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labarch · 3 years ago

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Witch Hats and Prejudice Part II

<-- Part I

Olruggio, my love, my man, I’m sorry your proposal to Qifrey in chapter 40 didn’t go as you hoped, let’s sit down and discuss your workaholism, temper issues and saviour complex, yes? Yes. It’s couple therapy time at last, we’ll have a look at Qifrey and Olruggio’s relationship and at chapter 40 in particular through the following points:

-Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

-Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

-Help as a collaboration between equals (spoiler: they haven’t made it to that stage yet)

-What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

The conversation in chapter 40 is never framed as a happy reunion. If we reuse the analysis of the panels from Coco and Qifrey’s conversation I made in my previous post, we find the same markers of unease between Olruggio and Qifrey. Most of the panels are narrow, and get darker and darker as night falls. Qifrey and Olruggio rarely share a panel, and even when they do, they rarely make direct eye contact: Qifrey looks down, or Olruggio walks away from him, or they are curled in on themselves or standing on a slope at different eye level. For a while Qifrey is up in the air and mostly talking to himself. Oh yeah, and there’s a hat that gets in the way at some point.

It gives the sense that they are having two separate conversations, and that they never truly achieve the connection that we saw between Qifrey and Coco. On top of that, while the conversation is supposed to be about comforting Qifrey and earning his trust, Olruggio never manages to get a smile out of him, except for wobbly, miserable little grimaces. So what’s going through both of their heads, and why are they failing to meet halfway?

The chapter has an outward pull to it. The scene takes place on a slope that leads away from the atelier. The chapter opens with a herd of dragons flying away and into the night. Then Qifrey takes flight to look into the distance, while giving a very contradictory speech about how fulfilling yet dull his life is here, how happy yet trapped in an illusion he feels. He has to hold on to his cape as it flaps in the wind. It brings those dragons back to mind, like they are a metaphor for the side of him that wishes to escape. Qifrey’s migration season is just starting folks, it’s a confusing time for him okay.

In contrast to Qifrey looking ahead into a dark wilderness, Olruggio in this chapter is almost always looking back. He walks away from Qifrey to talk to him over his shoulder, or he looks back towards the atelier. In the only scene where he faces Qifrey full-on, the past is so present on his mind that he de-ages them both. It’s interesting, because it adds a caveat to his pledge of listening to everything Qifrey has to say: he is not so much trying to adapt to Qifrey’s new situation as he is trying to bring them back to the childhood stage of their friendship, when they were always together and kept no secret.

This whole looking ahead / looking back dichotomy brings me back to the mentality of the Great Hall, a society obsessed with keeping itself in an insulated bubble, wrapping itself in good intentions and noble ideals, and ignoring its own inner darkness and complexity. Qifrey, because of his inability to be content and stay in place, threatens that delicate balance. That sends the other witches around him into such a state of panic and outrage that even those who genuinely love him end up lashing out at him with uncharacteristic brutality.

Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

I have described in my previous post how vicious and oddly personal Beldaruit got in his attacks against Qifrey in chapter 36, but you can make the same case for Olruggio, especially since the two scenes run in parallel. There is something excessive about the violence with which Olruggio confronts his friend. For one, he is choosing a hell of a time to do it: the girls are safe, there is no urgency to press Qifrey for answers right this instant – except if he is hoping to shock Qifrey into honesty while he’s disoriented. Qifrey has just woken up from a three-day coma; he is half-naked in a place Olruggio knows worsens his nightmares; his scar is exposed; he is half-blind because Olruggio has taken his glasses; Olruggio is literally an angry dark blob looming over him. I’ve often heard it say that Qifrey is manipulative towards Olruggio, but in return Olruggio isn’t above using intimidation tactics against him, consciously or not.

There is also the staggering lack of empathy of the approach: what started this whole thing is that Olruggio learnt about Qifrey’s impending blindness. And his knee-jerk reaction was to attack Qifrey about it. Like, um, my dude, your friend almost died, he is going to go blind and lose his job, you wanna try being sensitive about it? (Note that Qifrey running after the Brimhats didn’t trouble Olruggio that much at first: after his interview with the Knights Moralis he is mainly concerned with “getting his story straight with Qifrey”; it’s only later on, when we see him staring at the glasses he’s just repaired, that he starts voicing his doubts about Qifrey’s intentions). He may be right to suspect that Qifrey is hiding things from him, but there’s a pretty big leap between “you are keeping secrets” and “you are wilfully using your own child as bait”.

This whole suspicious climate, that makes Olruggio jump straight to the ugliest conclusion possible, is once again a feature of the Great Hall mentality. The mind of a person who has been in contact with forbidden magic is forever corrupt, and his actions are forever suspect. Had Qifrey been anyone else, he would probably have been given the benefit of the doubt for losing track of his students while he was, you know, extremely concussed and suffering from blood loss. Interestingly, Olruggio’s concern – whether, when faced with a chance to go after the Brimhats, Qifrey would choose his quest over his students’ safety – is addressed as early as chapter 22: after an instinctive movement to rush into danger, Qifrey pulls himself back and takes measures to keep Coco and Tetia safe, and even plans to call Olruggio and the Knights Moralis as reinforcements to help rescue the others. Then he gets hit in the head by a giant snake golem, and the rest is history.

In general, Beldaruit’s and Olruggio’s accusations that Qifrey is using Coco as bait without caring for her wellbeing just don’t hold up. First, all the attacks by the Brimhats so far have occurred in completely mundane, teaching-related settings with other adults present (at the stationary shop, or during an exam), so pushing blame onto Qifrey clearly comes from prejudice rather than evidence. Second, if Qifrey’s sole aim was to get clues on the Brimhats, he would pressure Coco into taking the Librarian test as early as possible, but we keep seeing the opposite: he encourages her to take breaks and to enjoy her training rather than be laser-focused on her goals. Hilariously, out of the two tests Coco passed so far, Qifrey gave his approval for none, thinking it was too early for her (extra-hilariously, Beldaruit is the one who speed-ran Coco through her second test). I’m just saying, if Olruggio hasn’t noticed any of this and can’t take it in consideration before bringing out the accusations and threats, maybe he’s not doing that good a job as a Watchful Eye.

Another thing about this climate of suspicion, added to the power imbalance between Qifrey and Olruggio, is that it prevents them from having a healthy fight. Olruggio invokes his duties as Watchful Eye to berate Qifrey whenever he steps out of line, but when Olruggio lets his temper carry him too far and misuses his own power (when he drags Coco out to the Knights Moralis even though she had already been officially accepted as an apprentice in volume 2, or when he accuses Qifrey of using Coco as bait in volume 7 without proof), Qifrey never criticises him for doing so. It’s not that he is shy about speaking up to power – he is more than happy to yell at Beldaruit and Easthies when they mistreat his students. But when it comes to Olruggio, Qifrey is compelled to shoulder as much blame as he can, and seems almost afraid of saying anything negative to him.

It would have been justified for Qifrey to start chapter 40 by getting mad at Olruggio for his earlier accusations: Olruggio had been insensitive, unhelpful and completely out of line. But instead Qifrey pretty much encourages Olruggio to attack him again: from his “I thought you might be mad at me” to frantically denying that Olruggio might have ever done anything wrong. In return, there is something defensive in Olruggio’s delivery during the “I’m angry that I wasn’t someone you could trust” segment: he walks away from Qifrey as he gives the non-apology, and it comes out sandwiched between criticisms of Qifrey for being reckless and a long speech of Olruggio praising himself, and how everything would be alright if only Qifrey behaved himself and relied on him more. It’s an issue that this old distribution of roles is so well-entrenched between them, with Olruggio as the golden student and Qifrey as the eternal problem child.

Qifrey’s exaggerated gentleness and praise towards Olruggio participates in the feeling of wrongness that weighs on chapter 40. The memory erasure scene is framed like a kiss, and Qifrey keeps complimenting him even after sending him into an unnatural sleep. It would come across as condescending and manipulative, except for how fervently Qifrey seems to want to believe that Olruggio is perfect, and that any dysfunction in their relationship has to come from him.

Qifrey, focused as he is on his own dark secrets, is utterly unwilling to see any darkness in Olruggio. It makes sense when you consider that Qifrey has also been absorbing the prejudices of the Great Hall: he thinks very little of himself, and has probably been looking up to Olruggio as a moral compass ever since Olruggio took him under his wing as a child. He must also comfort himself with the thought that, when/if his quest drags him away from the atelier, Olruggio will be a perfect teacher for the girls. Having to come to terms with Olruggio’s flaws must be terrifying to him. But what about Olruggio’s perspective in all this?

Olruggio is an example of how even those who materially benefit from an elitist, close-minded society are damaged by it in some way. He grew up in the Great Hall as a bright-eyed, idealistic genius, and even as an adult he clings to the principles of that society like a mantra: “bring the blessings of magic to the people”. He is successful and respected by his peers, popular with the nobles and well-liked among the commoners. Yet somewhere along the way he became a ragged, workaholic hermit.

I have mentioned in previous posts that I suspect Olruggio of grappling with his own, deep-seated fear of being unwanted and left behind. He betrays that fear in the way he is attacking Qifrey: his concerns about Qifrey’s treatment of Coco aren’t based on evidence, and underneath that veneer he is mostly complaining that Qifrey is neglecting him. “Be straight with me”, “Don’t lie to me”, “You wouldn’t even tell me about it”, “You took her as a student without a word to me first”. There again, Olruggio is being a bit hazy on how far his influence goes as Watchful Eye: from what we know, Watchful Eyes are meant to ensure that students don’t get mistreated, but they don’t get a say in who teaches whom: it’s the disciples who choose their masters. Olruggio grumbling about Qifrey adopting more and more children behind his back is cute when we treat them as a couple. But from the perspective of their professional relationship, Olruggio is claiming the right to veto Qifrey’s students and take them away from him without any evidence of abuse.

The problem is that Olruggio is very bad at expressing his feelings without using his job, and therefore his authority, as a crutch. It’s endearing when he uses it to explain away his gifts to the girls (“I just want them to test a prototype”) or his marks of affection and care (“Drying your hair so you don’t catch a cold is part of my duties as Watchful Eye!”). However, it adds a layer of threat to his arguments with Qifrey, because he is constantly dangling that authority over his head, even when he is urging Qifrey to trust him. In his more agitated moments, it turns into a one-man good-cop / bad-cop performance (“Step out of line and I’ll report you” / “Why won’t you confide in me? I’m your best friend!”). Sure, he is willing to side with Qifrey against the Knights Moralis when he deems it appropriate, but here’s the catch: Olruggio gets to decide where the line in the sand lies, and that line seems to shift depending on how hot his temper is flaring at any given time.

It’s no wonder their conversation lends them in a dead-end when it is so one-sided. Thourghout the manga, and in volume 8 in particular, the author explores the idea that help should be a collaborative effort between equals, that encourages both parties to grow and learn more about themselves. Trying to unilaterally “save” someone is almost guaranteed to miss the mark and come across as condescending; it might even cause further harm.

Help as a collaboration between equals

Therefore, Qifrey and Olruggio can’t really come to any connection unless they make it clear that they are helping each other, not just endlessly acting out their roles as the golden student who knows all the right answers, and the problem child who must be saved from himself.

Aside from the framing, help as an equivalent exchange is the other key difference between chapter 40 and Qifrey and Coco’s dialogue earlier in the volume. In order to counter Coco’s doubts and growing self-hatred, Qifrey reinforces everything he admires about Coco: from her social skills and capacity for teamwork to her practical skills and her straight lines. He reminds her of all the things that she achieved so far. He also strongly hints that her fight is his fight, too, and that they should hold onto hope for each other’s sake. Finally, he makes a (pretty dramatic, unnecessarily literal and definitely unsafe, but still awesome) leap of faith by letting her decide what direction she wants to take next. His support isn’t conditional on Coco making the “right” choice, but freely offered. In return, Coco makes a display of saving Qifrey as well, saying she wants him right by her side while she figures out her path. The rescue itself is symbolic (it would actually have been safer for Qifrey to go back on his own), but Qifrey’s gratitude is genuine, because Coco made him feel valued, irreplaceable, just as Beldaruit and Olruggio were making him doubt his place as a teacher.

By contrast, Olruggio’s speech of friendship contains a grand total of ONE compliment, served in such a back-handed way that it sounds almost like a warning: “To Coco, you are a good teacher, so don’t betray that trust”. This is weighted against a slurry of criticisms about Qifrey’s recklessness, and heaps of self-praise. Olruggio is making a case for why Qifrey needs help and why Olruggio is best-qualified to deliver that help, like he is making a sales pitch to a client. It’s probably not a coincidence that Olruggio is remembering his successful bout of diplomacy in chapter 39 as he gears himself for his conversation with Qifrey. Olruggio, look, I get that you have more faith in your professional persona than in your regular self, but you can’t talk to your best friend like you are doing customer service, it just doesn’t work that way.

The help that Olruggio offers leaves no room for Qifrey’s input: once Qifrey has confided everything and laid himself bare, Olruggio will pick apart “where he needs the help” and “when he is about to do something stupid”, and either support or stop him as he judges appropriate. It reinforces Qifrey’s inferiority complex and interiorised guilt, by implying that his moral compass can’t be trusted. It also places the blame for Qifrey’s rash actions solely on his lack of judgement, rather than on having to grapple with complex, life-threatening situations and being caught in a pincer between a terrorist group and an oppressive system. There’s no mention that the definition of what’s “lawful” and “responsible” and “just” has gotten a bit messed up lately, and that Olruggio himself has had to compromise with his duties to cover for the kids. Olruggio fakes confidence in his capacity to fix everything, and pretends that things can go back to the way they were, but it would have been more honest of him to ask Qifrey to work with him so they can form a united front to face their new, complex reality.

Instead, by claiming that he is helping Qifrey out of a sense of duty, as Watchful Eye and as a friend, Olruggio reinforces the feeling that Qifrey is a burden to him. This gives Qifrey more incentive to keep his friend away from his investigations, and to see himself as expendable. In that light, since their friendship brings Olruggio so much trouble and so few benefits, betraying him and stealing the memories that relate to Qifrey’s secrets start to look like the lesser evil.

The only way that the conversation in chapter 40 could have gone well is if they both freely admitted to needing each other. However, it is too early in Olruggio’s character arc to be honest about his own feelings and worries. And it is too early in Qifrey’s character arc to see past his own self-loathing and recognize that his “perfect” friend also needs support and guidance. Yet, when they do, it is hinted that Olruggio can draw inspiration from Qifrey, and help Qifrey in a more meaningful way by highlighting how Qifrey matters to him, letting them reach this stage of true collaboration.

What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

I think Olruggio is repressing a sense of disillusionment about his work, the fairness of the system, and his usefulness as a witch. We see glimpses of his anxiety in chapter 39 notably. While he says that his true role is to help the commoners, circumstances keep reminding him that like it or not, his main function is decorative. He gets dragged in on short notice to be yanked around by petty nobles and arrange light shows at weddings; he has to act in secret to help the destitute, and even then can only do so much before the rules of magic society get in his way. So far he manages to keep his head above water, using his talent for diplomacy and showmanship to keep the nobles appeased, and finding small, creative ways to help commoners without breaking any law. But it leaves him with the feeling of being trapped in an increasingly constraining role, and is slowly pushing him towards a burn out.

He seems to feel a kinship with princess Mia, who like him is used as a tool in petty squabbles between nobles. He even metaphorically puts himself in her shoes: after likening her situation to being trapped in the spotlight in a dance she doesn’t want, he applies the same metaphor to himself and his inability to act outside the narrow constraints of witch rules, of being constantly watched and judged. And then, adorably enough, Olruggio actually brings Qifrey into the metaphor. He muses that Qifrey, who has gone against established rules before, might be the key to escaping that dance.

For all that the “problem child” / “star student” dichotomy has been weighing on Olruggio and Qifrey and warping their friendship, there is a flip side to it as well. As a prodigy who always pressures himself to perform perfectly (to the point where he will work himself to a zombie-like state and then hide behind a mask to look perfect and pristine in front of his clients at parties, Olruggio no), Qifrey provides a chance at escapism. For all that he berates him for causing trouble, Olruggio seems to fondly remember their old adventures. It’s possible that he valued the opportunity to do rebellious, forbidden things without having to jeopardise his reputation. His fear of being left behind by Qifrey is then also a fear of losing his hope that, when the pressure of being the perfect witch becomes too much to bear, Qifrey will be there to break him free.

In summary, Olruggio wants Qifrey to be his rebellious prince who breaks him free from the ballroom, and we respect him for it. Qifrey had his reasons for not being able to confide in him, and they both have a lot of character development to do before they can reach a stage of actual collaboration and trust. But I don’t dispute that taking his memories was a dick move. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#witch hat atelier #witch hat meta #qifrey #orugio #olruggio #orufrey

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tartagilicious · 3 years ago

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counterparts.

→ synopsis | hurt after hearing the person you’ve grown closest to has been withholding the truth you’ve been searching for, you seek him out to know just what else about your relationship had been a convenient lie.

→ genre | angst.

→ word count | 1300.

→ ib | je te pardonne by maître gims

→ note | angst my beloved <3 I hope yall like being hurt because I sure like doing the hurting >:D i spun this to be kind of a romance-esque story, but at the end of the day, you can view it platonically as well! just a reminder in that case, i write from the traveller’s pov, but the traveller is meant to be you and not the canonical person! / art credit to nanogons on twitter & a very thank you to @seerie for one again being my beta reader !!

✧･ﾟ: the day you meet again, rain runs from drooping leaves.

petrichor. a deep voice calls from within your memory as you walk. the scent left by rain is a rather unique combination of natural chemicals, slightly different to each region depending on the plant life that most thrives there.

as if to prove his point, you remember the man stopping to pluck a glaze lily from the earth, dotted with the same gentle smell. an innocent enough gesture. yet as you took the flower from his gloved hand, an abrupt sense of belonging crashed through your chest.

but the scent grew cloying over time. easily, even, with dainsleif’s tales of the old nation of khaenri’ah, and the archon’s ties with your missing sibling. that same fragrance of rain is rotten in your nose as you walk, the ball of tension in your throat doing little to keep you grounded.

because suddenly, your thoughts drift back to him in every stray moment. every past conversation is taken apart with a careful hand, yet is still unskilled in pulling out the lies you want to find. no matter what you do, you know that in the familiar stalls and cloudy reflections of shop windows will remain memories of zhongli, as hard as you may try to keep your eyes averted from them.

you find him with ease, the notion of knowing him so well curling in your stomach. but you choose to give yourself the benefit of the doubt; while a man of substance, it’s not hard to discern what zhongli’s hobbies may be.

it’s a lie and you know it.

there was only ever one place he chose to go to on days like today, anyway, where the clouds hang low and dark in the sky. they cast a temporary shadow over the world, the greenery and water mingled in a soothing dance with the air.

the ambience is lost on you as you climb the stairs of the pavilion, turning towards the veranda with rocks in your boots. he sits behind a thin screen that hangs down to block the rain, back turned to you. there’s a golden pot of tea next to him that still steams.

“___, it’s nice to see you.”

you haven’t said anything yet, but it’d be foolish to assume he didn’t hear you coming. your chest feels heavy as you try to take casual steps forward.

“you as well.” the words come out in a mumble as he finally turns towards you, eyes clear of suspicion. but, you’re sure not to mistake this as trust — zhongli must be aware of the bittersweet reunion between you and your sibling, regardless of his status of retirement.

“i hadn’t been expecting you.”

a small smile quirks his lip as he raises a hand, silently calling to a member of the waitstaff. a brief recount of your sudden arrival is all that’s needed before he places an order of your favourite beverage — a pot of sweet herbal tea you’d shared many times before.

you bite back your words and nod your thanks.

there is no barrier between you, not that there ever has been — you are alike in your positions of rebirth, and share the sentiments that come with leaving something cherished behind. but as you settle into the chair across from him, he can’t shake the notion of a strong connection beginning to sever.

“recently,” he clears his throat softly, naturally in a way only he can manage. “how have you been fairing?"

“i.. could have been better. but, that’s just how it’s been lately."

zhongli nods. his eyes do all they can to ease your tense figure from a distance, gentle as he says, “…after this all, i hope you’re alright.”

somewhat unbeknownst to you, his words are truthful. while aware of the situation on your mind, he is prepared to withstand any reaction you might have; whether you choose to forgive him or would rather never see him again, it is nothing he doesn’t see coming.

but the moment you pale hearing those words, he almost reconsiders.

