#and special boy will strangle him if given half the chance

[mo-ok]

running out of room in the special boy jar

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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[yee-fxcking-haw]

Hi!! Could you possibly do a fic with Bakugo and Todoroki based on the lines from the song confident “she said it’s her first time” “I think she might’ve lied”

Where one of the boys are going on about their night with y/n and how it was their first time and the other says “I think she might’ve lied” and so on lol, thank you:)

I,,,, this ask,,,, I like it.

•She Might've Lied•

Summary: What the ask says lmao. Based off of the song Confident by Justin Bieber and Chance the Rapper. (College AU for legal reasons.)

Warnings: Oral (female receiving), mild overstim, multiple orgasms, mentions of a blowjob.

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Reader, mentions of Katsuki Bakugo x Reader (All aged up, 18+)

A/N: This turned into total fuckboy Todoroki but I am NOT mad about it, I simp aggressively. This is what my brain produced, I hope you like it! Thank you so much for such a fun request! I really enjoyed writing this.

Word Count: 1,428

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

   "Shoto- oh my God- fuck- fuck- fuck." You pant, back arching as you fist the sweat soaked sheets beneath you. 

   You shiver as he pulls you apart and works you over. Everything inside you feels so tight and hot and good. 

   The tip of his tongue zeroes in on your clit and your whole body jolts back, almost afraid of how incredible it feels. 

   "Fuck no." He growls before throwing an arm over your hips so he can keep you glued to the mattress. 

   He slides the other hand up the outside of your thigh before delivering a harsh slap to the meat of your hip. 

   Your head is thrown back as you whimper out his name, hands flying to his hair as your walls start to flutter. 

   He's not even using his damn fingers, he's ruining you with his tongue alone. 

   He drops his jaw and flicks his tongue against your swollen bud with fervent speed, your eyes cross and you cry out with little to no shame. 

   "There! Fuck! Right there, baby, you got it." You sob out, hips rocking as much as they can under his strong arm. 

   Everything builds and snaps at once. Ribbons of silky pleasure shoot up your spine and down your legs as your core clamps around nothing. 

   And he doesn't fucking stop. 

   He moves with urgency, with dedication. His hands grab under your knees before he pushes up to fold your legs to your chest. 

   "Hold these." He demands with his mouth still against your cunt. 

   "I cant- fuck! I can't…" You twitch as his tongue works relentlessly, body slowly but surely becoming overstimulated. 

   "You fuckin' better." He says, voice dropping to a bone chilling tone. He glares up at you, eyebrows knit together as sweat drips from the crown of his two toned hair. 

   "Holy shit." You sigh as you take your legs from him with a weak hold, prying yourself open for him. 

   "Atta girl." As soon as you have a hold of your legs, his hands are free to carry out his dirty work. 

   One comes up to play with your tits as the other slides down to join his mouth at your center. His long, skilled fingers slide in. They find that perfect spot instantly, rubbing at it as he pulls you closer and closer to the edge before you've even stopped cumming the first time. 

   "Sho! I'm gonna- oh my fucking god-" Your words turn into strangled cries as your whole body turns to mush. 

   You feel the tears fall, your cunt pulse, your vision blur and you just scream. Goosebumps are all over your skin as your toes curl and your whole body trembles. 

   He just licks and licks and licks. Slurping and savoring everything you give him. He's always so nasty with it, always so dedicated to reducing you to a sweaty, sobbing mess. 

   "That's it, that's my good girl." He pulls his mouth away only to mutter those sweet words. 

   His fingers still move slowly within you, working to help you ride the aftershocks of the mind numbing back to back orgasms he's just given you. 

   "You're always so messy." He muses, finally pulling his fingers out so he can run them between your folds and gather your release. 

   You watch with your jaw dropped, panting and overwhelmed. He brings the cream covered fingers to his mouth, tongue lolling out to make a show of tasting you before he closes his lips around them completely. 

   "You a dirty girl?" He asks after he pops his fingers out. He starts to crawl up your body, caging you with his arms. 

   You loathe the fact that he's still fully clothed, while you lay completely bare beneath him. 

   You just nod, eyes wide and mouth agape as he presses his lips between your breasts. 

   His eyes flick up to yours, eyes full of sin and depravity. 

   "Whose dirty girl?" He asks against your skin. 

   "Yours, I'm your dirty girl." You say with a weak, unreliable voice. 

   "That's fuckin' right." He kisses a trail up to your throat, under your jaw, and finally your lips. 

   "Don't forget that." He whispers before hopping up to his feet far too quickly. 

   He always does this, rips you apart then saunters away like it's nothing. 

   You two have been going at it for months now, a very tense friends with benefits relationship. More benefits than friends, though. You occasionally share a laugh, help each other with homework when you have time, but most of the time you just fuck. 

   "Where are you going?" You ask, still reeling as your nerves twitch and fire. 

   "Boys night, I'm late." He flips his hair a little before winking at you. 

   "Don't look so heartbroken, I'll be back later." He laughs as he pinches your cheek. 

   "I'm not heartbroken, fuck off." You smack his hand away, pulling a blanket around you before you roll off the bed and walk to the bathroom. 

   "Katsuki's coming over later, don't bother." You quip as you round the corner. 

   "Oh I forgot, he's a big fan of those sloppy seconds then, yeah?" 

   Bastard. A big part of your arrangement is the no strings attached part, meaning you can both fuck anyone else, as long as you let each other know about it. 

   Katsuki Bakugo had been trying to get into your pants for months. You'd finally gone down on him the other night during a movie, successfully blowing his mind.

   You'd told the poor fool you'd never sucked a dick before, just to make him feel special. His ego didn't need to boost, but he sure got off to the thought of being the first person to fuck your pretty little mouth. 

   "He's a big fan of a good fuck." You snap as you turn the shower on.

   Shoto comes up to lean against the door frame behind you, looking absolutely delicious in his joggers and his adidas shirt. 

   "You two have that in common then." He smiles wolfishly before slapping your ass. 

   "Make sure you wash the sheets before he comes, you made a pretty big mess." He calls out to you before strolling out of your dorm room. 

   You roll your eyes and huff as you drop the blanket and step into the shower.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

   "I'm not fucking lying, she was such a whore about it, but she said she'd never done it before." Bakugo explains to a laughing Kirishima and Denki. 

   "Who's a whore?" Shoto waltzes into the common room where the rest of the boys wait for him. 

   "That cute chick you're always studying with, apparently she's got a freaky side." Sero chuckles, only making Bakugo turn a brighter shade of red. 

   "Oh yeah?" Shoto raises his eyebrows, glancing at Bakugo. 

   "She's fucking insane, best blowjob I've ever had. Not that you would know what that's like, icey hot." Bakugo sneers, arms crossing as he reclines into his chair.

   "Dude, there's no way she was that good if she'd never done it before." Denki says, leaning forward as he shakes his head.

   "I'm serious you sparky asshole, she said it was her first time!" Bakugo snarls. 

   Shoto can't help the bark of the laugh that leaves him, he runs his hands through his hair, then notices just how wet his chin feels. 

   "I think she might've lied." He sighs as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand, pulling it away to see some of your slick shining on the skin. 

   "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Bakugo grumbles, glaring at Shoto. 

   "You can tell dude, you've seen the way she walks into a room." He explains, so full of himself after spending the last half hour between your legs. 

   "What, did she fuck you too?" Bakugo stands up, chest puffed up as he strides towards Shouto. 

   "Nah." He sighs as sinks into one of the chairs, ignoring Bakugo's advances.

   "I fucked her." Shoto grins up at Bakugo, every jaw in the room drops before the rest of the boys start to hoot and laugh. 

   Kirishima jumps up to hold Bakugo back as he spews profanities at cocky Shouto. Sero and Denki are beside themselves, wheezing clapping as Shouto sits and enjoys the chaos he's created. 

   It's safe to say you won't be seeing Katsuki tonight, but you will be seeing a lot of Shoto.

[b0rista]

— 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄, 𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀, 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍, & 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐃. ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: language, because i can't form sentences without using "fuck" every other word JDJD.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: i only made this modern because i desperately wanted to include marco to the fullest leave me aloneEffsg. gn! reader, and i went pretty lengthy on this one so beneath the cut is where the headcanons start :)

𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓: bearbrickjia on instagram!

by far, the best friend group to have. everyone balances one another out, and it's a perfectly imperfect mesh of teenagers.

there's jean, the group's centerpiece. he's the alpha of the posse, usually working as their own personal line leader whenever they're caught doing something as a group. he'll never admit it, but he's also the dad friend. of course, he's more of a "i wish i never gave birth to you oh my god please leave me alone also i love you" type than the stereotypical dad friend.

there's marco, the glue holding the group together. unsurprisingly, he's the calm, kindhearted support system that balances out the cokeheads, keeping them all sturdy. without a doubt, the group would fall apart without him. they need him, okay!! and by "them," i mean jean and yourself. marco, never change.

following up, there's connie & sasha, the wonder twins. their roles are pretty self explanatory, given their natural rambunctiousness. they're the two that hang out outside of the group the most, for obvious reasons. they're the crackhead siblings that bring life to the group, despite the hot water they typically land the others in. through their antics and their comic relief, they're irreplaceable. still, it's easy to want to strangle them sometimes.

next, there's you! because you're the reader, i won't name any specifics, but you're greatly cherished. you mark your place in the crew through various ways, having a unique relationship with each and every member. when he's in need of a breather outside of his typical nest (AKA marco), jean hits your line. if you're needing any kind of assistance with literally anything ever, marco's there to help. craving some chaos? bitch, connie & sasha have GOT YOU.

the main hangout spot is jean's house, 100%. not only has his mom practically adopted the whole squad, but there's only two people living there, so it isn't crowded. connie banned literally all four of you from his place, lmao. there was too many people there, and his family lives to humiliate him.

the group has this one policy, set down by yourself and jean: four piece maximum. this is directed solely towards sasha, of course, considering her tendency to raid her friends' fridges entirely of any food. if she's ever caught rummaging through a fridge for longer than necessary, it's the home owner's duty to shout, "four piece minimum!"

^ it never fails to startle her 😭. one time, she hit her head so hard on the fridge ceiling at jean's house she had to use a bag of frozen peas to soothe the swelling.

then, she proceeded to eat the thawed out peas. jean gagged.

the inside jokes? endless. all it takes is one word from a single event, and the five of you are losing your shit. it's cute, to be honest, how overzealous you all get from a single instance from months ago.

"ha. heh. hee."

"what is it?"

"ngGhh,, chEDDAR TIDDIES-"

"AHHHHHAGAGSHHDJF-"

if there are any inside jokes formed between two group members that isn't shared with the rest of them, there will be immediate bitterness. one time, you and sasha were giggling to yourselves over some druggie named jerry who'd tried selling baskets of rotten cherries to the two of you during a gas station haul— the boys were not having it. what the fuck were you doing without them, "friends"?

right before starting your guys' senior year of highschool, the five of you were on a group facetime when you all sent your schedules into group chat. due to the scarceness of your soon-to-be-majors, absolutely none of you had any classes together. you had a single lunch period with connie while marco had one with jean, but that was about it. it was,, a dramatic discovery. sasha fucking screamed.

"i have nothing with nobody!"

"calm down, sash-"

"you have lunch with y/n! LUNCH! that's my place, lunch. this is despicable, this is evil, this is a braus hate crime-"

yeah, she didn't take it that well. it's okay, doe. the four of you made a special effort during your passing periods, giving sasha enough of a fix for her to make it through each and every day.

it isn't like the five of you don't hang out outside of the classroom, either!! if you hadn't already made plans during that week, the weekend is where you absolutely thrive as a group. study sessions that always shift into exclusive house parties, lunches spent at your favorite places, the occasional visit to the movie theater, and so on. with a mini crowd like that, it's hard for any of you to get bored.

jean's hopeless crush on mikasa is a big factor in your friendship. when everyone minus marco (because he's an angel) isn't mercilessly teasing him, you're all trying to actually help the fucker score the girl. from talking him up obnoxiously enough whereas she'll hear, or flat out telling her to give him a chance, it's an actual effort. though, it's unfortunately all to no avail. shawty's too smitten with eren to even consider her options.

^ with that being said, the four of you have to give jean the "there are other fish in the sea" scoop more often than you'd like to admit.

group cuddles. that's that.

because he's the tallest and therfore the longest (probably, depending on your height), everybody has a chosen body part of jean's to latch onto during naps. connie has one leg while you have the other, and sasha keeps her head rested on his shoulder. marco's at the very bottom, entangling his legs in your own. somehow, this is heaven for jean. he'll never admit to it, though. as far as any of you are concerned, he HATES IT.

ranking from #1 as the best and #5 as the worst, these are the rated group therapists: ⇩︎

#1: marco. self explanatory, he's an amazing listener and provides supremely good advice. that, and he'd literally rather die than let any of his friends internalize anything they're dying to let loose.

#2: you. really, you're just a lot better than jean or connie. sasha's okay at it, but she's not the best at rationalizing, leaving you at second best. basically, when marco isn't available, you're where the freak shows go. marco goes to you about things, too.

#3: sasha. again, she's just a loT better than the final two. sasha's a sweetheart! she's empathetic, and nonjudgmental. we love her in this house.

#4: connie. also somewhat of a sweetheart, although not as much as sasha. he'll drop a shit ton of humor into serious conversations, making them just a tad bit more tolerable.

#5: jean. look, he's a great friend! however, he isn't all that empathetic, and he'll have some trouble understanding. still, he would try his hardest to make you or the other three feel better :,)).

in a modern universe, i know damn well connie's a half-assed stoner 30% of the time. he doesn't light up all that often, and he doesn't tell anybody about it, even you guys. mainly because marco will grill him for it DJFK. however, you stumbled upon his mini marijuana stash and he was like ahh, shit. you didn't really care doe, his secret is safe with you. you, however, now have DIRT on him.

matching bracelets that you all made for eachother yEars ago but never wear 🥺🥺.

many, many, many poly relationship jokes. only jokes, though. some people take it too literally, which y'all just laugh at.

there's a miniature rivalry going on between you and another nearby friend group: reiner, bertholdt, annie, ymir, and christa. of course, all of you are friends, it's all fun in games— most of the time, anyway. it's a funny rivalry, and you guys go at it quite a bit.

one of your guys' most intense debates is whether or not marco has freckles on his dick.

he,, refuses to show any of you, or even anSweR you.

"you act like we can't just check whenever we use the urinals, man."

"CONNIE-"

now, marco refuses to go to the bathroom at the same time as any of the boys <\33.

the group band? black eyed peas.

[jenonctcity]

My Beginning - Part 1

Differences – Lee Jeno

Part of the Bad Boy Series.

Badboy!Au, Streetfighter!Au

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, talk of drugs, aggression, mention of mental health, mention of blood/violence. 

Word Count: 5.9k

(I recommend reading Haechan’s part first to understand this part more clearly.)

Jeno had a rough start to life. He was raised in a poor family with an abusive father and depressed mother. To let off some steam and make some money to support himself, he took up underground street fights at the age of 15. And he was really fucking good at it. Finally his father pushed him too far one night and at the age of 18 Jeno did what he’d wanted to do since before he could even remember, and he beat up his dad until his face was almost unrecognisable. He was sentenced to a year in prison for his crime, but he thought it was worth it and doesn’t regret it. Now fresh out of prison, he’s back in the underground fighting scene and adjusting to life on the outside without having to worry about his father for the first time in his life. He meets someone who mixes up his life once more, and she wants to change him for the better. Does he change for the women he sees in his future or is he too far gone?

 “You need some pussy.” Chenle’s words caused Jeno to choke on the beer he was in the middle of swallowing. He winced and gulped the beer down after he’d finished coughing into his hand, giving Chenle a wide-eyed look and holding his hand up in question.

“Chenle…what the fuck?” He gulped down the rest of his beer and set the bottle down on the bar. Chenle sniggered, looking oddly proud of himself for what he’d said to his older friend.

“Well you’ve been a right grumpy bastard the past few months, and it’s starting to ruin my vibe.” Chenle sounded as if he was dead serious as he flagged the bartender down to order more beers.

“Sorry that I fell in love with someone who didn’t love me back Chenle, I didn’t mean to ruin your ‘vibe’.” He deadpanned but mocked Chenle’s voice as he said the word ‘vibe’.

“You’re forgiven.” Chenle’s neck was starting to look very inviting to Jeno. Inviting to wrap his hands around and strangle the cheeky fucker. “So anyway, I did you a favour!” This made Jeno’s eyebrows raise, as he knew Chenle doing someone a favour, usually worked out to be a devastation only for Chenle’s amusement. Jeno put his head in his hands and groaned.

“I swear to god if you have hired a fucking prostitute or some shit Chenle I wi-”

“No!” Chenle furrowed his eyebrows and let out a laugh. “You really think I’d spend that much money on getting a prostitute for you? Pfft, you’re my buddy but you’re not that special Jen.” The one thing Jeno loved but hated at the same time about Chenle was that he had absolutely no filter whatsoever.

“Thanks.” Jeno rolled his eyes and sighed. “So what is this favour?”

“I’ve set you up a blind date.” Chenle grinned at Jeno, clearly proud of what he’d done. Jeno felt his stomach drop, he sighed and shook his head as he looked at Chenle.

“I’m not ready.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands.

“It’s been what? Seven months?” Chenle furrowed his eyebrows, confused at Jeno’s reaction.

“Four months…you have no sense of time at all.” Jeno frowned in shock at his friend’s awareness of time. “Do you not realise that I still have feelings for her? She pretty much lives at the apartment and her and Haechan are all over each other.” He didn’t want to sound soft, so he neglected to tell Chenle that it felt like a knife was being stabbed through his heart every time he saw them hold hands, or their lips briefly touch. He wasn’t stupid, he knew they kept their pda to a minimum around him, and he knows they look at him with pity in their eyes, which isn’t what Jeno wants.

“Get over it my guy.” Chenle shrugs and slaps Jeno on the shoulder. He’s clearly never had his heartbroken, but Jeno can’t really blame him for his ignorance to heart break, he’s still young. “Look, she’s a really nice girl, and she’s beautiful. She’s my friend’s sister and he thinks she needs some company.”

“And she hasn’t got feelings for anyone else?” Jeno couldn’t hide the sarcasm in his voice as he stared Chenle in the eye.

“Not that I’m aware of. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was secretly in love with me though, I am one hell of a catch.” He winked at Jeno and took a large mouthful of beer, taking took much in and dribbling some of the liquid down his chin.

“Yes…quite the bachelor.”

“I’ll text you the details once I’ve sorted things out with her.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you or not, so I’m going to wait and see how this turns out.” Jeno rolled his eyes and sipped on his own beer.

“So you’ll actually go on the date?!”

“Yes, if it shuts you up about my personal life.”

“Deal!”

 ---

Jeno felt like he was suffocating as he tugged at the collar of his white button up shirt. It wasn’t often he wore a shirt considered ‘formal’, as he didn’t really go anywhere fancy enough to deem wearing a shirt that fell into the category. But since it was a first date and Chenle told him not to dress like a ‘homeless rat’, he decided to buy a decent shirt to wear with his black skinny jeans. The cool night air was at least doing somewhat of a decent job in calming him down, but the longer he stood beside Chenle as he waited for you to arrive, the more anxious he got. He wasn’t nervous to meet you, he was simply feeling anxious because he did not want to be going on a date, but he knew Chenle wouldn’t shut up about it until he agreed.

“Why doesn’t Jaemin ever have to deal with this shit?” He mumbled to himself, his fingers itching to grab at the packet of cigarettes in his leather jacket. He only smoked when he was feeling stressed, and he knew he’d get stressed, so he came prepared. Even though he mumbled the words, Chenle apparently had super sonic hearing.

“Because Jaemin has severe depression and I’m not willing to fuck with that.” Chenle shrugged. “She’s here!” He smiled widely as you got out of the taxi. You nearly climbed back in though because of how nervous you felt about going on a date. This was your first ever date, and you didn’t know how to feel about Chenle being the person to set it up for you. You also didn’t know what to wear, so you hoped that your little black dress with matching heels would be an okay option. You had straightened your hair and had made a decent effort with your makeup, hoping it would help mask how worried you were feeling. You turned around, looking to see the blond annoyance you knew too well, smiling when you caught sight of him. You felt your stomach fall straight through to the core of the earth when you laid eyes on the tall man next to him. He looked like he could snap you in half if he wanted to, not to mention, he was also the best-looking man you’d seen in a long, long, long time. Your palms started to sweat but you didn’t let your smile falter as you hurried over to them both.

“(Y/N)! Hi, this is Jeno, Jeno this is (Y/N). I’m going to shoot now; the reservations are made under your name Jeno. Bye!” Before either of you could utter a word to him, he had basically sprinted off down the road.

“I hate him so much.” You heard Jeno mutter, causing a soft, nervous laugh to fall from your lips. He turned towards you and gave you a lopsided smile. “Shall we?” He motioned towards the restaurant that you were stood in front of. You nodded and followed him inside, thanking him as he held the door open for you. The host hastily showed you to your seats and you slid into the booth, still holding the soft smile on your face. Jeno shrugged off his jacket and you couldn’t help but look at his arms as the shirt he was wearing moulded to the fabric snuggly. You didn’t really know what to say to him and let out a quick sigh as your eyes scanned the restaurant. It was starting to get painfully awkward, which was a bad sign for you, because you knew how you handled awkward situations. Jeno kept letting his eyes fall on your as he glanced at his menu, his bottom lip tucked between teeth as he mulled over the silence between you. You looked at the menu for a minute before deciding to try and start a conversation with him.

“So, how do you know Chenle?” You asked, letting your eyes meet his. For someone with very strong facial features, his eyes were very soft, the deep brown pools almost sucking you in. like a riptide in the ocean.

“Satan’s child?” This caused you to laugh abruptly, not having expected him to say such a thing. “I don’t actually remember, I’m pretty sure one of my friends just found him and adopted him into our group, then we haven’t been able to get rid of him since.” You smiled and nodded along to his words. “He said you’re his friends sister?”

“Yeah, he spends a lot of time eating my brothers food and giving him tattoos of random things.” Jeno smiled in amusement and turned his attention to the waiter as he came over. You both ordered your food and drinks and then you saw as he let out a small sigh, trying to avoid making eye contact with you. It baffled you as to why he agreed to go on a date with you when he clearly didn’t want to. ‘Maybe he doesn’t think I’m attractive…’ you couldn’t help but think to yourself as you let your mind wonder. You couldn’t stand the horrid silence, so you did what you did best in awkward situations. Talk. You didn’t mean to, but it always happened subconsciously as your battle against the quiet. You found yourself talking about the most random things, asking him questions that you only got brief answers to. You told him all about your life, how you were a student at a nearby university studying something you found boring but essential to the job you wanted. You also told him that you were in the middle of learning how to drive, but it was a slow process because you were busy with university. Until your food came and you suddenly realised just how long you’d been talking for. “I’ve been talking so much, I’m sorry I haven’t given you any chance to speak!” You could feel your cheeks heat up as embarrassment set in. Jeno gave you a gentle smile and sipped at his drink.

“I’m enjoying listening to you, I haven’t got much to tell you about my own life so I’m happy to listen to you about yours.” He sounded genuine, which made you let out a short sigh of relief. He chuckled when he saw you sigh. “You’re very sweet, much different to the people I spend my time with, so I’m enjoying your company. Please don’t think that because I don’t talk much that I’m not interested.” He started to eat his food at the same time you started your own. You smiled, happy that he was interested in what you had to say, but you couldn’t help but wonder why he said he hadn’t got much to tell you about his life. The rest of the date flew by pretty much the same. You would talk about anything you could think of whilst Jeno just nodded along and interjected his thoughts when he saw fit. You had managed to find out a little about his life, that he doesn’t see his parents often, he spends most of his free time working out because he only works part time at his friends uncle’s mechanic shop, and he bleaches his hair because he hates his natural hair colour.

The two of you left the restaurant after he paid the bill, which you had tried to pay half of, but he hadn’t let you. “You can pay for ice cream on our next date.” He’s mumbled with red cheeks as he held the door open for you on your way out.

“Ooooh what’s your favourite ice cream flavour?” You smiled widely, having completely missed that he’d shown interest in a second date with you. He looked down at you and couldn’t help the way his cheeks tugged his own lips into a smile.

“Vanilla.”

“Boring!”

“It’s not! What’s your favourite flavour then?” He shoved his hands in his jacket pocket as he watched you.

“Vanilla.” You giggled as his mouth popped open. He looked scandalised at your words and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You just accused vanilla of being boring!”

“But I never said that I wasn’t boring too.” You shrugged. His face fell and he shook his head as he looked down at you.

“I don’t think that you’re boring…hey can I get your number? So we can arrange our next date.” He looked down at his feet, a slight nervous fire burning in his stomach at the thought of you turning him down. Your whole face lit up and you nodded eagerly, quickly taking his phone from him to put your number in when he held it out to you. “Can I give you a ride home?” You felt your phone buzz and looked down to see an unknown number, the message being a simple ‘Hi it’s Jeno’. You saved his number and smiled up at him.

“If it’s okay? I don’t want you to go out of your way.” You felt your stomach do a little flip when he let out a soft laugh and a shrug.

“It’s cool, come on.” He placed his hand on your lower back and guided you to the car park. He took you over to a sporty black car and opened the door for you, you slipped in the car and thanked him, looking at the sleek interior as you waited for him to get in beside you. You briefly wondered how he could afford a car this nice when he had told you that he was currently not working. “Where do you live?”

“Do you know the apartment buildings near the water tower?” He nodded in response, a gasp leaving his mouth.

“Wait you live there? I live there too, in the red bricked building!”

“No freaking way! I live in the white bricked building!” You both had surprised looks on your faces as you both found out that you live in the apartment buildings opposite each other.

“What are the chances?” He laughed, starting to drive towards the apartment buildings. You didn’t have much more to say, so you stared out of the window into the darkness of the night as the radio hummed a slow song throughout the atmosphere of the car. You mulled over the whole night in your head, unable to get rid the smile that sat contently on your face at the thought of your date. Jeno drummed his fingers gently against the steering wheel as he drove, his eyes darting over to you every now and then to check up on you. He stopped on the side of the road that his apartment building was on, hurrying to get out and rushing around the car to open the door for you. You felt butterflies in your stomach at the small gesture, thanking him as you climbed out of the car. “I’ll walk you to your building.”

“Thanks.” You walked with him across the road and suddenly feel a nervousness in your stomach. “I had fun.” You blurt out, rocking back and forth on your feet as he watched you stood by the door. He had a small smile on his face, and he nodded, mumbling a soft ‘me too’. You cleared your throat and turned to unlocked the door to your apartment building when you felt his hand gently tug on your own, the one that wasn’t busy unlocking the door. Your stomach dropped, thoughts running through your mind at what he might want from you. Did he expect you to have sex on the first date?!

“Hey,” When you turned around, he stepped closer, ducking down and planting a soft kiss to your cheek which felt like it was about to combust in flames from how hot it felt. He smiled wider when he saw your bashful smile, with your eyes darting around to look anywhere but at him. He could see that you were quite a shy person, and it made him feel something in his stomach that he couldn’t quite identify. “See ya.” He turned around and walked across the street as you opened your door and let yourself in. Once you were behind walking up the stairs to your apartment you let out a little squeal of excitement.

“Oh my gosh!” You jumped up and down like an exciting schoolgirl fawning over their crush. You couldn’t believe that your first date with a man who was as good looking as that went so well. Jeno seemed kind of rough around the edges in appearance, but his personality was the complete opposite, obviously you knew that he hadn’t shown you all of him yet, but your first impressions were very good. Still, you felt yourself getting sucked into his dark brown eyes whenever he talked, which wasn’t often, but it was enough.  Needless to say, you went to sleep that night with a huge smile on your face, anticipating what’s to come.

