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delimeful · 4 years ago

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the end of being alone (2)

donation drive commission for @bumblebeekitten for the next chapter of TEOBA, with the prompt: patton & virgil fluff! hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

chapter 1

warnings: miscommunication, false impression of a very bad situation for like .5 seconds, recklessness, sometimes you just gotta have a good cry

The next sunrise, they set out again, this time with considerably less weaponry and considerably more snacks. Roman held point again, since he was the one with the most practical experience in tracking.

There had been a somewhat tedious argument on whether or not Patton should come, one that Roman had thoroughly lost, since it was Patton’s quick thinking and emotional attunement that kept the previous cycle’s encounter from descending into disaster.

He had acquiesced in the end under the combined force of Logan’s reasoning and Patton’s disappointed look, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. After catching barely a wink of sleep between restless nightmares, he was feeling more grumpy than generous.

Still, his own irritation faded as they grew closer to the rocky cliffs where he suspected the Human was, shifting into an intense concentration on the task ahead. It was a miracle that their initial encounter hadn’t gone sour, a miracle that this Human seemed young enough to be somewhat nonaggressive, and while he hoped that whatever they had said to scare the young kit off hadn’t irreparably damaged their budding acquaintanceship, he wasn’t counting on it.

He had his underarmor on for a reason.

The other two didn’t quite share his concerns. Logan’s arms had been in an excited, information-gathering flurry practically non-stop since they set out, and he and Patton had been discussing the plants and insects in the nearby forest that were relatively non toxic to them (and so would probably be no issue for a Human), and how many nutrients they would provide. None of them knew how much or what a Human needed to eat, but Patton seemed firmly of the opinion that whatever the kid was eating, it wasn’t enough.

“Fledgelings need plenty of food and the proper nutrients to grow up healthy! A lone child in the middle of one forest can’t possibly have all the variety they need in their diet,” the Ampen insisted, feathers fluffing up at the mere idea of a kid going hungry.

“Another important factor to note is the planet itself is not the child’s home, and so may not have the necessary nutrients available at all, let alone in one localized area,” Logan added.

“You two have enough variety in those packs to weigh down a mountain,” Roman interjected, “so how about we focus on not scaring the kid off before we even reach them. Human senses are ludicrously strong, enough so that they’ll hear you two yakking a parsec away.”

They agreed to be stealthier, and just in time, because Roman was pretty sure he’d found a more solid trail than the ghost-like faded prints that seemed all to trek over the place. He gestured in Crav’n sign for the two of them to stay put and stay quiet, and then followed the fresh tracks until they came to the mouth of a small cave amongst the crevices and steep drops of the pale cliffs.

He slowly stalked into the cave, keeping his movements light and quiet even as the light grew dimmer and his vision more restricted. Before it could grow too dim, however, his gaze caught on round, un-rock-like silhouettes.

It took a moment to identify the shapes as small, limp Humlilts, all piled up around the larger Human. He nearly physically recoiled at the sight. So, this was why the small creatures had gone missing: slaughtered en masse at the hand of a Deathworlder. Not for food nor shelter, not in defense of itself or others, just for the sake of the callous cruelty and disregard for life that Humans were apparently born with.

Humlilts were small, but Patton was scarcely bigger. Once the Human got tired of playing at mimicry, would it try to add the Ampen to the hoard of bodies?

He wasn’t going to lose another family.

Almost against his will, a low, near-subsonic growl rumbled out of his throat. He took one advancing step forward, and then…

And then, a tiny head poked up from the pile, small dark eyes staring at him over a long snout.

Roman nearly tripped over his own feet, astonished. There was still a living Humlilt in there?

Before he could even finish his thought, another head appeared, and then another, until there was a sea of fluffy faces and huge ears all pointed in his direction. The undersized ungulates were fine, each and every one of them. They had simply been sleeping, all cozied up with one of the most dangerous species in the universe.

Roman felt a strange and overwhelming mixture of relief and shame, his scales flattening down guiltily. It was too late, though, the movement had already rippled through the group until it reached the Human. Their creepy mask was absent in rest, and they pawed at their eyes sleepily as they sat up to see what all the commotion was about. There was a red mark on one of their cheeks from where it had pressed against the cave floor.

The moment they saw who stood at the entrance of their little nook, all the color drained from their face. The Humlilts shifted uneasily, and Roman found himself bracing to have thirty miniscule sets of horns charging at him. They couldn’t really hurt him, but they were persistent little things, and Patton and Logan would not be happy if a bunch of Humlillts tried to drive them away from the Human before they’d even properly spoken.

Instead of siccing the plethora of tiny mammals on him, though, the kid whistled a few notes in a perfect echo of the Humlilts all-clear call, settling them down. They carefully detangled themself from the pile, trailing a few stray twigs and leaves behind them in the process. Roman wondered absently how long they’d been building the collection of plant matter that covered them.

A few parting trills later, the kid was in front of him, holding their bony shoulders firm but unable to conceal the tremor in their legs. They raised their chin up in what looked like a friendly Crav’n greeting, but attitude-wise seemed more along the lines of a challenging stance.

“No hurt,” they said firmly before Roman could say a word. “No hurt small--,” a few words in their own language here, “--small good. No hurt. No hurt. Yes?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Roman tried to reassure them, “I swore, remember?”

The kid stomped their foot once in… some kind of emphasis. “No hurt,” they started again with deliberate slowness, and then ended with the Humlilt whistle-greeting. Many of the Humlilts whistled back from where they were still observing the two of them. The small cavern echoed with the sound eerily.

“You don’t want me to hurt the Humlilts? The small creatures?” Roman asked, gesturing to the pile of fluff and hooves, and was rewarded with the kid seeming satisfied.

“Yes. Small good. Good good small. No hurt.”

Roman extended his hand palm up for another oath. “I vow not to harm your small good friends,” he intoned solemnly. The kid patted his hand twice, bobbing their own head in a curious motion. Roman could only imagine the sort of notes Logan would be taking.

Oh, right. He’d left the others in the bushes.

“I brought my friends, too,” he informed the kid, who blinked up at him. “Logan and Patton, remember them? Little critter?”

He said the last words in the chirps of the Ampen language, only a little strained by his accent, and the kid visibly brightened. “Little critter!”

“Wait right here, and I’ll get them,” Roman instructed, lowering a flat hand to convey wait. The kid probably didn’t really grasp it, but seemed content enough to stay put, shifting from one foot to the other.

It took no time at all to find Patton and Logan, who had progressively edged closer to the cliff face as he’d taken his sweet time in there.

“Okay, so,” he started, “I know where all the missing Humlilts went.”

---

Virgil shuffled his feet slightly, feeling the cool stone under his toes.

He should probably leave now, because even if the fluffy chirp alien really was there, they knew or at least suspected he was a human, and aliens hated humans. All of them, even the ones that looked soft like birds or cool like dinosaurs.

A soft, velvety nose poked up against his hand, and he squatted to gently pat the strange little singing puppy-antelope that had parted from the group to check on him. He couldn’t help but smile a little bit as it bumped its snout against his knee, sounding like a windchime.

Okay. Maybe not all aliens.

He looked up at the clitter-clatter of talons on rock, and then the fluffy chirping alien really did careen into view, feathers all puffed up like that very angry owl that had roosted outside his window for three whole hours one time. The other two bigger aliens came in only moments later.

Virgil couldn’t help but shrink back slightly from where he was still crouched, because aliens were weird and sometimes they did weird things that he didn’t really… get. Typically, this would be right before they started getting really mad or shaky, and screaming at him.

Before Fluff-Chirp could get any closer, though, the puppy-antelope had charged between them, planting its little legs and lowering its head so that the little horns were pointed out in warning. Virgil went still, eyes darting between Fluff-Chirp and the little creature, who he was pretty sure was the one with the white spot on its forehead, the one he’d named Susan after his nice neighbor.

The cool dinosaur alien had promised not to hurt them (he was pretty sure), but would it count if the puppy-antelopes attacked them first?

Fluff-Chirp stepped forward a little bit, and Susan let out a shrill cry like someone blowing really hard on a flute. Virgil clapped his hands over his ears as he attempted to whistle the calm-down sound, but Susan would not be budged, even as the other two aliens got all tense and twitchy.

In front of it, Fluff-Chirp stopped advancing, and instead plopped down on the ground with a soft thump. They ruffled in their bag, and Virgil was struck with the fear that they would pull out a space blaster gun to shoot Susan for trying to protect him. Hurriedly, he crawled forwards and threw his arms around the puppy-antelope (puppylope?) and hugged it close to shield it from any laser gun beams, his eyes squeezing shut.

There was a grunt-grumble from the cool dinosaur, and the click-click-click of the bunches of arms of the blue one moving around, but all he heard from Fluff-Chirp was shuffling, and then—

“Hello good morning,” the fluffy alien said. Or at least, that was what Virgil thought the birdsong-like words meant.

Fluff-Chirp always said it when waking up in their little camp, and Virgil had said it back, because that was just basic manners, especially when someone gives you stuff. Fluff-Chirp had given him a bunch of sweet sliced up fruit, kind of with the feeling of mangoes and the taste of strawberries. It had reminded him of home.

It… kind of smelled like Fluff-Chirp’s fruit now, actually.

—

Patton watched hopefully as the kid slowly opened one eye to peek over at them.

He hadn’t meant to scare the poor little guy by rushing in, he’d just been absolutely delighted to hear that not only would he get to see some Humlilts after all, but also that the kid seemed to have some company after all.

Some very loyal company, if the one threat-displaying at him was any indication. Patton was careful not to engage, particularly since further back in the cave, he could see a whole assembly of tiny, reflective eyes. Roman would probably just hold him up in the air if there was any real danger, but it was the principle of the matter. He didn’t want to upset the little guys!

Or the kid, who had finally spotted the dishes of fruit Patton had set out.

“You wanna come eat with me, little critter?” Patton offered, patting the ground near him.

“Little critter…,” the Human murmured. Their face was much more expressive now that it wasn’t mostly concealed by wood, and the kid looked painfully young. Probably no more than seven or eight sun cycles. Patton’s hearts twanged in sympathy.

Slowly, like they were waiting for the rug to be yanked out from under their feet, the kid scooted forward enough that they could grab a few pieces of the dana fruit, setting one down in front of the Humlilt to distract it. Patton eye-crinkled encouragingly, and took a piece of his own to nibble on.

“Do you remember me? I’m Patton. Patton,” he emphasized, ‘pat’-ing his own chest in example.

The kid paused mid-bite, and then swiped their wrist over their mouth before mumbling, “Patton,” back. Patton glowed with happiness.

“And that’s Logan,” he said, bolstered by one apparent success. Logan obligingly stepped forwards and gestured to himself.

“I am Logan,” he enunciated clearly.

The kid, who had stopped eating to focus wholeheartedly on this new task, scrunched his brow up. “I am Logan?”

“No, not quite,” Logan corrected gently. “Logan. I am Logan.” He cast a meaningful look to Patton.

“And I am Patton!” he added cheerfully, gesturing between the two of them. “Logan! Patton!”

“Logan,” the kid mimicked, looking at the Ulgorii and then the Ampen, “Patton.”

“You got it! Good job!” Patton noticed that the kid was very careful to keep their hands in their lap, and wondered if Humans were normally this withdrawn, or if exposure to other aliens had caused this reticence.

“Good job?” the kid echoed, wide eyed. They looked to Roman curiously, though only for a moment before dropping their gaze.

“I am Roman,” Roman surprised them both by beating them to the introductory punch.

“... Roman?” the kid offered, and got a chorus of nonsense praise for their effort. They bared their little teeth and clapped their hands together, and it took the three of them an alarmed pause and exchange of glances to realize that they weren’t, in fact, being threatened by a youngling.

“Joy? Or perhaps, contentment?” Logan was mumbling to himself. “The skin around the child’s eyes folds much like an Ampen expression of happiness, so…”

“It would make more sense to be happy after receiving praise, right?” replied Roman, who had gotten a bit bristly from nerves for a moment. Patton resisted the urge to elbow the both of them into not saying long, confusing sentences. Luckily, the kid seemed too occupied with their own thoughts to notice.

“Patton, Logan, Roman,” they recited, looking at each of them in turn. Then, very carefully, they reached up and patted their own chest. “Virgil. I am Virgil?”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then Patton trilled in delight, clapping his hands in an echo of the Human’s gesture, in hopes that it would convey his own happiness and pride in the kid’s quick learning. The kid jumped, but then did that teeth-bearing smile again.

“Virgil!” he tested out, not quite getting the Human tones right, but that was okay because he could practice! “Virgil Virgil Virgil! Yes! That’s you!”

“I am Virgil!” the Human was practically bouncing in place as they matched Patton’s energy, and Patton couldn’t help but dart forward and try to bump his head to the Human’s affectionately.

Roman hissed something exceedingly panicked, but Patton was already using one of the Human’s bent legs to reach, and then he was brushing his antenna to the kid-- to Virgil’s forehead, and then the Human was lifting their arms slowly and curling them around him, and okay now Patton was a little bit concerned, but.

But, all Virgil did was lean into him slightly, arms bracing but not suffocating, and sniffle once, like they were holding back tears. Any resolve Patton had to not give his teammates stress ulcers faded away like dust in the wind, and he leaned in carefully and wrapped his arms around as much as he could reach of the kid’s shoulders and neck, which Roman would tell him was stupid dangerous because necks were weak points on Humans and they would absolutely react defensively--

Virgil promptly burst into tears, their chin coming to hook over Patton’s shoulder as a stuttering little wail worked its way out of their system. Patton made soothing nonsense croons and sung Ampen lullabies as the kid shuddered their way through a good cry, and tried not to feel too alarmed that unlike Ampens, Humans apparently leaked emotions while they cried.

Once Virgil had more or less settled down, they seemed completely wiped from the outpour of emotion, eyes drooping, body tilting to one side. For the first time since they’d arrived, the kid looked too wiped out to be nervous. Sure enough, only a few moments later, they shifted to curl up on their side, falling asleep on the cold stone easily.

Patton looked up at his teammates from where he was sitting in the center of the curled c-shape of the kid’s body, and offered them a sheepish shrug. “Well. Now we know that Humans can experience touch hunger?”