“so i guess it's true?” you pause to let the waitstaff place a teapot in front of you, decorated with the delicate purple leaves of a wisteria tree. zhongli takes note of the way you put aside your gloomy expression to send the member a comforting smile while they pour your beverage, reassuringly easing the tension they must inevitably feel interrupting such a situation.

he’s looking into the depths of his tea cup when you try to meet his eyes again. you may be alone once again, but the awkwardness has not disappeared.

“…don’t you have an excuse?” your hands wrap around the warm cup in front of you, your eyes jumping from one place to another, not in panic, but disbelief. zhongli sees the way your words affect you, the bitter poison they must taste like after holding them in, the anxiety in knowing that he may be just the type of person you hope he isn’t.

he pauses for a few moments, the pattering rain insistent on the overhang not far from you. but he will not ever be the one to deny you the luxury of the truth.

“no.”

he states his answer simply, deliberately taking a sip of the tea that has long gone cold in his cup. in that moment, zhongli would use any means necessary to avoid seeing the heartbreak in your eyes.

“it was a contract.” he says, finally placing the cup down and breaking the defining silence. your eyes find his quickly.

he wants to tell you. tell you what? that you have every right to be angry with him for hiding the information you seek? that despite the horrible and deceiving man he’s become, he’s begun to realise that he wants you to be there to forgive him? there is little within the scope of reality that he is truly capable of hiding from you, and he curses the world every day that it has to include this.

“i sincerely apologise.” zhongli’s voice is low, the retired god seen nowhere in the regret that lines it. “but i cannot break a contract, not even for you.”

zhongli has always been a meticulous man; his suits are ironed in a specific way that he prefers to handle himself. he will talk about operas for hours if not prompted to stop, yet will only ever attend showings at one theatre. he is the same with the agreements he makes, steadfast and reliable in everything he does.

you only wish he could make an exception just this once.

words are jumbled in your throat, different scenarios and endings fighting to come out on top — you want to say something. there is no reason to give into the satisfaction that would come with walking away. yet when you open your mouth, your words escape you.

what do i want to say?

you walk away only when you’ve convinced yourself that it must be better for both of you this way, to separate yourself from the idea of him so you can finally see the entirety of him.

as your figure disappears below the veranda’s stairs, zhongli feels little. he knows there should be a cold bite, a flicker from deep within him that only comes when someone may never return, yet there is not even a moment of hesitation. he reminds himself that he should be prepared to see to whatever conclusion you reach.

silently, he pushes the cup in front of him to the centre of the table with the intention of leaving it to be collected. instead, he can’t help but notice how it rests next to its companion in the set, designed to be the counterpart to yours.

the artist had clearly intended the two to symbolise night and day, yours painted a deep purple complimented by an old wisteria tree — his, however, remains a golden colour, and contains the image of a blooming glaze lily.

he tears his eyes away, fighting against the fear of you, too, leaving for good.

#genshin impact #zhongli genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli angst #zhongli #genshin impact imagine #zhongli imagines #zhongli gi

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ssadumba55 · 3 years ago

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Don't Belong Here (2019 Genie X Reader)

Request: Howdy ho! Before we begin, I just want to say that your writing is truly beautiful and amazing and I loved every single one I've read! You are truly talented, and you should never give up!! Alrighty, so, I was wondering, could I request something? For a while now I've been crushing on Genie from Aladdin 2019 (I think it's 2019 [live action]). So maybe you could write up a little something for him? Maybe helping the reader through a panic attack? Maybe sprinkle some cuddles in there too? And just fluff! Fluff everywhere! Teeth rotting fluff!! Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to! No pressure!!

A/n: Sorry if this is a little OOC I wrote this at like 2:30am when I couldn't sleep but the good news is I think it cured my writer's block. Also to be clear this is set after the events of Aladdin but before Genie leaves on his exploration of the world, I kind of just didn't mention Dalia so up to you if she exists in this or not. Either way, hope you enjoy!

You sat alone in the peace and quiet of the sleeping city of Agrabah. Everyone had long since gone to sleep, eager to start another day of hustle and bustle. Everyone except you. Technically, you weren’t even supposed to be here. Your proper place was in the palace, with your best friend Aladdin and his new beau, Jasmine. But that was actually exactly where your problem lied.

Growing up on the streets, Aladdin had been all you’d ever had. Well, not counting Abu. You had been the same to him. Wherever one of you was, the other was sure to follow. Thieving, trickery, but also sharing with those less fortunate than yourselves. You were basically siblings, actually because neither of you really knew where you came from, you just pretended you were siblings.

The two of you had spent years together on the hardened street, nothing could split you up.

And then Jasmine showed up, Aladdin was knocked off his feet before he could even really see what hit him. You’d been happy for him, and if you were being truly honest, you still were. But now that everything had calmed down, there was no more evil to fight… You missed the days when it was just the two of you.

Aladdin had adjusted quickly to life in the palace, he fit right in with Jasmine to help him. The Sultan loved him, even Rajah loved him (and that was saying something because that cat was very fickle) but you couldn’t seem to get it right yourself.

Every time you tried to do something; you were always shut down.

“You’re not sitting straight enough.”

“(Y/n)! Don’t touch that!”

“Please, don’t disturb the royal cooks while they’re preparing dinner.”

You knew they had good intentions, especially Aladdin, but the words stung. You didn’t belong in the palace, you belonged here on the streets of Agrabah. You were currently sat in you and Aladdin’s old ‘home’, more like hideout.

If he wanted to find you, he could, but you’d been gone for hours, and he hadn’t shown once so you were doubtful he would. At least you could breathe now, out of the stuffy walls of the palace, the air was crisper. You didn’t feel trapped anymore…

“Why would you come here of all places? Seriously, it reeks, no offense. If I had my magic, I could make this place a little nicer. Maybe a rug… Not a flying one, you be quiet,” A voice startled you from your thoughts and you leapt to your feet, but it was only Genie. He wasn’t much of a genie now, since his powers had been stripped when Aladdin had granted his wish, but you all still called him that anyway.

Personally, you wondered if everyone was just too scared to ask if he had an actual name. Either way, you didn’t plan on solving any new mysteries tonight.

“Leave me alone, you have more important things to worry about. Seeing the world, or whatever,” you turned back to the view of Agrabah, not really looking but needing something to distract you from the tears that threatened to fall. What were you even so upset about?

He sat beside you, letting a beat pass before answering. “Aladdin said you might be out here, he wanted to come himself but he’s-“

“Busy with the princess, there’s a surprise,” you stood from your spot on the ledge and began pacing, “living in the palace is the worst thing that’s ever happened to us. I never see him anymore and when I do, he’s nothing like he was before. What happened with Jafar and Jasmine and you… It changed him. But it left me the same. Now it’s like, like I don’t fit in anywhere.”

You hadn’t noticed while you’d been talking that your pace had gotten faster until Genie stood, placing his hands on your shoulders to stop you. You’re breathing was heavy, like you’d just run a marathon. The room felt like it was spinning, you stumbled slightly, and he helped you back to sitting.

“You’re stressing yourself out, breathe, kid,” he rubbed your back gently as you placed your face in your hands.

“I’m not a kid, I’m an adult,” you responded dryly, but you didn’t care. You were barely an adult anyway, only a few years older than Aladdin. The two of you sat in silence, him rubbing your back and you trying to hold yourself together.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You know, kid, just because Aladdin has a lot of responsibility now doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. But I think you’re right, even though he wanted the best for you by bringing you to the palace, it’s not your pace. I can see it in your eyes every time somebody drags you along to something or you’re given a task to do.”

You wiped your eyes and sat up slightly, still feeling miserable. If even Genie had noticed it, that voice in your head must be right. You don’t belong here; you don’t belong anywhere.

“Why hasn’t he noticed?” You asked softly. Genie shrugged.

“Kid, when we love someone, we do things, and we don’t always realize those things can actually hurt the people we love. Even though we have good intentions,” he shook his head sadly, “you should know that better than anyone after helping Aladdin with his whole ‘I’m a prince’ she-bang.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You helped with that too!”

He laughed, pointing to you gleefully. “I know, but at least I got you to stop looking like a wounded puppy.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while after that, listening to the peaceful quiet night of Agrabah. The hustling, bustling city was rarely ever like this. You would miss it in the morning when everyone woke up.

“Come with me, (Y/n), we can see the world together.” Genie finally broke the silence, it seemed like he’d been trying to ask you this for a while but had never been able to find the right words to say.

You hesitated. “I don’t know, I can’t just leave Aladdin alone- What if-“

“He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He has the Sultan, Jasmine, Rajah and Abu. A whole army at his command, technically. You said it yourself, you don’t belong in a palace. You belong out in the open, exploring. It’d be nice if you had someone familiar,” he stopped to point to himself with a big grin, “to spend time with while doing it.”

You studied the rooftops of Agrabah, seeing everything now from a new light. He was right, of course. You’d just needed a shift in perspective. All of the panic and anxiety from the past little bit edged away slowly. Before you could stop yourself, you hugged him, and he hugged you back.

The two of you stayed like that until well after the sun came up. You needed the extra comfort and also, it’d been a while since you’d slept. Genie didn’t mind, it wasn’t like he had anywhere urgent he needed to be.

As the two of you walked back to the palace, side by side, you turned to him.

“Since it was your idea, you have to tell Aladdin,” You grinned and raced ahead to the palace. You could hear him begin to pick up his pace to follow you, calling to you about how that wasn’t fair.

Hopefully Aladdin wouldn’t be too upset about you leaving, after all, adventure was calling.

#disney imagine #aladdin 2019 #aladdin imagines #genie imagines #genie x reader

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eliemo · 4 years ago

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Love Our Way

Summary: Virgil knew he should have said something right there. But he didn’t, because he knew that would be the end.

Notes: Ace Virgil fic with romantic LAMP

TWs: Mentions of sex but no details. A little bit of internalized acephobia but barely, Virgil just has negative self esteem.

They’d been together a few months now and it had been, without a doubt, the best few months of Virgil’s life.

It’d been a bit nerve wracking in the beginning, those first couple of weeks, as excited and thrilled as he was, Virgil had been extra paranoid about doing something wrong, about giving them any reason to lose feelings for him.

He honestly hadn’t thought it could work at first. Relationships rarely worked out with two people, let alone four. Eventually they would fight, or lose feelings, or decide it was all too complicated. And things would get awkward and they could all end up hating each other and who knew what it would do to Thomas if they could no longer stand to be in the same room—

But they didn’t. By some miracle, that never happened.

Things were...things were perfect, as scared as Virgil had been to use the word. They’d been amazing ever since the anxious side was allowed to join their family, the love and warmth a wonderful kind of overwhelming he’d never felt before, but actually dating the people he loved more than anything, no longer needing to be afraid to express his feelings…

It was more than he’d ever thought he would get. More than he ever thought could be possible. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe it was real.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, making each other stronger, pushing each other to be better, gentle and encouraging, coexisting in peaceful harmony.

Virgil had never felt so welcomed, so surrounded by unconditional support and affection. They showed him just how much he had to offer. For the first time he’d actually felt like he wasn’t just a burden.

It was hard, especially when it took a while to convince himself that he wasn’t invited into the relationship out of convenience, but because they actually wanted him.

But they loved him. He knew that now. They all loved each other, flaws and all.

And, well...Virgil should have known it wouldn't last forever.

Not for him. Because...because that was just the way things were, wasn’t it? He’d made progress, he wasn’t the bad guy anymore, but he was still Anxiety. Things were just destined to go wrong.

He really hadn’t given a single thought. It never crossed his mind as something that could ever be a problem, even when they had initially gotten together. No one else seemed intent on bringing it up, so Virgil had figured they never would.

But then it had. Logan had brought the topic up about a week ago, somewhat awkward but still painfully casual, the conversation simply to discuss everyone’s level of comfort when it came to intimacy.

Which...yeah, Virgil guessed it made sense. They were dating, the four of them happy and comfortable with their relationship, and had been for months now. So obviously sex was going to get brought up eventually. Boundaries needed to be set before...anything actually happened. It was routine for a healthy relationship.

Except Virgil hadn’t actually thought they would ever talk about it. Because he’d known for a long time that he was asexual and he’d just...kind of assumed the others were too.

Which in retrospect, was a stupid conclusion to jump to.

Virgil had known for years now, long before befriending the others. It had taken him a while to be sure, lots of research and panic and overthinking, but he’d eventually grown comfortable with the label. It was just another part of who he was.

But he’d also never really understood why. Thomas wasn’t asexual so it didn’t make any sense for Virgil to have a separate identity.

Unless it was just something all the sides experienced, none of them able to feel that kind of attraction.

But he’d never actually gotten around to asking. No one brought it up, and before the...development in their relationship it never seemed like something that would be an issue. So he’d just assumed, and ran with it.

But clearly that wasn’t the case. Not when Roman and Patton were responding to Logan’s question with varying levels of eagerness and approval, comfortable and willing to take the next step when they were all ready.

And Virgil knew he should have said something right there. They had given him the perfect opportunity to come out, quick and easy, and avoid anything uncomfortable in the future.

But he didn’t. Because...because that would be the end, wouldn’t it?

They would be sweet about it, of course. Thank him for being honest. But if he was the only one who didn’t want that...well, what was the point of him being a part of things?

It was a cruel thing to assume, he knew that. None of them were shallow enough to see sex as something necessary, and he knew they would never force him into anything.

But...but he already offered so little. They already had to jump through so many hoops to accommodate his anxiety, and it wasn’t like he was particularly loving or good at romance, as hard as he tried. As loving and amazing as they were, this could simply be the final straw.

He wanted to be with them. He wanted them in every other way. He loved them more than anything. But he wouldn’t fight it when they ended up distancing themselves from him.

Virgil just wasn’t ready for that heartbreak yet. So he plastered on a fake smile, and nodded along with the others.

He’d tell them tomorrow. The longer he waited, the worse it would be.

“Movie night!” Patton declared, skipping into the living room where Virgil was scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “And don’t think you’re getting out of it this time, Virge!”

Virgil tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted at the phrasing, swallowing against rising panic and sending Patton a smile. It was just movie night, same as every Friday.

It had been two weeks now, and he still hadn’t told them. He’d managed to avoid last week’s movie night with the excuse of an upset stomach, desperately trying not to think about what they could be doing without him.

And now...now he’d have to tell. They’d already be upset he waited this long, he couldn’t put it off any longer.

Besides, they’d all be in the same bed all night, as they often were, relaxed and happy and enjoying each other’s company. They wouldn’t ever force him into something he wasn’t comfortable with, even if they wanted nothing to do with him after he came out.

He’d lied, after all. He should have told them right away.

“I'll be right there,” he said, forcing a smile as Patton made his way upstairs to his bedroom where the others were likely waiting. “Just...give me a second.”

This was it, then. Hopefully afterwards, it wouldn’t be too awkward. Hopefully they would still be willing to keep him around as a friend.

They were all waiting for him by the time he made it to Roman’s room, the three of them sprawled out on the bed in a pile of laughs and smiles, and Virgil’s heart felt like it was trying to break through his chest.

He loved them so much. He wanted nothing more than to forget all of this and be held in their arms, content and warm until the sun came up.

But putting it off wasn’t fair to them. And it wasn’t fair to him either.

“Virgil!” Roman exclaimed, and Virgil felt lightheaded at the fond, excited looks he was being given. “Come help us choose a movie!”

He almost chickened out again, just for a second. But he couldn’t panic. Not until it was out in the open and he could deal with the consequences.

After tonight, he could very well end up alone again. Isolated like a villain.

Why did he have to keep turning out to be different? Why was he always meant to end up alone?

“In a second,” he said, stopping just inside the doorway. “I...I need to say something first, if that’s ok.”

Their smiles dropped slightly, but their gentle, welcoming expressions never wavered. The three of them sat up in bed, scooting forward as Patton nodded.

“Of course, honey,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

He was actually doing this. He just...had to figure out how to start.

Virgil took a breath and stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide how they’d begun to shake. “Just to- just to get it out there to make it easier for you guys...I- I get it if you want to break up with me after this.”

That got their attention, their heads snapping up with wide, wary eyes. Virgil couldn’t quite bring himself to look at them anymore.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, and god he was shaking so bad. “I’ll understand.”

The silence only stretched on another few seconds before Logan cleared his throat. “We’re listening, Virgil.”

Ok. Ok he could do this. He...really should have planned out what he was going to say first.

“I should have told you right away,” he started. “I know I should have. It’s not fair to you guys and I’m...I’m really sorry that I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to...to lie or- or lead you on or anything, I just...love you guys. A lot. I’ve loved being with you and I wasn’t ready to...you know...ruin that.”

“Virge? What...what did you do, darling?”

It was passed off as a joke, the Prince forcing a small smile, but there was serious concern behind it.

Virgil quickly shook his head. “It’s not...I didn’t realize that it would be, you know, an issue. But you guys want...you want someone who’s not...me. Because- because I’m…”

Say it, just say it.

“I’m asexual. And you guys...I shouldn’t have kept that from you. I’m sorry. I’m just...sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

And that was...it. That was it. They knew now.

They knew, and they could react how they wanted. If they were angry, Virgil wouldn’t blame him. If they were disgusted and demanded he leave...Virgil wouldn’t fight it, no matter how badly it hurt.

He knew them better than to truly assume that would be the case, but the thought was still there.

Furious or not, there was no way they’d trust him enough to keep him in the relationship.

But he had to hold it together until the end of the conversation. He’d escape as soon as they let him, and then...and then he’d readjust to being alone.

Unfortunately, none of them seemed particularly inclined to answer, the silence stretching on a moment too long. He risked a glance up from the floor, hunching his shoulders when he caught Logan’s eye.

“Virgil,” the logical side said. “Come sit down, please.”

He quickly shook his head, taking a step back. He didn’t need a long, drawn out ending to this. He wouldn’t be able to hold it together that long.

“You...you guys don’t have to--”

“Virgil,” Patton cut him off, scooting aside to make room. “Come over here and talk to us.”

And he’d never be able to deny Patton anything, would he? Not when he sounded so desperate.

Virgil moved forward on shaky legs, focusing solely on his breathing to keep himself from crying, ending up seated in between Patton and Logan, Roman pressed up against the moral side.

“This doesn’t need to be a conversation,” he said, just wanting to get out. “I...I said I would understand.”

Virgil jumped when there was a hand against his cheek, Logan suddenly cupping his jaw and turning his head until they were face to face, the logical side’s eyes piercing behind his glasses.

“Virgil,” Logan started, sounding almost breathless. “How...on earth could you think this would end in a break up?”

Virgil blinked, wondering if this was some kind of trick question. “What? I don’t--”

“Darling,” Roman said, and the Prince was suddenly scooting over to sit in front of Virgil, the three of them surrounding him. “You thought we would leave if you came out as Ace?”

Virgil shook his head because no, that...that wasn’t the problem. Not entirely, anyway. “It’s not...guys I lied. You asked me to be in a relationship with you and I didn’t say anything.”

“You did not lie,” Logan said, never dropping his hand from Virgil’s face. “You just were not ready to come out yet. You and I both know there is a substantial difference.”

There was a hand suddenly slipping into his own, and Virgil startled when he realized it was Patton’s, the moral side’s free hand now running fingers through his hair.

“You weren’t comfortable sharing that part of yourself,” he said. “That’s totally ok, sweetheart. No one’s mad at you. I’m just glad you said something before something...happened.”

Logan’s hand suddenly dropped, his eyes big and painfully worried, and Virgil had to force himself not to look away.

“Virgil,” he said slowly. “You do not...owe us anything. Especially not something like sex. If we made you feel like--”

“What? Jesus- no.” Virgil moved his hand away from Patton, pulling his knees up to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut to try to get a hold of himself. “It wasn’t...I just thought...it would be too...t-too much to deal with, you know?”

They weren’t breaking up with him. They weren’t. He’d been stupid to think that. There was no reason he should still be so upset.

He couldn’t make them feel guilty. He couldn’t make them think they’d been the ones to do something wrong when they’d been nothing but perfect. He couldn’t--

“Oh Virgil.”

Too late he realized the tears had started to spill over, his face burning as he pressed a hand against his mouth to try and muffle any treacherous sobs.