---

“How did the date go?” Was the first thing Jeno heard when he walked through the door of the apartment after dropping you off at your own apartment. He headed into the living room and saw that Renjun had 1 year old Jiyeon sitting on his lap with kids cartoons playing on the television, Jaemin had a family sized packet of doritos laying on his stomach as he slouched beside Renjun, passing a chip to Jiyeon before shovelling loads into his own mouth, and Haechan had his girlfriend snuggled into his chest on the other sofa. Jeno’s heart sunk through his stomach as he saw his ex-girlfriend looking at his best friend with so much love in her eyes, a look she never gave him when they were together. It felt to him as though all of the happiness he’d built up from his date was flushed down the toilet as he tore his eyes away from the couple. It was very apparent to him in that moment that he wasn’t over her, and his feelings for her hadn’t gone away at all.

“Good, really good. I got her number.” He gulped before mumbling, awkwardly scratching his head and sighing as he took off his jacket. She pulled her head away from Haechan’s chest and gave him an awkward smile.

“You went on a date?” She asked softly.

“Mhm.” He didn’t trust his voice, so he just hummed and nodded.

“I’m happy for you Jen.” The whole room felt like it was suffocating him as all eyes turned to look at him. It felt very much like pity to Jeno, causing heat to rush to his cheeks and a slight resentment and anger to boil inside of him. Ever since they’d ended things, his anger issues had spiked, and he found it hard to control his temper. The only time he’d ever been as angry was before he’d went to prison. He was like a ticking time bomb, or a bottle of soda that had been shook and ready to pop at any minute.

“Whatever.” He grunted, sinking on the sofa on the other side of Renjun and ignoring the way she cowered to his voice, settling her head back on Haechan’s chest as he scowled at Jeno. He didn’t mean to be cruel to her, he wanted nothing more than to be the one she was cuddling up to, but the resentment for her loving Haechan when she was supposed to love him still sat heavy inside of him.

“Jennie!” Jiyeon chirped, wiggling her way off of her father’s lap to sit on her uncle’s lap. She smiled at him and laid herself against his chest.

“Hi cupcake.” He ran his hand through her jet-black hair, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame and sighing as he cuddled her for comfort. “She’s starting to look more like you Renjun.” He commented, trying to change the tone in the room so it was less about him and more about the toddler cuddling him.

“She’s blessed then because I’m-”

“Ugly as fuck.” Jaemin mumbled, cutting Renjun off before he could finish and shovelling more chips into his mouth as he watched the kid cartoons. Renjun frowned, slamming his fist down on Jaemin’s packet of doritos and smirking when the sound of them crushing into small pieces sounded throughout the room. Jiyeon laughed loudly as she watched the interaction between them, the sound of her sweet laughter calming Jeno down completely.

---

The cool air in the bar kept your cheeks from blazing in heat every time Jeno looked you in the eye. The bar wasn’t very busy, making it feel more intimate as you didn’t have to compete with other voices to allow Jeno’s ears to hear your voice. It was dark in the bar, the cover of night making visibility poor despite how the artificial lights in the bar tried their hardest to lit the place up with mood lighting. His blond hair was pushed back off of his forehead, and small smudges of black eyeliner around his beautiful eyes. His black button up shirt had the first two buttons undone, and he had a pair of black skinny jeans on, his hair being the only contrast to his entirely black outfit. You wore a simple dress and flats, keeping close to him in the busy bar as to not have random people bump into you. He had his hand pressed to your lower back and he kept his eyes on the people around you both. You took a mouthful of your drink and looked up at Jeno, completely in awe of his handsome looks. He had his eyes trained on someone behind you and he didn’t seem to be tearing his eyes away from them. You didn’t want to turn around, just in case he was staring at another woman. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle that well if that was the case. It was your second date, a week from your first date, so you hoped that he at least had some affection towards you despite the fact the two of you hadn’t actually made your relationship official.

“So…” You racked your brain to quickly think of something you could say to him that would bring his attention back to you. “I…er…I had another driving lesson today, it went well!” You smiled up at him, but he still continued to stare over the top of your head, completely ignoring you. You felt dejected, letting out a soft sigh and looking down at your feet. You felt as though he wasn’t interest in you at all. You’d hardly gotten anything out of him the entire time you’d been stood beside him at the bar, and you felt as though a brick wall would be more interested in you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that the hand he had set on the side of the bar curled into a fist, and his body visibly tensed up.

“Hey!” He snapped, causing you to flinch and look up at him with worry in your eyes, expecting that he was going to be looking at you, ready to have a go at you, you didn’t know why though, you didn’t think you’d done anything wrong. “Stop staring at my girlfriend.” He growled; his eyes still trained over the top of your head. Your eyes widened and you turned around, noticing a middle-aged man stood a few metres away from you with his eyes stuck on you. Your mouth dropped open as you realised Jeno had been staring out the creepy looking guy, being protective over you. Your heart flipped and you felt silly for having thought he was eyeing up another woman. A wave of heat rushed through you as you realised Jeno must have been interested in you to get so worked up over another man staring at you, also he referred to you as his girlfriend, which caught you off guard but made a flower of happiness blossom inside of you.

“What are you going to do about it?” The man smirked, clearly not caring that he was antagonising Jeno. Jeno’s face hardened more and he pulled you quickly so that you were behind him, not having any worry in approaching the man and getting close to him.

“Do you really want to find out?” He said lowly, his tone dripping in threat as both of his fists clenched up, his shoulders tensing too and becoming broader as he squared up to the man. The man smirked and stood up straighter, about the same height as Jeno and ready to fight him. You gasped, gently laying a hand on Jeno’s shoulder.

“Jeno come on, lets just go.” You spoke softly, feeling the muscle underneath your hand relax momentarily.

“She’s too good for you. She needs a man, not a boy.” The man laughed, glancing past Jeno to wink at you. Jeno shoved him so hard that he tripped over the bar stool behind him and fell on his ass. The man had a face of complete shock, clearly not having expected the ‘boy’ to be that strong and gutsy enough to actually put him on his ass.

“One more word and you won’t be feeling like a man for a long time.” Jeno snapped, standing over the man and giving him a look that could probably petrify someone. You knew Jeno was rough around the edges, but you never would have thought he could do something like that. It shocked you and you felt yourself taking a few steps back from him, not knowing him well enough to know what he was going to do next. After silence fell between them both, Jeno turned around, snatching your hand into his own and pulling you firmly out of the bar. You had to jog to keep up with his fast strides. He didn’t let go of your hand, and pulled you down the street, his shoulders still tense and his breathing heavy. The grip he had on your hand was starting to hurt more from how hard he was squeezing your hand, which was considerably smaller than his own.

“Jeno…you’re hurting me.” You said quietly, but he heard you. Stopping almost immediately he turned to look at you, letting go of your hand and gulping. He looked down once before looking back up, giving you direct eye contact that almost made you have a heart attack.

“I’m sorry…are you okay?” He looked worried, all of his pent-up anger washing away after hearing your fragile tone. You nodded, flexing your fingers out and rubbing your hand with your other hand.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concerned about him for how he acted in that situation.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see me like that…we need to talk.” His gave you a weak smile, almost like he was giving you pity, which made your stomach fall to the floor as you thought he was about to end things with you.

“O-oh…okay.” He got out his car keys and you followed him to his car. He unlocked it and motioned with his head for you to climb in. You both got in, but he made no effort in turning on the car, and instead put his keys in the cupholder before turning to him.

“I lied to you about my job. I don’t help out at the mechanic shop. I fight, illegally.” His words had your eyebrows raising in surprise, many of questions sitting on the tip of your tongue, but left unsaid as you had a feeling he was about to go into more detail anyway. “It’s called underground street fighting, and it’s not legal in the slightest. It’s dangerous, and I’ve been injured more times than I care to admit, and I���ve also inflicted life changing injuries on other men. I’ve seen people black out and never wake up again. It’s tough but…it’s really good money, and it’s a way that I can let go of all of my anger. I have a lot of anger problems, I won’t lie to you about it, it’s bad, and honestly I’m surprised that I managed to walk away from that asshole without punching him in the face.” He let out a very gently laugh that was humourless, his eyes searching your face for your reaction. You just nodded, biting you bottom lip as it occurred to you that you were dating a very dangerous man.

“Why?” You asked, causing his head to tilt in question.

“Why what?”

“Why are you so angry?” Your voice was quiet and soft but held no judgement towards him. You really liked him, and this was the furthest you’d ever gotten with a guy, so you didn’t want to throw it all away just because he was a little bit different from everyone else. He took a deep breath and looked away from you for a moment, before dragging his eyes back to look at you. It was dark in the car, the only light coming from the streetlight above his car, but you could still see the painful look in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak to you.

“I grew up in a very poor family with a father who abused my mum and me. It caused my mum to have very bad depression, which had an effect on me. I let the abuse happen for too long, and then when I was 15 I got introduced into the street fighting. I finally felt like I had some power, and it earnt me a lot of money, which I’d never had before. Even though I was fighting out of the house, at home I was still being beaten, and one night when I as 17, my dad hit my mum so hard that the force of her hitting the wall left a dent in it.” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered the memory. You reached out and took his hand in both of yours, showing him that you were listening and not judging him. “I saw red, I just remember pulling my dad away from her. I don’t remember much of what happened, because I was in a frenzy. But the next thing I remember is my mum trying to pull me off of my dad. He was underneath me on the floor and his face was…unrecognisable. There was so much blood…” He remembered how his hands were shaking and covered in blood, a mixture of his fathers’ blood and his own blood from how his fists had pummelled into his fathers’ face. His face was wet with tears and blood that had spurted from his life givers face, and he remembered how his own mother cowered away from him like he was the one who had been inflicting pain on her for the past 17 years of his life. “She called for an ambulance whilst I sat on the floor covered in blood. The police came as well, and I got arrested. I went to prison for a year because I was still a minor and they classed it as self-defence. My mother visited me once, and I don’t see her often because she says its hard for her to look at me after what I did. But she isn’t with my father anymore, so I can live with that.” You could tell from the tone of his voice that even though he said he could live with it, that it was hard for him to live with it. It suddenly occurred to you that he wasn’t different from other people. He was simply a broken person trying their best to live in a world where he’d been dealt shit cards from the start.

“Is your dad…?” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, but he knew what you were asking.

“No. He’s alive. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. Hell I don’t even know if he looks the same as what he used to. I did a lot of damage to his face so…” He shrugged, his hand holding onto yours firmly. “After I came out of prison, I continued street fighting and moved in with my friends. They had all gotten a place together and left a room free for me when I got out. They’re my family now.”

“I’m glad you have people you can rely on; they sound like great people.” He laughed at your words.

“A teen dad, a drug dealer, and an illegal street racer. They’re great, but not morally.” He chuckled at your shocked expression, using his free hand to reach out and cup your cheek. “They’re harmless to people that don’t get on their bad side.” He stroked his thumb over your hot skin and smiled at you. He felt affection bloom in his stomach when he saw that you accepted him for who he was. It was different with his ex, she was used to the lifestyle he lived like, but he knew from your stories that you were raised in a respectable household and you’d never done anything bad in your entire life. You were complete polar opposites, and for the first time in months he could think about his ex-girlfriend and not feel a pull towards her like her had before. Instead he was being pulled towards you like a magnet. You were the positive side, and he was the negative side, and you fit together so perfectly.

“I hope they’ll like me.” You admitted, leaning your head into his touch to show you were enjoying it.

“They will.” He smiled, neglecting to tell you that one of his best friends was dating his ex-girlfriend, but he could only pile so much information on you at a time without overwhelming you.

“I actually have a small confession to make too.” You plucked up the courage despite the pang of anxiety you felt in your stomach.

“Oh god, you’re not a crazy axe murderer, are you?” He was clearly joking, his eye dropping into a wink as he pretending to be shocked.

“No!” You giggled, his hand dropping to your hands. “I’ve never dated anybody before, and I’ve never had a boyfriend…or had sex. I have been kissed though!” His smile never faltered and if anything, he felt even more drawn towards you, liking that you were pure for him. it drove him crazy to even think about another man having his hands on you. “So this is all new to me, and I’m super nervous but trying to play it cool so that you didn’t think I was strange or anything, and I really like you and I don’t care about your job and-” You were cut off by his lips pressing to your own, your eyes shutting as you melted into the kiss. It was short and sweet, but his lips did linger and place another peck to your lips.

“I guess I should do this properly then.” He smiled, kissing you once more and smiling into the kiss. “(Y/N), do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulled away from you and stared into your eyes. You felt your cheeks almost burning up, the car feeling suddenly stuffy as you looked at him.

“Yes.” You nodded quickly, letting your eyes slowly shut as his hands cupped your face, drawing his lips to yours once more in a slower, more passionate kiss.

---

 Hey! Thank you for reading! Did you like it? What do you think so far? What do you think is going to happen? Let me know!

[olivinesea]

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter eight: starting to rust

a/n: Just barely coming in at under a month, oops. I think I’m going to take a break from this one for now, it seems to be a little too much while my thoughts are occupied with school things. When I planned this all out originally, this chapter was a possible ending point but then I got ambitious and there’s quite a bit more plotted out after this. But it might be a while before I come back to it, we’ll see. Anyway, thanks for coming along for all the torture, I know it wasn’t a pleasant time but the hurt can be nice occasionally? I’ll try to write something a little kinder in the future. Warnings for all the same things —substances, abuse, some very dark thoughts and themes. ~5.7k

Aaron tries to keep it all together but the world is indifferent.

He tried to stay away, he really did. As if he could see into the future, he could imagine how quickly he would tarnish her smile, could picture it fading right in front of him. He had nightmares where Haley sat, unresponsive and slowly dissolving. But she was insistent, seeking him out, towing him along with her through her day. She’d find him at lunch and push half a sandwich at him once she realized he hadn’t brought anything to eat. Brought him along after school to loiter in the sun with the other theater kids killing time between the end of class and the start of rehearsals, loudly asserting their presence on the world. Aaron hung back, uncomfortable around such casual chaos, everyone moving too fast, speaking too loudly. Compared to his world, Haley’s life was bright, unrestrained, and viscerally present. He didn’t fit there. He stuck out in his silence, dressed in his dark clothes, still too big on him though he was finally starting to grow.

The other kids eyed him suspiciously, muttering quietly about him when they thought he couldn’t hear. Only Haley’s position at the top of whatever social apparatus they operated by kept them from outright excluding him. He didn’t mind too much, he’d heard worse, what did he care what these kids thought of him anyway? What did they know with their golden lives, their excitement, their expectations for the future? Haley’s people believed that the world was for them, would provide what they wanted when they wanted. He found it odd, watching them as they screeched and tackled each other, a blur of color so jarring he had to squint.

He could feel how his difference was noted, their eyes making the back of his neck itch. More than once he tried to disappear but every time Haley slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently, pulling him back toward the group. She’d smile, encouraging, her belief that it would all work out, that he could assimilate given enough time, was unwavering. Her optimism baffled him, sometimes even irritated him. He would inevitably feel guilty about that. Surely it was ungrateful for him to find fault in this girl who had welcomed him when there was absolutely no need for her to do so.

Not everyone was tolerant of Aaron’s presence. The drama teacher regarded him with suspicion, allowing him to stay but making it clear that she was doing him a favor. It helped that he was able to sing, shoring up the weak lower register of the female dominated cast. He was given a minor role, nothing too complicated, nothing that would embarrass them if he failed, as she assumed he would. Some of the other kids caught on to this disapproval, emboldened by it they became less subtle in the ways that they mocked him. Aaron tried to mind his own business, even skipping out on rehearsals when the attention became too much. But Haley inevitably found him, running to catch him after school as he tried to escape out a side door. She dragged him back again and again, refusing to give up on him. Insisting she had seen something special, something she thought she could coax out if given enough time—like a stray dog, so used to mistreatment that he bristled when people came near but still craved affection.

He followed reluctantly, acutely conscious of the growing dislike, mutiny thickening the air. Everything was too sharp these days, he’d lost his sources for getting high. All he had were his cigarettes, too afraid to steal alcohol from his father. He desperately wanted to go back into the woods, to fall back under the quiet spell of muffled words about nothing, watching the light filter through the branches, sparkling as the leaves moved with the breeze. He hated it here, in the building, surrounded by these people with their constant need to be heard, each louder than the last. The smells of the theater, new paint and old fabrics and so much dust made it hard to breath. The too bright lights, unnaturally hot against his skin, and the way every sound echoed made his head ache. He’d be long gone if it wasn’t for the way Haley’s touch made his heart skip, her fingers lightly brushing across his arm to get his attention. Or the way she looped her arm through his as she caught him in the hallway and insisted on walking with him to class, leading him along her sheltered path.

Aaron wondered at the lightness of her head rested against his shoulder as they sat in the grass, sticking her tongue out at something stupid another kid said, then smiling when she heard his smothered laughter. He let his attention drift, eyes wandering until he saw a group in the distance. He watched as they moved away from school, easily guessing where they were headed. He felt a pang of longing as he watched them leave, wishing he could still be part of that. He wasn’t sure he had been happy with Cole but he had at least felt like he was in the right place, like he had found someone who understood him. No one here was like him, no one less so than Haley. He was attracted to her in a different way, fascinated at how she viewed the world and how the world viewed her. He’d never known anyone who moved so easily through life, who was loved and desired by everyone she met. He couldn’t begin to imagine what that felt like though he agreed with the rest of them, she was something special. He didn’t understand why she wanted him around but he wasn’t going to contradict her. Still, he wished to be gone with the group as they sought out unobserved spaces.

“Aaron?” Haley squeezed his knee, drawing his attention back.

“Hmm?” He had no idea what she had been saying.

“Do you want to come to Mike’s house after rehearsal tonight? His parents are out of town.”

Aaron looked dubiously across the group at Mike, someone who was clear in his dislike of Aaron.

“Please?”

Aaron shrugged a shoulder, shifting uncomfortably and causing Haley to sit up.

“It’ll be fun. And it’ll be good for you to get to know everyone a little better. You’re so quiet all the time.”

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Aaron murmured, watching as Mike narrowed his eyes in their direction.

“Don’t be silly,” she said as she hopped up. “C’mon, let’s go inside, it’s almost time.”

He looked up at her, now standing above him. Their eyes met and she smiled. She was pleased with how much he’d been softening. It had only been a few weeks and already he seemed more comfortable, at least with her. She congratulated herself a little, privately, on her success. People had gone out of their way to warn her when she started hanging out with him, bringing him places with her. He was bad, he was dangerous, he would hurt her. But she knew, had known from that first time she saw him looking at her, he wouldn’t hurt her, not ever. He wasn’t so complicated, she reasoned, they were all just scared away by his dark features, his perpetual scowl, the whispered rumors about his family. She, Haley Brooks, was better than that, deeper and more sympathetic. He wouldn’t be the first broken creature she’d healed, but he would be her biggest project yet. She didn’t imagine it could be that hard. Everyone was always happier around her, she could fix this.

He sighed, shaking his head and stood up. Sometimes he could see her watching him and he wasn’t sure he liked the look on her face. Like she was assessing him, marking his progress along some scale she had in her mind. Noting when he ate, when he was rested, when he laughed. He felt a little bit like an animal in a laboratory. But then she would smile at him and he forgot all his hesitation, forgot how he disliked being watched, how much he hated people thinking they knew what he needed. No one had ever cared like her before and he wasn’t sure what she expected in return. But he let himself forget all that and follow her where she led for another chance at that smile, another chance to hear her say his name, sounding so different coming from her lips that it might be a different name entirely.

One of her friends, already halfway back to the building, called Haley’s name and she skipped over to her, confident that Aaron would follow. He watched her go before turning back to pick up his backpack. When he straightened up, Mike was standing very close to him. Aaron wondered at how he’d moved so quickly.

“I hope you don’t think you’re coming to my house, loser.”

Aaron stared at him, debating what to do. He didn’t particularly want to go to this party, he’d really prefer not to go. But Haley had invited him and he didn’t like the way this guy was always looking at her possessively, then looking at Aaron like he’d like to strangle him. Not exactly subtle.

Mike stepped in closer. “Did you hear me? Or are you too high?” He turned to his friends and forced a laugh, “Maybe you shouldn’t have fried your brain with your little homo boyfriend.”

Aaron didn’t think, he just reacted, fist swinging up and punching the other boy in the jaw. He stumbled back, holding a hand to his face, eyes frozen wide in shock. Aaron didn’t pause, only advanced on him, swinging again. It felt good, the anger that was always simmering in his chest, the anger he only barely distracted himself from, finally had an outlet. It probably wasn’t a fair fight, Mike had been expecting Aaron to quietly take the insults as he’d been doing, pretending to ignore them as they needled him whenever Haley was out of earshot. But this insult was too far. More of a mean jab in the dark than an actual accusation, his words had hit a nerve and unlocked a force within Aaron.

Once he landed the first punch, his vision clouded over with anger and he continued to swing at the other kid. The other boys quickly jumped in, once the surprise of seeing Aaron actually fight back wore off, once they realized he meant to do real harm to their friend. He already had Mike pinned on the ground, lip bleeding, hands covering his face, before two more of his friends managed to drag Aaron off. He swung at them too, no technique but plenty of experience on the receiving end. He knew what would hurt and he had enough rage to power him through a dozen opponents. One of the others pulled him off balance, using his grip on Aaron’s wrist to fling him to the side. They blocked his path to Mike, who was scrambling backward on the grass, putting more distance between himself and this suddenly rabid opponent. Breathing hard, Aaron glared at the group, realizing he didn’t have enough strength to overpower them all, despite his murderous desire. He spit in their direction, then grabbed his bag and stalked away.

He didn’t have to think about where he was going. There was only one place to go. He’d tried to be a part of the regular world, a part of a world where time continued evenly, where lights turned on when it was dark and spotlights burned brightest on those with merit. He’d tried to fit himself into that space for Haley’s sake but he had only been fooling himself. They’d known he didn’t belong and he’d finally overstayed his welcome. It was time for him to retreat to the unlit corners of the world, return to the margins of society where people could avert their eyes, where it was easier for them to pretend they didn’t see the wrongness of the boy in front of them. He’d go back to the place in the woods and hope there was someone there that could give him what he wanted, could help him disconnect from this too bright reality. He was as sick of it as they were of him. He allowed himself a brief flicker of hope that he might find Cole out there, with his understanding and their shared history he didn’t have to think about his walls so much. But he stomped down hard on that desire, reminding himself how he had still ended up alone. No, it didn’t need to be Cole, it didn’t need to be anyone in particular, as long as they had something to get him high he didn’t care. It wouldn’t matter for very long anyway.

He crashed across the grass, his anger making his steps heavier, his thoughts louder. He didn’t realize he was being followed, that someone was calling his name. He didn’t notice until there was a hand tugging at the elbow of his jacket. He spun around fast, ready to fight. Haley shrank back at the anger in his face, the wildness in his eyes. He clenched his fists when he recognized her, trying and failing to pull back the storm of emotion that had been knocked loose. He never wanted to scare her but she was following where she didn’t belong. He only had so much control.

“Go away.”

“Are you hurt? Where are you going? Why’d you attack—”

She didn’t even have the question fully formed before he turned and started walking again, unwilling to be accused of something that wasn’t remotely his fault. He didn’t like the way it stung him, hearing that she assumed his guilt. He didn’t like that he’d let her get so close, let her have such influence over him. She ran a little to get ahead of him, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She was frightened by his fury, but she wouldn’t let him go this easily. Not after she’d spent so many hours persuading him to join her world.

“Aaron.”

He stopped short when he heard his name, looked at her with some of his anger melting into sadness, feeling betrayed even though he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

“I didn’t start it,” he could barely get the words out, hated how much he wanted her to believe him, hated that he had to explain himself.

She rubbed her face, trying to think as she pressed her palm against her lips. She found she was more frightened of this new emotion than she was of the anger. He looked so hopeless.

“I’m sorry, I just…” she didn’t know what to say now that she’d gotten him to stop, now that she could see past the heated front of anger and could see some of the broken edges he did so much to hide. Wasn’t this what she’d been asking for?

He watched her struggle with what to say, saw the moment the pity started to creep into her eyes. Before she could say anything else, before she could make him feel worse, he started walking again, pushing past her. “Just leave me alone,” he muttered. He didn’t bother to check if she followed.

When he reached the clearing it was empty except for one person stretched out on a broken down couch. At first all he could see was the back of their head, the dirty blond hair sticking up in places. The recognition was a visceral feeling, clawing through his chest. He almost couldn’t believe it was real, that he was getting exactly what he hoped for. Cole sat up when he heard Aaron’s heavy footsteps cracking through the dead leaves and sticks littering the ground. He remained seated, looking at Aaron idly, as if no time had passed, as if he’d only been waiting for Aaron to turn up after class. Aaron felt so many conflicting emotions, had so many things he wanted to say that he could only stand with his jaw clenched against the flood of words he knew he would regret. Cole twitched the corner of his mouth in a slightly mocking smile and Aaron snapped. He grabbed Cole by the collar, pulling him to his feet, unsure whether he meant to strangle him or kiss him. Cole’s gaze shifted to look behind him.

“Why’d you bring your girlfriend with you?”

Too caught up in the charge of the moment, Aaron didn’t understand what he was talking about. Cole pulled away and lifted his chin in the direction he was facing. Aaron turned and saw Haley. She’d continued to follow him, concerned about what he was planning on doing, haunted by the hollowed out look in his eyes. She stood, apprehensive, eyes darting between the two.

He scowled. “Go back to school Haley.”

“But—are you okay?” She stumbled over her words, staring openly at Cole. She’d seen him in the distance, even noticed how Aaron sometimes watched him when their paths crossed. He looked even more menacing up close.

“I’m fine.” His mouth pressed together, biting his lower lip to keep his composure. He didn’t understand why she was being so persistent, why she wouldn’t just go away like everyone else. When she still hesitated he got impatient. There were things he needed to handle and he didn’t need her here getting in the way. He waved his hand at her, brushing away her attention. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

From behind him Cole fluttered his fingers at her with false sweetness. She hated the way he was grinning at her, his obvious confidence that he was the one in charge of the situation. She glared at him and he laughed.

She looked one more time at Aaron, who was no longer paying attention to her, had turned back to Cole entirely. She shook her head. Fine, if he wanted this it was hardly her problem.  What did she even know of his life anyway? Trying not to feel like she’d lost, she retraced the path back to school.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Aaron started in on Cole. His thoughts were disorganized and barely coherent but he’d spent weeks trying to understand the sudden distance. He needed Cole to explain, to know his reasons for turning on him so quickly after all that they’d shared.

“What the fuck—” He hadn’t finished his question before Cole clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Shut up.”

Their eyes met and there was a mental struggle for the upper hand. One thing that had changed in the past few weeks was Aaron’s strength. No longer constantly submerged in a haze of intoxication, he felt everything more pointedly and he was ready to direct that pain elsewhere. He wanted to bite Cole, to scratch at his face, to scream at him for way he’d been abandoned, the sickness and shame he’d had to endure on his own. But the warmth of Cole’s palm, the familiar smell of his skin, the muscle memory of being in this exact position was too much. He relented almost instantly, sinking into the couch, pulling his knees up against his chest and waiting to see what Cole would do next.

Cole watched him thoughtfully, interested by this new spark of resistance but also pleased that he hadn’t made it too far on his own. A little fight kept things interesting, staved off the boredom Cole so often felt. It was probably that girl he’d been with, giving him ideas. He could see he’d have to do some damage control to bring Aaron back completely.

“I’m sorry,” he looked down, measuring drops of sincerity. “My grandma, she saw…she said she was going to report you.”

Aaron was confused, he didn’t know exactly what she could report about him but he heard the edge in Cole’s voice, knew better than to dig deeper. Cole sat down beside him, pulling one of his hands loose from where he’d wrapped it tightly around his legs. He traced Aaron’s palm with his thumb, looking into his face again.