#sanders sides #ts patton #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #the end of being alone #teoba #donation drive #commissioned works #wibar #wibar au kid virgil #bumblebeekitten #space au #writing #my writing #i genuinely feel so soft writing this au #let virgil have hugs 2020

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dulce-pjm · 3 years ago

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Hi! Could I request a Jin or namjoon arranged marriage! au with “One more kiss.” Thank you!!

of course!! let’s do it ;) took some creative liberties since i got multiple arranged marriage requests, hope that’s okay!! it's rather angsty

namjoon with au #1 - arranged marriage!au and prompt #6 - “One more kiss.”

make your own request here using these prompts!

rainy day promise

namjoon x reader! ft. bestie!hoseok

word count: 2.4k (i’m honestly so proud of myself for not making this a borderline oneshot)

genre: fluff, angst, arranged marriage!au, (very very slight) historical!au and wartime!au

summary: when namjoon’s away, all you can do is worry.

The rain has always made you sleepy.

It reminds you of quiet nights by the fire, curled against his chest as he reads to you. It makes you feel him kissing your temple softly and whispering “Good night, love,” when he sees your eyes flutter closed and your breaths become heavier. The rain and his memory are too comforting, too tempting to resist drifting off into dreamland.

“You alright, Y/N?” The question has you jolting in your seat, eyes flying from the drops cascading down the window to the man next to you, a warm smile gracing his sharp features.

The meal in front of you has long gone tasteless and your date has noticed, picking up at how you’ve gone from merely playing with your food to not touching it altogether.

“‘M fine,” you murmur, shoveling a few potatoes into your mouth despite the nausea rising in your stomach. Your eyes go wide when he grabs your wine glass, taking no time at all to fill it.

“You’ll be better if you drink a little.” You feign glare at him but his smile remains stern.

“I’m really alright, Hoseok.” You take a swig of the wine anyhow, letting the drink warm your cheeks and sting at the back of your throat.

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” You don’t answer, suddenly finding your untouched peas very interesting. He’d be picking them off your plate if he was here. Hoseok places a gentle hand on top of yours. “Y/N, there’s no sense in getting all worked up. He’ll be okay, always is.”

There’s a clang on the opposite side of the table when your uncle’s silverware hits the table.

“What are you two talking about over there?” You briefly cringe, summoning a sheepish smile you’ve worked to perfect over the years.

You both brush it off. Hoseok, ever personable, is able to change the subject before you can blink, chatting with your aunt about some upcoming play he’s directing.

Hoseok is wealthy, like his father and grandfather before him. He’s kind and funny and better with people than you’ve ever been. He could provide you with a comfortable life, away from the war. That’s why your aunt and uncle chose him for you, why they orchestrated this arrangement underneath your nose.

You hadn’t rejected him, not exactly. You’ve never been in any position to reject the courtship or engagement. But both you and Hoseok know your heart lies elsewhere.

Your aunt grabs your hand, but her gaze lies on the man to your left. “I mean, really, Kim Seokjin! When word gets out, there’ll be rioting on the streets just to get into the show, I’m sure of it.” Hoseok laughs awkwardly, giving you sparing glances to keep track of your worrying mind.

“I was just as surprised as you when he auditioned. It’s been an honor to work with him. I actually hope to—”

The dining hall door slams open. You whip your head towards the door along with the rest of the guests. The messenger is drenched, looking haggard with disheveled hair and rain still dripping down her face.

“I— I’m sorry, sir—” Her teeth are chattering. “The merchants returned. There was—”

“Slow down, Hana,” your aunt says, always maternal. “It’s alright. Take your time.” She nods, taking a deep breath as a puddle of rainwater forms around her feet.

“There was an injury. The carriage flipped while they were passing through the valley, because of all this rain.”

You’re on feet before you can think twice, heavy dining chair scraping against the hardwood as you push it backward. Hoseok shoots you a warning look that you don’t catch.

“Excuse me,” you mutter. “I’m not feeling well.”

Hoseok stands with you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll escort you.”

Your uncle shakes his head, scolding, “No, stay with us, Hoseok. It wouldn’t be proper.” You could laugh. Neither of you has ever been particularly proper with each other.

You bid your aunt and uncle goodnight, ignoring a concerned stare from Hoseok. As soon as you’re out of sight, you dash towards the basement, towards the closet you always meet him in when he returns. You pray you’ll see him there and not surrounded by medics.

The closet is placed discreetly, the door hidden by old barrels and shelves, bare walls and damp floors making this corner of this house largely unused and untouched.

You knock thrice on the door, pause, and knock a fourth time. When the door doesn’t open, you repeat the code.

No answer. Your heart drops into stomach as you stumble backwards, breathing spiraling out of control.

“Hey, love.” A soft hand lands on the small of your back and you gasp, spinning to face him. He’s all smiles, lips stretched into his dimpled cheeks as he resists the urge to kiss you right here. “Miss me?”

You throw your arms around his middle, pressing your face into his chest as he digs his nose into your hair.

You know how self-conscious he is about his intimidating aura. His sharp glances and sharper words often have most of the staff avoiding him like the plague, but to you, he’s all soft embraces and blushing cheeks.

“How was the trip?” The two of you are perched on worn stools that wobble when you lean too far one way, arms wrapped around each other to keep them from moving too much. Your head is pressed against his shoulder while he traces patterns on the back of your hand that's resting on his thigh.

“It was... amazing. Honestly.”

“I’m glad.” And you are. But you can’t help but always worry. These trips are dangerous and take much too long. When war and battle beckon at your door, every day without him in your sight is another day of anxiety.

Namjoon is a servant of your uncle’s house. He’s a cartographer, having studied at the same university as Hoseok and yourself, earning admission through his merit alone. The first times you saw him, he was bent over old maps and worn books, the weak candlelight illuminating the texts in front of him and his face poorly. Under the ruse of taking nighttime strolls, you’d found yourself sneaking peeks at him more often, smiling softly at the dark tufts of hair he’d run his fingers through until it stood up on his head.

You remember when Hoseok introduced you to him officially, tired of hearing you gush about him, and the three of you became a unit, joint at the hip wherever you went.

You hadn’t realized how good those days were, not when you had them. When you and Namjoon were giggly and sweet and bashful and it took Hoseok fighting tooth and nail for either of you to confess your true feelings. He’d been delighted when you finally gave up on hiding it, nearly shrieking in joy when he saw Namjoon sneak a peck on your cheek in the corner stairwell.

Those days were golden and joyful, full of laughs and long nights doing schoolwork and attending fancy university parties only to sneak away with half the buffet.

The days were good. Until they weren’t.

Until your uncle and aunt and Hoseok’s parents informed you of their longstanding agreement: that the two of you be married.

It’d been nothing but an absolute shock, but the both of you knew better than to say no, knew better than to risk their wrath. Hoseok would have been fine, though his parents certainly would have been unhappy. But if you rejected your uncle's wishes, an orphan with nothing but gratitude for their kindness in taking care of you, you couldn't be too sure they wouldn’t just relieve you of your position here, sending you to the streets. And you and Namjoon had neither the means nor the connections to fend for yourselves in the city, not in times like these.

When Hoseok got on one knee the next week in your dining room with Namjoon watching from the corner, newly hired by your uncle at your own suggestion, you said yes. Neither of you wanted it, but Namjoon insisted Hoseok go through with it, too caught up in his worry for your safety to think of himself.

It'd been difficult keeping the ruse, especially once your university days were over and there were much fewer places tucked away from your aunt and uncle's eyes and ears. It'd have been much more difficult without Hoseok, but he's always been the charmer out of you three, easily diverting attention and prying eyes when need be.

"I actually got you something."

Your eyes light up in surprise as you shift to face him. "You did? But you said—"

"I lied," he replies with a small smirk. "We always planned to stop by a few cities. I just wanted to see your face when I surprised you."

You giggle softly, lightly slapping at his arm. "You still lied.”

“For a good cause,” he jokes, pecking at your cheek before drawing a small box from his pocket. His cheeks flush slightly as he hands it to you. It reminds you of those first times you spoke to him, when you were both sputtering messes that could barely hold eye contact for longer than a moment.

It’s small but heavy in your hands, the size somewhat indicative of its contents. It fits just so in your palm, and when you open it, tears spring into your eyes at the small ring nestled into the velvet cushion. It isn’t shiny or decorated with diamonds or worth half your university tuition like the ring Hoseok gave you. It’s humble and wooden, deep brown and adorned with intricately carved with roses and other patterns you don’t recognize. Your thumb runs over the grooves almost instinctively, as if trying to memorize the feeling as quickly as possible. You can almost see his face when he spotted it in some market or shop, see that lit up expression on his features when it reminds him of you.

“Oh, Namjoon...” You swipe at your eyes quickly, but when you meet his gaze, there’s already a few stray tears cascading down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts as you smile, lifting your hand to cup his face, thumb brushing away the tears on his cheeks. “I know it’s not much. But I thought you might like it. It’s discreet, so I figured you could wear it around, if you wanted to.”

You chuckle softly and wonder what you’d done to deserve him. “It’s perfect.” You remove Hoseok’s engagement ring from your finger and quickly replace it with Namjoon’s. You already know you’ll be running your fingers over it again often, treating it like a tether to him when he isn’t here. It won’t sit on your ring finger, of course, but for now, you leave it there, admiring its simplicity.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, pulling your hands into his. “I know everything’s uncertain right now. And I know that might not change for a while.” He runs his thumb across the ring, looking at it intently before lifting your whole hand and kissing it gently, plush lips ever soft against your skin. “But this is a promise. That one day I’ll sweep you off your feet and we won’t look back.”

You laugh loudly this time, maybe a bit too loudly, but you don’t care. “If I don’t sweep you off your feet first.”

He doesn’t ask the question hanging in the air, but your response is enough of an answer as you pull him in for a kiss by the back of his neck. You can taste the saltwater from both of your tears, the moment both incredibly joyful and bittersweet.

When you pull away, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear while you run a thumb over his dimples, all affections.

“It’s late,” he murmurs. “We should go.”

You sigh, hand dropping from his face. You wish you could drag him to your room, sweet talk him into playing with your hair or reading with you for a while, but you know he’s right.

You rise with a nod, feet dragging behind you as you make for the closet door, listening outside for a moment on the off chance that someone’s up late and nearby. Namjoon stays in his seat, always leaving after you to decrease suspicion and allow you to get to bed first. When no sound meets you other than faint thunder, you crack open the door, stepping outside.

But just as you start to close it behind you, Namjoon grabs the edge of the door with his hand, sticking his face out to meet your startled gaze.

“Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” You search his face with concern, wondering if you should have said more earlier, if you’d hurt him somehow.

“No, no.” He shakes his head fervently with a smile. “No, that’s not it.”

You furrow your brows at his antics, though you’ve always loved seeing his more silly side. “Then what do you want, Mister Kim?”

His eyes glint with mischief. “One more kiss, Mrs. Kim.” Your cheeks are flushed, but laugh as you grab his shoulders, pulling him close to you as you let him press his velvety lips onto yours, savoring the feeling until he’s with you again.

“Love you,” you murmur, peppering a few more kisses on his chin and cheeks for good measure.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “So much.” He starts to shut the door, but pauses, lips down turned slightly in a frown. “Oh— don’t forget to move the ring to a different finger.”

You nod. “I won’t.” It’s bittersweet as the door closes, a reminder that the bubble you two have created yourself only goes so far, that this isn’t quite as real as you want it to be.

Namjoon saves the longer, more elegant speech and proposal for a future date, like its own unspoken promise. One day social status and money and survival won’t stop you. One day you’ll both be coming home from long days to love each other unabashedly, to embrace without fear or time constraints.

You smile to yourself as the rain patters outside, your feet echoing behind you as you creep back to your room.

You wish Namjoon were with you as you climb under the sheets, feeling a bit cold without him here.

Yes, the rainfall makes you sleepy but as your head fills with thoughts of Namjoon and his promise, you grin stupidly to yourself, thinking you probably won’t get too much rest tonight.

#dulce-pjm: request #anonymous #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #namjoon x reader #lol this was almost a lot angstier #but i couldn't do it lol #i have another rather angsty request approaching so i decided to chill out a bit with this #and now i'm so soft #i love soft joon <33 #it was fun to write sweet anon!!#tysm #xoxo

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lokidiabolus · 4 years ago

Text

The Deal - Chapter 1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (web series)

Pairing: Alastor / Angel Dust

Warnings: human!Angel Dust (Anthony), Deal with a devil AU

Summary: Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.

The time when Anthony thought if he can't get anybody to love him properly, he can just make a deal with a devil and find out what affection feels like. Alastor thinks this mortal is pitiful beyond belief and concede. Cuddles happen.

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I'm absolutely new to Hazbin Hotel, watched Addict first (thanks youtube) and was like holy hell, is there more of it somewhere? What is this?! And then found the Pilot and here I am. This is just me indulging in what my mind threw out one day, and while it's not very canon compliant, it's just my tribute for this intriguing universe and sort of a comfort fic, I guess (although there is one darker bit, but yeah). I read several fics before even writing this and kind of got stuck with the "deal with a devil" one as a starting point, even though I much more prefer settings in canon version. Yet somehow this was basically writing itself, so maybe next time :')

Also, English is not my first language. This is not betad and there is this thing with Alastor's proper speech I basically just winged by not shortening anything lmao. Therefore apologies if it's not very accurate - the same thing with Angel and his accent. I plan to add more to this and even a bit of a "in hell" part, but so far I'm just winging it.

Unbetad!

***

2019, 24th

Christmas was a day full of magic. Day majority spent with their loved ones, with their family, their spouses, in peace and joy. TV promoted Christmas as if it was the only day that ever mattered in the whole year way back to October, where people were still wondering what costume to wear for Halloween, yet already seeing Christmas ornaments and ideas of presents that were overpriced but pretended to be on sale. It was a day of good food, relaxing atmosphere and snow falling from the heavy clouds while flames were crackling in the fireplace, warming homes of the blessed.

The blessed were not as numerous as the TV would give out, obviously. Rarely anybody had a fireplace at home. Rarely anybody considered Christmas as the best day in the year because it stressed them with tons of preparations and last-minute calls to distant family members not attending the scarcely enjoyable Christmas dinner. There were quarrels, there were misunderstandings, there were old grudges coming to life and sometimes it ended in tears instead of happy evening it advertised.

Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.

Anthony finished the outer circle of the pentagram with a light tap and peered once more into the book he drew it from – a leather bound journal he got on his 21st birthday from an acquaintance that thought satanism is the right answer to his plight – ironically he only knew a sliver of it back then. Maybe if he heard the whole story, he would give him the whole devil with a big knife to help, who knew. Anthony forgot about the book for 10 years while it rested stashed in the topmost drawer in the bedroom, waiting for life to get hard enough to pop back into Anthony’s conscience.

