and it hit a rock and I wasn’t sure if it was even still alive. I thought, if it was, then I should bring it in to help its injuries!”

“What attacked you?” James asked, directing his attention away from the bag for a second. “This little guy did,” Ellie reached into Sam’s bag and gently pulled out a small brown Bowtruckle, about the size of her palm, and set it on the table. James and Quinn’s eyes widened at it and they quickly crowded around the table. “Is it awake?” Sam asked, sitting up in their seat with groan.

“I think so.” “Oh thank Merlin it’s awake.” “Seriously? A Bowtruckle?” “You’re saying this attacked you?”

Sam nodded at Quinn, who had stepped back to question them. Ellie and James looked at Sam as well. “I was walking by this tree stump when I decided that it would be a good place to rest since I didn’t want to walk too far into the forest. But when I was about to sit down I got jumped on by the little guy on the table and it started clawing me. I freaked out and flung it into the rock it jumped off of. It stopped moving and I didn’t know if it was dead or not but I figured I should try to help it if it was still alive.”

Sam finished their story and the trio exchanged glances. “Well seems like it’s alive so we should help it out,” Ellie announced, turning back to the small creature. “We’re going to help the wild Bowtruckle who attacked Sam? Aren’t we always told that, when we find a wild animal we should not take it in, even if you injure it?” James looked skeptical, raising an eyebrow at Ellie. “Well Sam hurt it and it’s already in here, so why not? Not to mention it is dark outside, so unless you want to get in trouble for being in the Forbidden Forest at night, we can’t bring it back home,” Ellie crossed her arms triumphantly and picked up the Bowtruckle, while an exasperated James throwing his hands up in defeat.

“This doesn’t add up though,” Quinn spoke up, her eyes focusing on something that wasn’t there. “Why would the little guy attack you if you weren’t attacking it’s tree?”

The quartet shared a look before all turning to observe the Bowtruckle. “Help it first, question everything we know about Bowtruckles later,” James declared and with that, the conversation was closed. James ushered Ellie away from the table, and got to work. Quinn zoned out completely while this happened, and Sam decided to go to sleep. It would take a little while for James to figure out how to deal with the small creature, so it’s not like they would need to stay awake. Their eyes were already closing and with a final sigh, they fell asleep.

Author’s Note

fun fact, my wand is made of larch, so i used that as the wand-wood tree

hello! finally finished the first writing for this blog. super sorry its so oc heavy, i really love them and i wanted to introduce them a little (i didn't do to well but oh well) but never fear! part 2 will come out eventually! um this isn't beta read so if u notice anything i welcome criticism and stuff :D anyway hope you all enjoyed this and feel free to give me suggestions for the bowtruckle’s name (or like, just talk to me/cam, thats chill too) (also my blog is @gvzingstvr if anyone is interested)

(ps sam is agender, if something i write about them is weird or offensive pls pls point it out to me and help me fix it, i want everyone to enjoy this)

#harry potter #fanfiction #stvr writes #Care for Magical Creatures Blog #fantastic beasts and where to find them #ppl pls read this

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irelia-ad · 7 years ago

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Story - The Indeterminate Continuance

I’m going to regret writing this one so late. I get dramatic when sleep deprived.

Oh well... *Shrug*

Enjoy.

The view onto the vibrant woods of Eversong or the distant sea has never quite been the same with the imposing presence of Argus in the sky. The green glow from the radiated world beaming down onto their lands from above, giving anything that catches its rays a bleak and corrupted look. The soft breeze from the sea that normally calms feels different. Irelia sighs before walking back inside, still thinking on what is to come from events thus far.

House Firestar continues on in its heightened state. With the recent loss of their Lord and Lady, few to none were prepared to rest easy with their new Lord of the house missing and presumably being set up and being used as a tool in the hands of a human Shadowmancer. Their house functions off the highest ideas for how people should act. People will ambitions to train do so with the highest standards of skill and practice. Those of the house who walk the kingdom do so with pride of the name they represent. Nobody wanted to see that name, that image tarnished by the actions of a human.