“You know I didn’t mean it right? I didn’t have a choice.”

Aaron recoiled, sickened by the number of times those words had echoed through his life. Worse though was how easily he was willing to give into them if it only meant he could have back a little of that warmth he had found. He ducked his head and shrugged.

Cole squeezed his hand. “Good, cause I think I’ve got something you’ll like.” He let go and dug around in the couch cushions, pulling out a crumpled paper bag. When he smiled at Aaron, that familiar greedy smile, Aaron admitted to himself that he wasn’t here to fight with Cole, that he had never been coming for that. This was all he wanted, was all he was good for: to be lied to and to be led astray. He didn’t mind as long as he didn’t have to be fully present for it. He sat up a little straighter.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

They fell back in with one another but it remained uneasy. Aaron was still not allowed back at Cole’s house and he was afraid to miss too much class. Lately his father had been grumbling about sending him away and he wasn’t entirely sure he meant away to live somewhere else or away from life entirely. There were no peaceful interactions between them, only lucky days where Aaron successfully avoided being seen. A sudden increase in truancy calls would not work out well for him. If he had been a little more mature, a little less caught up in his own teenage drama, he might have noticed the changes in his father’s face, the way the lines grew deeper as his frame grew thinner. As it was he only noticed as much as he needed to know to keep himself out of the direct path of destruction. He once might have cared to notice his mother crying more, even when his father wasn’t there to be the cause of it but he was long past feeling any sort of connection to her. If she was troubled, she could find someone else to support her. She certainly hadn’t done anything to help him all these years. Nothing that he could see.

At school Haley continued to pester him. She stood up for him against the accusations that he had attacked Matt for no reason so he was still allowed at play rehearsals. He went grudgingly, only because he couldn’t shake the way he felt bewitched by Haley. Now he tried even harder to stay out of any social situations, to keep things strictly professional with the group of theater kids. However, he couldn’t help but enjoy Haley’s company at lunch and in between classes. Much as Aaron had disliked her friends, he couldn’t resist the brilliance of her personality. She made him feel like being a whole person was possible, made him forget for a few moments what he really was. She may have made him a little uncomfortable but she was relentlessly kind, and he was more than expert at keeping things hidden so he let her think she was doing some good as she badgered him into eating more and forced him to study. Even if it was only pretend, they were both getting something from it.

Only after the school day was over would he would slink away to the woods where he’d meet Cole. Cole still wasn’t speaking to him on campus, too aware of how their obvious closeness before had been risky. He hadn’t changed in their time apart either, his mood still swinging wildly from affection to disgust. It didn’t feel great but Aaron needed him, needed what Cole could give him. Attention and a steady supply of drugs. He didn’t have to worry about his insufficiencies around Cole, they were too similar for him to care about hiding the difficult parts of his life, didn’t have to worry about being pitied, about someone trying to fix him. They’d dragged more furniture into the abandoned shed, found an old metal trashcan they could burn things in to warm the place as the months crept deeper into the dark end of the year.

By the time Aaron’s sixteenth birthday came and went he felt like he was leading a completely fractured life. At home he was a ghost at best, a target when not; with Haley a treasured curiosity, constantly examined and prodded into a more acceptable shape; and with Cole, he was himself, angry and violent but self-medicated to the point where none of it mattered. Any gentleness that had existed between them over the summer was gone, every interaction was rough and scrambling, followed by a shame that only dissipated once the high kicked in.

It became harder to hold all the pieces together. He would look at himself in the mirror and struggle to remember his own name. He started smoking pot during the day again, just to ease some of the jarring transitions. At lunch, Haley talked and talked and he wouldn’t notice when she asked him a question until she poked him in the bicep and he jumped like a startled cat. When she tried to ask him about it he got annoyed, snapping at her and walking away from school, not caring that it was the middle of the day and that this bad choice was sure to come back to him that evening.

The show opening got closer as he missed more rehearsals. He missed so many that he didn’t know what he should be doing when he was there, very obviously sticking out when he went one way while the rest of the corps moved in the other direction. The drama teacher pulled him aside, giving him an ultimatum that he needed to be present at every subsequent rehearsal or he would be cut. Not so secretly hoping this would be enough to get him to leave. He started to say he didn’t give a shit about her stupid play when he saw Haley anxiously watching their conversation and swallowed his insults, only nodding, looking away so the teacher wouldn’t see his contempt for someone who could think something like a high school play mattered at all.

He made it to all the rehearsals but he was sure to be high, not enough that he would be caught but enough to be clear that it didn’t matter to him if he did. He wasn’t sure why he continued to come, why Haley had such a pull on him. It didn’t make sense that he wanted so badly to make her happy when she was so different, so far removed from everything else in his life. Maybe it was that he knew that without her, there was nothing tying him to the regular world, the place of school and society and jobs and futures. She was the only person that seemed to care if he was around, an emotion he was long past feeling for himself. She was the last reminder that he was a human being, that he mattered to someone. It was the only thing standing between him and completely giving in to the destructive force that had been whispering promises of an easy solution to his problems.

It was just enough to keep him behaved around these people who hated him without knowing anything about him. They hated what he represented, hated the way he forced them to see that the world could be ugly and painful. They were offended that he dared to show himself among the normal people when he so clearly belonged to the underside. He kept quiet and kept close to Haley when he was at school, when he was in the theater. He wore the stupid costume, the silly hat, followed the directions barked at him, sang just loud enough to carry the rest. Then he slipped away as soon as he was able.

The week of the opening performance was a bad one. Cole, having recently gotten his hands on some speed, was off on a manic high. Aaron had tried it once but hated the way the uppers spiked his anxiety, the way he felt every eye on him like his skin had turned inside out. After that first time he had declined, preferring to find oblivion in whatever downers were available. But Cole liked it quite a bit. It made his already unpredictable nature even worse, even more dangerous. He’d spend these highs running all over town, breaking car windows for fun, stealing anything worth a couple dollars. Aaron hated it and did his best to hide from him while he was strung out like that.

The afternoon of the show’s opening he’d gone to an old, private hiding spot after school with the intention of getting so stoned he couldn’t feel anything that might come his way later. He succeeded only to remember belatedly what day it was. Haley had tried to remind him several times during the day but he’d been too high, too distracted to listen. Swearing, he ran back to school, not sure what time it was or what time he was supposed to have been there.

The house lights were already off, the audience quiet as the opening bars played. He raced to get into his costume, having to re-button his shirt more than once as the tiny objects refused to line up properly. He gripped his hat as he stumbled into the wings to the sound of the chorus coming in—the chorus he was supposed to be a part of. He thought he could probably just slide onto the end of the line without attracting too much attention. Unfortunately, he found his path blocked by the drama teacher, her face dark and angry, completely out of patience for this mess of a teenager. She stared at him, his eyes red and glassy, skin pale, insultingly obvious in his intoxication.

“No.”

He looked at her unfazed, barely registering her as more than an object to move around. When he tried to step past her, she blocked him again.

“Go home Aaron,” her voice was quiet but unfriendly.

He shook his head, “I’m going to miss my cue.”

She frowned, surprised that he was aware enough to even know when his part was. “You’re high, you can’t be on school property.”

Aaron glanced into her face now, paying attention. No teacher had ever mentioned being able to tell he was not sober before.

“If you don’t leave now, I will call the police.”

He stepped back, narrowing his eyes, gauging how serious she was, if she would really draw that much attention to the situation. Her expression didn’t change and he could tell she meant it. He looked past her once more, seeing Haley step forward into the spotlight to begin her solo. His heart twisted, thinking about how disappointed she’d be that he couldn’t make this happen for her. He’d tried, tried so hard to keep it together for this. She’d been so excited and even though he couldn’t feel any of that, he liked the way it lit up her face when she talked about the performance, about how her parents and her sister would be in the audience, about how she wanted them to meet him. He’d never planned on staying for that but he’d wanted to at least be part of the show, to at least give her that.

“Now, Hotchner,” she insisted, voice cold and unsympathetic. He shrugged and tossed the hat on the ground by her feet before turning and walking out.

He headed straight for the shed, knowing there were supplies there that he had slowly siphoned away when Cole was too high to notice. He’d been saving them, watching his little stockpile grow larger. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was saving it for, exactly what his intention was but now seemed as good a time as any to find out. He hoped Cole wasn’t there, at least not until he could get his fix. Nothing would matter then.

Once inside he turned on the camp lantern he’d stolen and climbed onto a rickety chair to reach the seam between the roof and the wall. He pulled out his supplies, examining them as he settled back down on the dirty old cushions on the floor and wrapped a blanket around himself. It was an old army surplus thing, scratchy and smelling of smoke but effective against the chill. He considered his options. There was a good amount in there, probably enough for two people if he waited for Cole to turn up. He could maybe ease him out of his frenzy, bring him down to Aaron’s level, to the place where they could float through time without moving, without worrying. He thought about the last time he’d seen him, the way his eyes had moved past him without any real recognition. He thought about the dark purple bruises on his wrist where Cole had grabbed him, twisting his arm and insisting Aaron give him whatever money he had.

Fuck him, he decided.

Cole would probably be angry if he came here and found Aaron high without him, would be suspicious of how that had come to be. He would probably regret not leaving any for him but just at that moment he didn’t care. Hurt and love and shame and desire were all the same to him, all more than he wanted to feel. He just wanted to feel nothing. He set himself up quickly, well practiced and sure of his movements. He glanced around the shed once, really seeing his surroundings, seeing how far he had sunk and he laughed as he pressed the plunger down. Anyone who heard him would have been alarmed, the sound more like an animal caught in a trap than an expression of human joy. His last thought as he sank back into the ground was that it really was too much for one person. Too much to be doing alone. Then he got what he wanted and everything was just black.

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Forty Two

Ron goes back to his room with a lot on his mind. 

He hopes he doesn’t let it show because Hermione always has been and always will be inquisitive. The second she realizes something’s off she won’t be shy about asking him about it. 

And he’s always been a shite liar and she’s always been persistent and both of those things are amplified given their current situation. He isn’t even sure he could lie to her again if he tried. 

“She’s always just wanted you Ron.” 

Harry’s word plays over and over with every step he climbs up to the attic. 

Admittedly, Ron’s been nothing short of emotional as of late and he knows Harry wouldn’t play with his feelings or get his hopes up. Especially now. 

When he faces his door he does his best to drop all the selfish thoughts he has about Hermione wanting him. About her admitting as much to him as the two of them live out the rest of their days not only as best friends, but as lovers. 

Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath and wipes his sweaty palms on his jean clad legs. 

Healer appointment. Focus on the healers appointment. 

With that last thought, he turns the brass knob and pushes his creaking door open. 

Thankfully, Hermione’s awake and looks better than she did when he left. He was afraid she was going to be sick last time he saw her. The look of disgust and the palness across her features after repeating Bellatrix’s words was an image pungent in his mind. 

However, now she looks calmer. Her nose is in a book, the book he gifted her no less, as Narcissa sits behind her and gently strokes her hair which is now in a loose plait. 

“Hey.” He says softly. 

She peers up from the text and offers a shaky smile. Though it seems forced, the look in her brown eyes lets him know she’s grateful for his presence and that alone makes him feel like he can do anything. 

Soon Harry appears from behind him, breaking whatever trance he and Hermione were locked into. 

“Hello.” The Chosen One says a bit stiffly, no doubt because of the fourth person in the room. “Did Ron tell you the plan?” He asks aloud. 

The ginger inwardly groaned at his abruptness, “I was getting to that, thank you.” 

“What plan?” Narcissa asks as Hermione also perks up. 

“Just that Harry will stay at The Burrow with Narcissa while you and I go to your appointment. This way he can keep Mum from poking around.” Ron says casually, knowing the subject of her going to St. Mungo was a bit sensitive ever since she found out about her magic. Or rather, lack thereof.

“Very well.” Narcissa says slipping out from behind Hermione and rising from the bed. “Do you mind if I use the loo before the lot of you leave? Two footsteps will be less suspicious when there are three of you up here.” She says. 

Weasley flicks his eyes to an annoyed looking Harry before he sighs aloud. 

“Alright, I’ll show you.” He agrees half heartedly as he walks out of the room. 

Once they leave Ron shuts the door softly before stepping further into the room and sitting at the edge of his bed, by her sock covered feet. 

“Your hair looks pretty.” He tells her. 

At this, Hermione twinges pink as her uninjured nimble fingers softly caress the intricately woven hair. 

He swallows, willing himself to ask what he needs to say, “Are you ready for the appointment?” 

The blush immediately leaves her cheeks as her entire face turns a ghostly white. 

“Mione.” He says sadly, placing his hand gently on her uncasted calf and giving it a small squeeze. 

Suddenly her nose scrunches as a small sniffle sounds. 

“No, come on, please don’t. It’ll be alright I swear.” She tips her head down, “Hey, you’re still as much of a witch as you ever were.” 

Hermione’s eyes remained trained on the orange quilt. Gently, Ron reaches out and tips her chin up with two fingers. 

“How many witches or wizards, for that matter, can say that they’ve gotten all O’s? Or how many underage wizards have apparated without a license, without so much as a lesson? Not even Dumbledore.” 

At this she lets out a watery chuckle. It sounds strangled, but it’s something. 

“There she is.” He smiles as her eyes finally meet his. His face turns serious, as he goes on, “No witch or wizard can say they’ve endured the Cruciatus Curse as much as you and still be alive, to still be brilliant. And besides Harry, not many can say they even survived You-Know-Who.” The voice grew quiet hoping his words wouldn't upset her, but help her realize how special she is. 

A few tears leak out of her eyes but after a moment she bites her lip hard and slowly nods. 

“Brightest Witch of Our Age.” He whispers softly as he leans in close to her. 

At the feeling of his breath tickling the loose strands of her hair she allows her eyes to flutter shut as she revels in him. 

The smell of him, the feel of him. 

The feeling of the boy- no man she’s come to love. 

It’s strange really, when did her brave Gryffindor keeper, once a little boy whose biggest fear was spiders and greatest desire was to be locked alone in Honeydukes, become a man?

Somehow it just makes her realize she loves him even more than she thought possible. 

That’s why this appointment was so important. 

It was the one thing giving her hope to one day talk again, so that she could talk so much he’d get tired of her. That she could work up the courage to share her experiences, but also tell him thank you. 

Tell him “I love you’. 

Sighing, so her breath mingles with his, she leans forward and presses her forehead gently against his. Letting him know she hears him, that she’s grateful for his words. 

In turn, he presses against her, shifting one hand to her hair to hold her more firmly, but still gently against him. 

One of her shaking hands works its way to his cheeks as she speaks, “R-ready.” She promises. 

They wish they could stay in this moment forever. 

...

Mr. Weasley had taken some time off of work to drive Hermione and Ron into London. 

She felt terrible she drew him away from such important duties on her behalf, only growing her frustrations about not being able to travel more efficiently. 

Of course Ron had sensed her guilt when his father mentioned as much. He was becoming rather inquisitive these days. So, he took Hermione’s hand in the back seat and whispered to her that she was the most important thing right now to him and his family. 

Though the comment made her blush like mad and didn’t do a whole lot to ease the fact she felt like a burden, she just nodded. 

It’s not like she could say much anyway. 

However, what it did make her think of was something else. A terrible thought, if you ask her. 

The fact of the matter is, it shouldn’t be Ron’s father driving her to St. Mungo’s, it should be hers. 

And if they were alive right now, she’s sure that would be the case. Her father behind the wheel and her Mum in the passenger seat. She was never one for driving through London traffic. 

God she missed them. 

She missed them so much that they seemed to be everywhere. 

When they pass a fabric shop on the way in, she’s reminded of how much her Mum loved to sew. Or when they were at a stop light and on the corner was a father buying his young daughter an ice cream cone, she’s reminded of when her father would do the same with her at the park by her house.

Her house. She misses that too. 

She misses the memories there. She misses what she used to know she was coming home to. 

Her parents. 

Now it was just full of things. 

Full of things that she wanted. Things that represented her parents and things that they loved. 

Things that would help her feel closer to them. 

If she even deserves to feel that way. Wherever they are, they’re probably ashamed to have her as a daughter. 

She’s a liar. She got them killed. They died because she was caught up in the magical world and now she can’t even cast a bloody charm anymore. 

None of this was worth it. 

Hermione’s doing her best not to cry. Knowing if she does, Ron will surely comfort her, something she doesn’t deserve. 

She doesn’t deserve to be told her parents loved her and that they’d be proud of her and everything she’s done. Because even if that were true, her parents shouldn’t think that of her. 

Not after all she’s done. 

Whether it's a good or bad thing, her thoughts come to a stand still, as does the car, as it pulls up to St. Mungo’s. 

Arthur turns in the drivers seat to look at the teens, “Alright, Ronnie you help Hermione out, I’ll open the door.” He instructs his son. 

Complying, Ron unbuckles his seat belt and goes to the boot to take out her chair. At first he struggles to unfold it, but soon he gets it as he wheels it to her now open door, thanks to his Dad.

Bending down and into the back seat he looks at her, noting the far off look in her eyes, but choosing not to comment. He’d fear this would happen. 

“I’ll lift you alright? Only for a moment, just don’t want you to get hurt.” He tells her, knowing how much she must hate needing all this help, even though no part of him minds giving it to her. 

She nods slowly, awaiting his embrace. 

When it comes, she grips onto his jumper tightly during the transition before being placed down effortlessly on her new companion, which she loathed. 

Hopefully this visit won’t be a total bust and they’ll give her crutches at the very least. 

Ron grabbed the handles and began guiding her through the front doors as his father followed next to them. Once inside, Arthur stopped, turning to face the pair. 

“Would it be alright if you guys headed up on your own? Kingsley told me earlier he’d be here to help work on an appeal for Hermione’s apparating underage and unlicensed fine. He needs some of your records to prove it was a necessity and I’ve got to sign off on it.” He told the pair. 

Great, just another thing the Weasley’s and now Mr. Shacklebolt had to worry about. 

Hermione just nodded. If the poor man was missing work to take her, at the very least she’d let him get some done here. 

“Very well. Good luck. Remember, third floor Ronnie. I’ll come up when I’m done.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ron said, shooing him off as he made his way to the lift. 

When they finally reach the Spell Damage ward, Ron looks as if he may be ill. Hermione supposes he spent a lot of time in this waiting room, worrying himself sick. 

She contemplates reaching out and grabbing his hand to let him know it was okay, that this time she was here with him. 

Just as she’s about to go through with it, she becomes distracted by two voices across from her. 

A woman and a man. They look to be middle aged and the matching rings tell her what she needs to know. They’re clearly married. 

“Your Mum’s signing some paperwork now, your Dad’s with her as well.” The man told her gently. 

The shorter one, with glasses, nods, “I reckon we’ll need to start the arrangements won’t we?” She sniffles. 

“Arrangements? What arrangements Delia?” 

“The funeral for Gran. Mum will be a wreck, we should help…” The words fade as she stops listening.

Hermione’s eyes grow wide at the words as she peers up at Ron, gently tugging on his sleeve. 

He looks down at her, she looks so small, so fragile, yet so gorgeous. 

“W-want th-at.” She croaks with doe-like eyes. 

Could this be it? Could this be the moment? She was just watching that couple snogging in the corner, after all. 

“What do you want darling? Anything you need and I’ll give it to you.” 

And he means it. 

Weakly she points to where the two of them stood, now embracing, rather than engaged in a lip lock. 

A hug? Does she want a hug? 

Merlin, just ask! Don’t eff this up. 

“I’m not sure I understand.” He tells her softly, definitely not the first time he’s said that to her. 

“A-a,” he can tell she’s getting emotional as his stomach pulls in anticipation, “fu-funeral.” She whispers brokenly. 

And shite, he wants to punch himself in the face for being such a prat and getting his hopes up in a hospital of all places, while she's grieving on top of that all!

“For your parents?” He asks knowingly. 

She nods slowly, moving one hand to wipe at her eyes. 

It breaks his heart. 

“Alright, we can do that.” He promises her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. He would do anything she asked. “I’ll talk to Mum about it when we get back. We’ll prepare it just how you want. Something to honor your parents… and your grandmother.” 

Okay, now he really wishes he punched himself in the face! That really was not at all how he intended to break that news to her, but it just sort of came out. The couple in the corner was whispering about their own grandmother and he just- ugh! He hates himself. 

Her bottom lip quivers before the floodgates open. 

Instantly, he crushes her best he can to his chest, quieting her cries with the front of his jumper. 

“Sh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it- I-” He inhales a shaky breath, “I have the letter at home that your parents sent. They said it was peaceful, that she thought of you and that she’s with your grandfather now.” 

At his words her glassy eyes grow wide again. The words offer a little comfort to her. To have something from her parents and something about her grandmother waiting for her. 

Something she knows she can have. 

“I’ll give it to you first thing when we get back to The Burrow.” He swears, unashamedly pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

Thankfully, he feels her nod into him, taking it as a good sign that she’s still receptive to his words. 

“Hampstead.” It takes her a while to say as her voice shakes over every syllable. 

“You wanna have it in Hampstead?” He tries. 

She shakes her head. 

“G-go.” She feels stupid, honestly. Babies can form fuller sentences then she can but she really is lacking the energy to have at it right now. 

“You wanna see your house?” He whispers slowly into her ear. 

Thank god Ron knows her as well as he does. 

She nods. 

Without a thought, he pulls her closer and responds. “Of course. I’ll talk to Dad about it. I’ll talk to my parents about everything you want, it’s the least I can do. And if they say no Mione, I promise I’ll bring you there myself darling.” 

He supposes it really is a conversation he and his parents need to have, not only for travel purposes but also for Hermione’s own sake. Arthur saw her house after the attack, he needs to make sure nothing there will set her off in any way. And if there is something, he wants it gone. 

Because Hermione wants to see her house and if he can give her anything, he was sure as hell going to. 

And maybe because she’s exhausted both physically, from traveling, and emotionally from all she’s just found out, but she can’t bring herself to verbally thank Ron. 

Instead she snakes one hand to rest on his cheek and gently places her lips there. 

Her lips on his skin makes him feel warm and tingly inside. He’s briefly taken back to the first time she’s done this, before his fifth year quidditch match. 

He remembers a time not too long ago where he thought that would be the closest he ever got to kissing Hermione. 

Having her here like this again, he knows to never take advantage of that again.

Of her. 

When she pulls back a pretty blush is on her cheeks, as he feels his own face burn red. 

He offers her a grin, one that Hermione could only describe as purely Ron. 

She has no choice but to offer a small, real, genuine smile in return. 

“Hermione Granger!” A shrill voice calls out, ruining the moment. 

He sighs, but stands up, maneuvering her chair to the mediwitch. 

“Hello.” He tells the woman. 

“You’re Hermione Granger?” She asks, not looking up from the clipboard, not bothering with a hello. 

“Well no, she is.” He says, as if the wheelchair wasn’t a dead giveaway. Oh yeah and the fact he was a bloke. 

“Will you be coming in with her?” She asks next, scrubbing something onto the parchment with her quill. 

“Uh…”

“Well?” The woman finally looks at the pair, glasses pushed down to her nose as she taps her nails against the board impatiently. 

Hermione nods for Ron, making him breathe a sigh in relief, he didn’t want to assume anything, but he hoped. 

“Very well. This way please.” The witch says next as she walks along the corridor. 

Soon enough the witch leads them to a room, which much to both Ron and Hermione’s relife, looks nothing like the one she was staying in for so long. 

It’s more of a standard exam room. A high up table with a thin sheet pulled over it, a chair next to it, as well as a scale in the corner. It reminded Hermione a lot of her Muggle physician’s office. 

Hermione sat idly in the chair, not even bothering with mounting the high table, waiting for the mediwitch to check her vitals, or something. After all, this was her first healing appointment. 

Instead, the woman places the clipboard down and turns to them. “Healer Jamison just finished with another patient. He’ll be in soon.” With that, she leaves. 

In her wake, Hermione can’t help but find the fact she didn’t examine her at all very odd. It soon dawns on her that if the unhealed bruises and cuts aren’t enough of a reminder, that her body can’t handle magic. 

Before Ron can even speak to her, ask how she is, things like that, a knock sounds on the door. 

After a moment, the door is pushed open. Hermione doesn’t remember him all that well, but she knows it's Healer Jamison. He’s a plump, older man, with a scruffy white beard and thin white hair to match. 

“Hello Miss Granger.” He says before turning to Ron, “Mr. Weasley.” he nods. 

“Hello sir.” Ron says, knowing Hermione probably felt rude for being unable to properly greet the man. 

“Before we begin with anything else, I have to ask, have you been able to speak?” 

Hermione gulps and shakes her head, almost in embarrassment. 

“That’s alright.” The healer assures, “I’m just going to take a look at your throat. Better for us to be safe.” 

In acknowledgment, Hermione nods, knowing what this entails. However, instead of pulling out a flashlight, the man lights a lumos on the tip of his wand. 

“Open.” He tells her. 

The brunette does as she’s asked, sticking her tongue out as far as it can go so he can get a good look. After a moment, he seems satisfied, because he pulls his wand away and she closes her mouth. 

“There’s a bit of phlegm building up in there. Have you been having trouble breathing?” He asks her. 

She shakes her head. 

“Alright, if you notice, please come in immediately. Also, keep an eye out if you begin coughing every now and again, but there’s nothing to worry about right now.” 

Yeah, except for the fact I can’t even string along a sentence. 

Next, Jamison checked her cuts and bruises. He redressed a few wounds and put new bandages on the nastier ones. After, he asked her about her leg and arm, both in casts, asking her to hold up a number from one to five on how bad the pains were. 

Ron’s chest tightens when she holds up a five. 

“Now, for the next part of the exam, I’m afraid this is going to be a bit of a risk.”

“Risk?” Ron asks as Hermione goes stiff. 

“Yes. I need to perform a scan to check on the remnants of dark magic in her system.” He says to Ron before directing his attention back to Hermione. “Our hope is that some of your cells killed it off, but we can’t be sure. The scan doesn’t require a lot of magic on my end, therefore a lot won’t be put into your body Miss Granger, but there is a possibility it could do a lot of damage. Do you consent to a scan?” 

Ron turns to look at her, hoping she’ll refuse. 

Of course she doesn’t. 

“Y-yes.” She chokes out. 

Jamison seems pleased with her words and the fact she spoke aloud. 

“Very well. Give me a moment to page Healer Evangeline. We’ll need another professional in the room just in case.” With that, he exited. 

“Mione.” Ron moaned painfully, not even being able to fathom the thought of her hurt or worse again. 

She looks at him and frowns. 

She had to say yes. He knows that. He knows how much her magic means to her, he just wishes things were different. 

“I know. I know, I just- I don’t wanna see you hurt love, not again.” Never again. 

Hermione reaches over and squeezes his hand. Trying to let him know she’ll be okay. Deep down he knows she will be too, she’s too strong to let a medical scan best her. 

At least he hopes. 

Not even a moment later another knock sounds as Jamison walks in with a younger looking woman with dark brown hair and glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looks vaguely familiar. 

“Hello Miss Granger. I’m Healer Evangeline, we worked a bit together but you were pretty out of it.” She tells the girl. 

Hermione likes her, she seems sweet. 

“Hello Ron.” She adds after the fact. 

Ron waves weakly, too stressed about what could happen to form coherent words. 

“Now, we’ve discussed the risks, but one thing I can assure you is that you’re going to feel very tired after, alright?” Jamison informs, making Hermione nod weakly. “Mr. Weasley, would you mind laying Miss Granger down on the table?”

Ron complies, gently lifting her onto the scratchy sheet. Once he sets her down, he grabs her hand, and she accepts by weaving their fingers together and trying to offer a smile. 

He sees it falter, he knows she’s as scared as he is. 

“Alright, are you ready for me to begin?” The older man asks. 