Well, now it did. When Anthony went through the yellowed pages, it felt surreal somehow, like a forbidden knowledge taking place in the back of his mind. There were no incantations, no summoning words that would specify or make this feel like from a bad movie – it was just the pentagram, two circles, and five symbols at the peaks done neatly on the wooden floor. The only huh, this may be a real deal addition was the blood Anthony had to provide for the summoning to complete, as the journal stated.

The blood of the desperate soul will seal the deal with the answering.

Anthony thought it was good enough, he was desperate plenty. And if it didn’t work, he would just have to do some cleaning, because who knew how badly the blood would stain the wood. He put down the chalk and the journal on the sofa and stood up, admiring his work from above. The living room sure did look more interesting with the pentagram gracing majority of the floor now, with armchair and the table pushed away to make space.

Anthony reached for the knife he prepared for the occasion, a small sharp thing he normally used for cooking rather than himself (unless it was an accident while cutting veggies) and peered again at the pentagram. The TV buzzed behind him with Christmas songs and snow was falling heavily outside, padding the streets with fake diamonds.

God rest ye merry gentlemen Let nothing you dismay Remember Christ our Saviour Was born on Christmas Day

He took a deep breath and gently touched his palm with the edge of the knife, adding pressure and then easing it back down, his heart slowly picking up the pace. Sure, nobody knew what would happen. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. But maybe something, right?

To save us all from Satan's power When we were gone astray Oh tidings of comfort and joy Comfort and joy Oh tidings of comfort and joy

He tried again and the sharp edge bit into his skin almost unexpected, leaving behind a cut quickly filling with dark red, flowing Anthony’s palm like a well. He closed his hand with a sigh and turned it down above the circle, staring at the red streaks forming at the peak and then dropping down into the middle of the pentagram, splattering against the wooden boards like rubies.

In Bethlehem, in Israel This blessed Babe was born And laid within a manger Upon this blessed morn The which His Mother Mary Did nothing take in scorn

Anthony watched the red forming a small puddle, his eyes taking in the shape and the colour and counted his breaths in wait. He took a note of every odd noise and every change of air, but nothing came but the song from the TV, buzzing at the edge of his mind.

Oh tidings of comfort and joy Comfort and joy Oh tidings of comfort and joy

He gulped down the disappointment and turned his palm back up, ending the blood flow like a tap on the water with a tissue. What was he expecting anyway? There was no higher power to end the misery or to lift it, only bitter life until the heart stopped beating and the flesh rotted away.

Fear not then, said the Angel Let nothing you affright This day is born a Saviour Of a pure Virgin bright To free all those who trust in Him From Satan's power and might Oh tidings of comfort and joy Comfort and joy Oh tidings of comfort and joy

What a mess, Anthony thought, looking down on the floor. The buzz of the TV twitched slightly, and he reached for the remote control with a sigh, turning it off. He felt tired despite not doing anything, but the thought of leaving the blood behind until morning and then dealing with it would definitely work against him.

The TV buzzed again, the song filling the room once more and Anthony froze, turning towards it in a glacier pace when he heard the chorus picking up too many voices. The room grew dim all of sudden as if shadows where climbing the walls all the way to the ceiling, swallowing up any light in the process.

Ğ̸̤̳o̶̪̪̿̽d̵̨̢͛ ̵̔��͕̜r̵̖͘e̶̜͎͛s̶͓̫͂̿ť̸͎͘ ̵̻͇̈y̴̺̆̒e̷̫̤̍̒ ̶̫͔̾̎m̷̝̠͆e̷̲̊̓r̴͈̅r̷̛͜ẙ̷̥ ̵̙̜̀g̴̯̀e̴̳̫͝ň̷͕̑t̵̮̞̓̿ľ̶͎̑ē̸̙͔̿m̴͔͊e̸̦̳͐͘n̶̢̠̈́,̸̻̗̾ ̸̢͋̒ľ̵͙ͅe̶͈̻̕͝ṱ̶̛̗̽ ̶̺̒̚ň̵͎͗o̴̧͛ţ̷̗̾̚h̵̛͚i̶̭̅̇n̷̞̋g̵̢̹̿͂ ̴̱͉̑ÿ̸̜̳́o̸͙͖͐û̴͇ ̷̧͊͘d̴̨͐i̶̛̤͙s̷͕͔̚m̷̗̯͆̎a̵̞̒̓y̴͍͚̏͘.̸̜̏͝ ̴̢̤̅R̷̘̚ͅē̶̗̆ḿ̸̖̲é̴̯͖͠m̴͉͓̈́̃b̵͈̺́e̶̠͒͊r̷͔̠͌̌ ̴̺̻̒̽C̷̡͘h̷̥͆r̵̜̳̓ḯ̷̞͍̀ș̸̐̀t̶̜̑́ ̵̨̈́͠o̵͙̪͐͠ṵ̶̇̋ŕ̴̟̌ ̸̡̜̑͋S̷̜͐ͅå̵͇̳v̴̛̙̒i̷͚̊̌ơ̸̬u̶̠̎r̵͈̬̔̓ ̷̯͓͊̌w̵͕̄̚ḁ̶̐s̶͙̏̇ ̷̥̱̄̍b̵̛͖̔o̷͉̠̅̏r̸̠͈͌̅n̷̤͊ ̷͇̐ͅo̵̠͐n̷̹͗ ̷̺̙͒͋C̸̫͝h̵͎̮͒r̷͎̝̈́i̶̡̒̿s̴̠̣̚t̴̰̍m̸̨̟̑a̶̼̒s̶̭̝̔͝ ̸͉͌D̵̂ͅa̷̾̆͜ÿ̶̢̠́̚ ̶̱̈́ţ̵̫̽̿o̴͕̘͆ ̴͖̔̂s̴͕͂͊a̶̞͑v̸̙͑̈́e̵̛͈͙ ̷̝̲̄͐ȕ̶̪̠̐s̶̠̃ ̴͉̱͋̅ã̵͈̀l̵͉̮͑l̷̥̔̀ ̶̯̆̕f̷͓͚͑̕r̵̼̽ȍ̴̹͉̑m̸̡͔̒ ̸͚̔̚Ș̶͍̂a̴̝͆t̶̮͑ͅȁ̸̯̅ņ̵̿͊'̶̟̚͝s̵͌͠ͅ ̶͕̍̓p̴͙͝õ̴̢̐ẇ̴͓e̶͈͘r̷̝͍̅̽ ̵̼̈͑w̴͙͒͝h̸̜́e̸̠̫̚n̷̮͊ ̷̝̺̕w̸̛̗̣̓ę̶͂͌ ̸̣̃̑w̶̱̓̈́ͅè̸̪̈́r̴̓́ͅe̶͓͌ ̵̮̙̃g̴̩̻̉͝o̷̠̜̿n̷͕̭͋̿e̶̜͔͋ ̶̮́̔å̴̧̹͂ṡ̵̲ṫ̵̬r̷̝̅̌a̶̖̬͊͘y̸̨͋̄.̷̡͖̈͊ ̷͇̇̉Ò̸͖̏h̴̥͎͝͝ ̷̲͚́͝t̷̘́̔ȋ̵͈d̴̳̬̃i̵̝̹͗̀n̷̺̋g̵̗̒̔s̸̘̰̾ ̵̻̘͛̄ő̶̅͜f̷̗̍̔ ̵̺̲̀c̵̼̒͌o̷̮͝m̶͍̕f̶͍̱͐o̵͇͆̏ṟ̸̏͜ṯ̴̓ ̴͈͒ạ̷̈́͆ṇ̴̛͙d̷̼͋͝ ̴̰͎̚̕j̶̼͉̔̽ŏ̸͎͐y̵̦͖̋,̶̦̓ ̶̖͐̕c̶̙͝͝o̸̫͇̓͌m̸̧͗̃f̶̞̎ọ̸͗r̷̃̇ͅẗ̵̛̳̱́ ̵̥̐͂͜a̴̫͛ṅ̶̤͠d̷͎̔̏ ̶͐ͅj̵͕͇̎ò̵̳̪̇y̶̩̓͜.̴̪̜̇̚ ̸̘̣͑Ō̷̫̓h̸̥̄͘ ̵̩̖̆t̷̻̏ï̷̙ḑ̴̋i̶͈͂n̶͓͎̿̇g̵̳̓ͅs̶̭͎̕ ̵͚̖̌̚ȍ̸̤̬̚f̵̦̭̈́ ̶̙͕͝c̷̺̒ô̸̩m̴̝̠̐ḟ̴̲̠̃ò̷̤͔́r̶̛̞̳̀t̴͈͚͛ ̶͓̅̿ả̸̠̣̔n̴͔͔͑d̷̬͍̊ ̴̧̯̉̈́j̷͓̫͒̈o̵͎͎͊y̵̛̫̾.̷̠̿̔

The TV gave another set of buzzes and then died out, the room falling into creepy silence.

“What a lovely song,” a staticky voice rang through the stillness and Anthony forgot how to breathe for several seconds. A voice meant somebody was in the room. In the room where he summoned a devil. So that meant a devil was in the pentagram right now, right? A real deal. Expecting anything, from a winged abomination to a devilish imp, Anthony turned back towards the pentagram and… found it empty.

“What?” he breathed out, confused. Was it just a broadcast? It sounded like an old radio or something.

“Sixteenth century, I believe,” the staticky voice rang again and Anthony realized it was on his left instead and when he looked that way, he sure did find a body it belonged to – a man sitting on his couch, legs crossed primly, crimson eyes locked to Anthony’s frozen form in the middle of the room. He was fully dressed in pinstriped red suit with black accents, his gloves looked like they had claws at the end, tapping against a cane he was holding with light clink clink clink against the metal. Anthony couldn’t decide what to make of his face – was it handsome or scary? The red, unblinking eyes were staring right into his soul and his mouth was split in a grin he couldn’t place as happy or pleasant, more like unnerving. The red hair framing his face were trimmed right at his chin with black ends that continued shorter to the back, probably giving him an undercut, though Anthony couldn’t see that from the angle he was sitting. Despite all that he didn’t look that… devilish as Anthony would think he would.

“This version is much nicer, I have to admit,” the man spoke again and then the TV buzzed once more with crackling static, filling the room with old recording of the same song, but definitely not as clean and enjoyable as the version playing before. “1917 Edison records recording. Very Christian.”

“Oh,” Aidan realized. Of course Christmas songs were Christian and he had them playing while summoning a devil – he could have sprayed everything with holy water and it would be the same welcoming sight. “Sorry.”

“You are forgiven,” the man remained seated on the sofa and Anthony glanced back towards the pentagram. The blood was gone from the centre.

“Shouldn’t you be in there?” he pointed towards the sign and the man tilted his head, his smile widening.

“No, this spot is much more comfortable,” he responded in kind and there was a laughing track afterwards. Did he have a radio with him? His voice sounded like was talking from one, but here he was, sitting in person in the room with no radio in sight. “But thank you for the treat nevertheless.”

Which was probably the blood. Anthony decided not to question it.

“Now tell me what you desire.” The question fell between them like a lead and Anthony felt the despair he managed to contain until now grow. He played it in his head several times – how he would word it, how to ask, what tone to use. Several scenarios playing the moment he decided to summon this being, but now, standing here with the opportunity, he couldn’t find his voice. He didn’t expect a normal looking person sitting on his couch like a therapist ready to take notes on his condition, despite all the red and radio going on with him. Were it an unholy picture of a demon with wings or horns or more (or less) eyes than was considered normal, it wouldn’t be so difficult.

“How about you sit down first, then?” the devil-incarnate gestured towards the armchair on his left and Anthony heeded the advice and dragged himself towards it, sitting down heavily. Now being on the eyelevel with the creature made it even more surreal. Were those antlers on his head? It didn’t look like horns he normally saw devils depicted with. They were almost hidden between the tufts of hair sticking up, but definitely present. Actually, his whole hairstyle was impressive, denying gravity like that.

“There, much more comfortable, is it not,” the devil crooned a let the cane touch the floor, resting his hand atop of it. Or, wait, was it a microphone? “Yours a troubled soul indeed. It is quite a heavy burden you are carrying.”

Anthony looked away, his throat tight. No, this definitely didn’t help, he felt like there was a hell file of him now, like the devil read the dossier and thought oh boy, this boy is fucked up beyond help and came to deliver a judgement worth hell and beyond.

“Maybe you would like to dispose of him?” Came a question. Anthony looked back at the man with wide eyes. “Or maybe torture him instead. He hurt you quite a lot. A simple death might not be enough satisfaction.”

A searing pain, blood, the stench of sweat and come, a chain and never-ending humiliation, a caress on his cheek, smearing the tears, suffocating, suffocating, suffocating-

“No,” he choked out, curling to himself.

“Would you like to do it yourself then?” the man in red gestured with his clawed hand and Anthony shook his head.

“No death,” he mumbled, his body shaking. “I don’t… I don’t wanna think about him. Or anything ’bout that. It’s gone now, it’s in the past.”

“If that pleases you,” his guest conceded.

It definitely didn’t please him but nothing about it would do any good anyway.

“Is there other wish then?” An inquiry. His voice was rather soothing, despite the static background, like a radio host.

“I just want…” Anthony started, his chest tight. “Love.”

“Love?” the man repeated, the confusion apparent in the tone.

“Love and affection and… home with someone, I… don’t wanna be alone,” Anthony let the words fall out while hugging his knees tighter to his body. “To have somebody to be with me. To love me. To care?”

There was no response and Anthony gulped down the tears that threatened to spill out. When nothing came out for a whole minute, he risked a glance towards the man and found him staring back with a raised eyebrow.

“Love and affection,” he finally repeated after Anthony, tone bewildered. “You do realize you summoned a demon, not a fairy god mother, yes?”

Anthony nodded.

“Love and affection cannot be wished upon anybody,” the demon tilted his head to the side. “Ironically by nobody, even fairies. They can make somebody infatuated, like a fever that hazes their brains, but that also disappears after a while, and usually does not have much to do with… affection.”

“Oh,” Anthony let out in disappointment. “Then… can ya kill me?”

The demon stared even harder now.

“Kill you,” he repeated.

“Painlessly?” Anthony added quietly. “Like… put me to sleep I wouldn’t wake up from?”

The demon sighed and uncrossed his legs so he could lean closer towards Anthony, his face frowning a little.

“Let us put death aside for now,” he said afterwards. “I came to an understanding this day and age opens unlimited possibilities for people to meet and have… affection spark. You are flattering to an eye, my effeminate fellow, surely finding a partner is not an obstacle in this day?”