There was a pair of arms around him, warm and grounding, and it took Virgil a moment to realize it was Roman, gently guiding him into the embrace. He didn’t fight it, falling limp against the Prince’s chest with a pathetic choking noise.

“S-sorry,” he managed in between sobs. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t know why I’m...I sh-should have told you, I- I thought you’d...I thought you’d run out of reasons to- to want me.”

“We could never,” Roman whispered, holding him tight. Patton moved forward to rub circles along his back, Logan reaching out to squeeze his hand. “You’re beautiful, Virgil. And this doesn’t change a thing.”

It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense. If one of them had come out, it would be different. But with him...there was already so much to deal with, so much they were forced to handle.

Eventually, it had to get to be too much, right? He’d already figured they’d get fed up with the extra steps they had to take to respect his boundaries, Virgil always a little more wary when it came to being vulnerable.

But they all sounded so...genuine. Princey hadn’t once loosened his hold, still whispering quiet reassurances, Patton was back to running his fingers through Virgil’s hair, pressing kisses to his free hand.

And Logan still held on tight, counting out familiar breathing exercises just loud enough for Virgil to hear, always knowing how to calm him down.

When he finally managed to calm down, taking in deep, shuddering breaths, he reluctantly pulled away from Roman, wiping at his eyes as he stared down at his lap.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I never thought...I wouldn’t have let you guys do anything. I was always gonna tell you eventually I just...kept putting it off.”

“That is quite alright,” Logan said, sounding oddly hesitant. “But I...don’t think I could forgive myself if we had taken the next step without realizing you would not enjoy it.”

Virgil nodded, forcefully pushing down the sickening panic at the thought. “I know. I wouldn’t have let that happen. I promise.”

Patton and Logan both squeezed his hands, Patton tilting forward to press a kiss to his temple before leaning his forehead on Virgil’s shoulder. He allowed himself to lean into the touch, taking another shaky breath before continuing.

“I’m...I am sorry though. If this complicates things.”

Roman cocked his head slightly, frowning. “Complicates things?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, hoping he wasn’t about to refute every wonderful thing that had just been said. “We’re...in a relationship. And you all want...I mean, Roman you’re pretty much all romance, so I know you want--”

He cut himself off, caught completely off guard when Roman started laughing.

“Sorry,” the Prince said quickly, smiling at the exasperated looks Virgil realized the others were giving him. “Sorry, I just...gosh, Virgil can I kiss you?”

Virgil blinked, mind suddenly completely blank. “I...uh, sure?”

True to his word, Roman was suddenly cupping Virgil’s face in both his hands, gently pressing their lips together, and just like always Virgil melted against the touch, completely safe for just a single, blissful moment.

When Roman pulled back, he met Virgil’s gaze, brimming with nothing but adoration and love. “Virgil, darling, you really think I see something as trivial as sex romantic?”

“I mean...yeah?”

“Virgil, I love you. You, not...not what you have to offer. I love seeing you in the mornings, and holding you...I love hearing your voice. I want to cook you dinners and pick you flowers and sing for you. That’s romantic, Virge. Not...not something as small as sex. That’s not what’s important. Not to me.”

“I, for once, am in agreement with Roman,” Logan said. “Sexual intimacy has never been of importance to me. It certainly does not hold enough power to damage our relationship in any way if you do not desire it. And it certainly has no power over my feelings for you.”

Virgil was suddenly dangerously close to crying again. “I--”

“Besides, there is no logical reason for us to engage in sexual intercourse. We are not human, so the need to reproduce does not--”

Roman thankfully cut him off with a kiss, Logan making a noise somewhere between surprise and annoyance, but reciprocated without further complaint.

Patton was suddenly taking both of Virgil’s hands, their fingers laced together, and Virgil suddenly wasn't quite so scared to meet the moral side’s eyes.

“I don’t care about something silly like that,” Patton said. “I just care about you, honey. The four of us being safe and happy and together. If we all just cuddle and tell each other how much we love each other...nothing else could ever make me that happy. So don’t you worry about a thing, ok?”

Virgil wasn’t sure whether he laughed or sobbed, but he was smiling back at Patton, at the people who surrounded him with unconditional love, and he nodded.

“Ok,” he agreed, feeling lighter than he thought he ever had. “Thank you. All of you. I...I love you all. So much.”

Within moments they were all tangled up in each other, the television playing an old comfort movie, Virgil wrapped up in Logan’s arms with his head against Roman’s chest, Patton leaned against his legs.

It was still perfect, and Virgil had a funny feeling it always would be. He loved them, more than anything in the entire world, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind they felt the same way.

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clumsy-hood · 4 years ago

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obey me! demon brothers + realizing they’re in love with mc

prompt: the order in which the brothers would realize they are in love with mc (sooner → later).

word count: 1,277

a/n: i know i said this in an earlier post, but the goal going forward will be to (hopefully) post my writing—commissions included—on weekends. i have quite a few concepts and rough drafts sitting in my notes that i still need to finish writing and editing. so far, it’s just a matter of finding the time to actually do it. but if anyone has any prompt lists they want to throw my way too, i’m open to finding additional inspiration!

1 → Mammon

Outwardly, yes, it would take him a while to drop the instant denial front he constantly threw up whenever someone accused him of having feelings for you. But inside? He knew he wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could and shower you with gifts he’d try to save up for or earn. And if it was possible to get a matching gift, then he’d splurge a little extra because it meant something more connected you to one another and was a special thing shared between you—and ONLY you two. Hell, with your permission, he even left the occasional t-shirt or jacket in your room—and even secretly stashed his toothbrush in your bathroom due to passing out after too many late-night movie marathons. Sure, his brothers’ constant teasing annoyed him to no end, but even Mammon couldn’t deny he was greedy for your time. He loved you so soon and suddenly, wanting to hold your hand and never let you go.

2 → Asmo:

Without a doubt, Asmo knew he was attracted to you from the moment he laid eyes on you—although it wasn’t your physical beauty that snared him but rather the aura you exuded. Of course, the physical attraction was undeniable to him as well so he couldn’t help the showering of compliments that rained from his lips; he is, after all, the Avatar of Lust, and actions such as those were completely second nature to him. It started with the lingering touches, though, when he realized something was amiss this time. His skin warmed unnaturally wherever your brushed against his—even if for just a moment—and lingered on him throughout the day. It never truly hit him until he’d regularly seek out your company for seemingly platonic or romantic reasons—without desiring any future sexual gratification. Obviously, those thoughts occupied his mind and the flirting with you never ceased—unless you asked him to, of course—but after centuries of experiencing lust and adoration, love consumed his heart, and he merely wanted you to feel the same for him in return.

3 → Satan:

With all his knowledge of fictional romance in TV shows and books, Satan was convinced he would truly know a romantic love—if he were able to experience it—by the excitement and explosive emotions it carried. However, he was quick to discover it was quite the opposite with you: The rage he carefully concealed with polite smiles and intellect was blanketed in warmth and peace whenever you were around. It was a sudden shock to him, the first time he realized he wasn’t consumed with anger, and all because he was in your presence. The demon regularly sought your company, adoring your attention—whether it was listening to him discuss the plot twist in a mystery novel he was reading or showing you his favorite spots in Devildom he never shared with his brothers. He was never in denial about his emotions for you; all he knew was that a human saw kindness and good in him, and he wanted to prove—at least to himself—he was worthy of such good.

4 → Lucifer:

It wasn’t so much that Lucifer would ever be in denial of these feelings—once he’d realized he was in love with you, it was like every nerve was set on fire—but rather he was concerned hi emotions would compromise Diavolo’s goals. Every moment you spent laughing and smiling with his brothers rather than with him left the demon frustrated and hopelessly hollow believing he couldn’t keep you as close as he’d like. Even the slightest graze from you, however platonic or intentional, left the spot blazing from your touch. You were meant to drive him crazy in the worst possible ways and yet all the traits he wanted to despise were only found endearing. Your stubbornness, your kindness, and your curiosity—all attributes that should have maddened him to no end, he noticed, came from a place of love as well. The demon may struggle to consider a human to be his equal, but he’ll never question his love of your presence, your smile, your touch, your damn—well—everything. And as much as he wouldn’t want to jeopardize Diavolo’s plan, loving you makes him doubt every other thing.

5 → Belphie:

Even if his hatred towards human quickly faded upon the discoveries of Lilith and her connection to you, opening himself up to the idea of being in love with you was a genuinely jarring concept to him. Especially if you found it in yourself to forgive him for, you know, killing you, Belphie wanted to prove himself worthy of your forgiveness in the first place—even if he tended to be a little shithead going about it. Like most of the brothers, he was rather needy for your time and attention, but where they often showed you their favorite spots in Devildom, he sought quiet areas around the House of Lamentation where the two of you could be alone. Something about you was so soft and warm to him. Honestly, most of his dreams were filled with visions of your smile and laugh, your body pressed snuggly against his. Maybe he wasn’t the most forthcoming with his love, but he never shied away from telling you how much he wanted to live with only you and Beel forever. He’s a demon with some regrets—hurting you being at the top of the list—but being the reason for your smile eased the guilt bit by bit.

6 → Levi:

An overwhelming sense of confusion and denial would leave him on the fence for a long time until he’d come to terms with his feelings towards you. And honestly, you couldn’t really blame the demon—Levi’s main loves for years have been 2D characters so suddenly developing such strange emotions or an attraction to a real human would be damning to him. It couldn’t be helped, though. For all he had tried to push you away or disregard your norm opinions, he couldn’t help how giddy he’d get whenever you’d agree to watch a new anime with him or introduce him to a new idol band. He was wholeheartedly convinced you must clearly be doing this out of pity or something—no matter if your heart was truly in it or not—because even his brothers never seemed to give his interests the rapt attention you offered him. He could be alone in his room and only think of how it’d be better with you there; or how he wanted to keep you so close, your fragrance would linger on his clothes so it was as though you were always with him.

7 → Beel:

Unlike some his brothers shacking up in a state of denial, Beel took longer to realize he was in love with you simply because he could never put his feelings into words. He knew he enjoyed spending time with you—rooming with you while Belphie was “away” was one of the initial highlights of your first stay in Devildom—and he was one to admit he considered you family to him, caring for you as he does for his brothers. Except, it was different. Maybe because you weren’t his actual family but his chosen family? He was never sure for the longest time. And yet, you were the only one he offered any of his food to and went out of his way to invite you out for dinner—which, in his mind, was a completely normal and friendly thing. But it’d strike him down like a bolt of lightning, realizing all of these feelings, once you’d offered to make him human food, and boy was he a goner.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me imagine #obey me blurb #obey me drabble #clumsy-hood #my writing #commissions open

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asweetprologue · 3 years ago

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me lámh le do lámh - Part III

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

The journey to Oxenfurt flew past even as it crawled. The closer he got to his destination, the more he found he was able to shrug off his worries and focus on his reunion with Jaskier. He hadn’t seen the bard in months, and he found his heart quickening in his chest as he finally crested the final hill and looked down upon the city of Oxenfurt.

He’d arrived in the small hours of the morning, just as the sun was starting to peak over the horizon. The water beneath Western Bridge was white gold in the dawn light, small fishing boats making their way down the channel and back to the harbor, ready to sell the first catch of the day. The red shingles of the cramped houses stood out sharply against the grey-green backdrop of the surrounding countryside, layered like some wild confection. To the south, the university sprawled on its own island, its tall towers piercing the early morning mist. Geralt had to push his way through the western gate, fighting for space amongst merchants and traders making their way to the markets that would be opening up in the main square. After so long on the road the smells and sounds of the city bombarded him, but Oxenfurt was nearly as familiar to him now as Kaer Morhen, and he let it all wash over him as he made his way towards one of the cheaper inns.

His intention had been to make his way directly across the southern bridge and into the academy grounds, but he’d arrived earlier than expected and Jaskier tended to be a bit of a late riser when he could be. So instead he got a room and set Roach up in the stables, giving her a good brush down, and packed away his gear. The rest of the morning, he spent restocking his supplies in the market, picking up the herbs he couldn’t easily find on his own and trading some of the goods he’d brought from the north for things he would need over the summer; a new linen shirt, salt for preserving meat, vodka.

Finished with his shopping, he set his mind to breakfast. There was a woman with a stall off of the main market selling baked goods, and Geralt remembered her from when he’d last been to Oxenfurt. He picked up a roll stuffed with warm cabbage and beef, and then doubled back a minute later to buy another, this time swirled through with cinnamon and coated in a sweet honey glaze.

Finally judging the sun high enough in the sky, he headed for the nearest fountain to refill his waterskin, only to be greeted by a familiar voice ringing out through the open courtyard.

Oxenfurt prided itself on its beauty, its history and monuments. The city was a tapestry of rich timber and clean brickwork, of statuary large and small which lined the streets and stately buildings with stunning relief work. The fountains were no exceptions; this one was set against the north side of the square, its semicircular base filling with water from half a dozen spouts set into the mouths of bronze fish. Geralt had no doubt that the entire effect—the square, the fountain, the white stone of the surrounding buildings—was stunning. But his eyes were drawn inexorably towards the sound of lute strings, and the beauty of the masterwork around him couldn’t help but pale in comparison to the man sitting on the raised lip of the fountain.

Jaskier’s hair was shorter than he’d last seen it, not windswept and overlong from months on the Path, and his clothes were cleaner and more lavish than he typically dressed on the road. Though his doublet was scandalously open to his midriff, Geralt had no doubt that it was of the latest fashion. As he approached, he saw Jaskier’s slim fingers fly deftly over the frets of his lute, his voice raised to overlay a bright melody over the simple notes. There was no hat or blanket laid out to catch coins; Jaskier was playing only for himself, it seemed.

Geralt didn’t want to interrupt, but in the end he didn’t have to. Jaskier looked up when he was still halfway across the courtyard, as if he could sense Geralt’s presence. Their eyes met, and Geralt felt relief swim through him as he realized that the bard seemed unchanged from the last time he’d seen him. Jaskier’s face lit up as his shocked expression turned into a grin, and Geralt could see the now ever present crow’s feet deepen around his eyes.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, not bothering to stand. Geralt made his way through the rest of the square, the bundle of rolls held close to his chest as he pushed through the river of people. He stopped when he was no more than a foot away, finding himself smiling down at the bard. “Fancy meeting you here,” Jaskier said with a wink, brilliant in the morning sun. Fuck, but Geralt had missed him.

“Was gonna look for you at the university. Glad I found you here,” he said by way of greeting. “So short on coin you’re back to busking?”

Jaskier waved a hand, dismissing Geralt’s teasing. “I just wanted some sun, now that winter has finally deigned to withdraw her icy grasp. I was thinking of perhaps going to find something to eat at the market—”

Geralt held out the sweet roll. Jaskier raised his eyebrows, surprised and clearly pleased. Geralt felt warmth spread through his chest at the look. “Figured I’d find you only just out of bed,” he explained, offering Jaskier a thin smile. “You do need your beauty sleep.”

Jaskier gasped in faux injury even as he accepted the roll from Geralt’s hands, still wrapped in wax paper. Geralt sat down beside him, letting his pack fall to the ground as he unwrapped his own roll. It was still warm, soft from the juices of the meat inside. “As if I have ever been anything less than absolutely resplendent,” Jaskier said through a mouthful of roll. Geralt privately had to agree. Out loud he only hummed, noncommittal.

They spent the morning in unhurried company, Geralt giving Jaskier news of their friends still in the north—“Ciri missed you,” he said, and didn’t say I missed you, too—and Jaskier recounting his winter adventures. Apparently he had been privately tutoring a young lady in a court a few days south of Oxenfurt, the child of an old friend. Geralt bit his cheek to avoid asking if it was just a friend, or if Jaskier had spent the winter in the bed of an old flame. It wasn’t his place to ask those sorts of things.

They didn’t head towards the university immediately��Geralt had already stowed his things at the inn, which Jaskier admonished him for. “You could have stayed with me of course,” he said with a roll of his eyes, and Geralt was breathless with it. Even after all this time, he could never truly wrap his mind around the fact that Jaskier wanted him around, would willingingly open his home to Geralt whenever he settled in one place. But the inn was already paid for and Geralt’s things packed away, so they were neither burdened by supplies as they wandered around the city. Geralt carried Jaskier’s lute on his shoulder, the weight of it settling almost as comfortably familiar as his swords.

He’d been to Oxenfurt dozens of times, but he always enjoyed seeing it through Jaskier’s eyes. The bard noticed things, like the new tailor on the corner of the main square, or that someone new had taken over an old market stall, or the new flowers sitting on someone’s stoop. All things that Geralt would have let wash past him. Everything felt new when Jaskier was with him, more vibrant when painted in his words.

Eventually Jaskier suggested that they head back, so that he could get appropriately dressed for the afternoon. He had planned, apparently, to play at a tavern close to the inn Geralt was staying in, though Geralt suspected that he’d had no such arrangements. It wouldn’t matter; Jaskier was popular enough that all he had to do was show up somewhere and people were begging him to play. Assuming he hadn’t slighted the owners of the establishment somehow. It was only early afternoon, but Jaskier gave him a sheepish grin when Geralt asked about the early retreat.

“I’m not quite packed,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d be back on the Path until at least three weeks from now. You always seem so reluctant to leave Ciri.”

Geralt could feel his face tingling with the ghost of a blush, and he scrambled for some kind of explanation that wouldn’t feel incriminating. “I, uh. I’m looking into something. Needed to see Triss.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows rose with interest as he pushed open a side gate in the Oxenfurt walls, leading them onto the campus. Geralt liked it here; it always smelled of rich plant life because of the well kept gardens, and the population was regulated enough that it was generally quieter than the rest of Oxenfurt. All the people smelled of ink and vellum and soft scented oils, and it never failed to remind him of Jaskier. “Is it about Ciri?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm,” Geralt allowed, thoughts racing. “In… a way.”

Jaskier stopped short, trapping Geralt behind him in the narrow alley they found themselves in. His face was a mask of concern. “Is she alright?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Geralt nodded, waving a hand as if to wipe Jaskier’s worries from the air. “She’s fine, it’s not like that.”

Jaskier huffed out a breath and gave him a stern look before turning to continue down the cobbled path, leading them into the main courtyard of the university. “Don’t do that to me, witcher,” he admonished. “I have a delicate constitution, I can’t handle a scare like I used to.”

“Ah,” Geralt said, pleased with the easy segue. “That’s… sort of the problem.”

Jaskier stopped again, halfway through the doorway that led to the apartments reserved for professors. He blinked at Geralt, once, and said, “Well what in the devil is that supposed to mean?”

Geralt sighed, pushing Jaskier the rest of the way into the building. It was old, as with all of Oxenfurt, wood musty with age and heavy with the scent of the polish that they used on the brass fixtures. The interior was dark and musty, but Geralt’s eyes easily adjusted to the gloom. He forced himself not to chuckle at the way Jaskier’s eyes immediately squinted at him, slower to adapt to the shade after being out in the daylight. “Ciri is… She missed you. She’s—we’re all worried about, well, your.” He stopped, trying to find a word that wouldn’t come off as immediately insulting. “Mortality.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier said, in a tone that suggested Geralt had missed the mark, “are you suggesting that I am old?”

Geralt winced. “Uh. Maybe we should talk about this upstairs.”

“Oh no, I think we should talk about it right here,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his chin. The posture was so familiar it made Geralt’s chest ache even as he knew he was about to get taken to task. “Has Yennefer been on about my crow’s feet again? She’s delusional. My skin is flawless.”

It wasn’t, though. Geralt could see the fine lines spreading from around his eyes and mouth even in the dark, the way his hair was less lustrous than it used to be, thinning at the temples. How slowly he moved, how loudly his knees popped when he stood up after sitting for too long. “You look fine,” was all he said out loud. “But Ciri’s lost enough people already. I’m worried about what it would do to her, to lose someone else.”

Jaskier visibly deflated, sticking his lower lip out to blow his fringe out of the way. After a moment, he said, “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, Geralt.”

And he knew that, he did, Jaskier probably had decades left to live, but— “She’s probably going to live as long as any witcher. I don’t want her to be alone.” As he said it, Geralt realized the truth of the statement. His desire to slow Jaskier’s aging process was a selfish one, but he wasn’t lying about Ciri. Losing Jaskier would be an intense blow to the girl, after already losing one family. She had so few people left in the world who truly cared for her.