Reluctantly Hermione nods, as her grip on Ron’s hand tightens. 

The edge of Jamison's wand lights a tealish color as the light stretches forward and works its way up Hermione’s body. 

Upon the impact she jumps slightly as her eyes shut tightly and her face contorted in pain. 

“Stop!” Ron roared. 

Evangeline placed a hand on his shoulder, “it’s almost done. She’ll be fine. She’s strong.” The woman reminds him. 

Trying to ground himself, Ron focuses on the feel of her hand as he begins whispering to her quietly, “Come on Mione. You’re okay, love. You got this.” 

It’s eerily similar to when he’d talk to her whilst she was unctuous, when he was unsure she would ever wake again. 

The thought makes him sick. 

Thankfully, the light soon goes back into Jamison's wand as the room fades back to normal and Hermione’s body visibly relaxes. 

“Very good.” He praises. 

Meanwhile, Ron wipes some sweat from her forehead, placing a light kiss in his hands wake. “You’re brilliant.” He whispers. 

Tiredly, she looks up at him. 

“I’m going to go read the results.” Jamison interrupts. “It’ll just take me a few minutes. In the meantime Healer Evangeline has some of her own examinations to perform on Miss Granger, yes?” 

The woman nods, “Yes. Ron, would you mind giving us some privacy?”

While he didn’t love the idea of leaving her alone he understood some things he shouldn’t see. Like if she was checking any cuts on her chest or ribs, knowing she had broken a few. Or maybe in more personal spots.

Though she surely didn’t have an injury down there. Right? Wait, what even was Healer Evangeline’s title anyway?

“Right yeah. I’ll be right outside.” He tells Hermione more than anyone else, as he follows Jamison out of the room. 

In the waiting room, he can’t help but let his curiosity get the best of him as he walks over to the information desk. 

“Excuse me.” He says to the little wizard behind it. 

“How can I help you sir?” He asks politely, large improvement from the mediwitch. 

“Hi, I was wondering what Healer Evangeline specialized in?” He gulped, wow he sounded like a right tosser. 

“Evangeline is our leading gynecologist here at St. Mungo’s!” He praised.

Ron went pale. 

“Is your girl pregnant? She’s the best with stuff like that.” 

“Uh- uh.” He stutters unsure what to say. 

“I won’t tell, don’t worry. Good luck kid.” The man smiles before returning to his paperwork. 

Slowly, Ron sauntered back over to the door. He pressed his back against the wall next to it and hunched over. He placed his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths. 

He wasn’t daft, he knew what women's healers did. 

It was just standard, wasn't it? Relax Ron. Nothings wrong. You’re overthinking. Death Eaters aren’t that bad right? 

Part of him knows he’s kidding himself. 

Images and thoughts flash in his brain that make him think of nothing but pure murder. His fists clench at his sides as his jaw tightens. 

Deep breaths Ron. Deep breaths. Just ask Mum when you go home if it's routine. Don’t freak out. Not here. Don’t do that to Hermione. 

Over and over Ron told himself it was procedure until Jamison returned. 

“Alright my boy?” He asked, noticing his heaving. 

Taking a shaking breath Ron nodded. 

Jamison furrows his brow but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he knocks on the door and after hearing a ‘come in’ from Evangeline, the pair enter. 

Upon seeing Hermione again Ron eases a bit knowing she’s okay. That she’s here. That whatever they did to her they will never be able to do again. 

With a flick of his wand a large image is projected of what seems to be a white outline covered in black blobs. 

“Here’s your scan.” 

Ron tenses, now focused on an entirely new problem. 

That’s a lot of dark magic. 

“Not much has changed, just the magic moving throughout your body. There has been slight improvement and it’s good news that you were able to withstand the scan today. The hope now is that as your external cuts heal, your body will then be able to exert its energy on internal matters. So while it isn’t the best news, it’s not bad either. Keep taking it easy. It is crucial that you heal in order to do magic again, alright?” 

The news upsets Hermione. Like Jamison said, it's not terrible, but it’s not great. She wants to cry at the imprint Bellatrix left on her. 

At the fact that she’s essentially made her into the thing she always taunted heart as being, magicless. 

But right now, she’s too exhausted to even think properly, her body so spent from undergoing magic. 

“I can tell you’re exhausted. If any questions come up please floo me.” Jamison comments, signaling Ron to move her to the chair. 

She’s so limp in his arms, clearly fighting off sleep. Once he places her down he squats and brushes some of her hair back. “Rest now, love. It’ll be okay.” He promises. 

Weakly she nods as her eyes flutter shut as her head luls to the side. 

“Thank you both so much, but I reckon we should get going. I know my Mum will want to floo you Jamison so you’ll hear from us soon. I know this one will have a lot of questions as well.” he says weakly. 

“Of course son, let me get the door for you.” 

With another exchange of thank you’s, Ron leaves. He finds his Dad in the lobby as they walk together to the car. On the way he fills him in best he can, biting his tongue about the questions he has about Healer Evangeline. The good news is, his father says the fine for Hermione apparating without a license should be dropped within the week. 

Other than that they don’t speak.

Ron just enjoys Hermione’s sleeping form across his lap as he strokes her hair. Letting the feeling be a reminder that she’s here with him. 

The whole way home his thoughts are plagued by the things Hermione probably underwent in that place. Unforgivables. Starvation. Physical torment. Torture. Maybe even worse things. 

It makes him sick. 

He supposes the thought of not knowing almost makes it worse, like he has no choice but to theorize the worse. This is certainly something he and Narcissa will need to discuss. 

Then he thinks of her wish to have a funeral. 

The promise he made her of going to visit Hampstead. 

He knows he should do it before Hermione wakes up, hoping it’ll take one thing off her plate. Like Jamison said, she needs to rest. To heal. 

Soon enough he sees the crooked shape of The Burrow come into view as his father pulls up onto the grass. 

Ron opts for carrying her into the house, not bothering with the chair. It worries him a bit that she doesn’t even stir. 

“Go put her upstairs, then come down. I’m sure your Mum will want to know about the appointment.” Arthur says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Ron nods and takes the steps two at a time. 

He lays Hermione in his bed gently, tucking the quilt around her. 

“I’ll be back soon, darling.” He promises before going back down the steps. 

When he arrives back in the living room he finds his parents talking in hushed whispers and his Mum, for whatever reason, looks right pissed. She has her arms crossed against her chest and a scowl on her face. 

“Mum, Dad I need to talk to you about something.” He says gently, hoping that her anger wasn’t directed at him. 

“Conveniently, I need to discuss something with you as well. Shall we go to the kitchen.” She’s not asking as she’s already pushing her way there. 

Ron isn't sure why she’s so angry. He was surprised and almost a little embarrassed that she didn’t even ask about Hermione’s appointment. Nevertheless, he follows, trying to recall whatever the hell he did to piss her off. 

Just last night she was praising him, telling him how proud she was of him. 

His eyes bulge at the sight he’s met by, as do his fathers. 

“You wanted to talk to Ronald? Let’s talk.” She bites out. 

Ron’s eyes flick over to where Harry is standing, looking uncomfortable and apologetic. 

He mouths a quick ‘sorry’ to his best mate. Ron ignores it, eyes too focused on the fact that standing next to Harry is Ginny and next to Ginny, is Narcissa Malfoy.

[freshouttaparsnips]

The interesting thing about working at a grocery store was that typically you got all your groceries and miscellaneous from the same place you worked.

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next chapter XD this time with the Fell bros ;)

tags: Homelessness issues, flat tires

read chapter 2: Meeting the Fell Bros on Ao3

or read it below!!

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The interesting thing about working at a grocery store was that typically you got all your groceries and miscellaneous from the same place you worked. It was a nice enough shop; the owners carried anything and everything, sort of like a Dollar Tree, only with a little more quality. But on occasion, on rare, rare occasion, you needed something they didn’t have, which led you to heading over to the local (and by local it was a half hour drive) Walmart.

You detested Walmart, not only because you couldn’t bring Peony in, but because the lights were overly bright and the sounds and people were abrasive as hell. It was an ADHD nightmare that you relived every time you needed something special that your own store didn’t carry, whatever the reason. Usually the trips in didn’t take that long, and you were out back into the fresh air, ready to find a new place to park for the night with Peony. Sometimes they dragged on and on, leaving you to stumble out of the sensory pit of hell into the cool night air, still needing to find a place to bunk down for the night.

The elderly couple running your workplace would have let you stay in their own parking lot, but because of bullshit permits and other inane city things, they couldn’t have vehicles parked in their lot for longer than two days at a time, or they’d be fined. It was unfortunate, and under any other circumstances they probably would have let you do it anyways.

In tight spots, you’d taken them up on their offer. Sometimes you couldn’t afford a permit to park by the Walmart, or in the parking lot of the library. But your favorite place to stay, and the place you were headed now, was the Mt. Ebbott camping grounds.

They didn’t question why you set up with the tiniest tent known to man, sharing it with a dog that took up most of the space. Or why you always came, made a small fire that night to cook popcorn on, stared at the stars for hours, then left before anyone else was awake the next morning. You didn’t like staying too long, not whenever other people were there to play loud music or throw around trash.

It was the perfect place to stay, to breathe in the scents of fresh moss and old stones, a place to recharge and relax without worrying about getting in trouble for loitering when you were just walking your dog.

Peony was sniffing the slightly open window, licking her chomps every so often as she caught a whiff of the nearby restaurants you passed. Sighing, you gave in to her adoring, pleading eyes, stopping through the drive thru of a little burger chain and getting you both the biggest burger they had with extra cheese. It was the weekend, payday, meaning you could splurge a tiny bit before you stuffed the rest into gas, food and savings.

While Peony happily munched away at her burg, you focused on the highway leading out of town, and through the woods, taking the exit that headed up the mountain. The air cooled the higher you went, your ears popping as you grinned at the worn, wooden sign reading that you were a few miles out from the camp grounds.

Which was why, when you saw the little red car sitting on the side of the road with a tire missing and a couple of dudes standing around it looking aggravated, you felt a little perturbed yourself even as you pulled over behind them a little ways.

They both looked up at you as you started to climb out of your car, their red eyelights burning from black sockets almost putting you at a pause. Taking a breath, you squared your shoulders, stepping out of the car and shutting your door before Peony, god bless her soul, could try to strangle herself attempting to get out.

“Got a flat?” You called, the tallest skeleton staring back down at the offending tire while the shorter started a few steps in your direction.

“Yeah, damn thing near tried ta put us over the barriers.” He said, voice deep and afflicted with a rough gravel. He seemed like the smoking type, if the way his fingers twitched every so often was an indicator. You shrugged.

“I’ve got a spare in my trunk, if you wanna see if she’ll fit.”

The short skeleton laughed, a chortle of sound, you grinning as you waved him over to the back of your car.

You could hear his boots hitting the gravel as he came up behind you, your trunk popping open with a loud thunk, Peony whining from the front seat as you searched for the tire. “You boys heading to the campsite?” you asked, at least trying to make small talk so the lurking wouldn’t be so creepy.

He grunted. “Me and Paps, we do this every couple months ‘er so. Get out of the house, get some fresh air. ‘E thinks its good fer me ‘er somethin’, I dunno.”

Turning back to him, tire hefted into your hands, you nodded. “Its nice to get away.”

He just stared at you for a moment, before gingerly taking the tire and heading back for his own car. You followed, watching the much taller skeleton glare down at the flat with a stare that would have killed lesser men.

“Sans, have you found a replacement?” he asked, tone angry but his expression worried. If you had to guess, this wasn’t really in their plans for the evening, and what with the sun getting lower in the sky, these roads could get a little treacherous in the dark. They may have been Fellgrounders, but you knew from experience that ending up down a river bank was not a fun way to spend the night.

“Yeah, this ‘ere human gave us their spare.” Sans answered, getting down on one knee to replace the tire, while the taller turned to stare at you.

“What would you like as payment?” He asked, and you blinked. Really you… hadn’t even thought about them paying you for it or anything, it wasn’t like you were going to use the tire any time soon; it didn’t even fit your car. Thankfully, it seemed to fit theirs, Sans standing back on both feet with a creak and a groan.

Realizing you still hadn’t responded, you shook your head, shifting on the gravel road. “Naw, I don’t need anything. Just wanted to help out, y’know?”

Tall skeleton stared hard at you, seemingly into your very soul by the way his eyelights flared with intensity. Then he just looked tired, fishing out his wallet and grabbing a little laminated card before handing it over to you.

“Well, if you do find you need anything, anything at all. Please send a text or call.”

You took the card, holding it in your hand as they both lugged the flat tire into their own trunk, Sans waving goodbye as you watched them climb into the little Jeep and make a U-turn around you. You waved as they headed back down the road, seemingly uninterested in making the rest of the way up the mountain in the dark… which suited you just fine.

You needed some alone time, and damn if you weren’t gonna get some. Hopping back into your car, you gave Peony a few healthy scritches under the chin for being such a good girl, and turned your brights on.

You didn’t have a chance to check the card he’d given you until later, and the words on it almost made you laugh.

~The Phone Number of the Great Edge~

Well. Now you had two of those to your collection. You sort of wondered why this was happening now, but you were along for the ride, for better or worse.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Becoming - Part Three

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 3/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Thanks as well to @tinchentitri who also helped provide wonderful insight.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff  @just-the-hiddles​ @wolfsmom1​ @theoneanna​ @hiddlescastle​ @sabine-leo​ @alexakeyloveloki​  @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins  @kenzieam @ciaodarknessmyheart

PREVIOUS

Wordlessly, Tom nodded as his heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream at Keira or hug her for pushing the issue…Or at least for giving him a chance to say the words aloud. “I…I do know him, Jaime.” He swallowed thickly, the words sticking in his throat. “I’m…Jaime,” he cleared his throat and plastered on what he hoped was a warm smile, “I want to tell you a story, if that is alright.”

Jaime’s brow scrunched in thought, his eyes never leaving Tom’s face. “Okay.”

Keira stood quietly, grabbing their empty plates, placing them in the sink and  walking wordlessly from the room.

Tom took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He rested his arms against the table and let the words tumble from him. “A long time ago, before you were born, your mummy was at school. She was studying very hard trying to learn everything she could. And one day she met this person who ended up being your daddy. They enjoyed talking and reading and just being together.” He didn’t try to fight the soft smile that spread across his face at the memories which flooded through him. Eliza sitting in the library, surrounded by books, a pen twisted in her dark hair. The way her eyes would light up when he entered a room. The way his heart seemed to race when she took his hand. The joy that bubbled inside of him when he said or did something that made Eliza smile. God, he missed her. “Your daddy loved to make your mummy laugh and did everything he could to do so. But he also enjoyed making other people smile and wanted to learn more about how to do that…So he went to another school and studied really hard.

Your mummy was there, by your daddy’s side helping him. When your daddy finished learning all he could at the special school, he decided to take all he learned and travel around to help people smile. Your mummy couldn’t travel with him all the time but they talked on the phone as much as they could. Your daddy loved your mummy very, very much but he loved making people smile too. And people liked your daddy making them smile so he had to go away for longer and longer. Your mummy…She knew your daddy loved making people smile and she knew that she couldn’t go with him…So your mummy told him it was okay, that he could go on an adventure and help make people laugh and smile and be happy. And he did. He missed your mummy and your mummy missed him. But she was happy because she had you to make her smile.”

Jaime looked at Tom, his brow wrinkled in thought. “Was my daddy happy, making people smile?”

Tom choked out a strangled sob and quickly stuffed in back down, not wanting to upset his son. The guilt Tom carried was his own and he refused to push it onto Jaime. “He…He was. But he missed your mummy. He missed her so much but he didn’t know how to tell her.” His eyes closed involuntarily as he fought against the tears burning in them. They startled open as he felt Jaime climbing into his lap. “Jaime what are you…?”

“You’re sad. You need a hug. Mummy always said hugs make everything better.” The bold, simple innocence of the statement struck Tom speechless. Wordlessly, he accepted the comfort offered by the child in his lap, ignoring the quiet voice in his head telling him that this was backwards. He was the one meant to be comforting Jaime. The one who fought the monsters, both real and imaginary, and made the world a safer, better place for the people he loved. Jaime was so much like Eliza in this moment and it tore his heart.

After several moments, when Tom had been able to clear his throat, he murmured into Jaime’s soft hair. “Your mummy is a very, very wise woman.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Jaime’s small form, holding the boy to him in a vain attempt to return some of the simple comfort offered.

“Mummy said daddy was good at hugs too.”

Tom fought to control his breathing. “Did she now?” Jaime nodded against his chest and Tom let himself given into the impulse to place a soft kiss to the top of his son’s head. It was such a simple thing, something he had done so many times with his nieces and nephews…but never with a child of his own. His pulse stuttered violently at the thought before quickly kicking into overtime. His child.

“Did the hug help?” Jaime asked, pulling his head back enough to look up at Tom. “Mummy said my hugs are like Daddy’s and they always help the sad go away.” 

“It did,” Tom managed to choke out, fighting to keep his voice light and even. “It helped so very much.” He swallowed before lifting the boy from his lap and setting him back onto his feet. “Why don’t we go see if your Nan needs any help with the dishes?” 

Jaime nodded and, taking Tom’s large hand into his own tiny one, led the way into the kitchen. They found Keira standing before the sink, sleeves rolled up and hands sunk into warm, soapy water. She smiled warmly at Jaime before shooting Tom a knowing (and questioning look). He gave her a subtle shake of the head. He’d had the perfect opening and hadn’t been able to say the words. Her eyes narrowed slightly but said nothing. 

“We were wondering if you’d like some help with the washing up.”

Her nod was all the encouragement needed. The three worked in tandem; Keira washing, Jaime drying, and Tom putting the dishes away. It was early yet when they’d finished and Jaime pulled Tom back into the living room to resume their Lego building. The room he’d tidied earlier that evening was once more thrown into chaos. Lego pieces were strewn across the wooden floor and soon several half-built buildings and a fairly decent robot surrounded the man and child.

Laughter filled the room as Tom intoned the commanding voice of the invading robot set to destroy the half built city. Jaime manning the city with several action figures from the box nearest the window fought valiantly and soon the evil invading robot was driven back, much to the joy of the scared city-folk.

Time seemed to fly and it came as quite the shock when Keira poked her head back into the room to pry Jaime off for his bath and bedtime routine. Jaime’s face fell the same way it had hours before when Keira had called him for tea but this time, despite Tom’s gentle coaxing the boy refused to budge. 

“No!” Jaime hollered, throwing the Lego in his hands across the room. Tears streamed down his reddened face as he continued to scream the word over and over.   

“James William,” Keira reprimanded, ignoring the tears and the screaming. 

Tom was taken aback. Jaime had been such a congenial child in the nearly six months that Tom had known him; stubborn yes but usually easy going. He had been agitated and upset the first time Tom had left, but considering how close it had been to the loss of his mother Tom had taken it as a reaction to that more than loss of his newest companion. Seeing Jaime’s tantrum now, over what seemed to be such a mundane thing, set off quiet alarm bells. 

He looked helplessly at Keira, wondering if his presence was helping or simply making the situation worse. He pushed himself to his feet, thinking maybe a tactical retreat would be the better part of valor in this moment. Clearly, he was less than useless in this scenario and he has no desire to give Keira reason to consider putting a stop to his visits.

It came as a shock then to feel Jaime’s arms wrapped tightly around his left shin. “No! Uncle Tom I don’t want you to go!”

Tom’s eyes darted between the boy clinging to his leg and the woman standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Jaime, darling boy…” Jaime’s red-rimmed eyes stared pleadingly back at him and Tom felt his heart crack at the sight. God, Mum was right. You can’t resist those bloody eyes.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before commending his soul to whatever deity happened to be listening. “Jaime lad. You need to get yourself into that tub. If you listen to your Nan, and she says it’s alright, I will stay and read you your bedtime story. Would that be alright?”

Jaime sniffled, his eyes shining with hope and delight. “You promise?”

He let his eyes dart to Keira who, while clearly not wholly happy with the idea knew a losing battle when she saw one, nodded. He mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and turned his attention back to the boy clinging to him. “I promise.” Tom reached down and ran his hand through Jaime’s sandy hair. “Now get yourself up and cleaned young man.” 

While nightly routines were completed overhead, Tom found himself puttering around the ground floor of the house. He still wasn’t used to being in this house, regardless of the circumstance. He’d been there only a handful of times with Eliza, each of those times were not exactly uncomfortable but awkward nonetheless. He’d been there more so now because of their son, because this was Jaime’s home, but still it felt strange. He was an interloper here, encroaching on someone else’s territory. He didn’t belong…but Jaime did and for his son he would do whatever was necessary.

He smiled, looking at the traces Jaime had left all over the house. The toys that were scattered around the living room, the artwork stuck to the refrigerator door and the cork notice board in the kitchen, the small jumper and jacket on the hall tree by the front door. Small signs that Jaime was part of this household. Small things he only dared imagine could be part of his own home one day.

Tom let that thought carry him up the stairs after Jaime was clean, dressed, and ready for bed. He’d smiled softly at Keira as the little boy, his little boy, took him by the hand and pulled him into his untidy bedroom. Jaime ran towards the bookshelf, pulling out a tattered copy of illustrated Disney stories, much loved by the look of wear it bore. He handed it expectantly to Tom before scrambling into the bed and pulling his blue duvet up to his chin.

Smiling, Tom settled himself on the floor beside the bed and opened the book to the main story list. He wordlessly scanned over the titles until one jumped out at him and he flipped to its start. Tom’s heart felt full to bursting as he watched Jaime’s eyes widen as he told him the tale Mowgli, the boy raised in the jungle, complete with voices. He didn’t know how often Jaime had heard the story or if it were brand new (though he doubted it was), but it felt as if it were the first time and it meant the world to Tom to see it.

Halfway through, he noticed Jaime’s eyes growing heavy though the boy fought his exhaustion valiantly. Tom continued on, half his attention trained on his son as the boy slowly succumbed to sleep. When his eyes were closed and his breathing even, Tom shut the book quietly. He sat for several minutes simply watching Jaime sleep before pushing himself up to his feet and carrying the book back to the shelf. As he reached to flip off the room’s overhead light, he heard Jaime’s small voice. “Uncle Tom?”

He froze, slowly turning back around. “Yes, Jaime lad?” 

“I wish you were my daddy.”

Tom fought to hold back the choked gasp threatening to break from his chest. He could feel his heart stutter then crash to a halt as Jaime’s words slowly sank in. He couldn’t speak for several moments, his mouth hanging uselessly open until finally he could, though the words came out in barely a whisper. “I am,” he breathed. “I am your daddy.”

But Jaime’s soft snores were the only answer he received. Biting his lip, Tom blindly reached for the switch and shut off the overhead light. He pulled the door closed as softly as he could and bolted down the stairs and out of the door, ignoring Keira’s confused calls.

He was half way down the motorway and even closer to his home when the magnitude of just what happened hit him. He had told Jaime, said the words aloud to his son. Claimed him. And it was something he couldn’t take back…Didn’t want to take back, not ever. But had the boy heard him? Had he understood?

“Fuck,” Tom breathed, merging lanes and trying desperately to keep his focus on the road before him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” A small part of him was desperate to turn the bloody car around and drive straight back the way he’d come but he more rational part of his brain (which he was surprised had such a tight grip on him given the circumstances) prevailed.

It was late when he pulled his car into the street leading to his home. He entered the gate code with numb fingers and drove through. He hadn’t left the front lights on, he hadn’t expected to be gone this late, but the lights from the street lamps bled through enough light to ease his passage up the walk and to his door. He only dropped his keys once before managing to get them in the lock and open the door.

Tom spent the next several hours pacing first his living room, then the hall, and finally his bedroom. He’d tried to sleep and may even have caught small snatches here and there, but his mind refused to stop whirling. By near six in the morning, Tom gave up the ghost. He padded quietly down the stairs and into kitchen which caught the pale, red-pink light of the rising sun. He paced anxiously as he waited for the coffee to brew and drank two steaming mugs before jogging back up the stairs once more.

He’d thrown himself in the shower, hoping to clear his mind. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was clean but still burdened. Dressing silently he was down the stairs once more, sliding his feet into his boots and grabbing his mobile, keys, and wallet from the hallway table and was out the door. Tom wasn’t consciously aware of his destination until he’d found himself in Keira’s driveway. He killed the engine and sat, staring through the windscreen at the door knowing this was probably not the way he should be doing things. But when had that ever stopped him before.

Taking a deep breath, he slid from the car and made his way slowly up the walk towards the door. He knocked twice, cursing when he caught sight of the watch on his wrist and at the early hour. Christ, he was determined to make this woman hate him, wasn’t he?

Small, heavy footfalls echoed from inside the house and moments later the door was pulled open revealing a wide-eyed pajama clad Jaime. “James William!” Keira’s voice boomed from further down the hall, “What have I told you about answering the door?” 

Jaime looked back, a sheepish grin on his face. Christ, Tom thought, is that how I look when I do that? It’s a wonder I made it to adulthood.

“But it’s my daddy!” 

Tom stared in wonder at the boy standing before him, flashes of joy and disbelief flooding over him.

NEXT

[mardi-nah]

Tricks

Circus worker narrator, trickster, fae, circus setting, unrequited love, pining, enemies to lovers, a pinch of angst, vulgar language, otherwise sfw

“I am in love with you.”

My reflection glowered back at me. I grimaced at it. “I love you.”

The reflection looked pained. This wouldn’t do at all. “I have fallen in love with you.” No. “I have loved you for—no. I love you. I love you. I am in love with you. Quinn, I am in love with you. I love ya, babe.”

The glass was cool against my skin as I slumped forward, forehead to forehead with my mirror twin. I had watched so many movies, so many shows with dramatic and simpering love confessions, but it wouldn’t do. I looked like I was constipated. Or ready to murder. Mama should have bore someone cuter, curse her in her grave.

“Quinn, I—“

Someone threw the sliding door open so hard it bounced against the wall with a foreboding boom! A voice that could try a priest called out, “Oh Gwen! Gwenny, honey! Gwenster! Gwen-dah-lee!”

I didn’t fucking twitch. “What.”

“It is the strangest thing, Gwenny-poo!” A sigh, and then the unmistakable screech of bed springs as someone fell on top of my cot. “All of the stage lights have gone out! Just like—“ a snap of fingers, “—that! Can you believe it?”

Oh, hell no. “What did you do?”

Mareth gasped. “Me? I haven’t done anything! Or I’ve done a lot of things, depending on how you look at it. None of them have involved lights.”

I spun myself away from the glass to glare at him.

Mareth was grinning, green eyes glittering and black hair wildly eschew. His little black tail was curling in the air behind him, tangling with my blankets just to piss me off. “Gwendy, you’re so scary looking today!”

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“Weeeeeell …”

“Mareth!”

“It isn’t my fault it started raining indoors! How could I have known?”

“You little shit!” I screamed, charging at him to fucking throttle his horrible little neck, but he only laughed gaily and disappeared the moment I fell on the bed.

“So violent! I said I didn’t do anything!” His voice chirped from behind me.

I twisted around, hands knotting in my sheets. “You are so full of shit! Come here so I can strangle you!”

Mareth tsked at me, strolling forward but staying just out of reach of my legs and fists. “Ah-ah. If you keep that up, I won’t tell you where the control panel went.”

“What?”

“Oops.” He giggled. “Didn’t mean to tell you that part. Guess it just slipped!”

“Why you—!” I staggered to my feet, ready to tackle him and wail on him until he cried, but he was already fading out.

“Well, would you look at the time! It’s time to dash! Au revoir!” His voice echoed around my room, his laughter chasing the last remaining shreds of my sanity.

I sank back onto my bed and put my head in my hands. Guess there’d be no time to talk to Quinn about my feelings or anything else tonight.