“A man,” Anthony uttered in a response and the demon made a vague gesture.

“Does not change a thing, my dear,” he continued, the echo of the static buzzing. “Internet, was it? Open possibilities with establishments and support. This century is welcoming.”

“You mean dating apps?” Anthony scoffed, unhappy and the demon actually looked curious when he nodded. “All ya get from there is sex.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

“Not what you are after?” the question seemed peculiar and Anthony decided not to take it in a bad way.

“I don’t mind sex, but after all that…” he tried to explain quietly, but words were failing him. It was a part of how fucked up he was anyway. Normal person would never ever touch or let others touch them after all the abuse he went through, yet he was still pretty much open for anything sexual. It was something he was good at, even. It just felt… so empty. Like staring into an aquarium without a single fish in it.

“Understandable,” the demon leaned back to rest against the sofa, the invisible audience aaahed. “Surely not impossible to find somebody of the similar mindset though?”

“I’m…” Anthony took a breath. “Filthy.”

It took the demon back by the look of it.

“Beg your pardon?” He looked him over. “Filthy?”

Anthony nodded, hugging his sides again to stop the tremors.

“Having the baggage I have… it makes me undesirable. It’d come out sooner or later. Anybody learning about it would leave. Left. Will leave.”

The demon seemed to ponder that a bit, his expression thoughtful.

“Rather than put an effort into the search, you wish to make somebody fall in love with you instead?” It sounded accusing, but not wrong. Anthony couldn’t really deny it. It wasn’t like he wanted somebody concrete. He just wanted to experience it at least a little, without the endless worry about the truth coming out and the spell disappearing.

“And since it cannot be done, you wish to die,” the demon concluded, and Anthony hummed in defeat. His life was a series of failures, pains and loneliness. This kind of life… it was not worth living. Depressions, anxieties, states of utter self-hatred, drug hazes that ended with more self-loathing, he didn’t want this. If it made him weak, so be it. He deserved being looked down upon. He was like this since he was a child.

“What a silly, pitiful mortal,” the demon finally stood up. “But at least you made my job easy.”

And with that, everything faded to black.

***

Anthony woke up with a start, like a cold water roused him from depths of unconsciousness just to threaten him to plunge him back in with a heart-attack. He sat up straight like a bolt, chest heaving and cold sweat drenching his clothes before he took in the surroundings and realized it was just his bedroom drowned in darkness of the night, his own bed and nothing more.

Was it all just a dream? Or was this afterlife? A punishment for trying to escape the bitterness of living by plunging him into the same misery, but never ending? He felt cold but at the same time thirsty and that in the end pushed him out of the bed, despite risking a limb or two if this was some kind of purgatory and monsters were hiding under his bed.

He met with no surprises when he stepped into the living room, the floor was clean with no sign of blood or chalk, with furniture in the right places and cold night from the snow falling outside seeping through windows.

“Oh…” he let out quietly, gazing across the peaceful living room like nothing transpired there just a moment ago. Or was it an hour? A day? A lifetime? Or just a figment of his imagination? He shook his head and padded quietly to the kitchen. The knife he used to cut his hand with was resting peacefully in the knife holder and when Anthony opened his palm, there was no wound in sight. In a sense, it was rather disappointing. It’s not like he wanted to die and then endlessly suffer in hell for his crimes, but it wasn’t like he wanted to live either, like he was stuck in a limbo, waiting for something bigger to crush him under its heel.

He shook his head and filled the glass with water to drink it on the spot. Maybe it was just a strange, real like dream that would disappear in the morning without a trace, along with the red-clothed demon talking to him in a surprisingly soothing voice about killing a man that made his childhood and most of his teenage years a living nightmare. He kind of hoped to remember him though – for a demon he was rather nice.

He walked back to his bedroom with a sad sigh and almost screamed when he realized somebody was sitting on his bed, legs crossed and holding a book.

“You do seem rather unhappy with the fact you are still alive, dear,” sounded the staticky voice of the demon and Anthony cleared his throat, not daring to take another step. He was reading the leather-bound journal Anthony used to summon him and apparently didn’t mind the fact Anthony was gaping at him like a fish out of water.

“Well,” the human shuffled on his feet nervously. “I certainly didn’t expect to wake up, I suppose.”

“Terribly sorry to disappoint,” the man responded, obviously not sorry at all. “I just put you to sleep to have some time to think about your wish.”

“The death wish?” Anthony asked while trying to suppress the cold seeping into his bones. Well, he did stand there just in the shorts and a tank top with bare feet on the floor, so there was no wonder, but seeing the demon sitting on his bed, he didn’t want to risk going closer, even though so far he probably didn’t really have a reason to fear him.

“The affection wish,” the demon closed the journal with a quick snap and regarded Anthony with an evened stare. “While it is virtually impossible to grant it, there are roundabouts that could eventually lead to the outcome you seek.”

Anthony blinked, not sure what to say.

“Didn’t ya say killing me made your job easier?” he settled on a simple question and the demon stood up and gestured for him to come closer. Anthony hesitated, but the cold was starting to annoy him, so he left the spot at the door and walked towards the bed, where he promptly sat down.

“And it is not wrong,” the demon finally spoke when Anthony hid his feet under the covers. “It definitely would make this go fast and easy. But then you would be completely useless to me, and that kind of defeats the purpose.”

“What do you mean useless?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “I’d be dead.”

“And in Hell,” the demon reminded him rather sweetly and Anthony paled. “You did not think summoning a demon would grant you a passage to Heaven, did you?”

Quite frankly Anthony didn’t give it much thought. The pressing matters were now, when he was alive, and what was after his death was a problem for dead Anthony. Sure, he didn’t expect to be welcomed in heaven anyway, since duh, gay, drugs and attempted murder, but he didn’t care as much, until the demon told him.

“Didn’t think I’d go to heaven anyway…” he mumbled more to himself than the demon, but the man chuckled anyway.

“Good, good,” he nodded in agreement. “Honestly… a weak-willed person makes a weak-willed demon. The more his psyche is disturbed, the less of a form and power he manifests in the purgatory. Those lesser shades are at the end of a food chain, useless even for a simple pawn. I have no use for these.”

Anthony tilted his head to the side, not quite grasping the concept. It didn’t look like the demon cared though.

“Therefore, granting you a quick death while you feel blue would not benefit me at all,” he continued while starting to pace through the bedroom. He looked rather excited, honestly, wildly gesturing as if he was telling his grandiose plans. “Which led me to your first wish, and as I said, while I am unable to grant it for you in its entirety as you would probably imagine it would go, I can make a deal with you instead.”

“Alright?” Anthony raised his knees under his chin and the demon finally stopped, looking right at him.

“I would be your partner,” he stated victoriously while the invisible audience behind a secret radio cheered, and Anthony blinked.

“Uh…”

“While I refuse to participate in anything sexual or intimate,” the man in red continued, “which apparently is not that big of a deal for you, I can provide, as you mortals call it, a human warmth. Which is a form of affection, yes?”

A human warmth, Anthony repeated in his mind. Was that a formal word for something or…

“Oh. You mean cuddling,” it dawned on him suddenly.

“Cuddling,” the demon repeated like he was tasting the word. Then nodded. “Yes, I assume that is the word.”

That… didn’t sound bad, really. Sleeping with a person without fear of needing to open his legs at the end of the night to be able to stay was something Anthony could get behind.

“Alright,” he agreed, making the demon smile widely again. “But.” The smile fell a little. “This is for the cost of my soul, right?”

“Why, yes, indeed,” the man in red didn’t sugar-coat it. “Or more precisely, your soul would belong to Hell, but your heart would belong to me.”

“Which means?” Anthony re-seated and crossed his arms on his chest. His guest watched him for several seconds from under black eyelashes, and then leaned closer, smiling wickedly.

“That you would be mine for eternity,” he purred sweetly, and Anthony felt rather conflicted on how to feel, because somehow it scared him, but at the same time it sounded kind of reassuring? “It is like an unbreakable contract. You would have to do my bidding.”

“Forever,” Anthony added.

“Oh yes. Forever or until you get eradicated.”

“Eradicated?”

“The dangers of Hell are numerous,” the demon retreated again, standing straight. “Which is probably not coming off as a surprise. But yes, your soul can be destroyed completely, which prevents you from being reborn. Or something like that, details are useless. Being reborn from Hell is more like a myth anyway.”

“Let’s leave it at… my heart will be yours sort of thing, alright,” Anthony nodded, which apparently pleased the demon, since he smiled again. “So, cuddling. But that’s not enough, the price is quite high.”

“Indeedy,” the demon fiddled with his microphone, twirling it between his fingers, and the audience clapped again. “Glad to see you are not a complete pushover, at least.”

Anthony rolled his eyes but didn’t comment on it.

“I want to eat dinners together, at least three times a week,” he lay down his first request and the demon seemed to ponder that. “And every second weekend I’d like to spend it together somehow too. Like… going out somewhere, or… even staying home, I mean, just… with the company. Watching a movie or ya know.”

It made the demon bark out a soft laugh, which quite frankly suited him. He was rather tall and intimidating from the get-go but laughing with sincerity softened it marginally. Anthony liked that kind of setup.

“This is the most bizarre wish I have ever granted,” the demon commented in amusement, but didn’t refuse, so Anthony considered it a green light. “But alright. Three days for dinners and then every second weekend. Does the three days count into the weekend or do they have to be separate days?”

“Separate,” Anthony immediately shot out, earning a thoughtful nod. “Also, rainy days.”

“Rainy days?” the red-haired man repeated. “Are those special somehow?”

“Somehow,” Anthony mumbled, “depressing.”

He earned a hum, which probably meant alright, and was glad when he wasn’t pushed to elaborate.

“Is that all then?” the demon prompted when Anthony kept quiet for too long, and the human hesitantly nodded. It wasn’t like he wanted much, honestly. Pretty sure any kind of relationship with a normal person would crash and burn in days anyway with all the insecurities he packed. But this man… he knew – if not all of it, then at least the worst of it – and he didn’t want anything from Anthony, except of his heart and not in a romantic sense. A deal like that… it sounded fair. Just having somebody to spend evenings with, easy and domestic.

“Actually…” he tried, and the demon gave him a questioning look. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Alastor.” The reply indicated the name was not real. “How uncouth of me, not introducing myself during all this time. Pleasure to meet you, Anthony.”

He offered his hand, clawed, with gloves red and black like the rest of him, and Anthony reached for it without hesitation.

“Anthony,” Alastor’s voice stopped him just a mere inch from touching. “Do we have a deal, then? If you take my hand, you cannot back out. Ever.”

A green sheen of light filled the room, menacingly reminding him Alastor was not a human and the deal wasn’t money or goods, but the cost of his soul and afterlife. There would be no backing out.

But was there ever?

Anthony smiled and closed the gap, tightly gripping the gloved hand in his.

“It’s a deal.”

Alastor’s smile widened and the green shine disappeared, leaving Anthony somehow exhausted. The demon seemed to take a note of that – or maybe it was normal when closing a deal with him – and pushed him back to the bed, which Anthony happily obliged with a tired sigh. He saw in the corner of his eye how his guest took down his red coat, folding it neatly on the back of the sofa near the bed, then slowly took off his shoes (Anthony couldn’t even be mad he had shoes on in his flat, it was far above his energy levels) and socks (red), unfurled the bowtie and opened first three buttons of the red shirt and then finally turned towards the bed, scanning it thoughtfully. Anthony rolled on his side, looking at him with half lidded eyes.

“Comin’?” he breathed out with a chuckle and Alastor nodded but remained on the spot, as if he were doing some advanced math on sleeping in one bed with another dude. Which he actually might have.

“Al..stor?” Anthony yawned and the demon finally stepped closer.

“I would like to sleep at the wall,” he requested simply, pointing at the steep angle of the partition that probably made the corner of the bed look like a safe spot. Little he knew any sudden movement up was going to meet his forehead, but Anthony didn’t feel like warning him for now.

“Sure thing,” he shuffled closer towards the open edge of the bed and that finally made Alastor move in, gracefully stepping over Anthony’s legs and then sliding into the vacant spot on the mattress, under the covers and towards his companion. A hand snaked around Anthony’s waist, pulling him back against Alastor’s front, and yeah, okay, the guy was quite warm indeed, that was nice.

“Comfy?” Anthony asked after few moments when the shuffling stopped and Alastor made a humming noise. Then: “No.”

Before Anthony could ask why, Alastor was pulling him back and turning him towards himself like a sack of potatoes, then grabbing him by the waist and almost suffocating him when he pushed Anthony’s head against his chest.

“Gee, warn a guy next time,” the human groaned into the red shirt. “Or is this an elaborate plan on how to kill me immediately after striking a deal, by suffocating?”

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed again. “Not really. This is not comfortable either.”

This time he only flipped himself on his back, wiggling up and down, completely ignoring Anthony’s bewilderment at the actions, until he finally stilled and grabbed the human by the back of his neck and pushed him again against his chest, where Anthony landed with a quiet oof.

“Ah, yes,” Alastor finally stated. “This is just right.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Anthony huffed and dragged his body higher, draping his legs over Alastors’ while resting his head on the demon’s shoulder. Then finally let out a breath and melted into the warmth like ice cream.

“I am a hard man to please, you will find,” Alastor pitched in. “But I am sure we can find a compromise.”

“Your compromising seems rather one-sided so far,” Anthony jabbed, and it made Alastor chuckle.

“Not wrong.”

There was a clawed hand on the back of Anthony’s neck that moved towards his hair, combing through them slightly. The movement was pretty nice and if Anthony was a cat, he’d have purred for sure.

Speaking of hands… “You healed my wound?”

“Why, yes, I sure did,” Alastor answered easily. “No reason for it when it filled its purpose.”

“Thank you,” the human whispered into the red shirt and the hand in his hair patted him. “Sleeping now.”

“Please do,” the demon responded rudely, but there was not enough consciousness for Anthony to get back at him somehow. The waves of sleep claimed him like a spell casted by a demon in red, sealing a deal for eternity.

***

Anthony woke up to a warm but empty spot in his bed, smell of coffee waffling through air and sun peeking between clouds to his bedroom. The snow stopped falling but the ice drew crystals on the window, signalling the temperature outside was rather low, despite the sunny lie.