Irelia roames her home slowly, watching around for something before arriving to where she intended to go. What she was watching and searching for being exactly where she wanted to find them. Her son smiles up at her with a babyish toothy smile. He walks around semi-awkwardly fighting against gravity to not stumble over. She smiles back, recently having the pleasure of returning home one day to discover her husband with her son walking their first steps. Though, to her dismay, her son then quickly then inherited another trait from his father on learning to walk.

Going missing for her to then have to find them in the most ridiculous of places.

There is also the habit of grabbing on to the nearest hanging object and yanking it off. Irelia wishes for the days where her son would appreciate fine necklaces instead of looking at it and grabbing the shiny thing. She picks them up slowly and holds them, sitting down with them until they drift off to sleep. She slowly places them down once more into their new crib, one they can’t walk out off and go missing again, before smiling and walking to her own room. She joins her husband, sharing the events of the day and enjoying listening to the tales of his more domesticated life with their son as they get ready to go to bed.

The morning consists of her dressing into some more casual attire suited for her to roam the house and eat something. Before doing that she checks in on Kael’rys. Still sleeping. Irelia, every morning before leaving has to fight off the urge to wake the sleeping child and spend some time with them and feed them in the morning. She leaves it however knowing her husband has such in hand. She can always fuss her son when she gets home. With their search for their Lord coming to an end, she smiles at her plan to enjoy a calm walk around the scenic locations of the estate with her son and husband.

Such can’t be done with her still here. She prepares herself before changing into her robed battle armour and setting off to Sunstrider Isle. Their current base was deemed unsafe for a reason she still has to seek out. She walks into the familiar location giving a sharp salute to those gathered around her. Those gathered being the elite of their kingdom, the Thori’belore. They all slowly start to be illusioned into different sets of equipment. The illusionist must not have liked the way she looked at them or something because the result of her illusion was less than satisfactory, complete with a helmet to hide her face. She hoped her husband couldn’t see her due to the fact she would never hear the end of him talking of her old helmets and how he disapproved of her wearing them.

She also receives a stone to which she uses before they depart. Once scrubbing herself of identifying items she uses the stone changing her eyes blue in another form of illusion concealment. She catches her reflection, finding her appearance as a Quel’dorei to be unsettling after all these years. Once everyone has prepared, the portal was open and the mission began.

She arrives through into a dry and crisp environment. Once through, their presence was quickly noted by the humans they were seeking to capture or destroy. Among them was Lord Firestar. Irelia, followed by the others of the Sun’s Fury moved in to take them down. The wind rushed through her armour differently to how it appeared on her, but such was a minor distraction. Her main focus was currently on the Lord to observe where his attention lay. With him being busy, she slammed into one of the first humans who all appeared as different members of the order. The fight did not last long. Some scrapes and bumps to herself which would show once the illusion was down. However, some including Nivendi’en had escaped through the portal he was creating at the time. Magistrix Narindiel Windblaze set to work tracing the portal whilst the captured humans were sent to the spire and the rest of the collected was checked for wounds.

The portal was soon re-established. A small dialog between the Magistrix and Agent Diamexia over the comms devices happened to gather more information. Such devices were out of use to allow for such to happen. They make their way through the portal.

Irelia walked into the yellow open lands of Westfall. It seemed to be a windy day, such blowing through her as she glanced around. The sun shone through clear skies as it started to settle into night and the chill from the sea slowly starts to climb inland. Her observations were soon disrupted by the sounds of chaos and panic. Nivendi’en and the humans had started their dark plot against the human village. Panicked humans fled from its direction, setting the Thori’belore off on their mission once more.