~

Mareth had been a pain in the ass my entire career working with the circus. Had been a pain in everyone’s ass, just about, but he seemed to get a special pleasure seeing me screech. Lately, I’d swear he was worse than ever, and it wasn’t just me, either. Poor Quinn came into the back one night dripping molasses, his expression icier than usual. Mareth had been found in storage, tied and bound with a growing black eye. Somehow, that hadn’t stopped him from emptying Quinn’s underwear into the river later that evening.

“Is he off in the head? What the hell,” I growled as I scrambled to reassemble the control room with Joan.

“It seems our dear boy is having a tantrum,” an amused voice came from the doorway.

I looked up to see Mr. Bailey leaning against the entryway, watching us with dark eyes that had an uncalled for amount of sparkle.

“He should be whipped,” I hissed, “He’s going to destroy the show.”

“Yes, probably. At ease, girls. I’ll talk to him.”

At that point, there was nothing to do but focus on the show. If anyone could straighten Mareth out, it was Bailey.

~

Quinn was beautiful tonight.

He dripped a milky fog as he shouldered his way through the back, glittering wings fluttering softly behind him. His act was particularly flawless tonight—it was as if he and Odessa were of one mind, one move sinking into the next, their limbs synched beatifically.

It was such a shame he would never consider someone like me.

~

Of all the people to find me on that night, Mareth should not have been the one.

The cart was dark in the night, the moonlight dying it dark. Its roof was cold against my ass, but I only pressed my bare toes firmer to it. I heard the ladder scream as someone climbed it, but I didn’t turn to look.

“Well, this isn’t the most depressing place you could have chosen,” a teeth-grittingly familiar voice chirped. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, she still has teeth!” The cart groaned as he moved towards me, and next thing I knew, a pair of dark pants had their legs slung over the side of the cart beside me.

“I’m not in the mood, Mareth,” I snarled, burying my face in my arms.

“Come here to cry like a little girl in private, hmm?” He hummed, kicking his feet out. “Now I’m very disappointed. I thought you had more to you than that.”

“Are you just here to mock me? I will knock you off the fucking cart. Go. Away.”

“What is it about Quinn, I wonder? It’s definitely not his personality, given that he’s q giant asshole. It’s not his money, since he’s as broke as the rest of us. What does that leave? Hmm …”

I snapped upright, eyes burning with the old tears, with anger, with frustration and hatred and this fucking guy. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Just because he doesn’t like you doesn’t mean he’s like that with the rest of us.”

“Really? What’s he like with you, then?” Mareth was smiling that damn shit-eating smile he had, though there was something a little off about it. Must have been my more than usual desire to punch it.

“He might be moody and quiet, but he’s just as intelligent and focused.” I turned away from him, scowling into the vast dark. “He’s prosaic and graceful. His manners are impeccable. And he practices like a damn mad man.”

“So? Many of our performers are like that.”

“Like hell they are. I don’t think anyone hates their job, but Quinn is—“ my voice broke, which would have been humiliating in any situation, but more so in front of Mareth of all people. I swallowed with difficulty. “He’s admirable.”

There was a brief silence, and I thought that maybe Mareth had mercifully run out of things to say, but then he quietly continued. “Doesn’t seem that great to me.”

“What do you know of greatness? You sabotage the show every chance you get.” I rubbed my wet nose against the back of my arm and grimaced at the feeling.

“Not the show! Just you. And Quinn. Mostly.”

“Can’t you just go?” I asked miserably, sinking myself into the ball of my limbs. Fresh tears were hard at work behind my eyes, and I could feel the worrying beginnings of a sob climbing my throat. “Leave me alone for once.”

At that point, Mareth looked at me, green eyes glittering—with anger, I realized. “I would never leave you alone, Gwen.”

I stared at him, but he only stared angrily back.

When I managed to speak, it was a croak. “Why?”

“Quinn isn’t worth breaking down like a child. Stop acting so weak.”

I huffed. “What right do you have to say that? You’ve never had your heart broken.”

“Oh, please. You break my heart all the time.”

My body stiffened involuntarily; blood was drumming in my ears. His words didn’t make sense. Another prank, probably. “Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood for pranks.”

I started when hands grabbed my head and forced me to turn to look at him again. If anything, he looked more furious than before. I almost shrank back from the rage in his gaze, but I swallowed it down. Mareth didn’t scare me.

“You never look at me unless I make you.” His voice was unsteady, steaming in the cold night air. “The only person you can see is Quinn, but he doesn’t see anyone but himself. Don’t you get that?”

“Trust me, I get it,” I peeled his hands away, avoided his stare.

“Then why? Why him?” His real meaning went unsaid.

“I told you why. Dammit, Mareth, I thought you hated the show. Hell, I had half a mind that you hated me even more than I hated you. Why are you doing this now?” I scrubbed angrily at my eyes, mad that I was crying and even more mad that he was there to see it.

Quiet again, but only for a few beats. Mareth took a deep, shaky breath. “I hate that you love him. I can’t get you to notice me at all, and he doesn’t even care that he has it. It could have been anyone else. I don’t know why you picked him.”

“Jealous?” I sniped.

“Horribly.” He agreed.

I hadn’t expected him to say that; the surprise made me wordless for a few minutes, but I recovered. “Should I fuck you out of it? I have the strangest suspicion that your feelings will magically disappear come morning.”

“I would whole-heartedly love for you to try.”

I grabbed the sides of his head and mashed my face against his before he could react. He was surprisingly soft—his hair and his mouth and even his cheeks, lips warm and pliant under mine. I didn’t want to admit how hot I went when he moaned against me, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him how good he felt. He was eager and compliant, letting me move and dominate him, allowing me to conquer his lap and his trousers and later, his dick.

~

The next morning found Mareth still in my room, for whatever reason.

He was naked, sprawled lazily over my cot, watching me put on my makeup with those smug-ass cat eyes of his. His tail was swishing slowly in the air behind him. He looked entirely too satisfied.

“Do you have what you want now, dumbass?” I asked, penciling in my eyebrows.

“Dunno. Are you going to come over tonight?”

I scoffed. “Why would I?”

In the mirror, I saw him frown, his tail stilling. “Then no, I don’t.”

We watched each other for a minute, and then I went back to putting my face on for the day, intent to avoid any further conversation.

Mareth was having none of it. “Won’t you consider it?”

“Consider what?”

“Being with me? You seemed—it was good last night, wasn’t it?” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, the tip of his tail twitching.

I eyed him in the mirror, and then smirked internally. “Give me your true name, and we can try to have a relation.”

His tail twitched again. “Oh?”

“I’m still not convinced you aren’t tricking me. Give me your name so I’ll know.” There. The matter was over.

Mareth sat up. “Is that all?”

“All”?

I blinked, and he was standing in the center of my tent, his clothes suddenly on again. “Consider it done! You may know me as—“ a gust of wind, and he was at my ear now, his mouth brushing my lobe. “Merit.”

“Your name is—?” He slapped a hand over my mouth before I could finish, wiggling his eyebrows at me in the mirror.

“Ah, ah. No spilling my secret now. I’ve just given you my soul, sweetie.”

I choked. “Your—?”

He actually did it. He gave me his—no, it must be fake. I could call his bluff.

I smiled sweetly up at him, murmuring, “Merit, why don’t you be a dear and get on your knees?”

Mareth gasped, and it wasn’t so much a sink to his knees as it was an inglorious fall. His knees hit the floor with a sharp crack and I couldn’t help but wince guiltily.

Holy fuck. He actually gave me his name.

I stood from my vanity, towering above him, staring. His eyes were gleaming madly, smile twisted into something familiar and devious. “Oh my, what ever will you do with me, Gwenny-poo?”

“You and I might be together for a long time, dear.” I brushed my hands through his hair; he tilted his head into my touch, and I fisted my fingers in his hair, making his breath hitch. “I guess I’ll have to train you.”

“Oh, please do,” he purred.

We had made a deal to try, at least. And if nothing else, I was a woman of my word.

~

Mareth was a very bothersome lover. I hadn’t decided if he was more or less so than before.

He whined if we didn’t have at least one meal a day together; he whined if he had to sleep alone; he whined if he couldn’t see me in the morning; he whined if I left him without a kiss goodbye; he whined if I wore something pretty and he wouldn’t be around to see it. He hated Quinn, and hated if I spent time with him, but I was a loyal partner, and he seemed to know this.

Besides, I wasn’t one to give my heart to someone who already broke it once. Mareth seemed to know this, too.

Lately Mareth had been pressing me to wear his favorite sweater—a dark green turtleneck that brought out the color of his eyes neatly. Not only was the idea of sharing clothes already ridiculous enough, but the fact that Mareth was a hell of a lot more petite than me didn’t seem to factor into his head.

“Mareth,” I said through my teeth, “This would stick to me like a second skin. I doubt it would even cover my stomach.”

“I know,” he purred.

I knocked him upside the head for that one, but he kept insisting that I “borrow” some of his clothes. I eventually caved and stuffed myself into one of his bigger jackets, and I pretended not to notice him watching me in it, or how he kept subtly trying to sniff at it after I returned it.

He also kept little useless items I gave him, which was so bizarre I couldn’t even bring it up to him. The number seemed to grow a little every time I was in his tent—a packet of toothpaste I lent him so he’d stop trying to use mine when he slept over; a pencil; a crumbled napkin I threw at him with a crude drawing of my foot on his ass; a glittery hair clip I had used to help Alice do his makeup before a show.

He was ridiculous. Absolutely bonkers.

If I obliged him in these things, it was no fault of mine. I was his girlfriend, after all, it was only natural to let your boyfriend have his needs and help meet them.

And if anyone claimed I enjoyed the little happy smile Mareth gave me when I used a pet name, or made him lunch, or wore his stupid sweater, or invited him to join me in the showers, I’d kick their ass too. And if they had the balls to claim I liked Mareth and his clingy affection and dumb tricks and loud laugh and short stature and ridiculousness, well, they might be right, but I’d still fucking end them.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 15

15/Finale: I choose you

A/N - Instead of a summary, I just wanted to thank everyone for bearing with me on this series and for all the support. I hope I did the story justice and gave you all something to look forward to in the past, to take your mind off real life even if it just for a few minutes.

Also, special thanks to @godlydolans for being Yashi in the story. Love you girl!

Word count: 3.2k

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST    

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Apollo and Hermes spent most of the next month half out of their mind and half pretending to be fine while they spent time with the kids. One would stay with her, the other reassuring two very confused four year olds who were convinced mommy turned into a sleeping beauty or Snow White and someone needed to kiss her in order to have her back. No one could tell them otherwise. And gods and goddesses have tried. All of them did.

"They're as stubborn as their fathers." Hera smiled softly, unable to contain the light inside her heart the kids have brought back to the surface after so many centuries of complete darkness.

"Is this where you tell us this is karmic justice?" Hermes groans, rubbing his forehead as if he's trying to keep a headache at bay. He's been human so long that he forgot headaches aren't just human traits - gods have them too, he just didn't realize they came after hours of chasing two very wicked little cuties, both of them his blood in various degrees.

"She always wished us to have kids that were like us." Apollo agreed, resting his head on the bed beside Y/N, clutching her cold hand in his for some sort of comfort. It's the only way to remind himself she's still there - her heart barely beating, but the change taking over with every passing hour. He knows she's almost ready to open her eyes, completely made new - still his beautiful Y/N, just a little less fragile.

"No. But I can't say I'm not enjoying this." Hera chuckled, giving Hermes a quick pat on the back before retreating to her room, overjoyed with the fact her grandchildren are sound asleep right when it's her turn to watch them.

"I miss her." Hermes whispers, taking her free hand in his much larger one, or so he felt like it is. Lying there on the bed, Hermes forgot how small she really is for her attitude and strength always gave him an impression of a much larger, robust human being that could force anyone on their knees begging for forgiveness over something they most likely haven't even done.

"Yeah, but look. She's already more like us than mortal. She'll be with us in hours. I can feel it." Apollo kissed the back of her hand tenderly, smiling against the skin fondly.

Standing up, he sighed deeply, hating himself for having to leave her behind but ever since Poseidon's been killed, he had to return to his kingdom and take care of business. He could find time to see her and the kids every day, spend hours upon hours, but at the end of the day he had to return to his new home and face his responsibilities. He's wearing thin, but so is Hermes. After all, he has a kingdom of his own to take care of - one as complex and as torturous as death itself.

Hermes stood up as well, just as torn about leaving his love alone, but he had a job to do and his job was never-ending. After all, people die all the time and while his old job has been taken care of for now, long enough for his son to take over once he's grown, he had to take his crown and rule as Hades and he had to make amends - starting with Hecate and Yashi, two women he did wrong more than anyone else.

"Back to Atlantis, brother?" Hermes smirked, having trouble hiding the giddiness over knowing not only does Apollo have to leave and he won't be the first one she sees in case Y/N opens her eyes, but also because he was genuinely happy his brother got a throne of his own. As a man who loved adventure and sea, nature in every form, he knew Apollo would do his new job well, even the old one - until little Valerie could take over.

"You going down too?" Apollo raised an eyebrow, kissing Y/N's forehead before starting his walk back to the door, side by side with his brother. He had already claimed his trident, picking it up just before walking out.

"See you in the morning, little bro." Hermes winked, his form clouded by a gust of black smoke just as Apollo is swallowed in a water portal, each of them gone from Mount Olympus, missing a crucial moment.

The very moment she's been left alone, Y/N's eyes opened, sitting up with a strangled gasp, looking around in panic. She placed a hand on her chest, not that she needed to touch her chest to feel her heart because it pounded too strongly, too loudly for her to miss.

"I'm alive." She whispered under her breath in disbelief, pushing her legs to one side of the bed, the one closer to a mirror placed in far left corner of the room. Struggling with the dress someone had seemed fit to put on her, she grabbed fistfuls of it as she rushed toward the mirror, stepping once her image showed in the reflection.

Her hair is long, longer than it was back when she met the boys and definitely not the mom cut she did after the kids took up all her free time that she had zero time for herself and the long hair she knew Ethan and Grayson loved on her. The curls formed down the thick mane her hair had become, drawing a smile up on her lips. But then she noticed the elaborate braid crown on her head too. She places her hands on her face, admiring the way her skin is soft like silk, void of any imperfections that brought her insecurities to a torturous level. Her eyes seem bigger, brighter, no longer surrounded by dark circles, rather framed by long and voluminous lashes she envied men for because they never knew how to appreciate their god given beautiful eyelashes. And then her fingers grazed her lips, slightly more plump, pink and gentle, definitely improved in comparison to her previous small lips. Her body is curved, yet still short in stature, but she didn't care as she admired the incredibly beautiful dress that clung to her body - like melting gold on earth and a perfect fit on all her curves. Twirling, she caught the ends of her hair spark purple under the light, a little reminder she belonged to Hecate's bloodline.

Running her hands down her dress and to her waist, Y/N straightened up and lifted her chin, smiling to herself for she finally made the ultimate sacrifice to be with the ones she loves. It would be a sure way to not only spend an eternity with her two gods, but have her children grow up in safe environments, nothing they could need for she could provide them with everything. She wondered what her power is, hoping she doesn't find out by accidentally making a mess.

The Underworld

Hermes paced back and forth, trying to find the proper words as Hecate and Yashi stared at him with unyielding glares sent his way. Neither of them understood why would the new king summon them, especially with the way they left things in life, and in death.

"I've done you both wrong." He stops, turning toward them, his hands set behind his back as they looked toward one another in shock and confusion. To hear Hermes even wanted them around was a surprise, let alone hear him confess to something for that part seemed almost impossible.

"Wait. Is this some new form of torture?" Hecate interrupted, looking around wildly like something would jump out at her any moment now.

"What? No!" Hermes shook his head, stepping down from his throne in order to make himself seem more remorseful and approachable. To be perfectly honest, he did feel bad. After going over their history, he's learned exactly how badly he messed up.

After taking Yashi's virginity and her heart, she had lost the one thing that mattered back in the day. At that time, men valued a hymen more than beauty in a woman, reducing her chance of love and moving on almost to nothing. She chased him off, true, but had she let him stay he would have returned to Mount Olympus and she would have stayed a disgraced woman, alone, possibly with child and at that time it was just as bad as a death sentence. He learned she pushed him away in order to take up an offer of arranged marriage her father set up for her. A man, one much older than her who didn't care much about her not being a virgin, had requested her hand in marriage and he was willing to pay a lot of gold for her. She didn't see a way out but to accept his offer and secure her family's standing in society. Not only did she lose her maidenhood, but she also did it with a man who wasn't of her religion nor did he have money to redeem that fact - basically, no one in her family would have approved of Hermes. But this man...he was kind to her and he protected her. She loved him, but she was never in love with him. Hermes knew he robbed her of the chance to have a true love in her life and she never forgave him for having to live without it.

Hecate on the other hand married another. By force, not a choice. She married Helios, the former god of Sun and all Apollo had attained once he was of age. He was a bitter god, banished to Tartarus and his hate for Apollo is spoken of in every story ever told of him. He was anything but kind to Hecate, the former wife of his worst enemy's brother. He abused and used Hecate as he pleased over the centuries, having a single child together. She, a woman who despised cheating, turned to mortal men for love and affection, having many more kids over the centuries that allowed her bloodline on Earth to continue. But he understood why she hated him. Not only did he cheat on her even though she loved him, which he couldn't even fathom at the time. But his banishment caused her to suffer even more ever since and he didn't blame her anymore. He just wanted to find a way to help her.

"I've done terrible things, caused horrid things to happen to you and all because I was selfish and crude. I want to change this." Hermes took in a deep breath, turning to Yashi first.

"If you'd like, I can have your soul reincarnated on Earth. Give you a chance of a proper life, a great love and with no meddling from me." He offered, seeing Yashi's eyes widen with the thought of having all she longed for.

"It's the only way I can think of to repay you for all the pain I've inflicted." Honesty was never his strong side for Hermes liked to manipulate, but Yashi could tell he's being truthful. One nod on her behalf, a single clap of his hands and Yashi was gone, sent back and reborn as someone he knew would have a much better life than the one she was dealt before.

"What can you possibly give me to fix everything you've done? Cause there isn't anything you can do to undo centuries of hurt, Hermes." Hecate's spiteful tone isn't lost on him, but he knew he could help make her afterlife somewhat better.

"How about I end your marriage with Helios by sending his soul to Chaos and you can finally be free of him? I'll reunite you with your children and send Persephone to live with you on the Isle of the Blest while she's here too?" He offered, raising both eyebrows once he noticed her usual frown is erased, exchanged by absolute shock. She didn't even know he noticed how close she and Persephone were, nor how badly she longed for her children to be with her for she didn't raise any of them. After so many men screwing her over, she was ready to be far from them and just enjoy the afterlife.

"I...That...would be nice. I'd like that very much."

Atlantis

"I'm sorry, your majesty, but there has to be an earthquake on daily bases. It's a rule Mother Nature set in place a long time ago. It's to keep the humans fearful of the gods, loyal to us."

Apollo turned around swiftly, his usually calm and beautiful face now twisted in rampant rage, uncensored as he feels his mouth foam unrestrained.

"I know! But I said a minor earthquake in the middle of the Pacific! Not right on the shore of one of the greatest cities!" His thunderous voice echoed the castle, spreading throughout Atlantis. Returning to his kingdom only to find his people have decided to set a natural disaster to happen without his approval had set him off and he had already sentenced more than a dozen to do some time in the Underworld. His brother would surely find a proper way to punish them for taking lives that weren't on the list quite yet.

"There is a list of mortals who are meant to die and none of them were on there! You've put a ripple in the timeline and destroyed the butterfly effect. We have to contact Chronos to rewind time just to erase your idiotic mistake."

And he did. Apollo had managed to strike a deal with Chronos to rewind time, saving a lot of lives. He knew he'd have to take lives in his rule, some would be evil and some innocent, but it's the heaviness of his job. He's no longer just Apollo, he's the new Poseidon and he has to preserve the butterfly effect and the veil of this reality humans call life. Without it, they'd all perish. And as hard as it is, he felt comfort knowing he won't be alone in the task. He'll have a good woman to keep him company, his brothers and sisters to keep him sane and his children to keep his heart light.

Mount Olympus

On cue, a dark cloud of mist appeared at the same time as a portal made solely of water, allowing the brothers to return to their home and see their love. They expected to find her in bed, nearly screaming at the top of their lungs once they found it empty, a smooth, kind voice coming up from behind them.

"Missed me?"

They turned around instantly, taking in the way immortality had sculptured their beloved just a little differently, giving her the poise and grace every goddess possessed, but keeping the merciful look behind her sweet doe eyes.

"More than anything." They said at the same time, rushing toward her, pulling her into a soul-crushing hug, each of them pulling her closer to them, but they couldn't really hurt her anymore. Not now, not like before. She could return the hug wholeheartedly and they could truly feel her press into them, let her lilac scent rush their senses and render them slaves to her will.

Parting, she smiled up at them, still unable to get used to her enhanced vision, seeing every little line of perfection and imperfection on their bodies, appreciating their beauty even more.

"I still can't believe you drank it!" Hermes exclaimed, claiming her left hand as his.

"I was sure you'd take the kids and go back." Apollo agreed, deciding the right hand is his as he intertwined their finger.

"Why? After all, I choose you. Every time. No matter what happens, I choose you. The kids will always come first now, but if once choice gives me all four of you, why would I let it pass?" She cocked her head to the side, her lips twitching into a small smile as they both caressed her with their eyes alone.

"So, you, uh...chose us both then?" Hermes wets his lips, wondering just how difficult this will be, knowing she can't fight her heart anymore.

It's humans who have decided monogamy is the right thing. It's the humans who claim that love should be restrained and placed in one person. But love doesn't work like that. You can't choose who you love nor is there a scale that will decide who you love more. The heart can only feel, love, it knows no rules of social conduct nor does it care. And her heart, pure as it is, has fallen for both of them.

Neither of them could ask her to break it in half and dispose of the part that held one of them inside. They couldn't handle losing any piece of her, not after they thought they had lost her entirely.

"I know it's wrong." She closed her eyes, willing to defend her choice, but Apollo placed his index finger against her lips, stopping her effectively.

"It's not. Not here. Not when we both have children with you. It will be hard for us to learn to share the time we spend with you, but ultimately, we don't care. We all have a kingdom to take care of now, each of us busy at one time or another, taking care of the world's fate or our children. We'll take turns, giving the other to spend time with you." Apollo reassured her, kissing her cheek.

"So, that means", she starts, Hermes interrupting her.

"That we choose you too." He smirks when she frowns, pursing her lips. Without a warning, she huffed, her hands emitting a light blue flicker that instantly dropped both brothers to their knees at her side considering they both held onto one of her hands - like a jolt of electricity that forced its way through their bodies.

"I don't like being interrupted." Y/N corrected Hermes' behavior, smirking at the way both their eyes widened and their mouths opened.

"Holy hell, I'll follow you to the end of the world woman!" Hermes blurted out, mesmerized by her for she's finally in her full form and glory.

For the longest time, he was sure this story wouldn't have a happy ending or it wouldn't end happy for him to the very least. He had believed he was past saving, unlovable, too hateful to ever have someone like Y/N love him.

Apollo had a similar thought. He was certain he'd never know love for he never loved anyone as much as his family and himself. He was selfish and self-righteous, someone who would end up alone for all the sins he had committed. Who knew he'd find a woman to not only love him, but bear him children?

"Is it weird that I liked this?" Apollo chuckles, not nearly enough vigil after the shock to notice Valerie as she jumps at him, tackling him to the ground with a high pitched "DADDY" leaving her mouth. Henry didn't hesitate to do the same to Hermes, rendering him powerless on the marble floor, stealing glances at Y/N who had the widest, sweetest, most happiest smile on her face while she watched all the pieces of her heart before her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @mutuallynotmutual @lanadeldolans @xalayx @accalialionheart @gia-kerks @historyheart  @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch @fallinginlove-16  @lanadeldolans @beautifulfound @thearachna-kid  @dinnerwiththedolans  @graydolan12 @justanotherfangurl272 @dxlansfxck  @godlydolans @flowery-dolan @dominatedolans @buckysjuicyplums @ethanhes @dolandolll @dolanstwintuesday @peacedolantwins

[the-monkeies-girl]

My Love. [Roger Taylor.]

me? the angst queen? don’t even get me STARTED. Reblogs / Likes are always appreciated. Stay awesome. Love you. - Miss Em.

Title: My Love. Pairing: BoRhap! Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader. Words: 3,405. Rating: T. ( Very angsty, language, cheating. ) Summary: Roger was what a lot of people called a serial cheater. You thought he’d changed. But, did he really? [This is Part one of two.]

READ IT ON MY AO3.

It was strange. You genuinely felt like you should have yelled, thrown something, shoved the girl off of your ‘boyfriend’ as they both came drunkenly stepping into the hotel room you were waiting in. His hotel room. Freddie had given you a spare key so you could properly surprise Roger on tour, knowing just how hard being thousands of miles apart truly was because you were one half of the relationship that the miles were taking a very serious toll on. You were coping by letting yourself be lonely, letting yourself cry yourself to sleep some nights after he’d call you just to chat between the end of the show and the eagerness to leave on the tour bus to get to the next city, you walked around your flat, almost helpless at the way you were feeling. At the bitter sensation that you could almost feel Roger’s arms ghosting around your waist and dancing you towards him like you so often did. He himself… Very obviously coped in one way that you were warned about from a few other girls, which could have caused your lack of reaction as you looked at the girl holding onto Roger’s bicep, her clean and well done nails pressing into his skin, the make-up clad look she gave you out of confusion, her red lips parting as if she were going to as Roger who you were, the high heeled feet stumbling a bit in a drunken state that if she moved forward or made any sort of action, you’d be sure to smell the alcohol. Physically, you saw Roger’s eyebrows raise in shock at the fact that you were there, sitting on his bed-- well-- now standing and grabbing a small bag off the floor which he deduced slowly was in fact your luggage. A nine hour flight for this bullshit, you thought, refusal to even associate yourself with him any longer blundered into your actions. You hadn’t intended to stay long, only one or two days with the very foolish notion that perhaps, Roger was missing you just as much as you were. You were a fool to believe anything he said anymore, now or in the past.

I miss y o u.

Okay? But, did you really, Roger?

I had a dream about y o u.

That’s a lie, Roger. Stop lying to me.

I can’t want to get home and kiss y o u.

You’re not allowed to kiss me anymore.

This tour is killing me, I just want to see y o u.

I never want to see you again, Roger.

There’s only y o u.

There never was just you and me. I just let myself fall in love and lulled myself to believe that it was just us.

I love y o u.

That is the biggest load of bullshit.

Numb, that was a good way to put it. You were very numb and you had no instant recollection of grabbing your things, looking at the girl holding onto the arm you knew so well that your fingers twitched as you remembered how it felt to trace the muscles he’s built up from years upon years of beating a drum, walking passed the two of them with Roger’s blue eyes holding onto your body, searching for something that you were no longer going to give him. He had lost everything from you. He had lost those early morning laughs when the two of you were too tired to get out of bed and do anything, those last minute kisses from you as you refused to let him leave the flat without saying a proper goodbye, those late nights when he’d come home from the studio on the verge of tears because he knew what he signed up for, but it was still hard and frustrating… The chance to leave a nasty thing behind for a loving and reciprocating relationship. 

All it. Void in that moment. Oddly, as you looked into his eyes finally and let one of your hands push the semi-opened door all the way so you could leave, you felt like a receipt. Transaction completed, next in line, you heard Roger’s voice in your head as his pink lips parted in desperation to say something. But, he couldn’t think fast enough. Couldn’t manage an excuse as to why he had brought a very obvious girl who knew who he was because Roger had a tendency of talking himself up to be more important that he was, who knew what they were going to get into even if it was going to be mediocre. He was never as great as he wanted to believe when drunk, in fact, he got sloppy and impatient. Roger brought all of this back to his hotel room at nearly one in the morning.