He sat up groggily but surprisingly well rested and his head had to take a five to catch up with everything that transpired at night, which quite frankly still felt like a dream. But then the dream was standing in his kitchen again fully dressed, sipping a cup of coffee (Anthony’s favourite cup, a black wide and low beauty with golden accents and a handle, even though he never used it for coffee) while reading a newspaper. Where he got one was a mystery, since Anthony definitely didn’t have any at home, but then again – a demon. He could probably snap one from thin air.

“Ah, Anthony,” he immediately spotted the human standing in between the doors, “my good fellow, good morning. I took the liberty of using your coffee machine, thought you could do with wider variety of blends.”

“I don’t even know I have a coffee machine,” Anthony yawned and shuffled into the kitchen while absentmindedly scratching his belly under the tank top. “Or blends on that matter. Where did ya even find it?”

Alastor pointed at the cabinet that was obviously fiddled with and it only assured Anthony that he had no idea of its contents. Somebody must have left the coffee here, he mused, while reaching into the cabinet himself and pulling out a tea box.

“Not having a knack for coffee?” Alastor asked while watching the human pouring water into a kettle and then filling another cup with four spoons of sugar.

“Don’t like bitter stuff,” Anthony mumbled while hanging the tea bag inside.

“I can see that,” Alastor commented, pointedly looking at the cup with enough sugar to sustain Anthony through morning and cause anybody else a cardiac arrest. He obviously wanted to nag him for it, but was nice enough to keep his mouth shut, which was a smart move.

“I have to leave for now,” the demon announced after the water finished boiling and Anthony looked at him wordlessly. “Busy as ever, I am afraid. But,” he snapped his fingers and there was a retro-looking radio standing on the counter, just appearing out of thin air, “I will leave this here. Consider it… a Christmas gift.”

“A radio?” Anthony stared at the contraption in confusion and Alastor patted the radio gently.

“Yes, indeed!” he happily announced and tuned it so that smooth jazz started to play. “It is more of a… communication device for you and me though. Not saying it can always reach me in Hell, but it usually can. And I can reach you here as well if the need arises. Sounds fair?”

“Sure,” Anthony eyed the radio suspiciously. “So, what’s with ya and the radios anyway?”

“No time, we can talk later!” Alastor pushed his empty cup into Anthony’s hands and with another snap of his fingers his microphone appeared, and he spun it in his hand. “I am not able to make it today for sure, but let us start the dinner routine tomorrow, how about that?”

“It’s fine, but Al-,”

“I will see you later then, my dear fellow!” And with that, Alaster poofed out of thin air like a goddamn David Copperfield on a good day, leaving Anthony gaping like a fish once again.

***

2019, 25th

The Boxing day was quiet and mostly for kids anyway. The joyous squeals of children when obtaining their dream toy filling households only lasted for a while until kids went out to play. Anthony saw the lot of them outside in the snow, throwing snowballs around and letting their parents take a breather or two.

Anthony never wanted kids. Hell, he couldn’t even have one when the only woman he ever loved was his mom, and she was probably in heaven, unless she fucked up somewhere on the road and the elevator went down. He wondered if Alastor would know of her, if she ended up in hell. Or anybody, really, if Anthony asked.

Hey, you met my pops in there? The old fucking homophobic bastard? Hope he’s squealing like a pig on a roaster.

Yeah, no. Maybe Alastor would know and would tell him and Anthony wouldn’t like the answer. Not to mention it wasn’t in their deal anyway, exchanging information from Hell and beyond. But he still wondered, now when he knew hell really existed and everybody who did bad things ended up as a demon in there. If they never struck a contract with a demon while alive, did they just arrive there free to roam about until somebody eradicated them? Or picked them up? Was it all about deals in hell? Dog eat dog? It would make sense, probably. But he still thought it’s purgatory with everybody being tortured by having their organs ripped out and eaten and then growing them back out just to do it again the next day, that sort of vileness. Maybe having a pineapple stuck in their ass too, just as a good measure of their sins.

He glanced towards the kitchen, the radio perfectly visible from his spot on the couch, just sitting on the kitchen desk like it was no demonic contraption that could call his owner in hell. It was like those old dandy radios before TV was invented, vintage and possibly kind of nice looking, yet completely out of place in Anthony’s flat. Was it Alastor’s checking on my investment sort of thing? A spyware but old fashioned? All about Alastor was a bit old timey, the way he talked, the way the never-ending static around him buzzed and played all kind of reaction tracks, even the way he dressed. Though Anthony had to admit that kind of fashion was more timeless if anything else. The static noise that surrounded him and even coloured his voice was strange, and Anthony didn’t know what to exactly think about it. He never stopped emitting the sound, even when they were sleeping, the static was still there. Anthony didn’t mind, it was a white noise sort of background he fell asleep to even normally, but the question still stood.

“Maybe I should write the questions down,” he mumbled to himself. Alastor was not coming tonight and Anthony was prone to forgetting things fast. If he wanted to know, it was easier to make a list.

***

2019, 26th

“You made a list?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Anthony batted Alastor’s hand away when he tried to grab the paper. He was primly seated at the table, legs crossed, and his grin ever present. “You’re the first demon I’ve met. Of course I have questions and there’s lots of them, so I wrote it down.”

It was seven in the evening, Thursday, 26th. Alastor appeared out of nowhere in the living room approximately at 18:30 and scared the shit out of Anthony who was attempting to do some yoga after half a year, which obviously caught him in an embarrassing position with his butt sticking in the air and a not very manly shriek following when he heard Alastor ask about the occasion.

They decided to make spaghetti. Or better Anthony decided and Alastor didn’t argue. And then it came to the questions and Anthony remembered the list and that obviously piqued Alastor’s curiosity.

“Fair enough,” the demon conceded and folded his hands back on the table. “I suppose I can indulge you.” He didn’t look any different from the last day Anthony saw him – the same suit, the same hair, and it probably made sense, being in hell and all. Dead didn’t have many people to impress with wide variety of clothes, unless sinners had keen fashion sense down there. The time also may flow differently in hell, right? Was the time even a thing in there?

Anthony peeked into his list, then returned to the kitchen counter where he was cutting tomatoes.

“Do you know Lucifer?”

It was the first thing that occurred to him when he tried to think back to Christianity. Lucifer the Morning star, he was supposed to rule hell, right? Or was he a fairy tale?

“Yes,” Alastor responded easily. “Everybody knows the King of Hell. Or at least know of him.”

“I mean… personally?” Anthony peered at the demon over his shoulder and Alastor nodded.

“We have met. He quite enjoys the polka music.”

“Lucifer the Morning star enjoys the polka music,” Anthony repeated with a snort while scraping tomatoes into a pan. “Sure thing.”

“He can play variety of instruments as well. Very proficient,” Alastor added and Anthony seriously couldn’t say if he was fucking with him or if the King of hell played harmonica at dinner. He shook his head and let it go – if Alastor wanted to make fun of him, nobody would be able to stop him anyway.

“Are you summoned by humans often?” he continued with another question while moving around the kitchen and by the corner of the eye saw Alastor leaning against his palm.

“Not exactly,” the demon admitted. “Rarely anybody knows how. Of course, there are attempts to summon something, but simple mortals lack imagination when it comes to it. They just think it is oh so fun to try and ruin the party with powers that should not be trifled with. Unless they use right signs, they usually cannot summon anything. When they are at least partially right, they may get a vengeful lesser shade which may cause enough trouble for them to get hurt. Or die.”

“Oh,” Anthony blinked in surprise, then got back to tasting the sauce. “I was lucky to get ya, huh.”

“Why, yes, lucky indeed!” the cheering background made Anthony snort.

“Making deals with humans is not really a norm for you then. Or do you venture here by yourself?” he asked another question and heard Alastor behind him shuffle. When he glanced towards him, the man was standing already, reading the list Anthony left on the table. “Hey!”

“Merely curious what kind of thoughts you had in my absence,” the demon masterfully avoided Anthony’s snatching hand and circled the table with two long steps, putting a barrier between them. “Oh dear, those are quite intrusive questions you have. Half of them are unanswerable.”

“Yeah? Why?” Anthony gave up chasing him and crossed his arms on his chest. “Is it some kind of hell code?”

“More like I do not feel like telling you, is all,” Alastor responded sweetly and sheesh, his nice and understanding personality from yesterday must have been just a fluke, since he was rude. “Personal information is dangerous to give. Especially to an underling.”

“Not your underling yet, big boy,” Anthony sent him a wink which seemed to take Alastor by the surprise, judging from his wide eyes.

“Alright. Underling eventually,” the demon huffed and twirled the list in his hand. “Ah, this one I can answer. Is hell only about torturing sinners – no and yes.”

“Very eloquent, thank you for enlightening me,” Anthony rolled his eyes and returned to the stove where he pulled the sauce off the flame. “You just want to keep me in suspense, huh. Wait till you get there, my good fellow!”

The laughing track was a bit insulting, but alright. Maybe it was a rather presumptuous question anyway.

“Every sinner is different, therefore every sinner’s experience in Hell is their own,” Alastor walked to the radio he left the there the other day and patted it. Jazz started to play in the background and Anthony gave out a huff before walking to the living room and turning off the TV that played until now. Guess it was Alastor’s way of saying he liked music better.

“For lesser shades… I imagine hell must be quite a purgatory. But honestly? It is but another life in another city where good intentions do not exist,” Alastor looked out of the window at the snowy New York, his eyes half lidded. Seeing him standing there like that made him look almost normal. “Nobody will help an old lady to cross the street. Most likely will try to hit her by the car if anything else. Nobody will do you a favour if you are in a pitch, simply because good favours are not repaid. Unless you have power… you are nothing in Hell.”

“So, like in a real life,” the human mumbled and Alastor made an agreeing noise in the back of his throat. “No chains or anything? No eternal suffering by having your organs eaten and then regrown to have them eaten again?”

“How colourful!” Alastor laughed from his spot. “I assume there are places like that too. Business where chains are used, and organs eaten… everything is possible in Hell. Maybe you can start that by yourself once you are there. It’s quite a way to make a living!”

Anthony refused to get unnerved and instead commanded his guest to sit down so he could serve the food to him. He didn’t miss the gleam in Alastor’s eyes at his refusal to comment on the topic.

***

“Are you usually busy in hell?”

“Of course I am,” Alastor answered the question like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Maintaining status in Hell is a full-time job.”

They were seated in the living room, the sofa dipping under their weight. Alastor was good at his word and had Anthony sitting next to him while having an arm around his shoulders in a cuddle. If felt a little stiff but he tried, and Anthony didn’t complain. The TV remained off, Alastor seemed to have an aversion to it for some reason, but the radio still played music from the kitchen. He was glad Alastor seemed to like his cooking at least, since he ate everything Anthony gave him and even praised him for a splendid Italian experience, even though it wasn’t exactly anything special.

“But now ya gotta be here for three to five days a week. Doesn’t that cause problems?” Anthony folded his legs under him and cuddled a little closer to Alastor’s warmth which made the demon stiffen even more for several seconds before he eventually relaxed again. Definitely not used to touching, this one. Striking a deal like that must have taken quite a big deal of self-control. Anthony was wondering how far he could push him before he’d show it.

“I have ways to secure my constant vigil,” came a vague reply. Probably his underlings as Alastor had put it – who knows how many of them he had, how may deals he made. What did they want in exchange for their souls?

“What’s the most wanted thing in your deals?” he inquired next while sneaking a hand on Alastor’s knee. The demon’s whole body became rigid and Anthony bit back the laugh.

“Not affection, I assure you,” the demon pried Anthony’s hand off, then apparently realized what he had done, so he awkwardly held it in his gloved hand like a baby on fire until Anthony took a pity on him and wiggled out of the hold. “Most of the time they want money or fame. Sometimes revenge.”

“Did you make somebody super famous? Like a singer or an actor?” Anthony continued like nothing happened and for a while it seemed like Alastor was back to his relaxed self. “Like Brad Pitt or somebody?”

“Well-,” Alastor stopped immediately once Anthony put the hand back on his knee. Then glared. “You are doing this on purpose.”

“A little.”

Another glare, surprisingly not very scary because it was ridiculous – the man was manhandling him yesterday in bed without ounce of shame with the cuddling and suddenly couldn’t relax into a normal side-to-side couch snuggle, and a simple knee touch almost sent him out of the room? Talk about overreaction out of nowhere.

“Ya hate being touched,” Anthony sat straight, putting a distance between them, looking at Alastor pointedly. “Yer stiff like a board, holy shit. Is this some kind of hell practice? Like ya gotta torture yourself at least once per month somehow?”

“Do not be ridiculous, Anthony,” Alastor rolled his eyes and the invisible audience booed. “The deal is perfectly fine in all standards and does not cause any torture on my part.”

“Uh huh,” the human voiced and slapped his hand back on Alastor’s knee with a loud smack. The rigidness immediately followed. “I can see that right ‘ere.” Alastor did nothing against it with stubbornness of an oaf, but then Anthony dragged the hand higher up the leg and at that point his wrist was caught in a vice grip and pulled away again.

“The deal said nothing intimate or sexual,” the static got a little louder around his voice. “Is that right, my dear?”

“Touching your knee is hardly sexual,” Anthony gave him an unimpressed look. “Dear.”

The grip got tighter and the static almost deafening and he would have sworn he saw shadows getting taller and darker. That was an obvious cue for Anthony to concede unless he wanted to be evaporated, probably. With a sigh he raised his free hand in defeat and the static returned to normal and music resumed from the radio in the kitchen like nothing creepy just transpired. Alastor let go of his hand and leaned back against the backrest and raised his arm for Anthony to come back closer, without a single comment.

“You’re really somethin’,” the human shook his head and returned to his position next to the demon. This time Alastor relaxed marginally, but Anthony would swear the claws on his shoulder bit down more than they should have.

***

He woke up alone again the next morning but this time to an empty flat. There was no trace of Alastor making coffee in the kitchen either, the cup safely stashed in the cupboard and no lingering smell of coffee beans remained. Anthony leaned against the counter with a deep sigh, wondering if the deal they made wasn’t another catastrophe waiting to happen, like any other relationship he had in his life, romantic or not. Sure, this thing was more of a… body pillow status than anything else, but then there were still dinners and weekends spent in the same vicinity and if the demon came to dislike him enough, wouldn’t those be a complete disaster?