Jaskier smoothed a hand down over his face, shifting so that he was leaning one arm against the railing of the staircase. “She has you, and Yennefer, and all of your brothers,” Jaskier said. His lips were pressed tightly together, and even though his eyes had eased from their squint as they adjusted to the dim light, he was looking away from Geralt. “I imagine I’ll fade away easily enough, after a few years.” He said it softly, almost to himself, and Geralt felt all the breath leave him at once at the statement.

“No,” he said, too quickly, one hand coming up automatically to grip Jaskier’s shoulder. Blue eyes turned back on him, wide with surprise. “You won’t.” He didn’t know what else to say, how to make Jaskier understand his own magnitude in their lives—Ciri’s life—his life, without giving away too much. Words were woefully insignificant.

Jaskier brought one hand up to rest over Geralt’s, his lips relaxing into a smile. “Flattering,” he said, lightly teasing. “But anyways, you know Ciri will always have you and Yen.”

“We lead dangerous lives,” Geralt argued, his hand prickling under Jaskier’s palm. “I can’t stop walking the Path, and neither can my brothers. Any year we might not come back. And Yennefer is… she’s made a lot of enemies over the years. Nothing is set in stone.”

“I know you’re worried about this,” Jaskier said slowly, “but there’s nothing to be done about it. Any of you could die at any time, sure, but that’s life.”

“I need to know you’ll be around,” Geralt insisted. “I need to know that you won’t just… die on us.”

Jaskier huffed, removing his hand from Geralt’s and placing it on his hip. “Well, I don’t know what to say. It’s a reality we’ll all simply have to adjust to, unless you’ve suddenly found the secret to immortality.”

Geralt shifted awkwardly in place. Jaskier stared.

“You are not serious—” Jaskier started as Geralt said, “Listen, just hear me out.” Jaskier continued to talk over him, and Geralt sighed up at the ceiling as the tirade began.

“Hear you out?” Jaskier spluttered, incredulous. “Oh, I’m listening, Geralt, because this had better be a damn good one. You can’t show up after being away all winter and call me old and then tell me you want to make me immortal! I will not be subjected to witcher poisons or mages’ spells just because you’ve suddenly had a realization about the inherent dangers of your occupation.”

“It’s not—I’m not going to poison you, Jaskier,” Geralt said, aghast.

If anything that made Jaskier look even more suspicious. “If this is some curse Yennefer wants to put on me I will not allow it. I have heard plenty of horror stories about the transformation process for mages, and I will not be risking the loss of my critical bits.”

“It’s a ritual—”

“That’s worse!” Jaskier exclaimed. “Geralt, we’ve worked half a dozen different contracts that were botched immortality rituals. It went badly, so very, very badly, every time, and now you want to try it because you’re worried about my wrinkles? I’m not even fifty!” He flung his arms out to the side and dropped them sharply, breathing a little heavily.

“You said you don’t have any wrinkles.”

Jaskier glared at him. Geralt sighed.

“It’s not like that,” he explained, sliding his hand down to take Jaskier’s elbow so he could lead them up the stairs. This conversation would be so much easier over a glass of wine. Or better yet, a few shots of vodka. “It should be safe. The elves used to use it all the time to prolong the lifespans of humans.”

Jaskier allowed himself to be moved, shuffling in an awkward half walk up the stairs as he tried to continue the conversation. Geralt let his hand fall away, and his palm was warm where they’d touched. “If it’s so safe and easy, why doesn’t everyone do it?” Jaskier asked.

“It’s… not common knowledge,” Geralt hedged. “And you have to have someone with a long lifespan willing to take part in the ritual.”

“So how did you find out about it?” Jaskier said, tone accusative. “What’s the ritual, exactly?”

“I went to Triss. It’s—” He stopped, casting about for the right words. How to explain, without giving away too much? “It’s an elven ritual, used to… prolong human life spans. It involves tethering the human to an elf, originally. And then the… connection extends the human’s life to closer to that of an elf.” He opened his mouth again, hesitating on the edge of telling Jaskier exactly what the elves used the ritual for. And then he thought about how Jaskier would smile as he dismissed the issue, unconcerned, and Geralt bit back the words. His stomach rolled at the omission, but he couldn’t work up the courage to place this tender thing in Jaskier’s hands only to be crushed.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Jaskier pushed quickly ahead, towards his own rooms. The hall was dimly lit, the occasional window offering slivers of muddled daylight into the passage. Geralt followed after, his footsteps echoing against the stone.

Jaskier pulled a heavy bronze key out of his pocket, frowning as he fit it into the lock. “I don’t know, Geralt. I’m not saying your heart isn’t in the right place,” he said, not looking up. “I’m honestly flattered you would want me around enough to go through all this trouble. But we both know I’m not worth the risk, and this kind of spell, you know they can be—”

Geralt reached out as Jaskier went to push the door open, catching his wrist. The bones there were so delicate, fragile enough that Geralt knew he could snap them without a thought. His hold was as gentle as he could make it. “Jaskier,” he said softly, imploring.

Finally Jaskier looked at him, lips drawn tight. “I don’t want you to regret something like this,” Jaskier said tightly.

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt said, still holding Jaskier’s wrist like a bird in his hand. “I won’t. Can you just… trust me on this?

Jaskier stopped, giving him an unreadable look for a long moment. Finally he sighed. “If you’re sure,” he said, searching Geralt’s face for something. Geralt couldn’t have said what. His fingers burned. Eventually Jaskier must have found what he was looking for, because he suddenly smiled. “I suppose it would be remiss of me to turn down the opportunity for semi-immortality, as you say it. Imagine the heights of artistic mastery I could reach with another fifty years under my belt!”

Geralt rolled his eyes even as relief swept through him. “Of course you would think of that,” he grumbled.

He released Jaskier’s hand, and the bard pushed open the door to his suite. It looked much the same as Geralt remembered it from previous visits. Two rooms, the door to the bedroom ajar just enough to see the end of the bedpost, which had a doublet hanging from it. The main room functioned as a study and parlor, with a low couch and a desk off to one side. Jaskier tended to be fastidious on the road, both with his things and his own personal hygiene, but when he returned to roost at Oxenfurt Geralt found that he let his tidy habits slip. Books and scrolls covered the desk, the couch, and several low shelves, as well as a few spots on the central rug. A few of them were dangerously close to the fireplace. Empty and half full cups of tea and glasses of wine were scattered about. When Jaskier fell into research or writing he didn’t tend to remember basic things like cleaning or fire hazards.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jaskier said breezily, with the assuredness of someone who knew their companion had seen worse. And it was true; this wasn’t even half as bad as Geralt had found it at times, pushing his way into the suite to retrieve Jaskier from a month-long academic fixation.

Jaskier walked over to a waist high cabinet against the western wall of the room and opened it to reveal a honeycomb structure threaded with wine bottles. He produced what looked to be a bottle of Est Est and turned to Geralt, pulling the cork out with his teeth. As the witcher watched, he poured a sizable amount into a mostly clean glass and threw himself down on an unoccupied space on the couch. “Alright,” he said, after swallowing a mouthful of the wine. “Tell me how this is going to work.”

The wonderful painting above is by @silvertonguelover! Such an amazing piece that really conveys the feeling I wanted for this chapter. Find the post of the work here!

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #witcher #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #geraskierbigbang #big bang #me lamh #multichapter

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anfie-in-the-box · 3 years ago

Text

Dreamtale_Not_Found

Notes

Remember this thing I wrote out of the blue for Aftermare Week by @bluepalleteuniverse? Well, now the story truly begins!

Warnings: depression; a bit of manipulation, guilt-tripping, and an overall mean attitude of a random villager towards both Nightmare and Dream; not a panic attack, exactly, but definitely something similar.

Do tell me if there's anything I missed!

。。。

A negligible shift

Nightmare is done. He needs a change. Something. Anything. Please.

He sits between the roots of the Tree, hugging himself with both hands, chin on the knees. The position gets awkward, uncomfortable, but he doesn't have it in himself to move. He's drained.

He's fearful, uneasy with the deepest pain that never ends, but he's also empty. That's how it feels, at least. It's a void that nothing can fill, not even anxiety and doubts that have Nightmare in their cruel cold claws. The way misery blooms in the emptiness of his being is so alluring though, so mesmerising. Nightmare lets himself drown in the feeling. Nightmare never fights it, like he never fought the villagers, neither verbally nor physically. He's weak, isn't he?

But he isn’t evil. He's not. Can't be.

Right?

These thoughts break him more than any of the villagers ever could. Nightmare doesn’t know who he is anymore, and that makes it so much more frightening. He can't bear it. He's not brave, and he's not strong.

His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling, Nightmare notices belatedly. His vision is blurred, too; he's crying again. He can't help it, useless even against his own tears.

Nightmare hugs himself tighter, so tight it almost hurts.

Can it be that the villagers are right? Were right all along?

No, no, no. Please, no. He doesn't want to be evil. He doesn't want to be a freak. It's supposed to count, right? He tries, he really does. It must count.

If only Nightmare could find a way to prove himself. Abruptly, he stops hugging himself, both hands limp by his sides. Does he even deserve this poor attempt of comfort? Is he really what the villagers say, a useless, stupid, good for nothing villain?

No!

The tears keep flowing down his cheekbones. He doesn't hiccup, doesn't sob, doesn't tremble anymore.

He's drained. Done.

He really, really needs to change something. Or something to change — and wouldn't that be perfect?

Too good to be true.

His fingers touch the grass beneath him, and the trunk of the Tree is solid as ever, always there to rely on.

Nightmare tilts his head back. Just then, he sees the apples. Black, but also some golden.

Maybe... Just maybe, but...

He'd need to stay alone for that though. Dream consistently declines any help requests from the villagers, seemingly determined to never leave, but he��s just too kind, there’s bound to be someone he can’t say no to. It’s a matter of time. And waiting is fine by Nightmare, now that he has a plan. He’s not wasting his time anymore; instead, he’s being patient, ready to take the first chance he gets. It’s a smart move. Besides, the reward will be worth it.

Tired, Nightmare wipes the tears with his sleeve and makes himself as comfortable as possible, resting beside the Tree’s rough trunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll even drowse and nap a little.

。。。

Ironically, an opportunity comes up later that day.

Nightmare doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point since some noise wakes him up. When his head gets clearer, Nightmare realises it’s two voices, one his brother’s and the other only distantly familiar. A villager, then.

“Please, don’t talk so loudly,” Dream pleads in a small voice. “Nightmare is sleeping.”

How Dream always manages to be so caring and gentle is beyond Nightmare’s understanding. His little brother doesn’t deserve all that. Luckily, Nightmare knows what to do. Currently, he just has to keep listening intently, and it’ll be better if they think he’s still asleep. So no movement or sound. Nightmare’s good at that, he likes to think.

“Of course that useless garbage is sleeping in the middle of the day. But who cares!” the villager says, clearly irritated. They do lower their voice, though, if only to please Dream a little. “We need your help, and you can’t sit this one out!”

Dream sounds tired and somewhat hurt when he replies, “I’m so sorry if my brother upset you, but please, don’t talk about him that way.” Only when the villager mutters a “Yeah, whatever” that Nightmare barely hears from his position on the other side of the Tree, Dream continues. “Can you tell me what’s so important you think I need to leave the Tree?”

“Took you long enough to ask! Some guardian you are!” the villager huffs. “Just so you know, Ava is so sick she’s dying, it’s getting worse, and we’ve tried everything, but nothing helps! There’s no cure but the golden apples. It’s our last hope.” They insist, not giving Dream a moment to hesitate, “Come on! Do you really want us to lose Ava just because you decided to be stubborn?”

Nightmare tenses. He knows exactly how much of a bleeding heart his brother is. No chance he’s turning this one down; not when it’s a matter of life and death. He’s coming to the aid if only this one time. Meanwhile, Nightmare can set his plan in motion — prove himself worthy and good. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to get better. Finally.

Despite himself, Nightmare smiles. However, he keeps his sockets shut, just in case Dream decides to check on him before going to the village. He will go, without a doubt.

And indeed, Dream gasps, terrified, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear it! Of course, I’ll help poor Ava!” Then, there are steps and rustling, quiet huffs, and at last, this specific sound of a fruit being picked from the Tree. Nightmare knows that sound, although he’s never done it himself. Nobody asked for a black apple, after all. Nobody wanted it.

Nobody wanted him.

But now, that’s alright. He’ll just show everyone that he can take care of the golden apples, too. Everyone loves them, and they will love him as well. It’s so easy, Nightmare just cannot fathom how he hadn’t come up with it before.

For a few seconds, there’s a pause.

“What are you waiting for? You got the apple, now let’s go!” the villager hurries. Suddenly, the steps sound much closer to Nightmare, and he’s been ready for that, it’s exactly the reason why he never opened his eyes, then why does he jerk?

Luckily, it doesn’t give his act away. Dream sighs and whispers, ever so softly, “I’ll be right back, brother. Sleep tight.” He goes away and says a bit louder, worry evident in his voice, “Let’s go. I really hope we’ll arrive in time...”

If the villager replies, Nightmare doesn’t hear it. He counts to a hundred five times, just to be sure, and gets up only after that.

This is his chance to make the tables turn.

。。。

For a minute, he simply stands there, looking at the Tree, his chest heavy with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on a single golden apple, the nearest to him. The one he’s going to pick and keep from harm all by himself.

While Nightmare stares at the apple, a strange feeling arises in his entire being. It’s light and unobtrusive, but also comprehensive. He’d try to identify it if he had more time, he thinks. As it is, he can’t quite put a finger on it right away and so just lets it be.

It’s getting late, Nightmare notices. The sky darkens steadily, the sun already gone. Pinks and purples linger on the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Nightmare finds himself appreciating the view. It’s been so long since he last enjoyed... anything, really. Everything except for misery and pain has become dull, faded. Being able to drink in the sight now, suddenly thrilled by that fleeting moment between day and night, relishing in the cool breeze...

Nightmare forces himself to look away. He has a plan to execute, and Dream might come back any minute. His brother is nice, but... he doesn’t understand. He wouldn’t even if Nightmare explained. So he has to do this alone.

Not like it’s the first time anyway.

Deepest sadness and utter hopelessness creep back into Nightmare’s mind and heart, but before they take hold of him, little guardian decisively comes closer to the Tree and reaches for a golden apple, the one he’d chosen before.

A moment stretches to what seems a tiny eternity. That’s what it feels like to Nightmare, who freezes, terrified. His hand trembles. The apple is so close, one slight movement and he’ll have it, feel its surface. Is it warm or cool? Nightmare wonders, distantly. Is it soft or hard?

After a long, long pause — one that lasts barely a minute, Nightmare’s mind knows, but his heart doesn’t believe it, — his hand withdraws. He holds it with his other hand against his chest, aching all of a sudden.

What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? He’s a guardian just like Dream, who’s done this plenty of times! It’s so simple! It should be simple.

But his body refuses to cooperate. He’s shuddering, so anxious and afraid it’s suffocating. No wonder his chest hurts.

Tears prick the corners of Nightmare’s sockets.

Come on! Why can’t he move? Just why?

It’s not fair. This might be his only chance. Dream made an exception today, sure, but it’s not every day someone is on the verge of dying. He’s going to come back, and stay beside the Tree like a good guardian he is, and nothing’s going to change.

Filled with despair and fear, Nightmare tries one last time, putting all effort he can into stretching out his hand.

It doesn’t work. His body doesn’t work, not properly, anyway.

What’s even happening?

Just then, Nightmare hears familiar footsteps from behind. The sound makes something in him snap. The pain in his chest, the tension in his body, the feelings in his heart, and the thoughts in his mind — everything dissipates, leaving him tired and empty.

And — oh.

Nightmare sees now. That light feeling was hope. And it’s gone.

“Nightmare!” Dream calls out, not quite close yet but already explaining himself. “Sorry I left when you were sleeping, I hope you weren’t too worried when you woke up all alone... I didn’t mean to take so long or to take any time at all, but it was urgent and you don’t sleep much, so I...”

Utterly exhausted, Nightmare shrugs his brother off with a quiet “It’s fine” and, when Dream abruptly stops talking, goes away to the other side of the Tree.

Leave it up to him to not do a single thing right.

Of course, it’s all in vain. Pointless and futile.

He’ll just sleep.

。。。

Only that night, Nightmare tosses and turns restlessly.

As energy beings, they don’t exactly need sleep, so for Nightmare, it’s more of a way to escape than anything. Being awake means thinking and feeling, while sleep, although it seems to last just for a moment without dreams Nightmare’s only read about, gifts him a blessing of unconsciousness. When he sleeps, it’s almost like time and space cease to exist.

Almost like he ceases to exist.

It’s sweet and alluring. It’s also terrifying.

But none of this matters anymore, because, after that incident, even light sleep just won’t come. It’s called insomnia, Nightmare thinks.

Something did change after all. For the worse, that is.

It really could have been funny, but after a week of long, long days and nights Nightmare’s forced to spend wallowing in his misery, he can’t find it in himself to laugh.

Tired.

He’s so very tired.

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Read English version on ao3

Read Russian version on ficbook or fanficus (to be added)

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Notes

This story is canon compliant, which means Nightmare is six years old at the moment of the (absence of the) Apple incident. But because he never got corrupted, he has a chance to grow up, and that he will do. His meeting with Geno will happen years later, when Nightmare is an adult.

It will become obvious as the story progresses, but I felt the need to clarify right now. Maybe I'll remove this part of the notes later.

Also, since we don't know about Dreamtale as much as I'd like, I'm trying to fill in the gaps. All places and characters mentioned are my version of Dreamtale, except for Dream, Nightmare, Nim/the Tree of Feelings, and Neil. That makes Ava just a random name to make the dialogue feel personal.

Feel free to let me know what you think if you'd like!

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#anfie writes #dreamtale not found fic #nightmare!sans #passive nightmare sans #dream!sans #dreamtale #undertale #utmv #aftermare #I can't believe I forgot the ship tag (x

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jamestrmtx · 3 years ago

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The Bebop Blues - [Animal Crossing | Tom Nook x Reader]

[Gender-Neutral Reader | Slow Burn + Tragicomedy]

Chapter Two | Oh My God, They Were Business Partners (Part 2 of 2 | Your POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

You grab the roll of paper towel and bring it close to your mouth, using it as a microphone when the music starts.

Tom stares at each of your movements, and -- though you know his intention is far from bringing any sort of pressure over you -- his gaze summons forth a subtle case of stage fright, one you try to mask by smiling and striking a pose before beginning with the lyrics.

If he'd been kind enough to offer his help, the least you can do in return is push through your fears and give it your best shot.

Thankfully -- the second you start singing -- it's as if you forget about your surroundings and everyone in it. Your heart races on par with the music's pace, and you can feel your mouth stretch into a smile. The lyrics are the only thing in your mind, while the makeshift microphone is the only thing you can sense. Your body grows lighter the more you carry on, until it feels like you're walking on thin air. It's only when the song starts to level down that the sensation lessens in intensity, though most of it remains until the very end.

You don't realize you've had your eyes closed the whole time until the last bit of melody ends. Add to that your dry throat and sweaty hands, and it's now that you grow full-aware of just how ridiculous you could've likely looked for the entire song. You can hardly bring yourself to say thank you, despite how many lyrics you'd voiced out loud. Moving from the stage -- this one a simple and worn, wooden box -- feels like a challenge bigger than it was agreeing to having Tom help you out with your worries. Before you can panic any further though, you see Tom stand up from his seat, smile, and then clap. The gleeful look in his eyes is more than sufficient for you to smile back and snap out of it, albeit after a few more seconds of steady breaths in and out.

His encouragement is like a glass of cold water on a hot day -- refreshing and aiding with the suffocating feeling that came along after the song ended.

"H- How did I do?" you ask, words barely a question as you find yourself still unable to speak up in a proper manner. "My head's spinning," you then add, managing a laugh.

Before you know it, Tom is standing right in front of you, now having to stare up as a result of the box causing you to be taller than him. He offers his hand out to you and brightens the look in his eyes as he asks, "Would you like me to help?"

Though it takes you a while, you nod at him and give into a grin. "Please," you say, flaring your nostrils. "I don't think I can make it down from here without breaking a bone or two."