“Who was that?” Your ears picked up on the sound of the ditzy girl before the door clicked shut completely. You didn’t get Roger’s answer but you could still imagine what he said for you stood by the oak door, waiting, your face null of any emotion. You almost felt dead in the sense that all your memories with Roger felt like they were flashing before your eyes yet you found almost no sympathy for them. All of the kisses were a lie, all of the times you told him you loved him, while true to every letter of the phrase, very well could have meant nothing to him. You knew Roger’s answer to the girls inquiry and it was plastered in your skull like a banner because you had heard it so many times, in different varieties. It’s nothing, love. I’m doing nothing, love. I’m going nowhere, love, just out and about. ‘That was no one, love.’ Love this, love that. 

Lifting a hand, you made an almost orchestration gesture with your hand as if you were throwing those phrases carved into you by Roger himself away. You were never his love, you were never his. You wanted to push that door open and shout at him, but even that wasn’t good enough for what Roger had done. You wanted one thing and one thing only. To tear him down into tiny pieces fluttering into the air carelessly, almost like ash from a fire as you watch him burn into oblivion. You wanted to crush him into those tiny shards of glass that he was never going to be able to pick up without bleeding. They’re going to sink into his skin and cut him deeper, straight to the veins of his heart, more hurtful and bitter than any word or phrase was going to be able to captivate because there’s always going to be a small part of him that belonged to you, whether he wanted to admit that to himself now or live with the guilt that he had lost you. 

Your fingers twitched with want to grab him by his collarbone and slice into his chest, grabbing his heart and force him to watch you as you danced around with it in your hand, your grip getting tighter and tighter every time you caught eyes with him just to encapsulate the feelings that he gave you in this very moment. You would made it last though. This… What had happened only minutes ago took what seemed like an age to process, in fact it was still processing vividly in your mind as the scoring fact that he hadn’t opened the door behind you to go after you sunk deep into the crevices of your dead mind, and you’d make his payback last just as long, if not longer.

You wanted to, oh god you wanted to…

A lump in your throat that you hadn’t felt before rose and seemingly blocked your way from swallowing, giving you the sensation that if you took a step or moved in any sudden way you would automatically get sick. So, you stood there awkwardly in the dim-fluorescent lights of a hotel that was on the cheaper side, but still, nice if you cared about that sort of superficial things. The weight of your bag held down your shoulders like an anchor to the ground otherwise you were sure some sort of irrationality would bang on the door of your mind and you’d recklessly let it in, strangling you into doing something ridiculous out of retaliation. While there were so many things you were craving to do now, alone and frozen, you wanted to sleep more than anything. Maybe, if you slept, you’d forget all of this happened and you could go back home without saying anything, without being there for Roger anymore and just let him slide under the table as another lover as he so thoughtfully done for you over the space of your relationship. A sniffle escaped your body, the first sound that you finally made since seeing Roger’s face, still heavily ingrained into your thoughts.

‘What are you so surprised about?’ You wanted to ask him when his lips parted even more than they were, the cigarette between them dropping to the floor. ‘If it didn’t happen now, I’d have found out eventually.’ You imagined yourself saying as you recalled his slight sputtering upon seeing you, taking that extra step forward and almost covering the girl who was with him as if that wasn’t going to raise more questions. ‘She’s pretty, just your type.’ You wished you had the courage to actually say these things, just to hurt him more in the faux fashion that you didn’t care as much as he wanted to think. That would hurt him, you thought to yourself and wiped at your nose with the back of your sleeve.

Roger felt he was special; everyone and anyone wanted him because he was indeed talented and very good looking, but when you took those away, you were left with an insecure boy who lashed out any opportunity he got because he was so deathly afraid of anyone getting to know the reality of who he was. The severity of who he truly was. You had the opportunity to knock him off his high horse and say ‘hey, I didn’t actually love you after all this time because our relationship was built on lies and deception and I see that now. Have a good life whoring yourself out to any girl who gives you the slightest bit of attention. I’m through.’ You wished… Goodness, you wished you had the guts to have said that to him, to pretend that you didn’t feel your heart shatter into a thousand sand pieces right onto the floor of that hotel room.

“(Name)?” That was a very familiar voice that enunciated well, smooth and proper. Your mouth popped open as you glanced to your left to see if it was who you thought it was. Brian. The mess of curls caught the light and shone lightly, his face feigned concern and mild confusion as to why you were standing so silently like a statue outside of Roger’s hotel room. Why weren’t you inside with him? “Oh, god, you’ve scared me! Thought you were a ghost, just standing here all stiff. I didn’t expect to see you here---” He stopped speaking upon seeing the expression on your face.

A dropping face where the smile you managed to give him was so forced that it was painful for Brian to experience second-hand, redness around your eyes as you were still trying desperately to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks and dropping off your chin. But, that was long forgotten when he caught eyes with you, the charade was over. It had been done and processed and it was time to break down in the only way you knew how. Crying. Your neck convulsed with the wall of tears that suddenly stung at the back of your throat and eyes, one more pitiful attempt to stop yourself from crying but it was all in vain. “Oh, fuck, (Name).” Brian himself was never great with girls who cried in front of him. He never knew what was proper etiquette in his attempts to calm them down unless he were dating them because that gave him more freedoms and more opportunity to touch and soothe in any way possible. The tears came flooding from your eyes though in fat rolls and Brian panicked momentarily, “What’s wrong? What happened? Do you- do you need me to get Roger?”

Hearing his name made it worse, you realized, hiccuping and raising your hands to cover your face as you shook your head no. No! You wanted to tell Brian, don’t get Roger, I don’t want him to see me like this, it’ll only give him more power to know that he broke my heart! No, no, no, no… “Here---” You felt his arm shroud you as if he were protecting you from anyone else seeing you in such a state. Brian was a friend and had been since you started dating Roger a year ago. He’d always been there for you during your arguments with the drummer which were consistent enough that you considered Brian’s couch back home a second bed. He’d console you in the best way he knew, telling you what you wanted to hear before reminding you that well… If you were going to be with Roger, you needed to remember that he was very difficult and not just a walk in the park. There was always going to be turmoil whether you wanted it or not, or some sort of never-ending drama because Roger had a knack for attracting it. “My room is down the hall, can you make it or---” There was nothing but a wordless nod as you let Brian take the lead. Tears were spilling onto your lips and as you peeked your tongue out to wet them properly, you tasted the saltiness and cringed just a bit. You’d never like the taste of tears, especially ones with such bitter intent to remind you of all that had happened tonight and presumably all that was going to happen as you knew you had to push your way through sobbing to explain to Brian what had happened.

This time was different… While you had your bickers with Roger before, usually over petty little things like who needed to do the dishes or you wishing he were home more, this was off-the-wall for Brian to give advice on. What did you want him to say? The guitarist thought to himself, unlocking his hotel room door and swinging it open. With a hand on the small of your back, he urged you forward, flicking the light on by the door and letting it click shut behind the two of you once you were both inside. You seemed to linger almost lifelessly by Brian, hoping that in some way or another, he’d guide you into what you were supposed to do next. What were you supposed to do? While you had imagined going home and forgetting all of this, that, you were certain, would not happen. You lived with Roger. You shared a home, you shared domestic memories that were casually up-rooted by your idea of being spontaneous and surprising him on tour. He gestured to the bed as the two of you lingered for a second in that space between the actual room and the door. You didn’t dare look at yourself in the little mirror on the wall there, already hyper aware that you were jetlagged, tired and now sobbing uncontrollably and that was not something you wanted to partake in. Now, Brian was no fool, though he often times turned the other cheek when it came to Roger’s rather womanizing ways. He paid little attention to it for it was a lifestyle choice he didn’t find as appealing as the drummer. The prospect of having a woman and then throwing them away was something Brian didn’t seek to do; he had too much empathy. Upon seeing you in better light as you rested your bag down on the floor, taking a spot on the full sized bed of his, he felt something sink indescribably within his stomach, as if he had swallowed a large spoonful of the most ill tasting soup imaginable.

In a simple way, though he wouldn’t tell you this outloud for he was sure you already knew, you looked absolutely awful. While your eyes were so often full of happiness and joy whenever you were around Brian, they were almost cold and distant and he found it hard to read anything in them as you gazed up at him tiredly. Your lips refused to tug into a smile, even if you were forcing it. The one he had previously gotten from you in the hallway was hardly an expression of cheerfulness and was more agonizing on the eyes than you probably thought. It was the sort of face that you tried to give him right then and there but tears were still falling from your eyes. Your nose scrunched before your entire face balled up completely and Brian finally sought solace as he sat beside you, the bed shifting and squeaking a bit with the added weight. “You’ve got to tell me what happened if you want me to help you, otherwise I can’t do anything…”

You gestured nonsensically and if someone where to walk in at that moment, they probably thought you to be mildly insane as nothing came out of your mouth but a long wail, wavering in tiny vibrato. The sound stopped- you were left to cry silently, already to the point where you were crying too hard to make any noises other than the occasional gag as you caught your breath on the lump in your throat. Brian had rested a hand on your back softly, just to remind you that he was there and not going anywhere anytime soon, at least, until you stopped crying and maybe managed to rest on his bed. You were rendered speechless, holding your head in your hands and leaning into Brian without hesitation. There was nothing to lose anymore, nothing to bargain, nothing to bet or wager. You’d lost it all and at this point, you just wanted someone to hold onto you and mutter than things were going to be okay, that you would get passed this eventually, and that the world fucking sucked and that you had every right to be upset, even if that person didn’t know the extent of what happened.

Brian could take a hint. He trickled the hand from your back upwards so it was around your shoulder, coaxing you with the tips of his fingers to crawl properly into his touch. Which, you did. Your legs were up, you were in a ball on the bed, nuzzled into Brian’s side as he listened to you cry whilst trying to figure out what happened. Very obvious to him was the fact that you were here, in the United States. You were hanging out in front of Roger’s door with your bag, Brian hadn’t seen Roger since the beginning of the after-party for the concert, and now you were here, lonely, crying to him instead of crying to Roger. Something happened between the two of you, something… Something…. Brian tilted his head to the side and put his chin on your head, his other hand coming up to now rub your arm. Something happened between the time of the after-party to now. Had you surprised Roger and he got angry that you spent money to fly here to see him? Had Roger been drunk and stumbled into his hotel room, plastered and you were absolutely displeased with the state of--- oh.

With that thought hanging on by a thread, he put two and two together. You didn’t want to see Roger, you refused to see Roger, hearing his name seemed to trigger you even further into an abyss of tears… Brian’s eyebrows furrowed together as it locked and loaded inside of his mind. He knew what happened and he was indeed more foolish now than he had ever been for not thinking it firstly, as bad as that sounded. He knew Roger. He knew Roger’s habits and tactics. Brian knew what happened which spurred him to hold onto you that much tighter, uttering into your hair as you gripped his shirt and held him desperately. “Oh, god…”

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[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“Happy Ending” Healthy!Arthur Morgan x Reader

I will always be upset about the fact that Arthur doesn’t get a happy ending, because he deserves it more than any other character in the game so here’s the happy ending I wrote for him! Fluff

With your help, Arthur escapes gang life with the money that had been promised to him for so long. Now the two of you can live out the rest of your lives on the open plains of the West. 

Your heart was pounding as the adrenaline rushed through your veins. You were running through the caves behind Arthur who had the big sack of cash thrown across his shoulder. “What’s the plan?” You called to him. 

“The plan is,” he called over his shoulder.” To get the hell outta here alive.” He had just passed the threshold of the cave and out into the night. His head was turned towards you and he didn’t see Micah until he was on top of him. 

“You couldn’t keep away could ya, cow polk?” Micah sneered down at Arthur as he began to strangle him. “You made a big mistake comin’ back here all alone.”

Arthur struggled under him and clawed at Micah’s filthy hands. “I ain’t alone.” He coughed. 

“Hey asshole.” 

Micah looked up at you just in time to catch your bullet right between his eyes. He fell limp on top of Arthur. He pushed the corpse off him in disgust and you helped him up. You looked down at Micah’s bloody face and spat right in it. “Been lookin’ forward to doin’ that for a long time, cow polk.” 

Arthur picked up the sack and squeezed your shoulder. “Let’s go.” 

There was the small click of a pistol behind you, “Not so fast.” You drew your pistol as you turned. 

“Dutch.” Your voice was seething in hatred. He had a gun in each hand, one pointed at you and the other at Arthur. 

Arthur drew his pistol reluctantly, and the three of you stood there in silence, a dead standoff. Dutch was the first to speak. “Give me the money boy, you’re makin’ a big mistake.” 

“All them years, Dutch for what? For you to throw us away like trash for some rat?” Arthur’s voice was angry, his heart was breaking from the betrayal of the man he called a father for so many years. He tried to deny it for so long, tried to tell himself Dutch ain’t like that, but now with Dutch’s pistol facing him and his eyes cold as ice the evidence was irrefutable. 

Dutch aimed his gun right at Arthur’s head. His voice was cold and threatening. “I’ll only say it one more time. Bring me the money, now.” 

“Not a chance in hell!” Arthur shouted. 

In that moment, Dutch’s gaze shifted completely towards Arthur and he pointed both guns toward him. Time slowed around you as you lined up your shot, your bullets riddled through him before he could pull the trigger. 

Guilt and self hatred ran through you like ice water. You approached the man that you once considered a father figure. Even though you knew the man who raised you wasn’t the same as the man who laid dead in front of you, tears still welled in your eyes as you looked down at his bleeding body. You cursed the tears as they ran down your cheeks, Dutch would not shed the same tears for you had you been in the same position and you knew that. Arthur pulled his arms around you and stroked your hair softly. “Shhh, it’s okay.” He whispered in your ear. “You had to do what you had to do.” He gripped your arms and looked you in the eye. “We have to go now before the others find us. Can you ride?” 

You wiped the tears from your eyes and sniffled. “Yes.” 

Arthur gave you a quick reassuring kiss. “Come on.”

You nodded and followed him towards your horses. He loaded the sack of money onto his horse and bolted off into the night. You followed close behind him. The night was pitch black, all you could see was the white sheen off Arthur’s horse. It reminded you of the Count. Memories flooded back of riding behind Dutch, always behind Dutch and beside Arthur. In a matter of months your family had been shot, tortured, and torn apart in front of your very eyes. Men you considered to be brothers turned on you quicker than leaves turn in the fall. You felt the tears come back and you blinked them away. You had to stay sharp and focused if you were going to make it out of here alive, you had to keep pushing. 

A year later, and you and Arthur had completely different lives. Finally, he was back west where he longed to be for so long, and to make it better, he was living a normal life. After you escaped that night, you rode west and stayed far away from the public eye. Using a chunk of your fortune you paid off both of your bounties, allowing the two of you to live freely without the fear of being hunted by lawmen and bounty hunters. The next thing you did was purchase a large piece of property, just between Armadillo and Tumbleweed. Together you built a beautiful cabin atop a plateau that overlooked the valley where the main road cut through the desert. Arthur forgot how beautiful the deep reds and rich browns of the west were and now he could enjoy them with you by his side. 

Arthur woke early one morning, before the sun had rose. He looked your large bedroom; the fireplace was dimly lit only the embers remaining, they illuminated the big bear rug that was sprawled on the floor in front of the fire. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he and Hosea hunted that bear. He wondered what Hosea thought of the events that had unfolded since his death. He thought about Hosea watching them from heaven, making his sassy remarks and snorting at Dutch’s haywire plans. With a smile, he also thought of what Hosea would think of him now. He knew Hosea would be proud, he always wanted this life for Arthur. Hosea’s voice whispered in the back of Arthur’s head. “She’s gonna make one hell of a wife one day.” 

Arthur looked over at you, curled up in his side with your head resting on his chest. Your face was peaceful, deep in sleep. Your hair was wild, strands sticking out in every direction, Arthur found it painfully cute. He shifted out from under you carefully and pulled on his clothes for the day quietly. You were a heavy sleeper, so you weren’t disturbed in the slightest by his movements. He went down the stairs to the kitchen and began making his morning coffee over the stove. He looked out the window and sighed in content. He never thought in his wildest dreams he would have this. A woman in his bed who loved him and treasured him dearly, a roof over his head to keep them safe, and the security of knowing you won’t be hunted down in the night. He finally felt like a real man, the man you deserved. He put a roof over your head, he could make you breakfast in the mornings, discuss your dreams and your daily plans at the breakfast table. He finally felt like he could make a good husband. He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed his journal. He ripped out a piece of paper and began to write: 

Y/N,

I stepped out to make a trip to town. You were fast asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you. I may be back before you wake, but if I don’t I wanted you to know I was safe and will be returning to you soon. As always, I’ll carry you with me in my heart through my travels. I look forward to coming home to see your shining face. 

Yours always, Arthur

He folded the piece of paper and climbed back up the steps. He opened the bedroom door slowly and placed the piece of paper on your night stand. He placed a small kiss on your forehead before turning and leaving. 

You woke slowly and reached for Arthur. Your eyes flew open when your hands felt nothing but the cold sheets beside you. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach as you shot up. “Arthur?” You called. “Arthur!”

Before you could stop it your brain began throwing images at you. Arthur, returning to camp half dead after being kidnapped. Arthur, lying where Lenny lied cold and dead in the streets of Saint Denis blood pooling around him. Arthur’s body grossly beheaded, his head sitting in his hands as his body is brought to camp on his horse just like Kieran. With a deep breath you calm yourself and look around the empty room. Your nerves ease as you spot the small piece of paper folded on your night stand. You picked it up and read it, your heart growing fuller with each word. Arthur’s beautiful handwriting scrolled across the paper, and your fingers grazes where it said, “yours always.” 

With a smile, you opened the bottom drawer of your night stand and pulled out a tin box. Inside was every love letter, drawing, and little side note like this one Arthur had ever given you. This box held the story of your relationship, and it was your dearest treasure. You slipped the note into the box and returned it to its home in the drawer. With a yawn, you put on your clothes and got ready for the day. 

It was afternoon when you saw Arthur coming up the dusty trail towards your home together. It still filled your heart with joy to be reunited with him, even if it was only for a few hours. You ran outside to meet him as he hitched his horse. 

“Welcome home, my love.” You whispered as you threw your arms around him.

He gripped you tightly, “Thanks darlin’.” He released you and took your hand. You looked so happy as you led him in the house, it made his heart feel like it was about to burst. 

“I want to take you out today.” He announced as you entered the house together. 

You smiled up at him. “Really? Whatcha thinkin’?”

“It’s a surprise. But its a fancy surprise, so I want ya to go put on somethin’ nice.”

“What I got on ain’t nice enough?” You joked. 

He smiled down at you, his eyes were full of affection. “You always look nice, but I want this to be special.” 

The love in his voice made you melt, you nodded and ran upstairs to your room. You dug through your wardrobe until you found the perfect dress. It was powder blue with small white flowers. It was Arthur’s favorite, which in turn made it your favorite as well. 

Arthur changed quickly while you did your hair and makeup. Before your new life, you never primped yourself like this, and even though Arthur still found you breathtaking in your natural beauty, he still couldn’t get over the way you looked when you got all dolled up. It still made a lump rise into his throat and made him feel flustered when you looked at him, hair pulled into a beautiful updo and your makeup done with flawless precision. He couldn’t help the knots turning in his stomach as he waited anxiously for you to finish getting ready, he tried to fight them off as not to make you suspicious. 

When you finished, Arthur took you by the arm and led you to his horse. He helped you up carefully, trying to keep you as clean as possible. He sat behind you and wrapped his arms around you tightly as the horse took off. 

The ride was long, he headed east and the warm reds and browns turned into cool greens and grays. 

Your curiosity got the better of you. “Where are we goin’ Arthur?” 

“I told you, it’s a surprise.”

You groaned in impatience and he laughed. “Don’t worry darlin’ we’re almost there.” 

After a few minutes of silence, Arthur led his horse off the trail and into a thicket. This confused you, but you knew Arthur wouldn’t give up his secrets until they were there. The trees opened up to reveal a small meadow with a stream cutting right through it. Wild flowers littered the ground in every color. The sunlight cut through the trees and drenched the meadow in a golden light. Arthur took your hand and gently pulled you off the horse. He kept your hand and led you to the center of the meadow, right beside the stream. You looked around in awe. “Oh Arthur,” you whispered. “This is beautiful.” 

He smiled down at you, “not as beautiful as you.” He cleared his throat and you caught the nervous look in his eye. He took both hands in his and turned towards you. His eyes darted quickly to the side then back to you. “Meetin’ you was the best thing to ever happen to me. Before you, I never thought I would find love, because I never really thought I deserved it. You showed me how to love again, and how to love myself. I don’t feel like a miserable ugly wretch anymore, I feel like a man, a man who can take your love and give it back to you with my whole heart.” His eyes darted back to the side one more time before he knelt down and picked up a mahogany box that had been hidden in the tall grass behind him. “I know this isn’t as traditional as a ring but,” your hand came to your mouth as you realized what was happening. He propped himself up on one knee and opened the box to reveal two beautiful Mauser pistols; one was black with white engravings and a stag on the handle. The other was white with black engravings, a doe in the same spot. You recognized them immediately, they were just like Arthur’s. “I figured these would be more your style. Y/N, would you do me the honor of being my wife?” His eyes were swimming with nervousness and anticipation. You nodded your head yes as tears of happiness ran down your cheeks. “Yes,” you croaked as you threw yourself into his arms, knocking him backwards into the grass. His own tears of happiness began to fall as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, laughing and kissing your shoulder as he buried his face into you. 

“Perfect, absolutely stunning!” You looked up in surprise to see no other than Albert Mason poking his head out of a bush in the direction Arthur kept glancing. Arthur wiped the tears from his face and helped you to your feet. As you approached, you saw the lens of his camera just barely poking out from the bush. You looked up at Arthur stunned, “Did you know he was going to be here?” 

“Of course! He asked me to be here, my dear. He wanted me to capture this very special moment for him.” Albert said as he clumsily pulled himself from the bushes. He stumbled clumsily, but Arthur caught him and put an arm around his shoulder. “Thank you, my old friend. I can’t thank you enough for bein’ here today.” 

Albert patted him on the back, “Why it was my pleasure!” He turned to you, “this fine man has saved my sorry skin more times than I can count. I owe him my life.” 

You beamed at the funny man, “I can say the same thing.”

Albert set up his camera, “I may not be able to pay you for saving my life, but I can do a lovely engagement photoshoot for the lovely couple! It’ll be my treat, an engagement gift as you will.” 

Arthur tried to argue, he wanted to pay his friend for his services but he wouldn’t have it. “Go stand with your lovely fiance and let me photograph you before something tries to eat us all!” Albert joked. 

“Alright, alright.” Arthur joined you beside the stream, he never had his photos taken before and it was much funner than he anticipated. 

The day of your wedding came quickly, and it was a small ceremony. You were able to contact a few remaining old friends; John and his family attended along with Charles and Sadie. Charles stood in front of you and Arthur, he was more than happy to wed you and neither you nor Arthur could think of anyone better to do it. Arthur was a sight to behold in his suit, his beard trimmed neatly and his hair slicked back with pomade. He would’ve said the same about you, a vision of white and hair pinned back with the veil draping your face. Arthur could barely wait for Charles to say “you may kiss the bride” before he pushed the veil back and kissed you with the most passion he could muster. This was the happiest day of your life. 

Years passed blissfully, married life suited the two of you, and calling you his wife sent Arthur over the moon. You were sitting across the table from one another on a summer afternoon, Arthur drew in a new journal as you sorted through the mail. You smiled as you looked down at the parchment in front of you. It was from Abigail and John; you opened it to reveal a wedding invitation. “Oh my God, it looks like John finally got the nerve to ask Abigail to marry him.” You said. 

Arthur looked up at you, “I thought they was already married?” 

You shook your head. “She took his name a coupla years ago but they never made it official. Who woulda thought, John a family man.” 

Arthur laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day.” 

You took his hand, “You musta rubbed off on him.” 

The Marston’s ranch wasn’t far from your own home which made the travel on you easier. Uncle and Charles had been staying with the Marston family, and you were happy to see Sadie again. Abigail was beaming through the entire ceremony, and she reminded you of how happy you were the day you married Arthur. Likes yours, the ceremony was small and short. As the sun began to set, John brought out a huge crate of whiskey. Everyone cheersed to him and Abigail, and you hated having to practice self discipline as you looked longingly at the whiskey. It didn’t take long for Abigail to notice you weren’t drinking. She stumbled to you holding a bottle. “Y/N, you haven’t even had a drink yet!” 

You laughed nervously, “Yeah, I guess my stomach just can’t handle liquor anymore.” You hoped she didn’t see through your lie, but she was already quite inebriated. She just eyed you suspiciously, “Okay, then.” And with that she turned and headed back to John’s side. 

Arthur had hit the whiskey hard, as usual, and it made for an entertaining show. Arthur was always a funny drunk, but when he was reunited with his old friends, it made your heart happy to see him so carefree. The party went on late into the night, and you and Arthur stayed the night at the ranch.

Morning came early and your stomach churned uneasily. You got up quietly as to not wake Arthur and headed straight for the door. You leaned over the railing of the porch and vomited violently. You prayed no one heard you, you weren’t quite ready to tell anyone yet and you certainly didn’t want to steal Abigail’s thunder. You wiped the bile from the corners of your mouth and snuck back into the house undetected. To your relief, Arthur was still fast asleep on the floor and you curled up next to him. 

He woke a few hours later, and the two of you had breakfast with the family before heading back to your own home. The ride back was quiet, but it was a nice quiet. You and Arthur were close enough that the silences between you didn’t feel heavy or awkward. 

When you finally made it back, you flopped down on the bed, your body was exhausted from the travel. Arthur followed behind you, still quiet. You closed your eyes and crawled back into your bed. When Arthur didn’t join, you opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was looking at you wearily from across the room. You opened your arms and beckoned him. “What’s wrong, Arthur?” 

He finally moved towards you and sat on the edge of the bed beside you. His eyes were full of concern. “Are you okay?” 

You looked up at him confused, “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

He rubbed his neck nervously, “I noticed you didn’t drink last night. I’ve never known you to turn down whiskey. And this morning, I heard you getting sick. I need to know if something’s wrong, I want to take care of you.” He put a hand on your forehead, feeling for a fever. You grabbed his hand and held it in yours. 

“I wasn’t plannin’ on tellin’ you yet, but I ain’t sick.”

“What is it?” 

You placed his hand on your belly and smiled. “I’m with child.”

He looked at you in disbelief and sputtered, “You, you mean-are you sure?” 

You nodded, “I went to the doctor last week, I’m sure.” You hand cupped his cheek. “You’re going to be a father, Arthur.” 

He smiled and he felt tears of happiness well up in his eyes. No words ever put more excitement and joy in his heart. He kissed your stomach and then kissed you on the lips. “This is the best day of my life!” He almost shouted. 

He was full of excitement, and you knew he would make a wonderful father. Before Arthur, you never even wanted kids, but watching him with Jack throughout the years, and hearing him talk about his desires for family changed your mind, and this was the moment everything led up to. Arthur joined you in the bed and pulled you into his arms tightly. 

This was it, this was pure happiness. Arthur had everything he had ever dreamed of, for the first time in his life, he felt whole.

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo​ square: Hanahaki Disease

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Relationship: Tony Stark / Steve Rogers / Bucky Barnes Words: 8.332 Tags: Unrequited Love, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sick Tony, Angst, Happy Ending

Summary: A whole bouquet worth of flowers ends up on their bed the night of the wedding, the colours almost sombre. “Well,” Steve says and stops unbuttoning his shirt, “I guess we married for nothing.”

- Tony is dying from unrequited love for Captain America, who is first a dead hero and then a very alive one just as disinterested in Tony as Howard had always promised.

---

A whole bouquet worth of flowers ends up on their bed the night of the wedding, the colours almost sombre.