“New year can’t come soon enough,” Anthony mumbled to himself while reaching for the kettle to fill it with water and sighed. He was at work the whole night on New year and it usually worked well enough to get nasty thoughts out of his head for the time being. It wasn’t like he totally loved his job, but he didn’t mind it as much either – it gave him money and the money gave him the rest. Even when he had to fend off drunkards and touchy-feely customers, especially on a costume day. The pub he worked in wasn’t the fanciest joint but sometimes they had fun events where all waiters wore the same costume, no matter the gender, and if they looked cute enough, the customers weren’t shy to put some bank notes in the clothes with patronizing smiles. Some thought it bought them few touches too, but unless they went straight for the crotch or wanted more, Anthony didn’t really mind. The girls on the other hand were a bit less inclined to be groped at work, which made some patrons grumpy. Served them right to be slapped across the face though.

He stopped in front of the radio, eyeing it unhappily, and then fiddled with one of the black buttons until it started playing a tune. Swing, probably, judging from the tempo, and he wondered if Alastor had it only tuned for an old-time music he liked and nothing else or if it was the only music available in hell. He left it be and waited for the water to boil until the radio buzzed oddly and swing stopped.

“Ah, Antho-y-are up,” Alastor’s voice leaked out of the demonic contraption and Anthony froze, staring at the radio with wide eyes. No matter the demon told him they could communicate through it, it still came as a surprise to hear Alastor from the speaker.

“Mornin’,” he responded a little dumbly, not even sure if the radio went both ways, since normal one definitely did not.

“Apo-gies for le-ing ea-ly,” Alastor’s voice said with enough interference it almost made it impossible to tell what he was saying. “Duty ca-d.”

“It’s fine,” Anthony assured him with a small frown. “Can’t hear fuck though, hell has pretty bad signal.”

“No mat-r!” Alastor sounded cheery enough though, even with all those interruptions. “-ll try to c-e to-ght, but--pro-ses!”

“Whatever you say, Smiles,” Anthony sighed, patting the radio as if it could help the signal to correct itself and the buzzing intensified until it smoothed out and only the lyrics of Peeping Tom slithered out of the speaker.

“Fitting,” Anthony snorted and got back to his breakfast.

***

2019, 30st

Alastor didn’t show up for four days apart from some staticky messages through the radio, through which Anthony only caught about half of what had been said. Something about a war – which was probably bad? War in hell. Or maybe pretty normal? And then something about a lord, which maybe was Lucifer. Alastor attempted to ask normal questions, Anthony thought, but very often the conversation, if not hardly understood through the interference, was interrupted by screams that sounded like somebody was being torn apart, and that usually made Alastor shut up, then sigh, and then say in a cheery voice: “I’ll be right back, dear.” And then another talk happened the next day the earliest.

Anthony didn’t really blame him. Lord wars or whatever was happening down there didn’t sound like a picnic, and Alastor was probably in one of the higher places in the hierarchy, so maybe it was like his job to get all the sinners under the control – like with a whip and high heels… or something. That image actually got Anthony through the day because he laughed every time he imagined Alastor in red latex.

It was in the evening of Monday 30th when Anthony was going through the shifts roster his boss sent him on e-mail, sitting on the couch in the living room with TV on, and heard the radio in the kitchen spur to life once more.

“Al?” Anthony dragged himself off the couch towards the kitchen and then let out a scream he didn’t know he was capable of. Slithering out of the radio was a black shadow with evil blue eyes and wide raggedy smile, filling the room like an imposing nightmare and Anthony hit the table with his back when trying to back out.

Was this also a gateway? Could another demon use it to get here? For whatever reason it might have? Was this how Anthony was going to die – eaten by some shade-like monster? In a complete fear stupor Anthony couldn’t even turn around to flee, he just stared at the abomination and the abomination stared back at him for about twenty seconds, then it tilted its head to the side and fucking bowed to him.

“What the…” the human wheezed, his heart thumping wildly, and then it hit him. This thing. It had huge antlers on its head, not like those small things Alastor normally had, but fully grown antlers of an imposing width – actually its entirety of a head looked like the red-clothed demon, like his fucking shadow just slithered out of the radio by itself to say hi.

“Are you Al…?” he asked a little dumbly and the shadow made a vague hand gesture that could only mean half and half. Fucking half and half, was his shadow acting by itself normally? Was it a demon thing?

“He still can’t make it?” he tried to make a conversation and his heart was finally slowing down again to a normal pace. The shade nodded and on the wall behind him a shadowy show appeared, explosions and flying body parts and then also miniature Alastor standing on a tower or something? Silently laughing at the mayhem.

Ah, so it was probably a fun war then, Anthony mused. Or maybe Alastor just liked chaos and blood. Which was possibly normal – for a demon. When the scene disappeared, the Shadow Alastor turned back to Anthony and the big smile widened even more.

“I suppose you’re not really here for dinner though…” the human trailed off when he saw the Shadow pick up a frying pan from the hanger and put it on the stove. “Holy shit, you can actually touch things too?”

In a blink of an eye the shadow disappeared and reappeared right behind Anthony where he lifted the human with ease and then moved him towards the stove like a damn figurine in a clothes’ shop. That thing didn’t really feel warm or cold, it was like being held by a paper bag. Just there. At the job well done it grinned at the human like it wanted a praise and all Anthony could do was to stare.

“Well fuck me, this is even weirder than the whole deal thing,” he finally stammered out. “Can you eat too or…?”

The Shadow shook its head.

“So, you just want me to cook for myself?”

The Shadow nodded.

“Alright then,” Anthony glanced at the frying pan. He wasn’t really thinking of what to cook even if Alastor actually arrived, but since now he sort of had to and it was only for him, he decided to settle on an egg omelette with mushrooms he had in a fridge and hoped they were still edible and not covered with mould. It happened to him too many times to count, since he rarely had an appetite to eat unless Alastor would grace him with his company. He looked back at the Shadow, which was expectantly hovering on his left and cleared his throat. “How about you get me eggs and mushrooms from the fridge?”

He couldn’t say if it really wanted to do something or had been acting on orders, but the shade actually slithered to the fridge and grabbed the pack of mushrooms, brought them to the kitchen counter and then got back for the eggs, turned around and tilted its head.

“Three of them,” Anthony understood the silent question, at least hopefully it was what it meant, and the Shadow opened the package and took three eggs out – then started to juggle them around.

“Oh, so ya a fun guy, huh,” Anthony watched him with amusement. “Not like your owner.”

“Depends on what you expect of fun,” the Shadow spoke in low voice that made Anthony shiver involuntarily, and it gently put the eggs on the counter while grinning wildly.

“Can also talk,” Anthony commented with a hitch of a breath.

“When I feel like it,” the Shadow changed locations again, this time he hovered on the right side of Anthony, like he was playing with him.

“Wait, so are ya a separate being from Al? Like… yer supposed to be his shadow, right?” It was a weird question to ask, probably, but Anthony couldn’t wrap his head around a shadow being its own thinking entity without some sort of setback.

The Shadow tilted its head, not answering.

“Don’t feel like talking often, I see,” Anthony huffed. “Fine. Keep ye secrets. I know Al doesn’t like to talk about himself cuz he’s scared I’d stab him in his back in hell once I die.”

The Shadow remained silent but dramatically manifested a knife in his back and then dissolved into a dark puddle on the floor before materialized on the other side of Anthony again. Obviously a theatrical animal, the human thought with surprising calm, and just left him be.

The cooking took him only half an hour and since the Shadow seemed to hold his tongue for the rest of the evening, he took the plate to the living room to watch something on TV while eating. The Shadow followed him like an obedient dog and once Anthony seated himself on the couch and dragged a fluffy pink blanket over his legs, it appeared right next to him, peering at him expectantly again from a way too close.

“Hi,” Anthony said into its grinning face and the smile widened. Probably liked being acknowledged. “Ya here to cuddle me instead of Al too?”

That seems to perk it up and Anthony barely managed to save his plate before the Shadow threw itself on Anthony’s lap, seating itself right on top of his legs while completely blocking not only the view at the TV but the access to the plate and the rest of barely functioning brain cells Anthony had. Then it looked down at him expectantly, his huge antlers by some miracle so far didn’t destroy anything.

“Alright…” Anthony took a deep breath and put away the plate with food for later somewhere near him on the couch, since he couldn’t reach anything else over the black mass of the shade sitting on his lap like this. “Not what I had in mind, but sure, whatever… floats your boat, I suppose?”

Obviously, it did float the Shadow’s boat since it didn’t move away and instead of that hugged Anthony closer to its chest and its shadow-y claws started raking through his hair. Which was quite nice, honestly, if the situation wasn’t so bizarre. The true Alastor would probably bristle like a cat at this though, judging from the knee incident, so Anthony kept his hands to himself. The Shadow itself wasn’t heavy – Anthony felt him, sure, but like… with almost nothing to weight him down, even though it felt very palpable, very here, yet somehow not as real. He let his eyes close, only concentrating on the movement of the claws on his scalp and felt sleep tugging at his consciousness.

“Hey,” he piped, and the claws stopped for a fraction of second before resuming their movement. “Tell Al I’m at work whole night tomorrow… okay? In case the lord war or whatever you guys do down there would miraculously end itself.”

“Yes, Anthony,” the Shadow purred above him and then in several next minutes Anthony’s consciousness faded away.

***

2019, 31st

It was only lightly snowing in New Year and the temperature didn’t really drop as low as Anthony expected. He arrived to work at 17:00 on dot and the girls greeted him with wide smiles and winks, which meant the costume for today was going to be something lewd – but not completely or they’d riot. Maybe a maid uniform, he mused while walking to the changing room and greeting other waiters on the way.

Then it made sense – a Honeybee themed outfit with fishnets was about to end his whole career, he was sure of it. Several girls in the locker room were already dressed up and applying makeup, and the moment he entered the room they all had that gleam in their eye which meant the only thing: They wanted to see him in the costume and do his makeup like a hive minded coven.

“I suppose boss didn’t have mercy on me, huh,” he commented when there was a carefully wrapped costume hanged on his locker. Girls around him shook their heads with a giggle. “I have no ass. This is going to be a disaster.”

“You have no tits either and still walk away with most of the tip on busy nights,” one of the girls smirked at him. “Quit whining and get it on. I’ll do your hair.”

“Yes m’am,” he kept the sigh for himself. It was going to be a long night for sure.

New Year’s nights were always busy in the pub. Hell, in probably all pubs around the world, people were so willing to drunk themselves into the stupor it felt like it was the only joy they had that year. Anthony didn’t know how many times he already said Welcome to the honeybee inn, sweetie during the night but it definitely kept any other thoughts at bay when he had to remember orders, faces, and keep his smile on all the time. It didn’t stop him from thinking about Alastor though, just wondering if New Year’s had any effect on Hell or not. Maybe they all had a day off from hellish suffering?

It was very close to midnight already when he twirled around tables with another set of shots, putting them in front of a group of middle aged men and one of them took a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and waved it in front of Anthony like a bait.

“How about you sit on daddy’s lap for a while, honey?” he asked him in a slightly drunk tone and Anthony eyed the bill for a second before gracefully sitting on the men’s knees, snatching it from his hand and putting it behind the cleavage.

“Of course, daddy,” he wounded an arm around the man’s shoulders. “Are ya enjoying your time with us?”

“Now I definitely do,” the man responded, his hands immediately went to the groping mode as expected. Anthony let him do whatever he liked – for a hundred he bought it as long as he avoided his dick. His equally drunk friends were laughing and then stopped other waitress and ordered more shots for Anthony to drink with them, passing him around their laps like a groping doll.

Well… it’s fine. It’s the only thing I’m good for anyway.

One of them was a sloppy kisser and other one had a thing for his thighs. At least he heeded his warnings of not to rip his fishnets, which was a small miracle. Anthony wasn’t sure how many shots he was made to drink, but he clearly recalled being called pretty and a slut.

He blacked out eventually, but he heard the countdown and New Year fireworks in the back alley behind the pub.

There was nothing happy about it though.

***

The tiles in his bathroom were cold as ice. Anthony heaved one more time and there was already nothing but disgusting bile coming out. He felt sick, dirty, and miserable, and the rumpled money that fell out of his costume at home were so not worth it, even though it was almost 1k. Filthy, disgusting money, the same like him.

It was a miracle he was strong enough to take a shower, even though he sat in there for twenty minutes while ugly sobbing, and then passed out in his bed still in a towel and with wet hair and smudged mascara.

Why didn’t he insist on Alastor killing him when he had a chance? This was the lowest of low for him, the fucking rock bottom of his pride shattering.

Pride? What pride. Did he even have any? Doubtful.

He woke up at 3 in the morning, his stomach was hurting, and his head was splitting. He wobbled out of the bed on unsure legs, holding the towel barely up, and rummaged the cabinet for Tylenol he by some miracle still had. The water from the tap in the kitchen was cold as fuck and it woke him up a little when he was gulping the pill down and praying it would stay there.

He leaned against the counter to take a deep breath and then his eyes fell on the radio quietly sitting on his left. His hand absentmindedly fiddled with one of its buttons and it cracked several times, but no music came out.

“Figures,” he mumbled, defeated. “Hey Al. Ya there?”

Nothing but crackling static.

“Al,” Anthony repeated. “I dunno if ye can hear me. Just wanted to talk maybe. Or see ya. Or Al Junior maybe? I don’t mind that one either, haha… both of ye are… fine.”

Crackling buzzed through the kitchen with no words. Anthony slid down against the counter and remained seated on the wooden floor, fighting against tears that were coming up all of sudden.

“You know,” he sobbed quietly. “This night was fucked up, huh. Was it fucked up for ya too? How’s hell during new years anyway? Do demons drink alcohol even? Hey Al…”

He sniffled and rubbed the back of his hand against his face. It came out blackened from the mascara.

“Oh man. Al, I fucked up again,” he let his head fall back with a thud against the drawers. “I wonder if there’s a way to even get better? Like this… I’d be so fuckin’ useless to ya down there. I kinda wanna die already, but I know ya wouldn’t like me being this way so...”

A sigh. He was babbling. His stomach hurt like a bitch. Some of the drinks must have been spiked, he knew this withdrawal feeling.

“Hey Al. Are drugs down there? In hell?” It sounded more like a whine. “I guess it’s the best way how to destroy a person, ya know. Just make him an addict. Fun times for a while, then pit of snakes.”

He quieted down, hot tears streaming down his face. Would Alastor be angry if he just took a knife and slit his wrists? Probably. Would he just double kill him once he’d land in hell for being such a pathetic weakling? He sure wouldn’t want to be reborn with the same shit soul again anyway.

“I…” he raised his voice, then sobbed again. “Hope it’s fine. Down there. With ya.”