He bursts out a chuckle and squeezes your hand when you place it over his. "Good to know I read the room right, then." His gaze then shifts to concern as he brings you out of the stage and off to firm ground. "Are you alright?" he asks. "Your singing was beautiful, but you seemed a bit tense, at the end."

You follow him back to the desk, let go of his hand when arriving there, and sit on one of the empty seats available, taking up the one closest to the mini-fan on top when he suggests you to do so. "I…" You scratch your throat and take in a quick breath. "I went straight into overthinking after the song ended." Your gaze meets with his, and you thank him when he offers you a cup of water. "When I realized how sweaty my hands were and how fast my heart was going, I… I kind of just froze, and stage fright gained control of me -- just when I thought I was learning how to fight against it."

While having him listen already feels like more than enough, having him pull his seat next to yours and place a hand back on yours turns out to be a surprise -- but a welcomed one, to be sure. In spite of his current actions, he doesn't acknowledge physical contact or what such an action implies and rather meets your gaze, his softened up by an emotion you're not quite able to decipher by full. It makes your heart and stomach feel strange for similar reasons, though you brush it off as you simply being too nervous to stay still.

"But then I saw you smiling at me, and…" You let out a sigh, shoulders slumping along with it. "And I felt better, knowing I wasn't alone -- knowing I had someone by my side."

His hand tenses over yours and brings forth curiosity into your mind, one you use to spare a longer, more detailed look at him to notice his ears are perked along with his tail. His nose -- similarly -- twitches with what appears to be a mixture of shock and excitement. "Of course, (Y/N)," he says, almost stuttering over his words. "You... You are important to me, so supporting you in your endeavours is only natural." He lets go of your hand and scoots further back in his seat. "Though I must confess, I wasn't sure how to offer that support, at the beginning. Even now, I still hesitate as to how I can approach you."

You shake aside the odd sense of disappointment that comes with hearing it's 'only natural' for him to support you and focus on more important things, such as that of acknowledging his last statement and bring some sort of clarity over his doubts on the subject. "Honestly…" You smile at him and wink. "Just do what you've been doing this whole time, 'cuz it's been working well until now."

The fear of you having said something wrong arrives when you see his eyes widen and his shoulders tense. Your brain scolds you for not coming up with a better response, while your heart urges you to ask him if he's okay. You end having no opportunity to listen to either one of them, as he soon snaps out of it and says, "Do you truly mean that, (Y/N)?"

A nod is what you can manage when leftover worry prevents you from forming a reply. "I…" You grab the cup of water and take a few quick sips from it, needing it more than ever now to carry on. "I do. There's nothing more I could ask of you, really." You set the now empty cup down and huff, allowing your body to unwind. "What you've done for me here is… It's already proof enough."

The brightness of the stars pokes through the windows and aims right at your face, almost reminding you of what your original purpose is all about and what the rain stopping means for you.

With it now being such a late hour and the night so cold and wet, you figure it's only proper to wrap things up and leave.

You'd stayed at his office long enough -- overstaying your welcome was a thought beyond your mind and heart's capabilities.

"Thank you again, Tom," you say, standing up. "I had a wonderful time."

"Wait."

His words are what your heart hoped for, yet you refuse to acknowledge that.

Instead, you turn back to his side and ask, "Yes?"

"Would you like me to walk you home?"

Tom's question comes out bold enough to send a chill down your spine; still, you recover with a few minutes and some reasoning over your feelings, and proceed to reply with a quick and simple 'sure'.

Except, that's how you wish you could react, as you end up saying, "I'd love to," with an enthusiasm far too noticeable for your face not to grow warm. "As long as it isn't much trouble, though."

He shakes his head. "Hardly so." Then, he picks up his jacket, offers it out to you again, and swipes a set of keys from his desk. "Shall we go now, or do you need some more time to recover?"

You take the jacket and suppress a flinch when nearly brushing your hand with his. "I'm okay now -- Let's go."

That's the last thing you say as you accompany him out of the building, whereas his office is the last thing you see as you look behind you.

Perhaps, it's how the lights have been turned off and how silent the night is, but there's something about leaving that makes your heart ache. It's a faint feeling, and one you could likely brush off easily enough, yet your mind resists just as much as your heart does, both of these who force you to assess the meaning until your face is too hot for you to handle. Ignoring it is almost impossible now, and it leads you to hope for the walk to be over soon -- regardless of it having only just begun.

No matter what though, you can't express your true feelings out loud; burying them back down is the only viable, logical solution available -- so as to prevent you from making a complete and utter fool of yourself.

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

#tom nook x reader #animal crossing x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #romcom #tragicomedy #angst #fluff #slow burn

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genshin-impacted · 4 years ago

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empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (1)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy.

Notes: female!reader, eventual mutual pining, fake political maneuvers, mentions of death (yes, this is a set up to a harem drama, but Zhongli is focused in this), Zhongli POV

[Next]

hello welcome to the AU I made up; hope I finish this someday :)

“You are unfit to lead this country.”

Not two weeks after a tragedy that hits the royal family, leaving you the sole heir to the throne, that is what has been said to you over and over again. The royal court adjourns without delay, placing you in the middle of it-- though you could care less.

You hold whatever you have been able to salvage from the fire: a necklace momento from your father, the dress that your mother had woven herself. And in your hands, you hold in an urn the ashes of what remains of your family.

There is nothing else on your mind except for the fact that you are alone as the lone heir to the throne, the only living princess of the royal bloodline, and soon-to-be Empress of a nation that you are not prepared to lead.

You just want to mourn.

Zhongli has lived long enough to understand that politics will always be the determining factor in which his life will be led. It does not matter what he dreams of doing or what he desires. As the only born son to one of the oldest and most prestigious families in the nation, his life has never been his own-- though he supposed no one born of royalty has ever been truly in control of their path.

Still, Zhongli finds ways to play what cards he has. He earns praises for his wide array of knowledge in tradition, politics, and culture alike, but it is easy to know something if you are interested in it. He remembers vividly when Guizhong teased him, calling him an old soul when he delved personally into the traditions of tea ceremony, of calligraphy and poetry, out of his own volition because he enjoyed learning. His skills in the polearm-- also passed down in his lineage-- have also not been neglected, for he finds that it is similar to dancing, an elegant and respectful pastime that he often admires in operas and shows that he indulges himself in. If he could do anything with his life, Zhongli thinks he would be a writer or a teacher, or possibly even a historian.

("Old man," Guizhong had said to him affectionately for the last time before she left the compound to serve her duty as a princess, like many others. "One day you'll find yourself someone who listens to you and you'll talk their ear off."

"I doubt anyone would listen to what I have to say willingly," he had said, and his friend had only given him a soft look and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I don't," she said.)

It has been years since he has entertained the idea of living a quiet life writing his knowledge onto paper and even longer still since had long last seen his childhood friend. Zhongli finds himself in the fray of politics that he knows so much of and has no choice but to delve into when he is invited to the royal capital.

"It is a great honor," his father had said to him, hands behind his back, "to be meeting the Princess of the royal family. Make a good impression; this is of the utmost importance."

Political maneuver, Zhongli thinks immediately, not doubting the intention of an invitation coming from the palace, especially after the incident he has been told of. A fire of great destruction, the burning of a whole wing with the royal family trapped inside-- one would think it was a plot to overthrow the Emperor, but if anyone were to stage a coup, they would have burned the inner walls of the palace where the man resides, bedridden. A great coincidence to have the royal family unable to escape, but it almost seems too malicious to call it that. Gross neglect? Bad luck? Karma? Truly, a tragedy as the death of many could not be described worse than as an accident.

Zhongli thinks it is much too early to be moving the chess pieces so soon after half the board has been razed to the ground, but he supposed the world has never been that kind.

With a trained expression, Zhongli picks up the tea that had been brewed and takes a sip (too bitter, stepped too long, he thinks, wincing slightly, and putting the cup down). "I understand, father." He pauses for a moment and considers his words. "Is there a particular reason for this invitation?"

"The Princess is in need of education due to her lack of preparation as an heir," he says, "though I also hear she is in need of a husband as well."

The tea leaves in the cup trembles for a moment before sinking. "Father?"

"This is an opportunity of a lifetime, son."

And Zhongli thinks about his role, his abandoned journal, and books yet to be read and nods. "I understand," he says, wondering why, even though he expects where his life has been leading, he feels disappointed by the outcome anyway. "I will bring honor to our family."

"I expect nothing less," is what is said to him, and Zhongli swallows the bitterness of the tea down.

When Zhongli arrives at the palace, he is welcomed with all the excitement that is to be expected from the arrival of a son whose family holds prestige. Maids of many numbers cater to his every whim, and the few court officials who seem to favor him welcome him to the royal palace, which is broad and grand just as history would describe them.

Briefly, he wonders if it is professionalism or greed that maintains the palace’s daily businesses after an evident tragedy.

"I would like to extend my greetings and gratitude to the princess for allowing me in her castle," Zhongli says carefully, his voice even and words like silk-- just as he was taught as an educated man-- and watches in confusion as the nobleman who had barely kept his pleasure at his presence suddenly deflate.

"Ah, yes, of course, you would like to see the Princess," he says, a nervous lilt to his voice. "But I'm afraid she is preoccupied with another commitment at the moment. My apologies."

Invitation from the Princess, he remembers reading from the telegram, thinking it strange that someone would invite someone without intentions of welcoming them. It's easy to come to the conclusion that the Princess had not sent the message-- and the thought that she may not even know of his arrival also comes following after. Instead of speaking, Zhongli nods, much to the noble's relief as he continues to parade and provide him the tour that he has not asked for but appreciates nevertheless.

His room is two halls down the main chambers where you live. If the location and proximity to royalty were not enough, the room itself was also vast and much too big for one person, but he supposes luxury and decadence can be shown in empty space as well as it can with beautiful trinkets and trophies. Zhongli has always admired such things, as he does with the ornate statue sitting on top of his vanity and wonders when, if he ever does, he will be able to explore the castle in between whatever responsibilities the court deems him in need for.

"Maid," Zhongli says gently, but the young maid startles anyway when he addresses her.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would I be allowed to stroll the gardens of the west side of the palace?" He says, "The moon is to be full tonight and I wish to view it."

She flushes, for reasons that Zhongli knows not for. "I-I believe so. The guards should be patrolling at the moment, but you are a recognized guest of the palace, so all should be well."

When Zhongli steps out onto the carefully maintained rock garden, he spots a few men walking down and up the inner walls of the castle. He briefly thinks about the number of them but thinks no further, for now. Instead, he thinks the moon is best viewed when its reflection is in the water, clouds are nowhere in sight, and all is quiet. He comes close to the perimeter of the garden inner castle, expecting to see no one.

Zhongli steps into the moonlight and watches as you sit onto the grass and lean your head against the lone lantern post.

Perhaps you are here to moon-gaze as well, he thinks and goes to alert you with his presence by clearing his throat. He doesn't know why his earnest attempts to be unalarming go unwell, but he startles you into turning around.

Zhongli does not know what the Princess looks like, nor has he had anyone describe you to him. But Zhongli knows who you are if not solely from the emblem you carry on your headpiece and the way you hold a funeral urn in your lap like it is the only thing tethering you. As such, he expects the caustic demands of his name and stature, as expected of a Princess, but he is surprised to find that you look at him instead like a deer in headlights, arms tense around the urn.

"My apologies for startling you, my lady," Zhongli begins, "that was not my intention."

"Oh, no, it's okay," you stammer, and he has to blink for a moment at the manner in which you speak. "I should have probably noticed you coming. I was distracted."

Princesses and princes of the royal family are taught three things from birth: power, manners, and tradition. Nothing says more about your status than the way you hold yourself and the way you speak, especially if you are of royalty, and so every word that one must speak seems carefully crafted and intricately woven with elegance. A tad bit obnoxious, if anyone could say, but it is a mark of the elite, regardless of the former.

But you, who hold possibly one, if not the most, powerful title in the country, speak casually and without bothering with a mask of neutrality, as though you are unused to the burdens of sovereignty.

Your eyes are gentle, almost excessively so, and the way you hold yourself as though you want to be unnoticed are both strange but corroborating evidence of your peculiarities of a noblewoman. Though Zhongli has yet to understand why this is so, the instructions his father listed and his role in the castle has become clearer.

Zhongli has many questions, too many to ask about to a person who has no idea who he is.

Decorum takes him before his curiosity overwhelms him, and he lowers his head in deep respect. "My name is Zhongli, Princess. Thank you for allowing me to stay as a guest within the palace.”

"Oh," he hears you breathe out, "you're the one that came today." You turn your head toward the koi pond that beautifully reflects the moon. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you," you say mechanically, trained.

"No, that's quite alright," Zhongli says mildly, glancing down at the urn still in your hands. "I'm sure greeting a stranger would be the least of your concerns at the moment."

At this, you smile at him. It is not a happy smile, but rather a pained one that strains your lips and pinches your eyes. Zhongli thinks back on his first lesson to maintain his expression, to keep composure, and almost marvels at the emotions clear on your face for him to see.

(He thinks this may make your life harder for you, to wear your heart on your sleeves. But he finds himself selfishly wanting you to stay as you are.)

"I've been told one week is all I should be given to mourn, as typical of a funeral ceremony. My parents' ashes should be released but…" You glance up at the night sky dim with stars. "I know in my heart this is not the place for them."

"Then what is the place?" Zhongli echoes and holds his breath when the smile you give him is gentle beyond measure.

"Some place where the wind blows," you say, "where the earth is clean and the ocean is near. That way, my parents can choose freely where to find rest." You laugh. "That must be a pretty tall order, isn't it?"

"You are a Princess," Zhongli finds himself saying, and you turn back to him. "I believe you are allowed to demand only the very best, for yourself and your loved ones."

"I believe," he continues, when he sees your eyes mist over, "that I am here to tutor you in the ways the court deems fit. I have been praised to have a wealth of knowledge and the privilege of history in my family as well as the power of my lineage; I will guide you as best as you need me to." He pauses. "And… if you require a geographical lesson on the highest peaks, the widest oceans, and the most open plains, for reasons beyond academic, I will be available to you."

Zhongli returns to his room (two halls away, he reminds himself, from you), and it is only then he realizes that he has not looked at the moon at all. Not directly, he thinks, but he supposes he did see a glimpse of it, as it stands behind you as a backdrop to frame the smile you gave him that was as bright as starlight.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #genshin imagines #genshin au #imperial drama au

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wondernimbus · 4 years ago

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play pretend — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

prompt: in which two people are forced into marriage; reader falls in love. draco doesn’t.

a/n: hi listen to the song dusk til dawn if you wanna get into ur feelings while reading this .. anyways enjoy!!!

No matter how much Draco tried to deny it, part of her had always known that unwanted feelings lingered. Feelings from the past that should have been left there but weren’t—feelings that shone through during the most intimate moments; underneath bed covers, when Astoria’s name would slip past his lips instead of hers, or afternoons spent out by the garden when she would catch his eye and find him looking at her in a way that made it so painfully obvious that he was trying to find something in her that he could love.

The first time his and [Y/N]’s families had ever met, Narcissa Malfoy had pulled her away from the dining table to tell her in a voice of caution about a girl named Astoria Greengrass; the very same one Draco had fallen in love with during his time at Hogwarts. The girl came from a wealthy family, but one that was not wealthy enough—her blood was pure but her name not as well-respected as that of the Malfoys’ (word had leaked of an early ancestor having married a Muggle). Simply put, she was, though close to it, not good enough for Draco. The history of her family line and her insufficient wealth just couldn’t make the cut; Astoria Greengrass wasn’t good enough to wed into the Malfoy family—regardless of how much Draco claimed to have felt for her.

And so Astoria and Draco’s story ended with tragedy; with separation and arranged marriages to anyone but each other. Astoria wedded a man of her status; someone who could afford to marry her, and Draco to [Y/N], who had never known love until she met him—the very person who couldn't feel the same for her.

She'd wedded Draco fully aware that mutual feelings of affection were the last of any of their families' concerns. As long as no Muggle blood besmirched each others' family trees and the purity of blood was carried on further into newer generations, petty things like love hardly mattered.

Except somewhere along their forced time together in a lonely manor by the countryside—a dowry from her family to the Malfoys—[Y/N] began to look at Draco as less of the man who had been forced into marriage with her and more of a man she could learn to love. And so she did; she learned and loved and found a comfort in him that she had never been expecting to. It took time, yes, but once she took that courageous step and the floor gave out underneath her feet and she fell for Draco faster than she could even blink, she couldn't stop.

Because once you start to love someone, you are done for. You won't be able to pull yourself back out.

Maybe that's why Draco can't forget that one Astoria Greengrass. Maybe that's why he can't quite look at [Y/N] the way she wants him to. Maybe it's why, when [Y/N] foolishly tells him "I love you" in hopes that maybe this time he'll say it back, he doesn't.

[Y/N] wants to be angry. She wants to be able to grasp Draco’s shoulders, shake him to his senses and scream at him to forget Astoria, you can never have each other but you have me and I love you and I want you to be able to say the same for me so please just let go of her. But to set her pride aside and ask something like that of him takes plenty of courage—courage that [Y/N] isn’t entirely sure she has.

So she sits and pretends like everything is fine. Tells herself that the man she loves loves her back when she knows he doesn’t. And he knows it too.

Playing pretend—she’s gotten quite good at it over time.

—

When Draco holds her at midnight and presses himself close to her, it's like he's trying to imprint himself onto her very skin, trying to ingrain part of himself onto every inch of her body he can reach. And in a way, he does, in patches of faint red and purple and dark blues that mark her skin wherever his lips go.

They almost never talk at night. They're much too busy wrapped up in each other's arms and legs to bother with words. [Y/N] threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him in and Draco kisses her so hard it's like he's trying to make up for everything that he can't give her; kisses with passion that isn't quite driven by love but rather desperation for something—someone—he can't quite have.

And it hurts because [Y/N] knows that when Draco groans into her mouth and tightens his grip on her waist and glides his lips down her skin, it's not her face in his head. And it's not her name that leaves his lips, either, when the night progresses and they are drunk in one another's touch.

But [Y/N] is okay with it—or so she tells herself.

She has Draco. She's happy. She loves him, even though he doesn't. She is happy.

She has to be.

—

Jealousy.

That's what [Y/N] feels.

[Y/N] has never met Astoria Greengrass but she is pathetically jealous of her. She is jealous of everything about Astoria that Draco fell in love with, whatever that might be. And it's ridiculous because she doesn't even know what she looks like or how she is; all that [Y/N] knows about her is that she must truly be something else to have captured Draco Malfoy's heart and to still have it in her hands after all of this time.

An arranged marriage and a year forced apart—you'd think that that would be enough for Draco to move on.

They've been together for a while. Draco still looks at her like he's not really seeing her. He doesn't love her, and [Y/N] isn't exactly sure he ever will. Every day she wakes and hopes that by some miracle he has opened his eyes and has begun to finally see past the future she knows he still fantasizes about with Astoria, but that is yet to happen. For now [Y/N] is helplessly in love with a man who has his heart set on someone else.

And at some point she has become angry, but not at Draco nor the woman he loves—no, she is angry at herself. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and hates what is staring back at her. She goes up to her reflection and frowns and contemplates what it is she's missing. If the sight of her own face is revolting to herself, then it is no doubt that others feel the same way—including Draco—and is that why he can't love her? Because of how ugly she is? Or is it how she acts? How she speaks, how she laughs, how she smiles, how she is?

Whenever Draco disappears to "clear his head" and [Y/N] is left alone, she finds that the manor is too small to hold the vast amount of nothingness spilling out of her at the seams, so she goes out into the highest balcony that overlooks the sea and breathes in as much of the salty breeze as she can until the feeling in her chest doesn't quite feel as suffocating anymore.

It's not the marriage she'd been hoping for all of those years ago when she was a naive child who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. But at the very least, she loves. And she is grateful to Draco for allowing her to know what that feels like, even when he can't quite give it back to her.

—

But hearts are made of soft things, tissue and blood and muscle. Things that break and wound easy. Things that tend to scar instead of heal. There is only so much you can do until a human reaches breaking point and their heart gives away, and [Y/N] finds herself one Thursday evening with blood dripping down her knuckles and shards of glass scattered on the floor.

"What happened?" Draco's voice is soft, imploring, almost loving but not quite. It's always almost. Almost what [Y/N] wants. Almost how a husband should love his wife. Almost.