“Well,” Steve says and stops unbuttoning his shirt, “I guess we married for nothing.”

He leaves the room, careful not to touch any of the petals, not looking back when Tony’s breathing becomes laboured.

There is nothing he could do anyway. Love cannot be forced, not even for a dying man.

---

Tony is a special case. Once he is old enough to realize that, it does not even surprise him anymore. Starks are always held to a different standard.

His mother takes him to a doctor when he develops breathing problems at just five years old. The inhaler does not help but being away from Howard does.

He is eight the first time he coughs up a flower. It is the day he finally begins believing his father when he says that someone as brilliant as Captain America could never love someone as pathetic as Tony.

Tony knows what is happening, but he is not yet cynical enough to laugh about it. Instead, he locks himself into his room and cries, cradling the perfect blue forget-me-not.

People have always been saying he is special. He just did not think that would mean he would die from unrequited love for a dead man.

---

Tony turns ten and physicians call him a miracle. He turns twelve and fifteen and eighteen, and people call him an abomination.

His lungs do not get progressively worse. Some days he can barely breathe, choking up flowers of every colour. Some days his throat barely scratches.

Once he moves out of the mansion, Tony almost feels like a normal boy, not meant to wither before he has managed to grow roots. It is the little things that throw him back; nightmares or anniversaries or articles about World War II. Sometimes the American flag is enough to steal the air from his lungs.

He does not make sense. His chest is growing ever tighter, but he fights it. He gives up just as often but this disease has never been about what he wants.

Tony has always been Death’s favoured child. It is life that does not seem to know what to do with him.

---

The day they find Captain America in the ice, the air has never tasted sweeter. Tony feels like soaring, only marginally worrying about the crash. His heart beats strongly, pushing enough oxygen through his veins that he has the energy to smile, to hope.

The next morning, he reads an article in the newspaper, showing a picture of Howard and the Captain shaking hands. Howard is staring directly at the camera. His smile is happy enough, but his eyes seem to look at Tony alone, holding the familiar disdain.

This is not for you, he seems to say, and while Tony’s brain fights that thought, his lungs feel already on the verge of collapsing.

If only Tony could have gotten there before Howard. If only he could have managed to make his own first impression. Howard likes to say that Tony ruins everything he touches. This time, it seems, he will not even be allowed to touch.

Well, he is equally good at ruining himself. And it would be a shame for all that practice to go to waste.

---

“That is one hell of a favour, Howard.”

Tony does not mean to eavesdrop, but Captain America is in their house, and the physical need to catch a glimpse or at least to hear his voice is overwhelming. He has been wheezing all evening, unable to get enough air into his lungs. He is so used to the lack of oxygen that it is the easiest thing in the world to hold his breath as he lingers outside his father’s office.

“I know, and I wouldn’t ask if –” That is Howard. Tony would know his voice anywhere, if not this tone. It holds the usual annoyance it does when it comes to discussing Tony, but it is also so much gentler than Tony has ever heard it.

“He’s your son, I know.”  Captain America sighs. Nothing good has ever come of people reminding Howard that he is related to Tony.

“It’s more of a hero worship thing anyway,” Howard scoffs, as if it is nothing. “This has been going on forever. But it’s getting worse lately.”

Captain America hums, and Tony wishes he could see his face, just to know how bad the contempt is. “Since you found me.”

Tony thinks of finding out that Captain America has been found alongside the rest of the public, although his father must have known. He thinks of all the mornings spent wheezing and clawing at his chest, and that he cannot get to the second floor of the mansion without taking a break halfway up.

It is getting worse, indeed. Even now, he feels his insides congealing and spreading roots locking his diaphragm in place.

“He is the reason I never stopped looking,” Howard says, revealing the only reason he suffered Tony’s antics at all. “It meant you couldn’t be dead, yes?”

A long moment of silence follows, in which Tony wants nothing more than to sneak forward and catch a glance. He does not know exactly what favour Howard is asking for, but it cannot be good, it never is when it involves Tony.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Captain America finally says but sounds like a man sent to his execution.

It is funny, how Tony’s lungs react to that as if someone has reached out to strangle him. All his sneaking around will not save him if he gets into a coughing fit right now, so Tony turns around to hurry back to his room, both satisfied to have at least heard the man he somehow loves, but utterly dejected that everything is already in ruins.

“Don’t force anything,” Howard says right before Tony is out of earshot. “He’s an entitled brat, he’ll have to get over it.”

He has tried so very hard. That has only ever made everything worse.

Steve does come to see him the next day, his face hard and his shoulders tense. It is obvious he is only here as a favour for Howard, and as much as Tony is thrilled to actually meet Captain America, he does not like pity. He might be dying, but he is not a charity case.

It is no surprise then that he ruins his own chances, whatever little there had been.

The first thing he tells Steve is, “My, those World War II posters did not exaggerate your shoulders-to-waist ratio.”

That just speeds up their never coming together.

Death is what they make their money with. They put weapons into people’s hands and they complain about the way the earth gets stained red. There is always a bigger stick to be had, though, and they have a knack for building that.

Tony is not afraid of dying. Death has always been a part of his life. He is afraid of dying alone, although that is what he has always known. Mostly, he is afraid of waiting for it.

It has been almost a decade since he has couched up his first petal, and he has long since given up on collecting them. He could have filled his room ten times over with that collection of tangible grief.

He has once laid out Captain America’s shield, life-sized and blood-specked. At the sight of it, he could not help but laugh. Long enough and hard enough that he could almost convince himself he was choking on laughter instead of love.

---

Half a year into their ill-advised marriage, Howard does Tony the favour of getting himself killed. There is some poetic justice to the fact that Tony outlives him after all, despite having been declared all but dead by Howard the moment he was diagnosed.

This way, he can stand next to his father’s grave and enjoy the way the air flows freely into his lungs. Tony has not contributed a single petal to the dozens of bouquets brought in Howard’s honour.

Less satisfying is the actual grief on Steve’s face, who is at the very front of the men volunteering to carry Howard’s body to its last resting place. That red-eyed expression holds more love than Steve ever showed for Tony. He can only imagine how different his own funeral will be.

It does not matter. He has outrun fate for so long already, he does not mind it coming ever closer anymore. For now, life has become so much sweeter.

“You really are heartless,” Steve hisses to him later, when the guests are gone and Tony is ready to fall into bed for the rewarding sleep of the fatherless.

“If I didn’t have a heart, I’d have so many less problems,” Tony replies lightly, looking his husband up and down to make it clear what he means. “So I’m all for getting rid of it.”

For a moment, Steve looks ready to help him with that. And he could. Those hands would be able to pry Tony’s ribcage open. He is already turning the inside of his chest into a wasteland. It is all just taking too long.

“You disgust me,” Steve says, facing him square-shouldered and unmoveable.

“I know.” That has been obvious from the very beginning.

With a shrug, Tony turns away. He has more important things to do. He now has one father-shaped problem less. At the same time, however, he gains a new one: the Winter Soldier.

He is sure that is going to blow up in his face.

---

“I found your friend,” Tony blurts out one night.

He is on his way down to the workshop and has not seen Steve in over a week. Tony makes it easy to avoid each other, which is in both their interest.

“What?” Steve grunts, not happy with being stopped in the hallway. Living together is only bearable when they pretend there is no one else in the house. “Who?”

Immediately, Tony curses himself. This is not something he actually wants to get into with Steve. It is not exactly his secret to keep, but things are easier when they do not talk.

“Barnes?” he asks more than tells. “Well, he’s calling himself the Asset these days. You know, the guy who tried to kill you?”

Steve is on him without warning, cutting off Tony’s babbling with an angry arm against Tony’s throat. “What did you do?”

Tony barely even flinches. This is the closes he has been to Steve since the wedding ceremony. He hates himself for it, but it feels good, like coming home, even with Steve’s anger pushing all the air out of his lungs.

“Careful with the throat, husband,” Tony says. Sometimes it seems like sarcasm is the only weapon he has left against the world, and even that is quickly fading, since his voice is giving out. “Didn’t anyone tell you I have breathing problems even without you threatening to beat me up?”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” Steve snarls, coming even closer.

“Funny, neither am I.” Black spots appear in Tony’s vision, but he has fought past that before. He goes limp in Steve’s hold, signals defeat, because he is going to end up being beaten down anyway. If not by Steve, then by his own body betraying him. “Barnes is in a secure facility. He was wounded. And I’m vetting psychiatrists to help him.”

This is obviously not what Steve expected him to say. In his surprise, he backs up a bit, enough to release the pressure on Tony’s windpipe. Breathing does not get any easier.

“Why would you do that?” Steve asks, staring down at Tony as if he is the reason for everything bad in his life.

Tony smirks. He knows that look and latches onto it with all he has. It is better than that wounded expression in Steve’s eyes, that fragile hope that has never been for Tony. Never will be either.

“Because, in my all-encompassing love for you,” he shows his teeth, mocking himself, “I can’t stand the thought of you withering away once I’m dead, so I thought I’d give you your best friend back.”

That is enough to destroy whatever goodwill Steve might have momentarily had for Tony, for he leans down, hand hovering threateningly over Tony’s throat again.

“If you’ve harmed a single hair on his head –”

Tony has heard so many variants of what comes after the pregnant pause that he chokes out a laugh. He is unbelievably glad when no petals come up with it.

“My, you don’t sound grateful,” Tony says with fake cheer. His voice is too high to pretend that he is not half-suffocating.

“Where is he?” Steve asks, his breath warm on Tony’s skin. It flows so freely, making Tony stare in wonder.

“I’ll send you the coordinates,” he promises quietly. As much as Tony yearns for Steve’s presence, being this close to him is unbearable. “Pack something warm, honey.”

---

In the early days after being diagnosed, Tony was interested in the science of all this. How can he be dying from something inevitable? A dead man cannot love him back. It does not make sense.

And yet.

He should be dead ten times over by now. Unwanted, unloved, never good enough.

And yet.

He wants to be dead, too. Dead people do not need to breathe. He has practiced that for most of his life already.

 And yet.

---

For a ghost, Barnes looks good. He has long washed off any visible traces of having been in HYDRA’s care. His hair is cut, his clothes are neat, his arm is repaired. The terror still sits deep in his eyes, but time will deal with that.

“Who’re you?” Barnes asks when Tony strolls into the room.

He sounds curious more than defensive, and Tony revels in the anonymity.

“Tony,” he says shortly, waiting for recognition that never comes. Perhaps Steve has not told his best friend about his pathetic excuse of a husband. “I helped working on BARF.”

That is the simplest explanation he can give without saying that he pulled Barnes away from HYDRA and then stayed up day and night to create something that could deal with both their nightmares, imagined and real.

“So you’re here to collect some data?” Barnes shifts uncomfortably but makes no move to stop Tony when he sits down on the couch, a good few feet away.

“No.” Tony shrugs. The data he needs is not something he can measure. It has more to do with how much Steve loves this man, enough to be almost civil to Tony, even though he can usually not stand to even look at him. “I can see that it worked. I wanted to ask if you need anything.”

Barnes’ face darkens. Somehow, Tony has managed to upset him within moments of meeting him. That truly is a specialty of his.

“People are asking me that all day.”

Tony shrugs, pretending that it does not become hard to breathe already. “Must be because you look so lost all the time.” He knows a bit about that, but he is not here to bond with Barnes, even if that were possible. Steve would never forgive him.

“Do you –”

Three things happen simultaneously. Barnes’ face grows soft and guarded at the same time. Tony’s windpipe fills up with dread and flowers. Then steps grow loud and Steve comes into view, his expression pinched and ready to start shouting.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, sidling up to Barnes, ready to jump in front of him.

What do they think? That Tony would go to all this trouble only to harm Barnes right in front of Steve? People say he is petty, but all Tony has ever been trying to do is to survive. Hurting others on purpose has never helped with that.

“Hello to you too, darling,” Tony greets with burning sweetness. “I was just having a chat with our guest.”

He leans back in his seat, making it look like insolence instead of a means to hide his trembling muscles. Steve’s hate is always making him so weak.

“How about you stay away from him?” Steve snarls. Tony would not be surprised if Steve reached out to throw him bodily out of the room.

Ironically, it is Barnes who saves him. He reaches up to lay his hand on Steve’s arm. That touch works like a miracle. “Steve, what is going on?”

When they look at each other, Tony barely recognizes Steve. He has never seen his face so open, vulnerable, loving. If he would look at Tony like that even one time, Tony is sure he would be cured. At the very least, he would die a happy man.

“Stark has a habit of ruining everything he touches,” Steve explains in a dismissive tone, reducing Tony to nothing more than his failures – not that there is much more to show anyway.

Barnes frowns and glances at Tony briefly. “I heard he found me and brought me back.”

That sounds close enough to someone standing up for Tony that he misses his chance to speak up.

“And I’m still trying to find out why,” Steve says, ruining whatever first impression Tony might have made with Barnes.

Tony’s anger is a living thing, much like the grief growing in his lungs. He does not attempt to hold it back when it roars.

“Is that how you won the war?” Tony asks, voice cutting. “By suspecting everyone is the enemy and simply punching anything that moved?” Sometimes all the derision he has for himself can be channelled against whoever is in his way. It does not help making him feel better, but he does not need any more scars either.

Getting to his feet in as smooth a motion as he manages with how weak his legs are, Tony adds, “I don’t mean Barnes any harm. Otherwise I would have hardly gone to all this effort.”

It is simple logic, but Steve is naturally immune to that. “You’re desperate,” he spits out, almost causing Tony to laugh.

Desperation is for those who still have hopes to be stripped away from them.

“Why? Because I’m dying?” Tony questions gently. He is not quite sure how he remains steady on his feet while being numb all over. “I’ve known that for over two decades. I’m just waiting for my lungs to hurry up and give out.” Oh, how long he has waited.

Turning, Tony fixes his eyes on the door. He will leave. He does not know where he will go, but it does not matter. There is no such thing as a right place to die in.

“Who are you?” Barnes’ voice stops him just before he can escape the scene.

“Tony Stark. Sorry for omitting the last name.” Just about everyone would be happier if he had a different one. If he were a different person or simply no one at all.

Barnes clears his throat, clearly aware of the minefield he is navigating. “I mean, who are you to each other?”

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony cannot bear to listen to him.

“Captain Spangles and I? Nothing,” he hurries to say. “We’re married, but Howard did that most likely so Steve could inherit.” Tony straightens. He has always met his fate with his head unbowed. “Smile. Once I’m gone the two of you will be dizzyingly rich.”

Sooner rather than later now. Then again, Tony has been hoping so for years.

Once he is in the privacy of his own room, Tony coughs up enough flowers to drown himself in them. He buries his face in them, smells their sweetness, and wishes he could disappear.

---

For all that they can go weeks without seeing each other, Steve on a warpath always finds Tony. There is no hiding from Steve’s temper. It is almost as if they are connected after all, pulled together but only when emotions are running high.

Tony has his own alarm system, though, and for once he does not mean JARVIS. A whole minute before the door to his study is thrown open, Tony’s throat constricts and he knows he will not get any more work done this evening.

The knee-jerk reaction of Tony’s body to Steve’s presence is immediate and terrifying. As soon as Steve fills out the doorway, Tony’s spine straightens and he leans forward, as if one inch less of physical distance will actually bring them closer together. Tony’s head might be yelling at him to call it quits, to leave and try to save of himself what he can, but his life has not actually been dictated by his head for a very long time.

Even with fury filling his eyes, Steve looks glorious. Lately, Tony has been looking more again, because Steve’s qualities are only enhanced with Barnes there to balance them out. The more often he shows himself, the more time he spends coughing up his lungs piece by piece. He used to be better at secluding himself, but something about Steve and Barnes together makes it impossible to stay away.

“What are you even still doing here?” Steve spats after glaring at Tony for long seconds.

Tony wonders what prompted this – and, a bitter voice in his head adds, whether Steve means what he is still doing here in the house or why he is still alive. Tony only has an answer to one of these questions.

“This is still my home, darling. I’m not yet dead,” Tony answers. He would be proud of how calm his voice is, if it were not due to the sudden dryness of his mouth, courtesy of the mounting pressure inside his chest.

Steve takes a step forward but then thinks better of it, as if Tony is contagious, and remains hovering in front of the only exit of the room. “You have other houses.”

Tony’s lips pull up into something that wants to be a smirk, but he is too exhausted for it. “And I like the view from this one.”

He likes the view inside it much more, but he does not say that. The fastest way to stop his lungs from cooperating at all, is to make Steve even angrier at him. Funny, how that works.

“We don’t want you here,” Steve argues stubbornly, as if want has ever made anything right. Tony is the walking definition of want gone awry.

“First off, you should stop talking for Barnes as if he doesn’t have a voice of his own. HYDRA did that long enough,” Tony says, although defending Barnes should not be at the top of his priorities. He knows what it is like to not be able to make decisions for himself. “And second, you agreed to living with me in the marriage contract you made with Howard. That means here, in one house. Deal with it.”

Right in front of him, Steve becomes livid. His hands curl into fists that Tony imagines he can already feel sinking into his flesh. It might be nice to feel some pain that does not generate from the disease growing inside his chest, to blame his misery on something not of his own making for once.

“Stay away from Bucky,” Steve orders, the words coming out flat and threatening.

“Perhaps you should tell your buddy to stay away from me,” Tony says, somehow managing to make his tone mocking, despite being almost out of air. “I’m hardly in running shape.”

“I mean it,” Steve says darkly, taking that step forward now as if he needs to loom over Tony to prove his superiority. “Leave us alone.”

Tony smiles, feels the skin stretching over his bones. “Patience is a virtue, Captain, and it’s not going to be that much longer.”

Without missing a beat, Steve says, “You’ve been promising that for a while now.”

Tony cannot help but flinch. As much as he has been waiting for release for years now, it hits much harder to hear the man he somehow loves wish him dead. “Get out.”

“You have to –”

The pressure inside Tony’s chest becomes unbearable, but he does not want to break down in front of Steve, does not want to cough out the proof of his unmet desire for Steve to see. Eyes watering, he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste is familiar enough to ground him a bit.

“Get. Out,” he snarls. Maybe it is the ferocity in his choked voice or the blood staining his lips, but Steve turns around and leaves.

He does not have the courtesy to close the door behind him, allowing everyone passing by a perfect view of Tony dissolving into a wheezing bundle of pain.

Death should definitely hurry up, Tony decides as he lies on the floor of his study, a sea of petals around him, because this life is not one he cares to have anymore.

---

Barnes has been sitting in Tony’s workshop for hours now. Allowing him in might not be the best idea Tony ever had – his ears are already ringing from simply imagining Steve’s shouting about it – but there was no way he could turn Barnes away when he came down here, shoulders slumped and exhaustion radiating off him in waves.

Tony can immerse himself in his work easily enough to ignore someone else’s presence, but that it is Barnes of all people is just as unnerving as the fact that his throat is already scratching with the threat of coughing, even though Steve is nowhere in sight.

“You built my arm, yes?” Barnes asks after what could have been hours of simply watching in wonder – or judgement. Tony is not sure which.

Tony nods and wipes sweat from his forehead, using the motion to rub at his sternum, willing the building pressure away. “Your old one was shit.”

“That’s not –” A frown flickers over Barnes’ face. “Why?”

This is a loaded question, and Tony is not getting into that with Barnes. “Building is about the only thing I’m good at. So why wouldn’t I?” he asks flippantly, hoping to deflect.

The frown is back, harder now. “You don’t like me.”

“Wrong,” Tony says but allows himself a small smile. “I don’t know you enough to like or dislike you. Steve loves you, though. He usually has a good instinct where it comes to people.”

With some serious exceptions, of course. Howard is not a good person, no matter who says it. He might have been once, but something turned him into a mess. Perhaps that is Tony’s fault too. He is so good at that.

“And yet he doesn’t seem to like you,” Barnes says, sounding contemplative.

“Your point being?” Tony asks, turning away to hide the irritation on his face. He does not need to be reminded of that. “Anyway, does Steve know you’re here?”

To Tony’s utter surprise, Barnes’ answer is prompt and firm. “No.” It almost sounds like he is running from something too.

When Tony looks at his expression, though, it does not betray anything.

“Don’t mind me denying all responsibility for your coming here,” he says slowly, hoping to not offend. “I might be tired of living, but I don’t want to go out being crushed by a supersoldier.”

Instead of reacting with a smile or simply more of that blank expression, Barnes looks unhappy, staring at Tony like he wants to decipher him but does not know where to start.

“You love him.”

Laughter bursts over Tony’s lips, scratching as much on the way up as the flowers do that he coughs up so regularly.

“I guess so,” Tony says, mouth stretching into a dead man’s grin. “I mean, otherwise that whole suffocating from unrequited love thing would be even more ironic.”

Barnes does not say anything to that, although he looks like he wants to. Then he lowers his head and stares at the metal fingers curled in his lap.

“Do you mind if I stay for a bit?” he asks an eternity later, sounding small.

Tony knows all about sanctuaries, about safe places to hide away in. He cannot begin to explain why Barnes would choose this, meaning he has to put up with Tony’s presence, but he would not deny it to him. “Knock yourself out.”

For the entirety of the time that Barnes spends down in the workshop with him after that, Tony does not have trouble breathing even once.

---

Tony finds them making out in his living room. He does not need to see Steve’s face to recognize the shape of his back, and Bucky’s arm stands out darkly against Steve’s bare skin.

The thing is, Tony thinks first about hygiene and the poor staff that might be stumbling over the sight, before he realizes his husband is cheating on him right in front of his eyes. It is not unsurprising, nor does it hurt him worse than a thousand other things Steve has done ever since they married. The shock slams into him with unforeseen strength, though. Where he has just been breathing, his lungs are now filled with the scratching stuffiness of a sea of flowers.

The practical part of Tony’s brain finds the reaction a little exaggerated but the rest of him is rendered helpless, unable to turn his stare away from the two men moving in perfect synchrony. They compliment each other so well, it belies all of Tony’s little fantasies about being a good counterpart to Steve.

The scene before him makes him obsolete. Neither of them needs him. Nobody does in the whole wide world. Anthony Edward Stark, heir to the greatest weapons manufacturing company in the world, genius in his own right – and nobody will even notice once he is gone.

“Wanna join?” Bucky’s voice washes like dark velvet over Tony’s skin. His gaze is on Tony with a relaxed leisure of a predator already satiated.

Tony is not a danger to them. Still, when Steve looks up, there is a hunger in his eyes that has Tony shivering. If only Steve would look at him like that once. He does not, though. But his scowl does not look very intimidating in his current state, naked and utterly at home.

“Don’t tempt him,” he says, his sneer just a necessity instead of something actually felt. “Stark doesn’t have any shame.”

And Tony has not. He would give one of his limbs, perhaps all of them, if he could slip between these two men and have them hold him like they mean it.

“As far as I remember, you don’t have either,” Bucky purrs, speaking to Steve but never taking his eyes off Tony. “I’m sure you have enough energy for both of us.”

“The though alone works better than a cold shower.”

It is banter between lovers. For once, Tony is sure Steve does not aim to hurt. It still does, of course, but Tony is used to that. What is new is the longing shooting through him, not only at the thought of Steve, but at watching Bucky sprawl out right next to him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says hastily and turns around to run.

In his back he hears the rumbling voice of Steve and Bucky’s resounding laughter. It stays with him for days.

---

The first time Bucky kisses Tony, it knocks the air out of his lungs in an entirely pleasant way. Breathlessness has always been tinged with fear or panic before. Now, however, it tastes distinctly of hope – not to be cured, Tony is not as naïve as that, but perhaps to die not completely unloved.

“What was that?” Tony asks when they separate, trying not to sound ungrateful but needing to know.

“You –”

Steve bursts in, showing that Tony might not be the only one with a talent for bad timing. He stops short in the doorway, looking suspiciously at how close Tony and Bucky are standing.

“What is going on?” he asks,

This time, Bucky does not hesitate to answer. “Nothing.”

It is not nothing that Tony coughs up that night.

---

The first time Steve kisses Tony, they are being watched.

“This is just an experiment,” Steve growls, looking like he would prefer being anywhere but here.

His lips are hard and unforgiving when he presses them on Tony’s, but Tony melts into the touch nonetheless. They have not even kissed at the wedding, since Steve was too busy getting out of there as soon as the priest had stopped talking.

Tony feels something move inside his chest, and while he is used to all kinds of pains and pressures, he cannot be sure what it means.

“And?” Bucky asks when they part.

Steve’s expression says more than words. He wipes his mouth and hastily takes a step back. “Nothing.”

This has become the ultimate answer between the three of them. Still, Bucky does not react how Tony would have expected, does not turn away and take Steve with him, considering this particular matter dealt with. Instead, he looks at Tony, waiting for an answer from him.

“I don’t –” Tony starts, stumbling over the words because he cannot get his mind to stop racing. “It doesn’t react to touch alone.”

It is easier to hold onto scientific facts than to make sense of feelings. Although Tony has always been an anomaly

“I told you so,” Steve says shortly and finally turns to go. Bucky lingers as if to make sure that Tony will be all right, but leaves when Tony shakes his head.

Then they are gone and Tony allows himself to try to take a deep breath. The air catches the way he is used to but – no buts. Everything is the same. Thinking anything else would be foolish, just because he does not lie on the ground, coughing his lungs up at this newest development. That will come again soon enough.

---

Sometimes, Steve scares Tony just by being able to sneak up on him. It is not normally a problem, considering they do their best to stay out of each other’s way, but it also makes it impossible for Tony to know when Steve is coming for him.

(Sometimes, Steve does not have to do anything to scare Tony. His mere existence is enough to strike an unearthly fear in his heart.)

This time, Tony does hear Steve’s steps coming closer. He does not know that it is Steve at first, but he would recognize Bucky’s, and barely anyone else comes here. Still, it is a surprise to see Steve appearing at the door to the workshop, raising his hand to knock.

All of that has Tony immediately on edge.

Still, he lets Steve in. He is not in the habit of making things unnecessarily harder on himself, and rejecting the man he is dying for would certainly fall into that category.

“Let him in, J,” he orders quietly, making sure to keep a workbench between himself and the door. That is nothing more than an illusion of safety, considering that even without his lungs being as they are, he could never outrun Captain America.

Steve step into the workshop but stays within a hasty stride from the door. Neither of them expects this to go well then.

“Bucky told me I should apologize to you,” Steve then says, the usual derision absent from his tone.

Bucky then. Tony should have known that much. For the past weeks, Bucky has assigned himself as the peacekeeper of the house, taking on the thankless job of trying to get Tony and Steve to get along. Sending Steve here like they are in elementary school and a forced handshake would make them friends again is just sad.

“What for?” Tony asks warily, still ready for the blows that are surely to follow.

“You –” Steve pauses and looks away. Tony envies him for the deep breath he takes. “You have done a lot for us.”

A humourless smiles spreads on Tony’s lips. He and his condition have make everyone he comes in contact with miserable.

“If you mean building that arm for Buc- Barnes, he has already thanked me for it,” Tony says, biting his tongue at his near blunder. Bucky is already too friendly to him when they meet. If Steve finds out, thing will only get worse. “Even though he didn’t need to.”

“It’s not just that,” Steve replies quickly. He looks uncomfortable of all things. “You – we didn’t get off on a good start, and you still let me move in with you, even if I didn’t even speak to you.” That was a clause in their marriage contract to make Tony’s death a little more comfortable, not that it really works out this way. “You made this Bucky’s home too. You’re a better person than –” He shrugs helpless.

Better than what? Than Howard said? Or the gossip rags? Better than Steve feared? Better than the horrible disaster of a human being everyone thinks him to be?

“Don’t,” Tony cuts him off almost gently. “You’ll think differently again soon enough. Let’s just keep things how they are.”

He does not think he could take it if they tried to turn this into something better and failed. Tony likes to know where he is at, and he can deal better with Steve’s hate than this uncertainty, ready to backfire on them any moment now.