“There, there, Anthony,” the radio suddenly cracked to life and the human bolted up and almost lost his footing before catching the edge of the counter. It was Alastor’s voice, no doubt. “You sound like you are in very low spirits for such joyous occasion.”

“Ha, yeah… sort of…” Anthony smudged the mascara even more, judging from the state of his hands, and reached for a tissue with a frown. “It’s been a shitshow here, but what else is new.”

“That much it ended in tears for you?” the demon asked from the other side, for once the transmission clear and easily understood, and Anthony forced down the sob that was trying to get out of his throat.

“Kinda…” he admitted quietly. “I thought maybe… you’d have time. Tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

“Today-,”

“Or your shadow pal,” Anthony quickly interrupted what sounded like a refusal. “He’s pretty nice the other day. Not that chatty but still nice. Would be fine if you can’t. Unless he can’t either.”

There was silence on the other side for a while and Anthony feared the transmission was interrupted again. But then the static sound filled the kitchen once more.

“…my shadow pal?” Alastor repeated incredulously, apparently not liking the nickname. “I see.”

“I know it’s whiny,” Anthony couldn’t deny that simple truth, but he refused to back down now. “But I really could use a body pillow right now.”

“A what now?”

“A cuddle,” the human wiped his face to the tissue, and it came dirty as hell. Damn, his face must have been a mess. He wiped it some more until nothing black remained and threw the dirty tissues to the bin with a fed-up sigh.

Silence again and Anthony braced for an inevitable refusal.

“You sure are a handful, Anthony,” sounded behind him suddenly and he almost dropped the towel he was holding around him, and that definitely wouldn’t help the situation. Alastor was standing several steps away from him and looked exhausted. There was no other word for it, his shoulders were slouched, he had huge dark circles under his eyes and his coat was rather tattered on the edges – although if there was a war it was still in a pretty good shape, considering.

“And you look like shit,” the human commented, even though he really didn’t mean to. There was a saying that beggars can’t be choosers for a reason.

“Oh, that is rich coming from you, dear,” Alastor tilted his head to the side, taking in Anthony’s state. “How about you dress yourself first. Then we can talk business.”

“Smart,” the human admitted and wobbled back to his bedroom to change into pyjamas. The night was cold and fluffy clothes sounded like a great idea; he was already half a popsicle from the time on the floor.

When he got back, Alastor was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, and crimson eyes fixated on Anthony the moment he appeared. It looked like both of them had a rough night, so maybe a good night sleep wasn’t that bad of an idea even for the demon. Although maybe he preferred sleeping in a coffin or something, Anthony didn’t know.

“Much better,” Alastor said pointedly and stood up. “Now we can sleep. Or talk, whichever you prefer.”

“Looking at ya, I think sleep would be the better option,” Anthony shrugged, and he didn’t miss the displeasure that showed on Alastor’s face for a second. Probably didn’t like when people saw him weak, although Antony doubted it made him any less dangerous. He let the demon lose the coat and the shoes first before Alastor climbed to bed and once he was lying on his back, Anthony sneaked in next and remained resting on his side, not touching him anyhow. For some reason he looked like a timed bomb and any touch could set him off, unless he would initiate it.

“Ya could’ve just send the shadow again,” he mumbled quietly. “If this is not a good time.”

Crimson eyes switched to him, searching.

“Busy now,” he said simply. “No matter. We had a deal and I neglected it, which is not going to happen again.”

He was lying there almost motionless, stiff like a board. Anthony wondered if the war ended badly. Alastor looked like in a bad mood.

“I said it’s fine,” he assured the demon. “Whatever lord war was going on, I’m sure it needed all your attention.”

“Lord war?” One eyebrow went up and Anthony shrugged.

“Or something,” he uttered. “The transmission was so bad; I heard every third word. Or scream.”

“Ah. The interference must have been displeasing,” Alastor sighed. “My apologies.”

“No biggie.” He wanted to ask what kind of war it was or how it ended, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to. Alastor didn’t like talking about himself and this seemed to fall under the same category. So, he just lay there, breathing in and out and sometimes a bit more deeply when the pain shot through him again.

“You are in pain,” Alastor noticed immediately and turned towards him on his side. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Anthony gave him a weak smile. “Or what’s left of it.”

Red eyes seemed to take more of him in, as if he was searching for any kind of a visible wound. When he found nothing, his shoulder seemed to finally relax.

“Are you hurt?” Anthony repeated the question and Alastor shook his head.

“Just my pride,” he repeated Anthony’s answer as well, smiling a little bitterly. The war ended badly then. “The end of the year is… unpleasant. More for some, less for others. Never good though.”

“Oh,” the human let out. “More than usual bad hell things?”

“Much more.”

“So better not dying on New Year’s, huh,” he joked and Alastor actually chuckled at it.

“Unless you want to get immediately eradicated, not really,” he concluded with a sigh. Then he raised his hand and gently swiped Anthony’s hair off his forehead, like he didn’t make a scene few days ago about a knee touch. Complicated guy. “You were crying in the transmission.”

“I have my moments sometimes,” Anthony responded meekly. It was probably a little embarrassing. “Thanks for coming to my rescue though. Nice of ya.”

“I would hardly call dis a rescue,” the demon took his hand back, much to Anthony’s disappointment. His eyes seemed to be extra tired now and his voice slipping. “We talked about dis. You were right I wouldn’t like it if you died like dis.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m glad you didn’t do it.” The static of his voice was flickering in an out, like he was forgetting about it. Anthony didn’t comment on it, Alastor just must have been so tired. It made him feel a little bad for dragging him all the way here.

“Yeah well. Me too, now,” the human said softly, and it made Alastor’s face relax. His hand reached out again, this time latching onto Anthony’s biceps and tugging slightly. Anthony could only imagine it meant it was time to cuddle, so he slowly inched closer until the hand reached for the back of his head and gently pushed him against Alastor’s chest again.

“Ça c’est bon,” he heard the demon say, no static, no interference, just human voice slipping out while his eyes closed slowly, and Anthony held his breath for a while to not break this ambience. Alastor’s breathing evened and the room got swallowed by untypical silence, free of any static whatsoever.

***

2020, 1st

Anthony wasn’t sure what woke him up. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing pressing that wanted his attention. The phone was silent, nobody screamed outside, his neighbours were probably still away or passed out in the bathroom, so it was only normal silence and evened breathing.

It took him about a minute before he realized the breathing wasn’t just his, but Alastor’s, who had his face buried in Anthony’s chest, arms locked possessively around Anthony’s waist like a body pillow, sleeping deeply. Normally it would be the demon who was up first, but the New Year’s toll must have drained him enough for the morning not having any power over it.

It made Anthony smile though – for a guy who seemed to be not that big on touching he was pretty cuddly when it was his initiative. He risked his luck and gently raked his fingers through the red hair and damn, it was fluffy as fuck, what the hell? It could have a been a great example of a pet therapy, just pet this damn guy’s hair and all worries were out of the window. Not to mention it didn’t even stir the demon out of the slumber so Anthony could touch it even longer until he got to the tuffs on top of Alastor’s head. He gently touched the tips and his eyes widened – those weren’t fucking hair. Those were his ears.

“What the…?” he whispered, quickly letting go. But when Alastor still didn’t wake up, his curiosity got best of him and he touched the ears again, gently, until it suddenly flicked and Alastor hummed something and then breathed out again.

So, this guy… this guy had antlers, okay. And then he had those ears too. Like a deer? Was he a deer demon or something? Did he… did he have a deer tail too? Anthony gulped down and checked Alastor’s still sleeping face. No change.

The blanked was draped around them both, but got dragged almost as low as Alastor’s waist, so if he could just lift it… to peek… But then again, he did see him without the coat right. Wouldn’t he notice if there was a tail? Did he even ever saw him from the back? Or dared to actually look at his butt?

No, definitely not. Self-preservation won, probably.

He took a deep breath, then another. Then gently raised the blanket from above Alastor’s behind, straining his neck to see… a fucking tail, holy shit, he had the tail, alright. He let the blanket fall to squash down the urge to touch it and probably lose a hand in the process and just silently whined to himself. Damn scary and bloodthirsty demon having a cute Bambi tail and ears, how was this even fair? What was he supposed to do with that knowledge now anyway? Just stare at it longingly when Al is around?

He risked one more head pat and that made Alastor stir, if the fucking mmrrrp he did was any indication.

Holy shit. Too cute, illegal, deadly. Anthony wanted to cry.

“Mornin’,” he tried to somehow mask his exciting discovery and Alastor wiggled a little before breathing out again, apparently comfortable on top of Anthony.

“Coffee,” came out staticky-less and sleepy.

“Sure, will make ya some,” Anthony grinned, liking this clingy Alastor a ton. “Black, right?”

“Mmm.”

“Okie,” he tried to sit down but Alastor didn’t move an inch. If anything, he just clamped on his waist harder. “Al... if ya wanna coffee, ya gotta lemme go.”

“No leave, just coffee,” came a muffled reply and Anthony had to bite on his fist to stop himself from making an embarrassing squeal. This KO move was too powerful, so he remained lying on his back for a while longer that seemed to be enough for Alastor to fall asleep again.

It was a sin, to dislodge from that kind of hold and leave Alastor alone in the bed, but he was going to hell anyway, and thankfully the sleep made the hold lax and Anthony was free in a second. He looked the scene over once more, gulped down another squeal and tiptoed to the bathroom to clean himself up a little, then to kitchen to make the requested coffee. Maybe if Al was still asleep by the time he’d get back, he could still sneak back to the bed and act like he didn’t leave at all?

***

He couldn’t sneak back. The absence of warmth was what probably woke Alastor up eventually before Anthony was even done boiling water, and he felt a little guilty for it, since Alastor obviously needed the rest and could have slept much longer if Anthony didn’t crawl out (maybe, it wasn’t one hundred percent adamant theory).

But he appeared in the kitchen already in his coat and looking surprisingly prim and tidy and not dishevelled at all, even though he should have because Anthony might have messed up his hair a lot more than he thought.

“Aw, you woke up,” Anthony greeted him with a smile. “Didn’t even managed to finish the coffee.”

“It is the thought that counts, dear!” Alastor replied cheerily and aw, the static was back and the prim voice too. Guess he only slipped when really tired, but it was adorable anyway.

“Slept well?” he turned around, watching Alastor fiddling with the radio to get some tunes out and then sitting at the table properly. He looked composed, the dark circles under his eyes much less prominent, his posture straight again.

“Quite well indeed,” the demon nodded, and it actually sounded sincere. “I see you are also feeling better?”

“Yeah, feelin’ great, thanks.” Anthony didn’t even lie. Yesterday was a whack, one of the really bad days and his psyche was on verge of breaking, but Alastor’s presence literally turned his frown into a smile and that counted for something. Sure, maybe it was just endorphins talking, but it was legit.

“Now, I have a question for you,” Alastor thrummed his claws against the table and Anthony froze a little. Was he going to get scolded for touching the ears? Or seeing the tail? Was he awake after all?

“Sure, shoot,” he gulped down the nervousness while fiddling with the black cup Alastor used before, waiting for the verdict.

“Yesterday, you mentioned my shadow,” thankfully nothing about touching the untouchables, “that it came here instead of me one night.”

“Yeah, through the radio,” the human pointed at the device on top of the counter. “Made me cook dinner for myself, then refused to let me eat it.”

By sitting on his damn lap, by the way, but it wasn’t something Alastor wanted to hear. He probably knew anyway but better letting sleeping dogs lie.

“How uncouth of him,” Alastor commented and the tapping got faster. “But other than that. No problems?”

“None whatsoever, except of scaring the shit out of me at first,” Anthony shrugged, and the water finally boiled. “It’s fine if ya wanna send him over instead though, on busy days or something. I mean obviously I prefer the real thing, but ya know. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

The tapping stopped.

“Noted,” Alastor finally said. “Then if you find it amendable, it may sometimes happen. Not often, but as we both know by now, Hell is unpredictable.”

“So is life,” Anthony reminded him and suppressed the shiver running down his spine when he recalled last night. No, not thinking about that now. Happy thoughts. Deer ears and tails. Fluffy, fluffy ears and a tail.

“Very true,” Alastor agreed and thanked him when Anthony put the cup of coffee on the table right in front of him.

If somebody asked what his favourite start of a New year was, he would definitely say 2020 with Alastor drinking his coffee and the knowledge that under that well-tailored coat was a cute furry Bambi tail.

#hazbin hotel #radiodust #alastor x angel dust #AU #The Deal series #human!Angel Dust

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sxfterhearts · 4 years ago

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22. [4:22 pm]

“That’s all for today, good job everyone on your midsemester exams, and don’t forget to submit your assignments by midnight on Saturday.” Loud rustles echoed around the room as impatient students began to pack up their things and leave. “See you next week, class.”

Even before you dismissed your tutorial class, nearly three-quarters of the room was already vacated. As the last few students got up and bid you goodbye, a few of them stayed back to ask you questions about the midsemester exam you just reviewed. Being an experienced tutor for this unit, you listened intently to every single one of their questions and worries, providing them with answers to the best of your knowledge. It was common for you to get held back for nearly fifteen to twenty minutes because the unit you tutored was known to be difficult yet essential for all students from your major. You remembered taking this unit yourself two years ago and all the grief it had caused you, hence you fully empathised with your students.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar blonde-haired boy leaning against a table and browsing casually on his phone as you placed all of the midsemester exams back into the cardboard box, along with your stationary and other tutorial material. He was the last student left. “Bambam,” you called the boy. “How can I help you?”

“What are you doing after this, Y/N?”

You tried your best to resist the strong urge to roll your eyes. Bambam had been over the moon when he found out that you, his former class president from high school, was assigned to tutor his class for the entire semester. Ever since high school, he had made countless futile attempts to get closer to you. Most girls back then would have been flattered by the vice president of the student council’s undivided attention – he was always trailing around you like a lost puppy, offering to help you with tasks that you were fully capable of handling, or leaving you small gifts like chocolate and miniature wooden figures from his Woodwork class.

Undeterred, you never caved to his advances, for many reasons. For one, the two of you were polar opposites. The only similarity that you shared was that you were both teachers’ pets who sat on the student council. Anything beyond that, such as your personalities (you were the studious, quiet type; he was popular, smart and sporty) and your interests (you loved escaping to the library and reading; he practically lived on the basketball courts) were miles apart. Secondly, you absolutely loathed all the attention he gave you. You disliked his grand gestures that quickly became the talk of the school. There was so much unnecessary gossip surrounding you due to Bambam’s actions and you hated it when people talked behind your back. Some girls even started sending you anonymous threats on social media for being the apple of Bambam’s eye and for rejecting his heart. It was just too much for you and you decided that you wanted nothing to do with him.