"Tripped," [Y/N] winces. Draco kneels down in front of her from where she's sitting on the toilet, hands gently caressing her own to inspect her blood-smattered knuckles. It's a terrible excuse; how do you trip and punch a mirror?

But Draco doesn't question it, and [Y/N] doesn't have to tell him that she'd looked into the mirror and despised what she saw so much that she'd been overcome by an irrational anger and began to beat her fists against her own reflection until the glass splintered and the skin of her wrists did so along with it.

Draco tells her to wait, so she does, sitting in the cold bathroom by herself with blood dripping down her knuckles onto the floor until Draco comes back with a cloth in one hand and a pouch of healing ointments in the other. Once he's cleaned up the mess on the floor, he kneels in front of her again and, quietly, gently, he begins to wipe the blood from her hands.

"Does it hurt?" Draco murmurs. His brows are drawn in the middle in a slight frown as he tries his hardest not to press too hard. He pauses and looks up at her, and his eyes are gentle, almost loving. Almost.

[Y/N] forces out a painful laugh. "Nothing I can't handle."

A smile tugs on the edges of Draco's lips. "As expected."

Then he quietly resumes nursing her wounds, and [Y/N] doesn't realize that she has started crying until she tastes the tears on her lips. Draco notices but doesn't say anything.

And because she is pathetically in love and she wants him to feel the same, when the cuts on her wrist have been bandaged and Draco is tucking away all of the tubes of ointment in his pouch, saying something about being more careful the next time (even though the both of them know fully well that her tripping was an excuse), [Y/N] tries again and says, "I love you."

Draco freezes for nothing more than a split-second, but [Y/N] notices—her gaze is fixed on him intently, helplessly trying to gauge a reaction that part of her knows won't come. But she wishes it would.

Her wishes are unheard. Draco nods, turns his head just a fraction of an inch to look at her out of the corner of his eye, and offers her a sad smile.

Almost.

—

"No, listen to me, Draco—I am TIRED!"

"And you don't think I am?"

"I know you love her—Merlin, of course I know, I see it every time you look at me—but I'm asking you to try to love m—"

"You say it like it's easy."

There is a sob rattling in the back of her throat. [Y/N] swallows it back down and turns away from Draco like he hasn't already seen the absolute mess of tears on her cheeks.

Draco stares out of the window, jaw taut and his fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles have gone a ghostly white.

"I knew we were getting married but I never expected much beyond a sealed contract and an agreement between our families—I never expected to fall in love with you but I did so here I am now asking you to do the same for me."

A beat of silence. "You're not her."

Another swallowed sob. A brand new fissure in her heart that joins the thousands of others. "I'm sorry."

More silence. Then: "I am too."

And then Draco leaves first, because he always does.

—

Their fights don't last long. Days follow and Draco and [Y/N] go about as they always do, pretending like the gaping void between them isn't there. Whenever night comes, Draco will roll over and press a quiet kiss to the back of [Y/N]'s shoulders, snake one hand around her waist, and whisper I'm sorry, and [Y/N] will turn and drag her lips against his until Draco captures them in his own and they are stuck in that endless loop of want again.

Draco kisses the breath out of her and she kisses him back. Kisses him enough to make up for those few terrible minutes of anger she'd accidentally let loose days ago. Kisses him with love, with passion—with everything Draco doesn't have.

When she gasps for air and Draco pulls away and trails his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of what feels like pure flame behind in his wake, she digs her nails into his shoulders and holds him in place. In a strained voice she says: "Look at me."

He doesn't. Draco kisses her throat and against her will she sucks in a desperate, shuddering breath, and the air sounds like Draco's name. "Look at me, Draco," she repeats, fingers pressing into his skin more insistently.

This time he stops and pries his lips away from her skin and hovers over her, eyes searching hers.

"When you're with me," she begins, eyes dark, breath coming quick, "I want to be the only one inside your head. I want you to look into my eyes and see only me."

His grip on her waist tightens; her hands twist unsteadily in his hair, gaze clearing just a tiny bit as she says, "Please."

And then he is dipping down to kiss her again, lips parted, breath rough. Somewhere in between their almost frantic kisses he whispers a response, and [Y/N] is much too lost in the feeling of his skin on hers but she thinks that Draco might be breathing words into her skin. They sound like apologies—sound like I'm sorry, sound like Astoria.

[Y/N] throws her head back as Draco brushes his lips over the curve of her collarbones and whispers something audible this time, and this time it sounds like I'll try. Feels like hope. Feels like a door opening to something.

Feels, for the first time, something more than almost.

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shitpostingfromthebarricade · 2 years ago

Text

Rank

7 July 1807

“Well!” says Napoléon as he enters his tent. “That went exceedingly well, don’t you think?”

A noncommittal hum accompanies the sound of fabric against fabric as the tent’s entrance shuts.

“The Czar seems an incredibly capable leader,” he continues, lighting a candle. When had it gotten so late? “Strong, smart, willing to see reason. Handsome fellow, too. They say that his grandmother’s profile can be seen in his; Catherine must have been a graceful woman indeed.”

“Do you truly believe that he will honor the treaty that you signed back there?”

Frowning, Napoléon straightens before turning. Marius stands in the entrance, face half in shadows as the glow of candlelight sets the other half ablaze in orange light. “Why shouldn’t he? The terms were exceptional, especially considering the Russian defeat.”

“British trade is essential to Russian commerce,” says Marius seriously. “Even if they do mean to honor it — and I have my doubts — they will be ruined in a matter of years and will have no choice but to recant.”

Napoléon stares at him for a long beat before passing his judgment: “You’re jealous.”

Marius sputters, shifting so that the shadows and light distort over his face. “Jealous?” he repeats incredulously.

“It’s plain enough to see,” says Napoléon dismissively, sitting down in front of his writing table and pulling out his latest reports and correspondences. There is always so much to be doing when one rules a continent. “You saw and heard me today, perhaps even read the letter I penned to Joséphine in the afternoon, and you feel jealous.”

Behind him, he hears Marius’s breath, as heavy as if he’d just exercised. “Of what could I possibly be jealous?”

“My attention? My affection?” Napoléon guesses, uncorking his ink. He’ll be needing more soon. “On my word, you’re as bad as Joséphine; I don't understand why she takes these things so seriously. She is always afraid that I will fall in love. Can she not understand that love is not for me?”

“I am not one of your trite mistresses to toss aside when you are finished.” The sounds are uncharacteristically sharp in Marius’s mouth. “Nor am I some politician or ambassador to be wooed and manipulated to your will.”

“No,” says Napoléon blandly, cutting a fresh quill. “That would mean falling into place, which you clearly have no intentions of ever doing.” It’s meant to sound affectionate, but the words are clipped and ugly as he says them out loud. He doesn’t correct it.

“‘Falling into place,’” Marius scoffs. “Do you hear yourself? What happened to the new world order? What happened to rising through merit, not birth? Of creating opportunity for everyone to have access to the tools for greatness.”

“Oh? And what merit have you shown, to be questioning me? Riding my coattails to the top of an empire?”

Behind him, there’s shocked silence.

Dipping his quill into his ink, Napoléon continues. “I have come to realize that men are not born to be free.” The quill scratches against the paper as he speaks. “Liberty is a need felt by a small class of people whom nature has endowed with nobler minds than the masses of men. Now, perhaps I have spoken cruelly of you — you did do well in your assistance drafting the Code — but what right has that given you to criticize me, your emperor, so freely?”

There is a choking sound followed by silence, and Napoléon nearly turns before Marius’s voice at last comes, barely above a whisper. “This … and these are your true feelings, then? That men are born unequal, that liberty is not a birthright to all?”

“It would be chaos,” agrees Napoléon with a laugh. “You remember the Directory — the Convention? Individual liberty must be suspended for the good of the collective.”

“But not in everyone’s case.”

Napoléon shrugs. “Some people need to be allowed more mobility to do what needs to be done. You and I, for example.”

“Not you and I,” corrects Marius solemnly. “Just you.” There’s a rustling of fabric, and when Napoléon turns, he sees the opening to his tent falling shut.

A flash of indecision wages inside of him before Napoléon is on his feet, careful not to overturn his ink, and following after Marius.

His pace is a brisk walk — it would be unseemly for the men to see their emperor chasing after someone — so it takes a full minute before he is able to catch up to Marius’s long gait, and when he does, it’s only because Marius has been forced to a stop to prepare his horse.

“Marius, where are you going?” asks Napoléon with a sort of exasperated impatience. “We haven’t finished treating with the Prussians.”

“It sounds as though you are more than capable of treating without me,” answers Marius, placing a saddle on a chestnut mare. One of the soldiers comes over to offer assistance, and Marius accepts the help with a nod before standing upright and facing Napoléon. “I cannot do this anymore.”

“Nonsense,” Napoléon says with a scoff. “It will hardly take a few days more, and with his treaty already finished, Alexander should be leaving on the morrow.”

A deep exhalation. “I’m not talking about the treaties, I’m talking about this. Us.”

The world drops out from beneath Napoléon��s feet. He is, however, an emperor and cannot be seen to lose his composure. “Marius, we can talk about this.”

“I don’t think we can,” says Marius, his eyes lowering. “Not anymore. Too much has happened, too much has changed. And you … you’re not the man you once were.”

“I am,” insists Napoléon, but even as he says it, he knows that Marius is right. “Stay with me. Please.”

Marius shakes his head slowly before turning away. The soldier — blast his competence! — affirms that the horse is prepared, and Marius steps into the stirrups.

Even once the soldier has been dismissed, there are still others milling about, so Napoléon forces himself to remain in check. They’ve seen him lose his temper before, of course, but over battles or incompetent dignitaries — not a single man. Not Marius. He clears his throat. “Where will you be going, then?”

Marius gives him a bittersweet smile. “I’m not yet certain. Perhaps I’ll stay with a friend.”

A memory washes over him of a gangly boy, not more than twenty, in an austere café. My grandfather and I had an argument. I have been staying with a friend since. His heart feels open and raw. “You’ll write to me, then? When you arrive? Let me know you got in safe?”

“I will.” Marius’s voice cracks on the second word, and Napoléon has to look away.

“Well then. Do what you must.”

“I love you.”

The words are a devastating blow, and were Napoléon any less the man he is, they might have brought him to his knees then and there.

He is an emperor.

“You may keep the horse. A gift from the empire.”

The dismay rolls off of Marius like a wave, and still, Napoléon cannot make himself look. “Goodbye, Napoléon.”

The horse is spurred into motion, and Napoléon listens as the sound of hooves retreats behind him and into the distance.

Goodbye, my love.

#treaties of tilsit #russian treaty of tilsit #empereur's mercy #napontmercy #empereur's mercy week #czar alexander i #three francs #shitposting sometimes writes #marius x napoléon #I need you all to know that this update and all of the ones to follow are gonna be made from my phone #because my computer died #in a way Definitely Not Related to EMW I'm Sure #luckily for you all I keep my writing all stowed away on Google Drive #and am Very dedicated #edit: WHOOPS didn't post the whole thing initially #my phone struggles to copy more than a certain number of words

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lunar-wandering · 3 years ago

Text

i don’t wanna fight alone anymore

(title from the song On my Own by Ashes Remain)

so. here we are, the first chapter of the “I’m too impatient so I’m writing Season 3 myself”.

...here we go I guess?

Word Count: 2k

read on ao3

Three days.

It had been three days since MK and the others had last seen Monkey King.

Sure, Wukong was still on the ship, this they all knew with certainty. There had been no sign of him jumping off, or summoning his cloud to sail away.

It was just..... after he'd passed out, which was concerning enough in and of itself, they had patched up all of his injuries, which was...honestly, there was a frightening number of them.

Sandy had built the ship with the intention of one day using it for a road trip, so it had already been equipped with multiple rooms to be used to sleep in. After patching him up, they'd placed Wukong in one of them.

He'd appeared on the top deck the next morning, not wearing a shirt, and looking bewildered.

"Did you guys... patch me up?" He asked.

"Yeah? You were injured, of course we did." Pigsy said, "Why do you ask?"

".....Just making sure." Had been Wukong's response, before disappearing back into his room and closing the door.

And that had been the last any of them had seen him.

For the next three days, the door had remained firmly closed, only the faint sounds of shuffling indicating that he was still in there.

For a while, MK had been concerned that Wukong wasn't coming out to eat, but Pigsy informed him that one monkey's worth of food had been vanishing from the ship's kitchen every now and again, so it wasn't really something to be that concerned about.

Still though, the fact that he had been getting food, and yet MK still hadn't seen him, was a little confusing. He had heard stories of Wukong having some kind of invisibility power, but MK was pretty sure that if the Monkey King actually had that ability, he would've seen him use it already.

...But then again, being seen would kind of negate the idea of him being invisible, wouldn't it?

Either way, Wukong hadn't left his room in 3 days.

And the others were starting to get really concerned.

They'd been respecting his privacy up until now, giving him a bit of space, he was a powerful immortal being after all, it wasn't like they could just walk right up to him.

But three days without even seeing him was a bit much.

Which led to Mei, Tang, Sandy and Pigsy, standing behind MK as he slowly raised a hand to carefully knock on Wukong's door.

"....Monkey King?" MK quietly asked. "Um... can we come in?"

"......We?" They could hear Wukong's muffled voice ask, and Mei seemed to take that as a yes, as she opened the door.

There was the sound of frantic scrambling on the other side, and when the door was fully opened, they were greeted with the sight of Wukong, wearing a loose bathrobe, as well as the same tattered pants from three days ago, his chest wrapped in bandages, and with one leg up and out the window, posed like he was about to jump out.

There was a moment where everyone stared at each other, frozen.

"Monkey King." Pigsy said, making Wukong startle. "What, do you think you're doing?"

"Um. Enjoying the view?" Wukong said, slowly bringing his leg back down into the room as Pigsy continued to give him a Look.

"Oh really? Because it looked, to me, like you were about to jump out that window." Pigsy said, crossing his arms. "But surely you weren't, because you're better than running away from confrontation, right?"

"Ha ha....yeah...." Wukong rubbed the back of his head laughing nervously. "Uh. So why are you guys in my room? Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"We just... wanted to know if you're okay?" MK asked, and Wukong froze again. "It's just, you haven't come out of your room in a while, and we're all getting a little concerned-"

"Yeah, nope, I was right in the first place, jumping out the window is better than this." Wukong said, turning and moving to do just that, but Mei and MK quickly rushed forwards, grabbing him by the waist and keeping him from throwing himself out the window. This wasn't really stopping him of course, he could easily escape their grip...

...But with his cloud sail power gone, he wasn't exactly sure if they'd survive the fall to the ground like he planned to.

"Come on Mr. King, you can't just run away from your problems." Mei said, as she and MK successfully dragged him back into the room, handing him over to Sandy, who lightly set him down on his lap, his hands on Wukong's shoulders just in case he attempted another escape. "Even MK doesn't go as far as jumping out a window."

"It's a Monkey King Special Move the kid should be glad he never learned." Wukong said, a thin layer of sarcasm in his voice, and Pigsy sighed.

"Look, Monkey King- Wukong- whatever you want me to call you, MK already said this, but we're here." He said, "We're stronger together, but we won't work as a group if you don't tell us what's wrong."

"Wrong? There's nothing wrong!" Wukong said, his tail swinging back and forth. Sandy could feel the monkey's shoulders tense up. "Why would you think there's something wrong?"

"Uh, because you haven't come out of your room in three days?" MK said, completely deadpan.

"...Three days? Has it really been that long?" Wukong said, suddenly becoming... a lot more quiet.

"Yes, it's been three days. Look, Monkey King-" MK said, "We just want to be sure that you're alright."

"....It's really nothing you need to worry about." Wukong said, anxiously scratching the side of his face. "I was just....letting myself heal, that's all. I figured if you guys saw me you'd want to change my bandages or something- and considering I'm immortal it's really kind of a waste- you should be saving those for yourselves-"

"Monkey King." Sandy said, with a quiet tone of worry. "Are you saying, the bandages you're wearing right now, are the same ones from 3 days ago?"

"Yeah? Why, what's wrong with that?" Wukong responded. Pigsy angrily marched forwards, taking Wukong out of Sandy's hands.

"Are you kidding me? 'What's wrong with that', he asks. I swear, Wukong, you really are even worse at taking care of yourself than MK." He said, setting the Monkey King down on the bed, Wukong too confused to argue or fight the sudden movement. Pigsy began unwrapping the bandages around Wukong's chest. "You can't leave bandages on, the wound could get infected- you have to swap them out."

"I'm immortal, I don't get infections." Wukong said, crossing his arms as Pigsy peeled the last of the bandages off. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the healing is almost done anyways."

"Immortal though you may be, I sincerely doubt you're actually immune to infection." Pigsy said, "Hm...though it does seem you're right this time, the wound looks fine and is practically healed.... you will not do this again."

"And how do you expect to stop me?" Wukong asked, only to receive a small smack to the forehead. "Ow!"

It hadn't actually hurt, but reflexes were reflexes.

Leaning against the doorway, Tang laughed, and Wukong shot him a glare.

"Why are you even here- you haven't even said anything this whole time!" Wukong said, "No, seriously, why are you still here?"

"Emotional support." Tang said, sipping his tea, completely ignoring how Wukong looked like he was about ready to walk over and smack the tea cup out of his hands.

"So like, I don't want to interrupt, but honestly, I'm kind of curious-" Mei said, and Wukong turned to notice that, while he'd been distracted with what Pigsy was doing, she had started digging through his closet. "Do you like, actually have any other clothes, Mr. King?"

She let the door to the closet fall wide open, revealing that only the tattered clothes Wukong had been wearing when he rescued MK lay there.

"Well, I mean. It isn't exactly like I was really prepared for an impromptu road trip-" Wukong tried to explain-

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you wear anything other than this..." MK said, before looking at Wukong again, noting, for the first time, the loose bathrobe he was wearing over top of his tattered pants. "Well. Except for now of course."

"C'mon guys, give Monkey King a break." Sandy said, and Wukong shot him a thankful look. "It isn't like any of us were truly prepared to start trekking across the country after all. We barely have enough supplies on here to last us a week as it is."

"Yeah, we're probably going to have to find somewhere to stop and get some food and other necessary supplies soon." Pigsy sighed, "Not like there's really any other cities around nearby. We'll have to stop in the next town we see-"

"Actually, uh, I might know a place." Wukong said, "It's not too far from here, about a day's travel, and I usually keep it pretty well stocked up..."

"You usually keep it stocked up?" MK asked, "What, do you have a secret bunker or something?"

Wukong went suspiciously silent.

"Oh my gods. You do have a secret bunker."

"It's more of a house, really-"

"I'm going to see the Monkey King's secret bunker-"

---

Macaque sighed, leaning against the wall of his cell with his uninjured arm. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting in the dark- three days? Four? He had no way of telling.

To be honest though, he was, however slightly, grateful for the special treatment. The Lady Bone Demon had let him see what she'd done to the Spider Queen.

It was far more terrifying than simply having your powers stripped away and being thrown into a pitch black room.

He wasn't entirely sure what Lady Bone Demon wanted with him. He was fairly sure he was more useful to her alive than not, but in what way he was useful to her- now on that, he was unclear.

...The door creaked open, and blue light shone in. Macaque lifted his arms to shield his eyes as they adjusted, wincing as his injured arm protested to the movement.

The Lady Bone Demon entered his cell.

"Good evening." She said, as calm as ever. Macaque sneered at her.

"What do you want." He hissed. Lady Bone Demon just continued to smile, unfazed.

"I have come to make a deal with you." She said, walking closer. Macaque leaned away as far as he could, which, considering he was already pressed up against the wall, wasn't very far. "One that I think you'll find... rather interesting."

"Hah, we'll see about that."

"As I'm sure you're already aware, Monkey King, as well as the Monkey Kid, managed to escape my grasp." She said, ignoring him. "They are surely planning some kind of counterattack. While I doubt they could manage to pull off anything, it is still nice to get rid of... hindrances before they develop."

She stopped mere inches in front of him. Macaque glared up at her, hoping that she couldn't see the fear in his eyes.

The Lady Bone Demon held out her hands, and a purple glow swirled around them.

"I am, of course, well aware of your.. history with Sun Wukong." She said, as Macaque watched the traces of his power dance around her. "Here is my proposition. I will return to you, a portion of your previous powers. You will find Wukong and his apprentice, and you will bring them back to me. Whether they are dead or alive, doesn't truly matter. Whichever option you find more fun, I suppose."