When Tony turns back to his word, breathing as shallowly as possible to not get a coughing fit right here, Steve uses his opportunity to flee. It is bad that the walls are transparent. This way, Tony sees that Steve does not look back at him.

---

“Captain Rogers is asking whether you have time to come up for lunch,” JARVIS asks, interrupting Tony’s work.

Putting the soldering iron down, Tony frowns at the nearest camera. “Did someone break into the server room and munch at your cables?” he asks, wiping some sweat from his forehead. He does not take the request serious for a single minute.

“Not at all,” JARVIS replies lightly. With a hint of scolding in his tone, he adds, “I heard that human bodies need regular nutrition, although that might be a foreign concept for you. That is why I relayed the request.”

Tony loves how nuanced JARVIS is getting, how he uses sarcasm and trickery. Sometimes he feels more like a human being than Tony manages to be on his good days.

“You got the names confused,” he cautions, wondering whether the latest update might have done more damage than good. “You meant Sergeant Barnes.”

“No, sir,” JARVIS says without hesitation, causing Tony’s frown to grow. “Captain Rogers asked for your presence.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Tony repeats stubbornly because, frankly, nothing else makes sense. “Bucky. Dark hair, metal arm. You should have seen him around down here. Do I have to do maintenance on your sensors?”

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS answers, endlessly patient but also slightly amused. “Tall, blond and, to quote you, unbearably muscular, I’m positive.”

Tony stares. “That makes no sense,” he mutters as he waits for his racing thoughts to form into something useful, something to explain this sudden turn of events.

“Perhaps you should go upstairs and find out for yourself.”

JARVIS sounds so sure, but there is no way that Steve, who hates him, would ever invite him for lunch, not even if Bucky pushed him to do so. Steve has registered all of Bucky’s small kindnesses over the past weeks with growing discomfort.

“You wouldn’t prank me, right?” Tony asks his AI.

Entirely unhelpful, JARVIS answers, “Your well-being is my highest priority.”

Because Tony made it so. Sometimes he feels guilty for it. He created a thinking and arguably feeling person, body or not, and then commanded him to care for Tony. He would not trade JARVIS’ company for anything, but it sometimes makes him wonder whether Steve’s assessment of him might just be right.

“That could also mean you want me to smile more, which would make a prank more than possible,” Tony says dryly, not hinting at his thoughts. His kid deserves better than to be pulled into his doubts.

“Only one way to find out,” JARVIS replies cheekily.

There are more, of course. Tony could watch the camera feed from the kitchen or turn on the intercom. He even has some miniature drones lying around he could send out to spy for him. He does not.

Instead, he saves his progress and puts his tools away safely, and takes a leap of faith.

The way to the kitchen is both too long and too short. Several times, Tony has to force himself not to turn around, and yet he has not nearly prepared himself enough for whatever he might find when he is already standing in front of the door. Gathering the last bits of his confidence, he goes in.

They are sitting at the table, lunch in front of them, but they have not yet started eating. There really is a third plate, and neither of them look surprised at his sudden arrival. Still, the atmosphere is tense and not exactly welcoming.

Tony does not dare to step farther into the room. He sees everything he needs to just fine from the doorway.

“There you are,” Bucky greets him as if they have lunch together all the time.

Tony only glances at him before his eyes fall on Steve and refuse to leave him again Everything stands and falls with Steve’s reaction He already feels a slight scratchiness in his throat.

“JARVIS said you –” want is the wrong word and it does not pass over Tony’s lips, “requested my presence.”

“He told us you haven’t had lunch yet,” Steve says cautiously, “so I thought we might eat together.”

It feels stilted and formal and wrong, the way they face each other and take so much care with what they say. Tony does not move closer to the table – at least he is not running away either, although he still cannot make sense of the situation.

“Just sit down, Tony,” Bucky sighs exaggeratedly, as if Tony is the one who has suddenly turned mad. “It’s just lunch, not rocket science.”

Building a functioning rocket from scratch would still be a better prospect than sitting down to eat with his husband.

“It’s Italian,” Steve adds quietly, “Howard told me your mother was from Italy.”

Irrational anger rises in Tony at the mentions of his mother. Steve has already taken his father from him, he cannot lay claim to Maria too. Still, there is something earnest to Steve’s expression, something that has, up until now, usually been tinged with disdain but is now uncertain. Tony chances a look at Bucky and receives a small nod – which should not be reassuring, considering that Bucky is Steve’s friend not his, but gets Tony moving to the table nonetheless.

He sits and the proximity to the other man is overwhelming. All other times they have been in a room together have ended in yelling and more heartbreak. Now, they keep their heads down and their hands occupied. It is horrible, and yet the most peaceful they have ever been together.

“So,” Bucky draws out the word and waits until they are both turning towards him. “What are you working on in the moment, Tony?” he then asks, too cheerful, earning himself two incredulous looks from Steve and Tony.  

Even stranger, Steve glances at Tony afterwards, almost conspiratorial, as if it is them against the sudden insanity of his best friend. The moment passes quickly, but Steve’s face still contains a trace of curiosity.

“I –” Tony clears his throat, but for once, it is not a flower making his voice hoarse, just nerves. “I’m thinking about making a phone. A mobile one.”

Nobody says anything for a long moment. They look, though, but Tony does not feel entirely uncomfortable under their gaze.

“As a weapon?” Bucky asks. He is still the spokesperson, but his incredulous expression matches Steve’s.

Howard’s entire legacy is death. Even Tony himself has never been free of it, from the world outside and within. He does not want that to be his legacy too.

“No,” he says firmly, not letting his own doubt show. “As a phone. For everyone.”

Uncertain silence falls over them, but after just a moment, a smile spreads on Bucky’s lips that has to be real, considering the way his eyes grow warm.

“And how’s that going?”

All throughout lunch, they carry on a conversation and never get stuck on complaints or accusations. If not for the ever present heaviness inside Tony’s chest, it could have been a normal meal between new acquaintances testing whether they could be friends.

Afterwards, Tony goes a whole day without the threat of suffocating on his own stupid love.

---

The first time Steve calls him Tony, the world stops turning. It feels like a punch to the gut, and yet as if he has never breathed more easily than this. 

---

Sometimes it feels like a dream. Not because it is all nice and easy-going – on the contrary. But every time Steve looks at him, first with neutrality then a smile, every time he says Tony’s name or they make it through an entire conversation without hurting each other, Tony expects to wake up.

He has seen Steve sneer at him so often that every other expression looks foreign on his face. Tony cannot help but wait for the other shoe to drop.

Only it does not.

Bucky comes more often to the workshop and sometimes Steve comes to drag them both up to eat, explicitly including Tony. Despite his expectations, his meal is never poisoned. Conversation turn from stilted to engaged. One night, Tony finds Steve cradling a flower picked out of the trash.

Then Steve starts joining them in the workshop. Other than Bucky, he is not interested in helping. First, he simply watches them, then he draws them. Later, the room feels empty when the couch is not occupied by Steve.

They spend so much time together, go out together, laugh together. Together is a concept that Tony is experiencing for the first time in his life. He does not want to lose that again.  Miraculously, they do not seem inclined to let go of him either.

This is not the story Tony has always been told would be his. It is not perfect either. He would not change it for anything in the world.

His breathing does not get easier per se, but life does.

---

When Bucky kisses him again, Steve is there, watching with something of a smile.

Tony reciprocates before he remembers himself and draws back as if burned. “What?”

They were sitting on the couch together, watching some movie Tony has already forgotten all about. By now, he has become used to Bucky’s wandering hands and has not thought much about being drawn in. People always liked to get handsy with him, the multi-million dollar heir dying from a mysterious disease. Despite being a wreck, everyone thinks he has always more to give.

“Tell us to stop,” Bucky says in a low voice.

Before Tony can even register his use of us, Steve is closing in from the back, melting against Tony’s body as if they have always fit together, and leans his cheek against Tony’s. He feels trapped before he realizes that this is what he has been hoping for all his life; Steve and he so close that they could almost be one.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, panic in his tone. He expects to dissolve into a wheezing mess any moment now. His lungs are traitorously silent, though, not caring for once that he is obviously being led on.

“What I should have done from the very beginning,” Steve says.

Tony does not believe him, even though he cannot help but believe the lips touching the sensitive skin of his neck.

The knot of despair in Tony’s chest does not dissolve after this. All is not well. He feels happy, though. For the first time in almost two decades, Death does not loom over Tony’s shoulder but watches from across the room instead.

It is almost like being free.

---

“I love you.” Bucky is the first to say it.

They are sitting on the terrace together, watching the slow descent of the sun. They are not holding hands or prepare to go to bed. A few minutes ago, they have been talking about starting a small garden.

The scene is so full of domestic bliss that Bucky’s words hit Tony like a punch to the stomach. He closes his eyes and forces his face to be still. He will not take this moment from Steve and Bucky.

“You’d think the chattiest person alive would have something to say to that,” Steve teases, but falls silent when Tony still does not look, does not say anything. “Tony?” he asks quietly, nudging him.

Tony resists for a long moment longer before he blinks against the brightness of the sun and focuses on the two men beside him. They are looking at him, both smiling, although Bucky’s is tinged with trepidation and Steve’s with worry.

“I love you,” Bucky repeats slowly, never once looking away from Tony.

“And I love you too,” Steve adds, offering his hand for Tony to take, which he does, albeit hesitantly.

“I –” Tony clears his throat, his stomach dropping. That is when he realizes that he does not feel the scratching of a petal climbing up his windpipe. He has not coughed up a flower in weeks.

Taking a deep breath, he smells nothing sweet, only sea salt and drying stone. Smiling, he stares at his hand in Steve’s, and Bucky’s eyes on him.

“I love you too.”

[tiny-maus-boots]

Wild West AU pt 4

A/N: I dunno why. Blame @lilhan. There is Bechloe and there is Staubrey. If you’re not into one or the other or either please run far away. Thank you. I own nothing. Generic disclaimers. Please enjoy.

A/N: Parts 1, 2 and 3 can be found on Ao3 and thank you to @chloes-yellow-cup for doing the thing with the posting and all that stuff.

Aubrey watched Beca and Chloe make their way toward the alcove where Katherine always kept something warm going for the road weary. Her gaze drifted over to Stacie who had slumped a little over the table. One pale brow rose and she sighed. “Really?”

Stacie shifted uncomfortably and gave a small grunt of annoyance. “I don’t see another way. And no one else is coming up with any brilliant plans either.” It was defensive and Aubrey’s first instinct was to start an argument but she knew they didn’t have time for it and this wasn’t the place. And truth be told she knew Stacie was right. Sort of. She just didn’t like the idea of it.

“Okay. I’ll grant you that, love. You just sometimes forget words can be bombs too.” Stacie’s eyes drifted up to hers and Aubrey shrugged and looped her rifle strap across her chest before rolling up her cleaning kit carefully in the thick canvas pouch. Long graceful fingers made quick work of tying the roll neatly with rough strings of jute. When she turned back to Stacie she could see that she was being carefully watched. “Beca cried for a week Stacie. She didn’t even cry that much when we had to pull buckshot out of her ass after El Paso.”

Stacie’s lips twitched at the memory of it and Aubrey sighed. Amusement right now wasn’t appreciated. “Okay okay. You’re right. I maybe could have said it better. We just…don’t have time to be delicate.”

Aubrey gave a slight nod and reached out to ghost a hand over Stacie’s shoulder. Her fingers squeezed gently in a show of comfort and support. It wasn’t like her to do often but Stacie made it hard not to reach out and touch, especially when the moment was so heavy. The taller woman tipped her head to the side, bumping her forearm in acknowledgement of the gesture. “I know. It’ll be okay.” Stacie nodded and let it go with a deep breath. “I’m gonna go check on those riders. Take my kit up when you go?”

Her partner gave another short nod but winked to show she was okay. Or would be anyway. Stacie was right, delicacy was not a luxury they could afford at the moment. It still didn’t make any of them feel any better about Jesse being back in Beca’s life even for a brief moment, much less that they suddenly needed his help. She gave another squeeze to Stacie’s shoulder and marched off to the back wall of the main cavern. Aubrey pulled her leather gloves on as she angled her path to the sturdy timber ladder that rested at the opening to the tower. Her rifle clinked comfortingly against her back as she climbed up and over the stone lip to a narrow rift between the walls. It was too tight to go through without taking off her holsters and rifle, an act that always made her feel so damned vulnerable even when alone on a thin stone ledge. She pushed her gear through the crevice then slid through with breath caught tight in her chest.

Jesse wasn’t a bad man exactly, at least not bad for a man in the business of stealing cattle and horses. But even moderately decent men do stupid and terrible things when pushed. Aubrey remembered his face when he had come to tell them that his last ride had been a disaster. Jesse had fair near crushed his hat in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs as he explained how many of his boys had died, how Beca was just as good as dead.

Chloe had slapped him then, so hard Jesse had stumbled back a few steps with the force of it. For several heart rending moments they had thought Beca was gone and dead like so many of the Swanson Boys and to find out that she was alive… But Jesse had given up the idea of getting her back, of being with her to the end whatever that may be. He had given up and ridden away as a posse dragged Beca through town behind their horses.

Aubrey picked up her weapons and settled them into place as she scanned the horizon carefully. She easily fitted one booted foot into small toe hold and reached up with an easy stretch of her body to a hand hold above. The climb was easy, foot hold, hand hold, reach and pull. The rhythm of it soothing some of the ache that came of thinking about what almost happened.

None of them lost any time, they saddled up and rode out from the Beale family ranch in a thunder of hooves and encouraging shouts to their horses. Jesse had stood by the side pleading for them not to make it a funeral of four but he may have well been speaking to the deaf for all the heed they paid him. By the time they’d gotten close enough to town two days later the sickening shouts of angry glee were rising to a fevered pitch. Beca had been pulled roughly onto a hastily erected gallows, a coarse noose wrapped around her neck and tightened. She’d fought them with a vicious head-butt even then and Aubrey had never been more proud to call someone her friend.

Aubrey had intended to spare Beca the suffering of a horrible choking death. It would break Chloe…it would break all of them for her to do it really, but a shot through the heart was a damn sight better than the suffocating panic of being strangled to death. Chloe’s quick inhale of breath and the sound of her revolver clearing its holster made Aubrey focus harder, reminding herself that there was still a chance. Her gaze narrowing to the most finite point in the distance until all she saw was the rope going taut as Beca’s weight pulled the slack. Her first shot would have severed the rope clean through if Beca hadn’t been so damned squirmy but she supposed given the situation it was understandable.

Needless to say they managed to get Beca back even if Chloe and Stacie had to take down half the town in their getaway. They hadn’t seen Jesse again, he’d been gone when they arrived back at the ranch. It was just as well because she was certain that Chloe would have emptied every single round she had left into his worthless cowardly carcass.

Aubrey reached the pinnacle of the ridge and leaned against a large bounder. Her sharp eyes immediately picking out the shapes of three riders in tight formation and a fourth man further behind walking his horse and stopping every now and again to look for tracks or check one of the shallow empty caves. It was clear that the three ahead were familiar and used to riding with each other. They rode with a lazy gait that suggested they spent long hours riding, probably herding. The other however walked with a clipped practiced gait of a military man.

They weren’t close to the entrance of the Caverns by any means but there was a familiar nagging in the back of her mind watching the solider move about. It was the curiosity really that caused her to find the edge and quickly pick her way around the ridge to a rocky outcropping just above the party’s heads. She was close enough to hear the rumble of masculine laughter and teasing.

“C’mon pretty boy, you gonna poke around in every cave and culvert? They ain’t here, hell, there hasn’t been a sign of anyone campin’ out here in months. We’re headin’ back, now you comin’ or not?”

Aubrey watched the tall broad shouldered man take a deep breath and sigh before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah I’m coming. G’wan ahead I’ll catch up, I just want to circle back one more time.” His voice made her lip curl and her hand instinctively hovered over the grip of her gun. The three other men scoffed but turned their horses east and cantered away at a good clip leaving the lone rider to mount his horse after kicking a loose rock to skitter across the ground. Once he was settled in his saddle he turned his head to survey his progress.

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation when she leapt lightly off the edge of the overhang with her camp knife in hand. Aubrey landed heavily behind him, the horse side stepping with a nervous grunt. When the solider would have turned she pressed the blade of her knife firmly to his neck and snarled in a low, rough voice. “If you turn around I swear to the Almighty that I will cut you a new mouth, Avery Posen.”

Her brother froze and swallowed thickly, the reins going slack in his grip. “Aubrey?” She could hear the incredulous wonder in his voice and it gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. “So it’s true…you’ve taken up with outlaws and thieves. I thought it was a mistake, you running off with that whore…” Her knife dug in just a little deeper, drawing a bead of blood and her brother stopped speaking.

“Careful. I’m partial to the pretty lady, and I don’t take kindly to people bad mouthing her.” She knew it was pushing him, throwing it in his face that she had made her choices but Aubrey didn’t care what he thought. She didn’t care what any of them thought. She had left the overbearing and more often than not heavy handed strict religious rule of her father’s home and never once regretted it. Avery had struggled under their father’s roof some but had left for the Army as soon as he was able. He’d missed the swift decline into madness that their father had fallen to but he had seen enough to know her life had been hell already.

But Aubrey had been there to patiently suffer it all. Until she could bear no more and fled for her life into the desert to the only sanctuary she could think of. If not for Chloe, Aubrey would surely be dead this very day. “Aubrey. This is serious business, the Army is taking a special interest. If you’re caught up in this you have to come clean. I’ll help you get out if you’re…if you’re being…forced into unnatural acts…”

She used her free hand to pull the pistol from his holster and toss it into a patch of cacti. His words gave her pause and she blinked at the back of his blonde head. “Are you asking if I was kidnapped or lured into this?” Avery didn’t have to answer, she could tell by the set of his jaw and the stiffness of his shoulders that he did think exactly that. That he still hoped she was somehow redeemable or at least not culpable. It made her tired all of a sudden and she sighed, pulling his Army bayonet free of it’s sheath to toss it a good bit away. “Why is the Army so interested in this?”

He didn’t answer and she pulled her fist back, landing a swift hard punch to his kidneys. She hadn’t always hated her brother but she had learned to over time when he did nothing to stop the way she was mistreated, even taking a sadistic pleasure In it from time to time. He sagged to the side a little with a grunt and a wheeze. “You think you can go around blowing up garrisons without the Army investigating? You’re wanted criminals and your time is up. We won’t stop until we have you. Then may God have mercy upon you because the United States government will not. Harlots and thieves will find their place in Hell. You know this Aubrey. Just do the right thing and come back as my prisoner. Let me help you.”

His words seemed right, or should have seemed right. Her gut told her otherwise and she scoffed softly. “You’ve never raised a hand to help me a day in our lives. Not even when Daddy took his best hunting knife to my face. If thine eye offends thee pluck it out. The memory of her father’s harsh voice as he cut her took the air from her lungs for a moment and she shook her head. “I hardly believe you want to help me now.”

He turned as much as he could with her knife still dangerously close to his neck though no longer pressed so tightly as to draw blood. “You’re my sister Aubrey. I want to help you. Just cooperate and we can work this out.” His eyes so like her own met her gaze. “Tell me where to find it and this can all be over.”

Aubrey’s fist came back harder than before and when he doubled over she brought the hilt of her knife down on the back of his head knocking him out cold. She slid from the back of his horse and tied his hands to the pommel. His body sagged dangerously to the side and she considered leaving him to his death but she found herself hesitating at the idea of letting him die. No matter what he’d done in the past or what he wanted from her now…she wasn’t there yet. Wasn’t ready to cross that her own line in the sand. Not yet at least. Aubrey looped the rope around his waist and tied it off quickly. She tipped her head up to look at him with a sad sigh. “I almost believed you. I wanted to. But you’re just here for the gold like everyone else. Bastard. Yaaah!” She gave the horse a solid slap to the haunch and sent it bolting away. She watched it go until Avery was just a speck in the distance. “Well. Shit.”

Whether they hated him or not, they were most definitely going to need Jesse’s help now. Angry townsfolk were one thing, but the United States Army was another affair altogether. It was looking like their time had finally run short.

[creativebloon]

Not From Around Here (Part 3)

Rating: G

Word Count: 1638

Other Notes: If you didn’t catch parts 1 and 2, you can catch them here and here. This is Part 3 of an unnexpectedly long gift for @lupizora! I can’t stop writing this story. And from what I’ve seen, some of you can’t stop reading it either. So, no, this is not the final part. Enjoy!

There have always been things Ochako has desired. Unlike her parents, uncles and aunts, fellow heirs, and townsfolk, Ochako has held a special kind of wish close to her heart. It was a secret; the kind of thing that had her daydreaming, staying wide awake into the early hours of the morning. She has always been afraid of what others would think of her because of this. Always hoping that one day, someone would come along and let her follow her wishes.

She dreamt of flying. Floating, soaring through the skies. All she would need to do is close her eyes and--just like that. Ochako would fly. She would leave her family and their plans for her future behind. She would forget the rigid structure of the town she lives in where gossip trumps truth. She would find a place, somewhere new, and be happy there. She would search to the ends of the earth to find the one thing to complete her; to drive out that familiar hole of loneliness in her chest.

As she and Bakugo descend towards the ground and weightlessness threatens to take her away, this is what Ochako thinks of. She glances up at him, grinning above her, she knows that he is what she has been missing. As sure as the pure joy lighting his eyes, making them brighter and happier.

The fall isn’t long. Bakugo’s landing much more gentle than Ochako thought it would be. He sets her on her feet, but doesn’t let go of her. “Are you alright?” Did I imagine concern in his voice? Or was that real?

Even when she should have said yes, Ochako shakes her head, struggling to catch her breath. Of course Bakugo thinks her weak knees and speechlessness is about jumping down two floors because in the next instant she is back up in his arms, cradled against his chest. “You could've told me you were afraid of heights,” he grumbles. Ochako nearly jumps out of his arms in surprise. He begins walking. Again, she never told him which way to go, yet he seems to know exactly where to go.

A little distracted by the fact he has an uncanny sense of direction, Ochako lets out a strangled, “I’m not!!”

He huffs and rolls his eyes. Breathing out a short laugh, the previous look in his expression fades. She is extremely close, but Ochako has difficulty deciphering his new expression. It’s soft, that much she can tell. “You looked pretty scared to me.”

“Oh.” Bakugo looks down at her and Ochako sets to amending herself. “I--I mean… I wasn’t scared. It was actually a lot of fun. I just…,uh, I have some things to figure out, Bakugo.”

Bakugo gives a thoughtful click of his tongue. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“That’s because it is.”

“...Does it have anything to do with...me?”

He slows to a stop. Unlike any other time, Bakugo actually seems to not want to meet her gaze. Added to the sudden boyish tilt of his tone, it doesn’t seem all that impossible. Strange. Coming from Bakugo, it strikes her as very strange.

Reclaiming one of her arms from around his neck, Ochako gently places her hand on his jaw. Her touch is light, still, Bakugo shivers. It does what she had wanted: bring his eyes back to her.

Whatever she had been planning to say is washed away by the luminous glow of Bakugo’s eyes. Ochako gasps for what must be the dozenth time that night. She hadn’t been hallucinating earlier either. Hand trembling, Ochako draws her fingers up the side of Bakugo’s face, curving up across his brow. She traces the entire shape of his face with her fingers. She notices that he has become very still under her, hardly even breathing. She stops at the side of his face again, holding his cheek as she brushes her thumb across his surprisingly soft skin.

She lifts her eyes to his. Her gaze is drawn back down once his lips part, a breathless gasp released between them. “I don’t think you want me to answer that without sounding crazy, Bakugo.”

“I think--I think I do.” His voice is raspy and rough.

Despite her precarious situation, Ochako laughs. As she laughs, her hands drops to his chest. She draws her hand back as her fingers brush across something jagged and uneven. She looks down and her brows furrow in confusion.

There is a mark on his chest, over his heart. Ochako feels curiosity burn in her chest. Curiosity and worry. She peers closer, finding that the mark is nearly the size of her thumb. It’s a dark mark. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Bakugo beats her chance to ask him what happened by setting her on the ground. She expects him to let her go, maybe even put some distance between the two of them. Instead, he keeps his hands on her, arms encircling her body. His eyes have become brighter, a feverish dance in them as he searches between her eyes. He remains as steady as ever as he stares down at her.

Ochako doesn’t look away. She wants answers. She wants--him. The realization isn’t even a smack in the face. It feels natural as she rests a hand on his chest, directly over the mark. It feels as second-nature as breathing to take a step closer until they are chest-to-chest. It warms her heart when he gives her a shaky half-smile under the brightest moon she has ever seen in her life.

“How long were you waiting to come visit me, Dragon King?”

As quickly as when they had appeared on the roof of the Sato’s bakery earlier, Ochako is behind Bakgo, face-to-face with his bare back. She blinks in a daze, disoriented from the sudden change of moods. She stares.

The moon has remained as bright as ever over the past couple hours. In its brilliance Ochako has been able to see more of her town than she ever could in the daytime. Some of his credit to Bakugo; from jumping onto and from the roof of a bakery and home to a beautiful change of her town she has never seen before. Stones shining like gems in silver moonlight. Grass and gardens twinkling like the stars above. A still beauty to everything. But this is entirely different. It snatches the breath from her lungs with a startling suddenness so profound that Ochako nearly stumbles into Bakugo. She stares between his back to where his face had been a second ago, emotions flickering quickly in and out of her heart.

He has scars.

Some are long. Others are short, nothing but nicks and dips across his skin. They are fleshed up, crisscrossed across his skin. None of them are like the one on his chest, and she gets the feeling that there is nothing that will or could ever be like the mark on his chest.

“Who the hell are you?” Ochako jumps.

“How long--”

His grip on her arm behind him tightens. There is a tension about him that raises the hairs on Ochako’s neck and arms. Her chest tightens in anticipation. Despite the  obvious questions of this newfound situation, Ochako doesn’t feel the need to break away or question it. She trusts him. His sudden edge puts her on-edge too. If he feels threatened, there is no reason she shouldn’t feel threatened either.

“How long have you been here, Dragon King?”

“Dragon King?” Ochako whispers. Right! The person had called Bakugo by that name just few minutes ago. She looks up to catch the corner of Bakugo’s eye glancing back at her before turning back to the voice ahead of them.

“Who are you?” Bakugo asks again. This time, she swears that can hear a small shift of uncertainty in his tone. He’s unsure now.

Of course he is, Ochako reasons. From the way he reacted, apparently this person knows more about him than he had been willing to tell. Which begs the question: Friend or foe?

Shaking her head, Ochako pats down a low grunt of frustration. She focuses on the conversation, hoping the voice she is hearing is one she can recognize before anything bad happens.

“Why do you have her with you?”

“What business of this is yours? Quit dodging my questions and answer me. You’re standing in the shadows so  I can’t see you. Which means either you have something to hide, or you are one ugly fucker.”

There is a pause. Ochako stifles a giggle, barely shaking from the effort. In front of her, Bakugo gives a short huff of what sounds like amusement. She lifts her head, staring up at his blond locks as if he will turn at any given moment. He does, to her surprise. Just a quick scan of her face before turning his eyes back to whoever is--or was--before them. She catches a glint in them she had only seen once--earlier when he thought she had been afraid of heights.

Footsteps echo. A pit in Ochako’s stomach grows with each step to the point of plain worry. She worries for Bakugo. She worries for her parents if they wake up in the morning to find her still missing. She worries for Bakugo still, a buzzing of concern she can’t discern from herself or him. She wants him to not have to worry about things like this. She wants that amusement to stay in his eyes and to see the joy light up his face again and the scars across his body to never happen again and for him to stay with him longer than this night.

When the person stops not too far in front of Bakugo, the boy gives a surprised grunt. “My name is Yagi Toshinori. I’m here to help.”