They reach their target to an unwelcoming sight. A small little barn sits damaged and surrounded by the Thori’belore. At least it appears that way with the humans made to look like them. In front of the barn is an unfortunate human mother and their child meeting their end. The controlled Lord of their house ending their existence effortlessly by imploding their heads. Irelia had spared and viewed spars with her husband in the past. She has viewed magics destructive nature when in the hands of the mages of her house. She knew that if left unchallenged, Lord Firestar would reek destruction quickly on their numbers. They attack quick enough to have the drop on them, so she dashes forward, slashing and slamming through the human lines to confront the Lord and hold him off long enough for the others to remove the residual threat of the humans so they can all capture him in unison.

Irelia knew the risk she was taking to hold the Magister up to prevent him using his destructive magic on their gathered forces. She was confident that with her current skill she would at least succeed in slowing him down. Time never even slowed as she neared the danger. The first blow struck from behind her. It all happened so fast. First a large impact of shadow struck her from behind, its effects almost staggering her but also annihilating her barrier protecting her. All her senses flared, even the rune on the side of her neck as Lord Firestar saw her attack and called the arcane to him. She was so close to being able to disrupt him at close range. But all she heard was a quick sound of bending metal followed by an intense pain and blurred vision. She feels the air rush through her armour and over what little exposed skin she has. She almost passes out from hitting the ground, feeling a sharp pain elsewhere in her body, unable to identify it as her senses are washed over with head pain as the useless helmet on her head sits crushed inwards onto her.

She lies there, feeling like a fool for taking her risky plan and being brushed aside like nothing. Being caught off guard and losing her defense against the mage and being incapacitated. She never intended in winning against such odds, but to at least be able to land a single blow. The thoughts of humiliation were pushed aside as she felt a new presence near her. She managed to make out the face of Lord Starshield trying to move her. She is forced to do nothing as she can do only that. But this becomes an issue at the large building fel presence in the sky above the priest. She was all too familiar with what causes such an effect as was helpless to warn her aid. She sees through blurred vision the ball of fel as it flies down to them both at high speed. In her last moments all she could think of was how that walk would have been like when she returned home. Her vision fills with green, and then nothing.

The chaos of the battlefield elevates as a loud explosion of fel shakes the ground in the back ranks of fight. Those who could see the result would see councillor Starshield and Sunglance grounded and unmoving. Sunglance with her armour completely ripped apart and ruined and Starshield in a similar state. They are all forced to continue their fight, Narindiel only just managing to send the two injured away. Lord Firestar now turning his wrath on the rest of the Sun’s Fury.

The chaos followed the two on their arrival to the spire. Both quickly taken away into medical care by the priests. Both taken to separate areas, Irelia is soon in the care of very concerned priests who all look at her with doubt. She lives, but they wonder for how long. Hours are spent as the fel taint covering her stopping her healing needs to be cleansed, the helmet removed and her broken form repared. All of these issues needing to be done fast. More hours pass once the critical issues are resolved. But her state remains just as dire. She lies, unmoving as progress keeps on being made. Sometimes some would enter the room to see her and leave. Time and time again such, would happen. Irelia, still unaware to what has happened.

Once more stable she is taken home. Not how she wished to return. The house taking up a different atmosphere as she is laid down to continue her rest and healing.

As a week passes, she remains asleep. Spire priests officially declaring it as a comatose state. Her son wonders why the evening visits have stopped, and why mother has been so inactive. By now official word would have been sent out to the organisations she serves such as the Thori’belore and the Halls of Blood. Sin’dorei know loss. They will move on without her as her place is filled and her roles reassigned. But for now, at home she lies with her life in question as she sleeps with those close to her waiting for her to awaken. But for how long? If Ever?

#Story 10 #Nivendi'en #Sylvarys #Kael'rys #Narindiel #Diamexia #Inetzen #Westfall #Firestar Estate #Sunstrider Isle #The Sunfury Spire #Sun's Fury #Thori'belore #Healing #Coma #Irelia

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