Macaque stared at his powers, held so tantalizingly in front of him, than looked back up at Lady Bone Demon.

Even with his... complicated emotions regarding the Monkey King, Macaque would never hand someone over to a- a monster like this.

...But she didn't have to know that.

He reached out and grabbed her hand, enjoying the feeling of his powers washing over him, merging once again with his energy. It wasn't much, but it would be enough-

The Lady Bone Demon suddenly grabbed hold of both of his wrists, holding tight. Her nails dug into his skin, and Macaque had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

"Oh, and just so that there aren't any tricks." She hissed, her eyes seeming to stare into his very soul. "I've prepared a little... collateral, if you will."

"What do you-" Macaque bit his tongue, as he felt the pain sear. No, no, she couldn't possibly-

"I'm sure you know what will happen if you disobey- no?" The Lady Bone Demon said, impassive as Macaque shook from the pain. "After all, you were once subject to this punishment too- albeit only for a short amount of time. Ah, it really is a pity just how easy it is to have you fall right into my plans."

She let his wrists go, and Macaque's hands shot up to his head, trying to relieve the aching pain.

"Oh, you and I both know it's worthless to try to remove it." Lady Bone Demon said, turning to leave. "I expect the Monkey King and Monkey Kid to be here, within the month. Any longer and, well, I'm sure you already know what will happen."

She left the room, vanishing as though she was never there.

The door was left open behind her.

Macaque spent a moment, kneeling on the ground, trying to collect himself, pull himself together.

Slowly, he stood up, throwing on a glamour as he did so. It drained a good portion of the limited amount of powers that had been returned to him, but it was necessary.

He walked out of the room, looking around carefully-

Before jumping out the nearest window.

He had a job to do.

#Monkie Kid #monkie kid spoilers #my writing #Season 3 Fanfic

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merakiaes · 4 years ago

Text

The One For Me - Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Requested: By @nuvoleincielo

Prompts: #16, #30 and #63 from the fluff-list.

Warnings/notes: This is my first time writing for Hotch and Criminal Minds in general so please be patient while I get used to these new characters, might be slight OOC😭 It’s also the first piece I’ve written in a few months now and I’m a bit rusty, so please let me know what you think. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Send in more requests for Hotch, Reid and Morgan and let me know if you want to be added to the Criminal Minds taglist! I hope you like it💕

Wordcount: 4118

Summary: Hotch has doubts about letting your relationship go further and you reassure him that he’s what you want.

After being raised in one of New York’s worst, most crime ridden and low poverty neighborhoods by a family who was constantly targeted by the law enforcement, the last thing you’d expect was that you would become an active worker of said law enforcement.

Your mother died ten minutes after giving birth to you and your father had never been a part of the equation, most likely having ran the second he found out your mother had gotten pregnant. With no other immediate family, you ended up in the system, where you were stuck for the first seven years of your life.

You jumped back and forth between families of all kinds but for reasons unknown, no one wanted to keep you. It wasn’t until a couple adopted you two days before your eight birthday that you finally felt like you belonged.

They had many children of their own as well as more foster children, all between the ages of ten and twenty-five at the time of your adoption. On top of that, the children had children of their own and aunts, uncles, cousins and friends stayed with you more often than not as they struggled to hold on to homes of their own.

It wasn’t the most ideal way to live, a dozen people staying under the same roof of a two bedroom house, but you had dinner on the table every evening and the love for family was strong, so despite the conditions you lived in and the struggles you were forced to face on a daily basis, you guessed you couldn’t complain; you’d had it better than most.

The people who lived in those parts were always getting pinned for various kinds of crimes, just so the police could get it out of their hands and go on about their lives.

The male members of your family and the company they kept were some of the biggest targets even though they rarely did anything wrong, but despite the injustices they faced every day, they remained respectful when staring in the face of a cop.

You, on the other hand, despised them. You were an outspoken little girl, too feisty for your own good and on more occasions than one, you’d ended up pissing off some rich kid in school for which your dad and uncles were forced to pay the price.

You’d always hated the injustice the less fortunate suffered every day, but it wasn’t until you witnessed your first murder at fifteen that your interest of making the world a better place really piqued.

The victim had been one of the boys living in your neighborhood. He was two years older than you and he always gave it his all to make something out of himself. He walked with you and your younger brothers and cousins to school every day to make sure you got there safely, studied hard, kept out of trouble and always remained respectful.

The only reason he died was because his skin was the wrong color in the eyes of the law and because he was born into a less fortunate neighborhood, and it was then your eyes truly opened to the police brutality and misuse of power plaguing your country.

You joined the police force when you were nineteen years old and you stayed there, on top of your game and determined to do it better than the bad ones, until you were twenty-one.

At that point, most of your family had passed away either out of old age, or simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your determination to help people was stronger than ever.

But even you, the tough little firecracker as your uncles had always called you, could only tolerate so much.

After two years on the force, you got tired of being undermined by your male co-workers and set out to step up your game, taking up studies of criminology and psychology among several other subjects.

You studied your ass off and was just barely able to get by with the money you had saved up over the years, and at twenty-four, you finally had your degrees and clearance to begin working in higher places.

Starting off in New York, you stayed there for six months before you were transferred to Quantico, Virginia, where you were recruited by the one and only Jason Gideon who had heard word of your talent in the field.

You had worked with the team for little over a year now and Jason, who had always acted as a kind of mentor and father figure for you, was gone, having left only a letter for you and Spencer each.

Taking his place was Aaron Hotchner, a fellow agent to which you hadn’t paid much personal attention before the departure of Gideon. But things changed when he left, a lot of things.

Hotch was fresh out of his divorce, moodier than ever and in a really bad mental state. He stayed in his office until the late hours of the night, sometimes even the early hours of the next morning, barely slept and often forgot to eat if he wasn’t reminded by his team members.

Everyone urged him to take some time off, to go home and get some sleep and to take care of himself, and although he always told them that he would, he never followed through.

Up until then, you still hadn’t spoken much with him except for when you were working on a case. You were just an agent and he was just your boss, there was nothing else to it. But you couldn’t just sit by and watch as he neglected himself, so you followed your team-mates’ example and approached him.

He dismissed you at first, like he had done everyone else who had tried to offer him their support. But as time passed by, in some miraculous way, you made him laugh, and as you continued your attempts on offering him your ear to listen, he opened up to you, and you grew to become more than just colleagues.

Your first and only date had been on your initiative. You invited him to dinner at your house during your weekend off, to which he agreed.

You cooked together and although it started off as kind of awkward – more from his side than yours – you ended up kissing later that night after having had a bit too much to drink, and fell asleep together on your couch while you were flicking through your childhood photo albums.

The next morning, he was gone. You had always been an extremely light sleeper so you found it strange that he had managed to slip off without alerting you and also having managed to wrap you up in a blanket before he left.

He didn’t leave without a word though. A note was neatly placed on the coffee table in front of you, on which he explained that he needed to pick up Jack and that he didn’t want to wake you, finishing it off with a thank you for the night before.

That was the first and last time you spent time together, just the two of you, but it wasn’t like it was intentional.

You wanted to do it again, to continue exploring the budding romance between the two of you and to see where you could take it, and although you knew nothing of his feelings, he wanted the same thing.

But work got very stressful; stressful to the point where you could never find a moment to talk to each other if it wasn’t in the presence of the entire team. But the spark between you wasn’t gone.

It was still there in the way he would let his hand hover above the small of your back when you were walking side by side and step in front of you if you were ever in danger, and in the way you would always take a second to ask how he and Jack was doing, if they were eating enough and getting enough sleep, whenever you were heading somewhere; no matter if the team was with you.

It was there in the way he would always encourage you to go on the less dangerous tasks while he took the ones that were more life-threatening and in the way he would always smile, the slightest of smiles, whenever you were exchanging jokes or sarcastic remarks with Morgan, or messing around with poor, clueless Reid.

It was there, but it was unspoken. At least until now.

The case you had been working on for the past two days was that of Gilbert Stratton; a serial killer who had targeted young women, killed them, drained them of their blood, and then proceeded to hang the bodies up by their feet in trees all around the city.

You had caught him just in time to save the last kidnapped girl and you had originally been the one assigned to question him, but Hotch had stepped in last minute after the man had made a crude comment about how ‘girls like you always tasted the best��.

You had attempted to tell him that you could take it, but before you had even been given a chance to state your case, he had shut the door in your face and you had been whisked off by JJ.

You were the one out of the entire team who was the most interested in the psychology of a serial killer so you really wanted to be the one to interview Stratton, but you knew that Hotch had taken over for the sake of your safety and not because he underestimated you, so you couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad.

While he did his job, you settled at your desk with a sigh, getting to work on the heft stack of paperwork that had been building up throughout the week.

The first ten minutes you kept close track of the clock next to you, wondering why it was taking so long, but the more time that passed, the more focused you became.

Soon enough, you only had a few reports left and you had completely lost track of time, when there was a sudden bang behind you, sounding an awful lot like a door slamming shut.

And your suspicions were proven correct, when you looked up to see Hotch march straight the bullpen.

The corners of your lips tugged up at the sight of him, but the arising smile quickly fell again when he walked right past you, without even an acknowledging glance, heading into his office and shutting himself inside without as much of a word to anyone.

Left behind with dumbstruck looks on their faces were the team, glances of bewilderment being exchanged.

“What happened?” Reid asked the question you were all thinking after a moment of silence, just as Emily walked in from the interrogation room.

Rather than answering Reid’s question, she looked right at you, offering you a small, comforting smile. “I think you better go talk to him.” She said simply, and as confusion and anxiety bubbled up inside of you, you slowly drawled.

“Okaaay…”

They all watched you as you stood up from your seat, brushing down your shirt and turning off the lamp at your desk before heading for the stairs.

You could feel their eyes following your every move and you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous of what you were about to walk into.

Everyone had gotten negatively affected by a case or unsub at some point during their career, most more than once. They were all very good at getting into your head, no matter how little you wanted to admit it. But you had never seen Hotch react this strongly to anything before. The only time you had really seen him snap was during one single case, right after Haley had filed for a divorce.

Still, you kept walking until you reached his closed office door, stopping only then to peek inside the blinded windows to see him sitting at his desk, hands rubbing over his face.

You knocked on the glass gently and in any other case he would have looked up and meet your gaze, but when his head kept hanging this time, you let yourself in, only when closing the door behind you cutting off the curious eyes of the others.

Once you were inside, you wasted no time in approaching Hotch where he sat by his desk, analyzing his every move which led you to only one question.

What the hell had Stratton said to him to make him this distraught?

He didn’t even look up as you reached him, keeping his eyes closed as you came to a stop beside his desk.

Treading carefully, you reached out and gently put your hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” You asked softly, the sound of your words instantly bringing a long, heavy sigh out of his nose.

“Why are you doing this?” He wasted no time in replying, causing a crease to form between your eyebrows.

“What?” You asked back, confusion lacing your voice.

Finally, he brought his hands down from his face and slowly spun around in his chair, forcing you to drop your hand from his shoulder and to take a step back.

He stared up at you, face wiped free of emotion as always. But the eyes said it all.

“Why are you so adamant on being with me? Why do you try so hard?” He questioned you, taking you by surprise.

Your eyebrows shot up and your eyes grew slightly wider, and you took a moment to regain your composure after the, to say the least, unexpected question.

“What kind of question is that?” You asked once you finally regained your senses. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you want to be with someone? Try?”

One of your eyebrows sank again, leaving only one raised in question.

Hotch’s face softened slightly and for a moment, he averted his eyes, letting out another, smaller sigh from his nose before looking back up to meet your eyes once again.

“What I mean is, why do you want to be with me?” He asked again, clarifying and slightly shaking his head in what seemed to be disbelief. “The second you walked into this office, both Morgan and Reid had their eyes on you, and they still do. They’re closer to your age, they’re energetic, humorous, full of life, while I’m ten years your senior, and can’t offer you what they can. So why do you want to be with me, when you can have them, or anyone you want?”

“What is it that they can give me that you can’t?” You didn’t waste a second in firing back.

You had no idea what had brought this on, but it was clear that it was bothering him and quite frankly, you found it ridiculous even though you didn’t like making it a habit to judge other people for what they were feeling.

“They can make you smile-“ He started explaining, and you instantly cut him off.

“You make me smile, all the time.” You shook your head, but your affirmation only seemed to fuel his frustrations even more as he was up on his feet within the next second.

“But I’m not- I’m not fun.” He stated, staring you down. “My clock is ticking. I’m ill-tempered, irritable, too serious for my own good. I’m barely capable of taking care of myself at this point much less my son. I’m miserable and I’m a bully, who only cares about this job. Why would you want to be with someone like that?”

“Where is this coming from? I thought we had something good going.” Your face fell slightly, and you carefully reached your hands out to grab a hold of the front of his suit, taking a small step closer.

“Is this because of Stratton? Is he the one putting these doubts into your head?” You asked, keeping your eyes on your hands for a short moment before looking up to meet his heavy gaze staring down at you.

And once your eyes met his, he knew there was no point in lying; you were a profiler after all, and a good one at that.

“He did.” He confessed calmly, his lips pursing into a straight line.

“Aaron…” You began, the softness of your voice matching the one in your eyes.

“But everything he said is true.” He quietly interrupted you. “I’m not fun to be around, I push people away. That’s what I do, what I’ve always done.” His eyebrows rose and he stood still.

You knew about the doubts he had about himself. You know he felt inadequate as a friend, as a colleague, as a father, and more than anything as a partner after the way Haley had left him. You were aware of all of it, and yet the sound of those self-doubts being voiced aloud saddened you nonetheless.

Silence fell over the two of you for a moment as you took another step closer, flattening your palms out on his chest and your eyes never leaving his.

“Those people didn’t deserve you in the first place. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they started building a relationship with you, whether it be a romantical or purely platonic one. They knew how passionate you are about your job, how much you value it. Them leaving… That’s on them, not you.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I’m not about to give up on you, on us, just because you happen to be a few years older than me. Derek, he wants to have fun, to be young. He may be attracted to me but he doesn’t want anything serious. Spencer isn’t ready for a relationship either, for obvious reasons, and either way, they’re not the ones I want.”

He watched you intensely as you spoke, lips still tight and strained. “What is it that you want?” He asked you, and you wasted no time in replying.

“Something serious and stable, someone who’s ready to settle down, and for me, the best chance to get that is through you.” You smiled, breaking your eyes away from his to follow your hand as you moved it up to his face. “Regardless of what other people say, you’re an amazing person. You’re passionate, driven, kind, loyal, gentle, and so much more. Despite what you may think, you do have a sense of humor and you’re the only one who can make me smile until my cheeks hurt. If that’s not a good man, a good person, then I don’t know what is. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

By the time you finished, the remaining doubt was wiped free from his face, a small, gentle smile instead having taken its place.

It was a funny thing, Hotch only ever spared the tiniest of smiles, and yet it was them that brought you the biggest and most intense amount of happiness. It was so rare to see his ever-stoic features reflect joy that you couldn’t help but light up like a kid on Christmas every time it occurred.

And true to what you’d always been told growing up, your smile was just so contagious that he couldn’t help but to smile wider at the sight.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and visibly relaxed where he stood.

Your heart swelled in your chest when you took note of the way he was slowly but surely shuffling closer to you, picking up a significant amount of speed when you then felt his hand brush against the side of your hip.

But he didn’t dare touch you, hesitation still lingering in the air. So you did what your heart told you and grabbed a hold of his hand, and pushed it down into the curve of your waist.

From then on, he moved on his own, raising his other hand to mimic the same position at your other side, and you let your hand drop from his, instead raising them to busy with his crimson red tie.

“I know you’re struggling, with yourself, with Jack, and that you’re still processing the divorce. And if it’s time you want, then I’ll wait.” You spoke quietly, feeling your skin flush hot under his touch as his thumbs began to move over the thin fabric of your shirt. “But if you want to keep going and see where this can go, then I’ll be here every step of the way to support and help you in any way I can. You just need to let me in.”

More shyly then before, you dared loo back up at him through your lashes, hands stilling on his chest.

His smile was gone and his eyes creased together in concentration, but his eyes were soft and his head slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He said, and you allowed yourself to smile again.

“Aren’t I always?” You lightheartedly teased, tilting your head to the side.

In return, a smile spread across his face, his head shaking. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, no take-backs. What’s said is said.” You kept joking, your smile only widening.

He kept smiling down at you for a few seconds longer, but then his face fell again, just like that, out of nowhere, completely sudden. The gaze he held on your face grew absent as he got lost in his thoughts, and before you could question him about the sudden change of mood, the words spilled from his lips as if there was no tomorrow.

“I think I love you.”

Your mind instantly broke into a flurry of thoughts, countless emotions battling in your body. Nervosity and excitement ended up coming out on top, the mixture of the two creating an uncomfortable, sickly feeling in your stomach.

Your face fell in disbelief and your eyes searched his as he came back to reality.

“You do?”

Your voice came out so quiet and small, you mentally cursed yourself for sounding so pathetic, but luckily, you didn’t get much time to beat yourself up over the anticlimactic reacting as he continued.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed to say it. Every day, this job puts all of our lives in danger. I couldn’t bear it if one of us died before I got the time to let you know how I feel.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself growing weak at the knees as he absentmindedly rubbed your waist with his thumbs.

“Just a minute ago, you were trying to end… whatever this is, and now your proclaiming your love for me?” You asked.

It was meant to be a joke, an attempt to ease the anxiety you were currently feeling, but you realized quickly that said anxiety made it sound like the exact opposite of a lighthearted, teasing joke.

Luckily, the man standing in front of you was a profiler and knew that you meant no harm, understanding how shock could render your ability to react appropriately.

“I was never trying to end what we have. I just wanted to be sure that you were sure. That I won’t be holding you back.” He explained, and you finally managed to pull yourself out of the state of shock.

“Being with you motivates me. And I love you, too.” You confessed, the smile once again returning to your face as you moved your hands from his chest to wrap around the back of his neck.

“I’m happy to hear that.” He smiled right back. “Can I kiss you?” He quietly added, and your face instantly lit up in a mischievous expression.

“In the office?” You gasped dramatically, bringing your arms down, taking a step back and lightly slapping his chest. “Aren’t you feeling frisky today?”

A large smile stretched across his lips, his chest shaking as he chuckled. “Come here.” He said simply, and before you got the chance to argue, not that you would’ve if given the opportunity, he sat back down in his chair and pulled you down with him.

The chair spun in the process, causing you to let out a squeal of surprise. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your small laughs of glee quickly became muted as he placed his lips on yours, replaced by low hums of contentment.

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, basking in the feeling of his lips moving against yours and his arms tightening around your waist, and as your entire body burned with passion, you realized that he really was the one for you.

Tagged: @must-be-a-weasley-92 @zizzlekwum @cozytruecrimeaddict @lovelynervouskingdom

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#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner imagine #hotchner x reader #hotchner #hotch #hotch imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #derek morgan #spencer reid

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

Text

Thanks fo’ saving my ass tonight

I got so much going on with uni, but I couldn’t resist. If you too are queen/king of procrastinating uni work, you have my deepest support! Hope you enjoyed x

TW: none (except fool language)

Part 2 - Part 3*

Office parties have never been y/n’s cup of tea, the idea of enjoying yourself in the very place people usually count down the hours before they can leave, is rather ludicrous in her humble opinion. Alas as the boss’ personal assistant, she not only had to plan and organize the whole shebang but her presence was also required, supervision purposes and all that. The only solace sweetening the deal for her was that she’d be in charge of the catering too, and y/n learnt very early on that good food and greater booze could make any boring work function at least tolerable.

Now that the festivities are in full swing, conversation flowing almost as heartily as the champagne in the guests’ eager mouths, y/n thinks she did quite well. The vast open space of the office is decorated with taste, the music set at the perfect level as to not overpower the boring chitchat bouncing off its walls, and to her greatest delight, the catering company she hired has truly outdone themselves. All in all, everybody seems to be having a grand time, and y/n decides that’s reason enough to officially relieve herself of her supervisor’s duties.

As she scans over the assortment of canapés, mini-quiches, crudités and other mouth-watering ambrosias, y/n fails to notice the tall figure casually approaching her. She’s in the midst of pondering whether she should try the humous or a cream cheese and salmon toast first, mouth salivating and stomach growling in appetite, when a raspy voice interrupts her inner battle, "I see m’not the only one who’s here just fo’ the food".

Her eyes pop off the delicious hors d’oeuvres to the sight gracing them next and she doesn’t know which is the most appetizing. Because standing a few feet from her is Harry, vibrant smile and pretty dimples on show, as he leans over the verrines platter to pick the best-looking one. He’s wearing an olympic blue floral suit on top of a scandalously unbuttoned transparent shirt, a bold number that would grant anyone else looks of surprise and confusion but looked absolutely divine on his broad frame. Besides, after two years working at the office, everyone had gotten used to his unconventional fashion choices by now.

Y/n quirks an eyebrow in curiosity as she dips a cucumber stick in a bowl of humous, before quipping, "not a big fan of these things?"

Harry lets out a small chuckle in a ‘no kidding’ way, and attaches his emerald eyes to hers, "they’re kind of a drag, if m’bein’ honest."

She smiles at his admission, realizing they both share an aversion for mundanities, "I know right. Like, why party here where everyone has to be on their best behavior when we could be down at the bar without the boss gallivanting around?" she cries out in exasperation and not for the first time, Harry thinks she’s quite possibly the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. His smile widens the tiniest bit at her passionate rant, "my thoughts exactly. Do we even know what we’re supposed to celebrate?" The question makes her laugh, she wouldn’t have known either if not for her involvement in the affair, "well as the person behind this all drag," she give him a pointed look at his jeering choice of word, "it would be weird if I didn’t."

Harry’s face falls at the possibility of having offended her, but his uneasiness quickly dissipates when she starts laughing at him. "M’sorry, that came out wrong," he tells her before letting out a giggle of his own and y/n revels in the moment. The idea of interacting with him beyond the usual ‘here’s the presentation for today’s conference’ or ‘do you have the quarterly report ready’ is rather intoxicating for her already feeble nerves. "Don’t worry, I take no offense, I’m just as bored as you are," she reassures him with a smile, "the party is for a new potential investor, something about wooing them with some ‘corporate fun’. S’a load of bullshit if you ask me".

Harry nods at the explanation unimpressed, his boss’ intentions being the least of his worries. Aside from being the classic douche every manager typically insists on being, the guy has always made his distaste about him pretty clear, so Harry would rather focus on more interesting things. Like how beautiful y/n looks right now, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving a few strands to fall around her face. "You look amazing, by the way," he brings himself to say, though he thinks his compliment doesn’t even do her justice.

Y/n looks down at her own outfit then: a knee-length red dress composed of a skater skirt and a backless top that only holds with a couple pressure buttons clasped behind her neck. Her cheeks warm up to match the color of her apparel, betraying the timidity she’s always fallen victim of whenever he happened to be in her vicinity. Y/n’s never been one to shy away from her feelings or trip over her own words when facing her crushes, but there is something about Harry that teleports her right back to her sheepish 13 year-old teenage self. Also, she’s not too keen on office romances and the drama that usually ensues so she’s always made sure to stifle her blossoming attraction and keep their relation work-appropriate. Surely that must account for most of her awkwardness, doesn’t it?

Her eyes trail back to his face and her response comes in a shy euphemism, "thank you, you clean up quite nicely yourself." It’s enough to quirk Harry’s lips in a bashful smile, their complexion evidently on edge as they tread uncharted territories. Professionalism has always regimented their interactions with kind but polite rigidness, neither of them quite inclined to cross that invisible line, but tonight seems to challenge that.

Tonight, Harry is resolute in his infatuation, no longer inhibited from social construct but driven by a quest for knowledge; anything that will help him decipher her carefully shielded crux. Tonight, he endeavors to scrape the edges of her rough diamond to expose the gem encapsulated inside, peel back the stoic layers of her exterior to find her unapologetic and intrinsic nature. Tonight, he is thirsty for secrets and confidential disclosures, and he won’t leave until he’s drained it all out of her. Unless she tells him to fuck off, obviously.

Harry keeps the conversation going as he browns the buffet for a new delicacy to snack on, "so, what would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?" He wants to know everything, the present and the past, the good and the bad, the superficial and the substance, the messy and the orderly, but he figures he should start by what she likes to do in her own time. The things that loosen her up after a tense week at work, the things that will make her eyes shine with passion as she relates them back to his curious mind.

The question reaches her ears as she takes a sip of her drink, "mmm," she smiles around her glass before placing it back on the table, "-that’s easy. Playing pool with the gang at Gibson’s." Her answer spills without hesitation, a heap of follow-up questions already brewing up in Harry’s brain, but the foreign name is what beckons his attention first, "Gibson’s?" he echoes with a faint rumple pulling the skin between his eyes. Is that the name of a friend? A boyfriend? Out of all the questions he’s contemplated, y/n’s relationship status never crossed his mind. He’s always assumed her to be a single woman, the evidence of a significant other never present in her language and demeanor.

A wave of relief washes over him at her elaboration, "it’s a bar couple blocks from my place. It’s been my friends and I’s HQ ever since we all met." The sentiment has her eyes sparkle at the remembrance of all the happy memories the place hosted, and Harry stores the information in his mental list of all y/n’s soft spots.

"Sounds rad, so you play pool?" he inquires with enthusiasm. He’s been knows to play a game or two in his youth, though it’s been a hot minute since he’s felt the weight of the cue in his hands as he sinks ball after ball in their respective pockets. He remembers the elation of it all, the adrenaline coursing through his veins at each successful strike, and his heart flutters at the thought of ever sharing a game with her; she seems like the competitive type in the most entertaining way possible. Before his thoughts can spiral into much filthier realms, like bending her over the table mid-game when his own skills prevail and she turns into a sore-loser, y/n’s voice rings him back to reality.

"Uh uh, correction," her expression suddenly turns in false seriousness before she proves him right about her competing tendencies, "I win at pool." Her eyes are so full of confidence, a spice of mischief sparkling in their corner, she would have no difficulty persuading anyone of anything that passes the threshold of her mouth. Harry certainly doesn’t doubt her mastery of the bar game, but it doesn’t stop him from challenging her in a slightly elevated pitch, "oh is that so?"

Y/n only grins at the banter, not at all fazed by his taunting remark, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." She reaches for another snack, not taking her come-hither look off his handsome face, and Harry revels in her flirtatious advances, a smug smile taking possession of his lips as he surfs of the same wave of seduction. "Is that a challenge?" he philanders back, fueling the sensual back-and-forth they seem to have embarked upon.

"Not much of a challenge if I know I’ll win," y/n replies with cheek, her self-assurance once again burgeoning like sexy wildflowers sprouting from the ground underneath Harry’s feet, wrapping around his ankle and growing along his body to twine around his spellbound heart. He absolutely loves her unfaltering aplomb, finds it undoubtably sexy but he can’t let her know that just yet.

"Cocky."

"Confident."

They both chuckle at their repartee, enjoying this ping-pong of quick-witted banter they’ve never found in anybody else before. It’s like their intellects were meant to collide in galvanizing forces, the encounter of two fiery psychs too brilliant to one up the other.

Harry is mesmerized by their connection, if he knew sparks would fire this bright, he would have made a move ages ago. "Fuck, you’re something else," he shakes his head in incredulity before confessing, "definitely not what I expected."

Y/n’s chest tingles at his comment, a rivulet of liquid glee leaking through her arteries to pump her heart and her ego full of bliss, "Oh so you expected something, did you?" She punctuates her teasing with a thousand-watts power smirk, and Harry finds it strikingly alluring.

Not about to let her have the upper hand however, a burst of smugness crosses his features as he boomerangs her earlier allurement back to her, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." It earns him a deep jazzy laugh rooted in her tummy and a tinge of pride swirling in his own. He wants to pry laugh after laugh from her belly until her last giggle, only relenting once the muscles in her chest are aching from unbridled joy.

Y/n sighs in content before taking a bite out of a mini-tartlet as she considers how to proceed in this much too flirty conversation. "So what would you be doing tonight, if not for this stupid party?" she returns his first question before realizing, "-wait a sec, what are you doing here if you hate these things so much? My presence was mandatory but yours isn’t."

"I’ll have you know I was coerced into coming too," he quips back in a fake defensive tone, hand pressing to his chest, "Mike from accounting begged me to tag along, he just broke up with his girlfriend so I didn’t have the heart to tell him no." The selfishness of the gesture softens her heart in a goo of adoration, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Softie."

"Chivalrous."

His comeback has her giggle, a rejoinder already tiptoeing at the edge of her lips, "see, who’s cocky now?" Her eyes are full of jest and lightness, somehow taking the weight of the party off his shoulders. Turns out, food and booze are not the only remedies for boring work functions, y/n’s company is just as effective if not more, and that’s with the guarantee of a hangover-less comes next morning. Harry is truly happy he decided to make an appearance tonight, a sentiment he definitely didn’t foresee for the night. The realization has him faintly shaking his head in amazement, his lips letting out another whispered "something else" softly enough that it doesn’t quite reach her already inflated ears.

"So did you have any plans tonight?" She reiterates the question not wanting to ever stop talking with him.

There are probably a hundred exciting plans he could have conjured up to come off half as intriguing as she seems to be, but instead he decides to go the honest route, "nah, I would have probably crash on my couch, this week’s been pretty hectic." His truth is confirmed by the faded blackness tinting the skin below his eyes, a proof of hard work and long hours under the heedlessness of a greedy superior. Y/n knows it all too well, having had firsthand experience with her boss’ jackassery. That’s why she directly inquires, "boss giving you trouble?"

Part of Harry is eager to steer the conversation back to more pleasant waters but he guesses talking a little bit about work was inevitable at some point, especially since they both share palpable distaste for their superior. "The maniac keeps giving me last minute reports like I’m expected to work all night along on his bullshit projects," he explains dejectedly before running his hand through his luscious curls in sign of frustration. "Barely finished in time fo’ the party tonight, I had to slip in his office to put the file on his desk, that fucker had already left."

Y/n listens attentively, her chest tightening in empathy at the recollection of his misfortune. She’s very familiar with the embittering feeling that comes with working your ass for someone that barely registers your efforts and dishes the office hours before you can even dream of clocking off. She’s faced the same scenario time and time again, including tonight, when she’d come up to lock the boss’ office hours after he left to get pampered for the party. She barely got time to make the double commute to and from her place, much less spend hours getting dolled up. She does remember the odd file on her boss’ desk though, "oh I was wondering what that blue folder was about, he never usually leave unattended paperwork on his desk."

Harry starts nodding in confirmation before stopping dead, eyes widened in distress, "wait, did you just say blue?" he asks in urgency.

Y/n frowns at his sudden agitation, her mind reeling to try and visualize the state of the surroundings she left several hours ago. She’s pretty positive she saw a blue binder laying there, not that she knows the ramifications of that simple fact, "yes I think so, why?"

The dire nature of the situation becomes painfully obvious as Harry’s face turns into a mess of dread and panic, "oh shit, oh fuck, no no no," the words keep tumbling from his mouth in a ramble of nerves. "So stupid, m’so fucked" he keeps muttering self-admonition in quiet anger, hands griping at the root of his hair.

Concern is starting to fester in y/n’s guts as she takes in his disheveled state, "Harry, Jesus, take a breath, tell me what’s going on," she steps closer to him, one hand softly holding at his biceps as she tries to connect their gazes.

Once his eyes plug into hers, pupils blown out in turmoil, he finally calms down enough to word out his mishap, "s’not the right file on his desk, I only use red binders for the reports." Spinning around out of her hold to shout his stress back to the wall in a loud "fuck!", Harry’s mind is caught up in a swirl of possible excuses to give to his boss, all sounding more ridiculous than the other. He can’t think of way to fix his mistake and escape the inevitable berating coming his way comes morning.

Fortunately for him, y/n is not about to let this happen, "it’s okay, we’ll fix this," she encourages. "What’s on his desk right now?"

Harry looks back at her then, not totally convinced that this all mayhem is salvageable. His boss is never going to tolerate this minor negligence, especially once he finds out the irrelevant material mistakenly slipped amongst his work. "My 14 year-old niece’s english project" the answer comes out as a question, a hint of self-deprecating humor lacing through his words. "Bloody hell, he’s gon’ have my head fo’ that one."

Harry is adamant in his doom, but if anything, y/n is not a quitter. "No he’s not. He hasn’t seen it yet, right? You said he was already gone when you brought the file."

He takes a long breath, "I suppose not."

"Guess it’s a good thing I have the keys to his office then, yeah?" She smiles proudly as a beacon of hope shines on his conflicted face. The forest green of his eyes seems to breath back to life in an endearing revival, effectively tugging at y/n’s heart’s merciful strings.

"Fuck, you’d do that fo’ me?" his shoulders loosen up in relief, the tension slowly simmering down to a gentle buzz, as he envisages the possibility of an illicit break-in. Well, as illicit as it may be, considering they have the keys. Still, best they don’t get caught snooping in the boss’ office, for both of their sake.

"Of course, silly. No questions asked," y/n answers with a smile, and her willingness to put herself in potential trouble, warms Harry’s heart from inside out.

"Y/n, you’re an angel, a life savior," he grabs her shoulders in each of his hands, his gratitude painted all over his soft traits. "Fuck, I could kiss you right now." The words fly out of his mouth without him realizing their significance after spending the last ten minutes coming onto her. And well, y/n isn’t too opposed to the idea either, and she thinks she might hold him to that promise in retribution for her saving grace when the time and space works better in their favor. "Alright Casanova, let’s get your ass out of this mess," she grabs her purse form the table and takes his hand to guide him through the cluster of people milling around the office space, eventually reaching the row of elevators across the room.

As they stand waiting for their lift to come, Harry starts fidgeting with nervous energy, feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught trying to steal straight from the cookie jar. "Shit, alright, we have to be discrete if we want to pull this off," he tells her, not taking his eyes off the room in case someone would look at them and read their plan straight off their guilty-looking faces.

"Says the guy in the flashy suit," y/n immediately counters, in an attempt to revive the playfulness of their synergy. The night was going swimmingly before the whole ordeal, and she’s convinced this foxy little adventure can only add to the appeal of an evening full of surprises.

Harry’s indignation at her dig teeters from his pouty lips, "hey! It’s not that bad." She giggles at his poor rebuttal, and as the doors of the elevator open, they quickly take a few steps inside.

"Harry, that suit is so loud, it could break the sound barrier," y/n teases as she eyes the crowd of people frivolously chatting away, while waiting for the door to close back.

"Thought I cleaned up nicely," he cheekily throws back her words from earlier, letting them resonate within the small confines of the elevator as they make their way up to their boss’ office.

She turns to face him then, a smile spreading on her supple lips, "don’t get me wrong, you look wonderful, just nowhere near decent for a secret spy mission."

Her words have him beaming back at her in a second, his mind fixated on her compliment rather than how impractical it is that his clothes are flashier than the Queen’s; in his defense, neither are y/n’s. "Damn, just got upgraded from nice to wonderful, this night is actually turning around," he chirps as the door open to the deserted hallway of the top floor.

"Alright, more action and less flirting, Styles," y/n playfully chides him. "Go get the right file, while I open his door, we should be quick in case he decides to bring the tour and his special guest up here." She sends him off with a tilt of her chin in what she knows to be the direction of his office, and Harry complies with ease and starts backtracking a few doors down, "yes ma’am."

While he’s gone to fetch the correct document from his office, y/n rummages through her purse to find the key of her boss’ office and unlock the door. Once she’s inside, she makes her way around the imposing mahogany desk commanding the space, and finds the imposter file sitting innocently on the polished wood. For pure curiosity’s sake, she starts leafing through its contents and lets a small chuckle as she takes in the endearing work of a young aspiring writer.

Her reading is interrupted by Harry’s hurried strides when he joins her in the room. "Here’s the damn report," he flings the folder on the desk next to his niece’s, red clashing with blue, mocking him for his slight negligence. As he absorbs the sight of y/n’s face engrossed in the teenage’s fiction, he moves slowly behind her, getting a glimpse at his niece’s whimsical words over her shoulder, before his eyes settle on the bare skin of her back.

Y/n welcomes his sudden proximity, has stranding on end as she feels the soft puffs of his breaths against her neck. "Your niece is quite the writer, does she always come to you for advice?"

She ignores the shivers running down her spine, and gulps when Harry’s voice greets her ears in a deep quiet hoarse, closer than she excepted, "usually, yeah. I was the one who got her into writing, so it’s kinda become our thing, I guess."

She smiles at his softness, "that’s really sweet," and draws in a long breath in a vain attempt to calm her jitters. She can almost feel his presence on her skin though they’re technically not touching, her fingertips tingling in anticipation.

Another frisson travels through her when he responds with a low "mhm," his nose slightly grazing behind her ear, taking in her beguiling fragrance. Jasmine and vanilla, fresh and soft, exciting and comforting at the same time; it suits her perfectly.

"Harry-" she doesn’t know what to follow the whisper of his name with. Careful? Not here? Please don’t stop? At this point, she wants nothing more than to succumb to his affections, regardless of their improper whereabouts.

Harry brushes the back of his index down the smooth skin of her back in a featherlike caress, "thanks fo’ saving my ass, tonight," he murmurs into her ear, before laying a small kiss behind it.

Y/n is exulting under his tender ministrations, her eyes closed to enhance the feeling of his touch. "Anytime," she breathes out as her head tilts backward, a hand coming behind his neck in a silent plea not to let go, and Harry smiles against her skin at her receptiveness, goosebumps of his own blossoming across his body.

His next words are out of his mouth before he can think, "mmm, I owe you a big one," his playful persona resurfacing now that the situation was handled. They snort in unison at the double-entendre, and Harry slides his free arm around her waist to bring her closer to his chest in silent remittance. Y/n doesn’t mind though, she kinda likes this boyish side of him, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Gross."

"Hilarious."

Their ping-pong of wisecrack is back despite the tension permeating the air. It’s the kind that speeds heartbeats and moistens palms in lustful anticipation, the kind that curtails people’s breath as their lungs fill up with voluptuous aphrodisia. "Will you let me kiss you? Show you all my gratitude? I really wanna have a taste, love," he pleads for her permission, and y/n is too consumed by desire to deny him, "have it."

In one swift move, he spins around and latches his eager lips onto her. Passion ensues, hands roaming all over each other to find the perfect hold; the back of a neck, the lapels of a suit jacket, a few strands of hair, the curve of an exposed ribcage, it’s all intoxicating but there is always more to explore. Their tongues are caught up in a heated tango of their own, swirling around each other to quench the thirst of passion, licking their lustful way around their mouths.

At one point, Y/n finds herself pressed against her boss’ desk, one leg around Harry’s waist as he attaches his hips to hers in a heated embrace that leaves them breathless upon parting. He rests his forehead against her temple as they both process the intimate exchange, not ready to burst out of this fairy bubble. "Fuck, been waiting to do that for a while," he exhales with a smile, still incredulous at the evening’s proceedings, and the girl nestled in his arms.

"Same," she agrees and gently cups his face to bring his eyes back to hers, barely believing the adoration and warmth swimming within his lovely olive irises.

Harry’s heart feels like a ticking bomb about to implode, the sweet taste of her lips already providing him with a fix he didn’t know he was addicted to. "One more," he demands against her mouth before diving into another searing kiss. This time his hands explore more meticulously, scavenging for other soft spots to add on to his mental list. The dimples in her back right above the curve of her ass seem to rival the area at her side right below the swell of her breast, but Harry is pretty sure he’ll find more sensitive spots in the near future. Hopefully.

Once again, the need for oxygen compels them to part way, but neither of them make a move to separate their tangled limbs. Y/n is reveling in the moment she’s been daydreaming about for months, "so good," she keeps whispering sweet nothing against his lips while rubbing her nose against the bridge of his.

Harry clears his throat as he regains his bearings, realizing that there are still very much in the middle of their boss’ office, a place they are not supposed to be in, doing stuff they’re not supposed to be doing. At least not here. "Let’s get outta here, yeah?" he brushes a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, "you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and I’ll tend to yours once we’re back at my place, what’dya say?"

And well, how can one say no to that?

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #Harry fic #harry styles au #ofc #reader insert #coworker!harry #office au #fluff #flirting #harry styles fluff

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