Things were much more different now, of course. Most people mature when they enter university and thankfully the students who used to harass you either studied elsewhere or lost interest in the situation completely. You had enjoyed your peace and quiet without him in your first year when Bambam had decided to take a gap year, but he had since returned from his worldly travels. You rarely came in contact with him in your second year as you had completed a year of studies abroad, but this year, by some twisted stroke of luck, you had been assigned as his tutor.

He was the same old Bambam, always so persistent, but a bit more mature in his approach. He would ask you the same question every other week, about your schedule, and whether you were free to ‘catch up’, but he knew how to stop and wish you a good day once you rejected him. You always gave him the same answer, a polite “No, thank you,”, before parting ways with him. That is, until last week.

It was the week of midsemester exams. Due to the exam timetable, the exam of the unit you tutored fell on a Monday, four days before the exam that you had to sit which was on the Friday. Normally, this would be an ideal timetable, however another one of the tutors came down with a serious case of the flu and the professor assigned you to mark her load of papers by Friday. By Wednesday afternoon, you were marking papers in an abandoned corner of the cafeteria, running on a lack of sleep and an astronomical amount of caffeine in your bloodstream. When Bambam walked up to you and sat across you, spouting his usual questions, you just lost it. “No! I have nearly two hundred papers to grade and a difficult exam to study for. No, I am not free, so leave me alone!” You yelled at him, nearly on the brink of tears.

Bambam was clearly taken aback by your outburst, of course. You were soft-spoken and demure, never one to raise your voice in a public place. He could see the resemblance between the woman before him, struggling to hold back the tears, and the girl he saw hiding in an abandoned classroom three years ago, bawling her eyes out as she crouched amongst a sea of books and papers. He remembered that you never really dealt with academic stress very well.

On the surface level, Bambam seemed the stereotypical rich boy on campus, shooting hoops with the boys every day while playing with a different girl every night. It wasn’t true, though. There’s more than meets the eye.

You learned that when he had respectfully asked whether he could stay with you, and if he could bring you somewhere to take your mind off things. Suddenly exhausted, you finally gave in to him, watching him tidy up your things and place them into your bag. You figured it was about time you took a break from this madness anyways. He led you towards the footpath by the riverside across the road from your university campus. The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of waves crashing against the bay filling your ears. He took you to the far side of the bay which you rarely frequented and sat on the bench facing the river. There were many more yachts docked nearby, their periodic swaying therapeutic to watch, and the occasional dog would pass by, wagging its tail in greeting. Being in nature was calming, and you felt yourself relax in his presence.

“Hello, earth to Y/N.” Bambam waved his palm in front of your face. “Are you alright? You spaced out there for a sec,”

You swung your backpack over your shoulder and picked up the heavy box filled with stacks of paper. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Did you miss my question? I asked you about your plans after class.” The blonde boy reminded, walking side by side as the two of you exited the tutorial room.

You were still somewhat shaken by the flashback you had. It left a deep impression on you, and casted Bambam in a completely different light. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” You readjusted the box in your hands. “I’m just dropping these off at the professor’s desk.”

“Wait, did you just give me a proper answer?” Bambam wondered aloud, clearly taken aback by your less-than-usual response. I’m making progress, he thought. “Can I come with? I was hoping you’d be free after that too, I wanted to take you out for a coffee.”

“Why?”

“Well, see, I wanted to talk to you about last week. You know, when-” He was interrupted by your soft wince as you readjusted the box once more. “Do you want me to carry it?”

You shook your head adamantly. “It’s not heavy.” You shot him a pointed look. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Bambam stifled a laughter at your determined expression. “Yeah, I have no doubt about that.” He quickly stole the box out of your arms and cut you off before you could protest. “You know, Y/N, you don’t have to act so strong all the time. Let others help you once in a while, no one will think any less of you for sharing your burden.”

“I-”

“Ah, Y/N!” Your professor exclaimed, stumbling upon you on his way to meet a colleague. “Are those the papers?”

You and Bambam bowed in greeting. “Yes, sir.” You answered, taking the box away and handing it to your professor. “One of the students had their marks calculated wrongly, I’ve already sent you an email with his student number and the new score. I’m really sorry for the mistake, sir, I promise-”

“That’s fantastic, Y/N. Always so efficient and meticulous. There’s really no need to be sorry! As humans, we are bound to make mistakes. What’s important is how we fix them and how learn from them. Thank you for your hard work, Y/N. You’ve done a good job.”

You turned your gaze downwards, slightly shy due to his kind words. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” You replied softly.

“And who is this young man, Y/N? Are you getting him to do all your dirty work? I saw him carrying the box earlier. It is heavy, though, if I do say so myself.” The professor extended his hand in a handshake, to which Bambam responded with a bright smile on his face.

“My name’s Bambam, sir. I’m doing your unit too, and Y/N is my tutor.”

The professor’s eyebrows quirked up in interest. “Oh? Is this something I should be worried about?”

“Sir, what does that mean?” You asked hurriedly.

He laughed boisterously in response, his half-moon glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose as he did so. “I’m just joking, you two. Tell me, Bambam, how is it like being tutored by your girlfriend?”

“What-” You shrieked.

Bambam denied hastily. “Girlfriend? She’s not-”

“Sir, this is a misunderstanding, he’s not-” The two of you were gesturing and shaking your heads in unison, denying the professor’s words profusely.

“Ah, young love.” The professor readjusted his glasses as a knowing smile graced his lips. “Listen, son, I’ve known this young lady for two years now and I can assure you that she’s one of the good ones. Treat her well, she’s hard to find and hard to keep.”

Bambam flushed pink at his words. “You can say that again, sir.” His eyes met yours as he flashed you a bashful smile. Little did the professor know that he had been chasing you for the past six years, since the first day of high school.

(And little did you know that, indeed, opposites do attract. Seems like the blonde boy had a soft side that he kept hidden under that goofy exterior of his.)

(Of course, a few months down the road and a dozen coffee dates later, he would ask you to be his girlfriend.)

(And you agreed.)

#got7 #bambam #bambam fluff #got7 fluff #bambam fanfic #got7 fanfic #bambam scenarios #got7 scenarios #bambam drabble #got7 drabbles #bambam timestamp #got7 timestamps #bambam imagines #got7 imagines #bambam soft #got7 soft #got7 bambam #bambam soft hours

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mrlnsfrt · 3 years ago

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The Value of Perspective

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." -- Hebrews 12:2 Berean Study Bible

I recently went on vacation with my family and we visited Zion National Park. I was very excited to hike to Angel’s Landing. I had read about it and heard about it from friends. I had researched it, looked up YouTube videos and I could not wait to do this hike.

Angels Landing is one of the world's most renowned hikes and is an unforgettable adventure worthy of all bucket lists. - Utah.com

I should mention that I am afraid of heights. My palms get sweaty, my heart races, my mouth dries up, and sometimes my legs begin to shake. That is part of the reason I wanted to do this. I work on my fear of heights by willingly and safely facing my fear as I have opportunities to do so.

I did not enjoy the summit for too long. My wife and kids were waiting for me back at Scout’s Lookout about one mile away from me, but since two-way traffic is tricky at many portions of the trail it was a very slow one mile. So I took some pictures and hurried back to my family.

Why do I share this story? Because I did a lot of thinking as I was hiking up that trail. One thought that kept bouncing around my head was why was I doing this and why not just go back? To which the answer was, I wanted to see the view from the top. Also, though the climb was challenging, it was not impossible. Thinking about what it would be like to stand at Angel’s Landing motivated me to keep going.

If I had focused on the fear and discomfort I would have probably just given up and come back.

Your perspective shapes your experience.

I thought a lot about this as I was on vacation with my family exploring National Parks. In the business of life, we can easily lose sight of the eternal. In the pursuit of instant gratification, we sacrifice future joys. Having the right perspective helps us prevent heartache and achieve more lasting joy.

10 If you keep My commandments, you will abide in My love, just as I have kept My Father’s commandments and abide in His love.

11 “These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full. 12 This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. - John 15:10-12 NKJV

There’s a phrase that has gained popularity over the last few years and rightly so, it is a powerful truth, and that is that Jesus is greater than religion, or people who say they are spiritual and not necessarily religious. Or that they follow Jesus and not any one type of religion. I largely agree with this sentiment or statements of this nature. I too choose to follow Jesus and the moment my religion or denomination teaches or behaves in a way that is not in accordance with the life and teachings of Jesus I question it. I believe that Jesus is our standard. However, this sentiment can easily lead me to simply avoid accountability and just follow my personal preferences. Many times this phrase “I am spiritual but not religious” is synonymous with I follow my heart, my feelings, and not necessarily any specific set of rules.

So here is my understanding of Jesus’ words as recorded in John 15:10-12. Jesus obeyed God’s commandments and He invites us to do the same because doing so strengthens our relationship with Him and He causes us to experience the fullest joy we can while living on this planet. God’s laws are not religious burdens but rather a practical demonstration of our love for God and each other.

Please follow along with me and let me know if this makes sense to you.

When I love God, I do not desire to worship any other gods. I also refrain from making images or representations of Him because that would twist my relationship with Him in an unhealthy way. He is not like other gods and idols who are not gods at all.

I would also be careful with God’s name. Words are powerful things and they shape our memories and thoughts and even feelings, so taking care of how I use God’s name increases the quality of my personal relationship with Him.

I will also enjoy spending time with God and it will be a joy to keep the Sabbath holy.

When I love those around me I will naturally honor my parents, refrain from committing murder, or adultery, from stealing and being dishonest, and I will also not covet what belongs to others.

God’s laws are basic principles and guidelines that help me not only have a healthier relationship with Him but also with everyone around me.

The way that I see it, the more I think about God the more my behavior will be shaped by my love for Him. The more I get to know God the more I fall in love with Him and the greater my desire to live a life that reflects that love.

The Value of Perspective

For this reason, I believe that perspective is so important. If I am not intentionally thinking about God or making room for Him in my life, I can end up leaning heavily on religious behavior as a replacement for an authentic walk with God. That is when legalism creeps in, and I try to earn God’s favor and salvation through my right behavior. With the wrong perspective, even correct behavior becomes a problem. This is why I believe that behavior should not be our focus, but rather perspective. I strongly believe that the “why” is of greater importance than the “what.”

Sabbath

I believe that God created the Sabbath as a reminder to look at things from the right perspective.

The Sabbath reminds me of creation. The creation account reveals an intentional, loving, and powerful God. A God who creates a perfect world, a God who makes all things good. A God who wants reality to be very good. I serve a God who is able to provide, so I can rest when He invites me to rest. The God of the Bible is interested in having a relationship with me, the Sabbath is essentially a date with God. God did not create me to simply do things, and the Sabbath reminds me of that because God is inviting me to stop working.

“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it. - Exodus 20:8-11 NKJV

God Himself gave us the example by stopping and resting, even though He never gets tired (Isaiah 40:28). I see this as very similar to when Jesus was baptized, even though He did not need to be, but He did it to be our example (Matthew 3:13-17). God was not tired, but He rested, in doing so He legitimized rest, and also heightened the value of quality time spent in developing deeper relationships. God placed a premium on time spent with us by choosing to rest with us as opposed to working.

I believe the seventh day of the creation week also reveals the main reason God created us. God wants to spend time with us. Every week we are reminded, on the seventh day, that God created us and desires to spend time with us. This is not primarily a religious practice, this is not primarily a commandment, this is primarily a sincere desire for a meaningful connection, for a personal relationship. Religion and commandments guide and remind us, but the deeper truth goes beyond the letter of the law. God’s law reveals truths about His character, it reveals the desires of His heart. God wants to spend time with us.

Isn’t it ironic that the God of the universe wants to spend time with us every week, and we think He is asking for too much? Is it not sad that some turn the Sabbath rest into a burden and legalism? I see the Sabbath from a perspective of God’s love and desire to connect with me in a personal and meaningful way.

The seventh-day Sabbath also helps me look at life from the proper perspective. God created the world, but the emphasis of creation came on the seventh day, the highlight, the ultimate goal, was relationships. The fourth commandment reminds us of the importance of working six days but also highlights that the rest is for everyone in the family, the workers, the foreigners, and even the animals. Once again, it is not merely a religious practice, it is vital for our spiritual wellbeing. The weekly Sabbath rest on the seventh day of the week is meant for all of creation to pause, and gain perspective.

The Sabbath invites us to ponder eternal truths. God has blessed and set aside a day for us to reflect on what is truly important in life and to invest in it. I see the Sabbath day as an opportunity to invest in my personal relationship with God, with my wife, with my kids, and family members, and friends. So I freely choose to not engage in monetary exchanges. I can conduct business during six days of the week. But the seventh day is so special that I do not want to miss out on its blessings by doing things I can do any other day. This is a day to do more of what feeds my soul. Invest in my walk with God, invest in my relationships with those around me, the people I wish I had more time to dedicate to them throughout the week, on the Sabbath God has given me that time and invites me to use it wisely.

For me, to watch secular TV shows, or listen to secular music, or to engage in business, or to do school work would be to waste the precious sacred hours of this blessed day. The Sabbath is not a burden, it is an invitation to make an investment in what has deep value, even eternal value.

Deep Value

I hope you have not had to experience a funeral or memorial service recently. But in a way, that experience has some things in common with the Sabbath because it also causes us to pause and gain some perspective. At a funeral, we are faced with eternal truths and the consequences of our life choices. People usually do not talk about how much money someone made, their GPA, or their Net Worth. What do people talk about? Have you ever considered what might be said about you should you die one day? We don’t like to think about that. But I am not asking you to necessarily think about death, but rather to carefully consider how you are living.

At a memorial service, we also talk and think about eternal truths, eternal life usually, but we are also aware that another possibility is eternal destruction. We do not like to consider the second option, but we know that when it is all said and done there are only two eternal options available to everyone.

This perspective brings to light what I would like to call deep value. What in your life has deep value? How much time and effort do you dedicate to the things that have deep value?

Second Coming

When we think about life, and when we think about death, I often think about the beginning and end of the Bible. Genesis describes a perfect God creating a perfect world and the fall of that world. This is why we have death and suffering. The last book of the Bible tells us of the end of this world, this sinful world with death and sin, and of the recreation of a perfect world.

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God.. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me, “Write, for these words are true and faithful.”

And He said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts. He who overcomes shall inherit all things, and I will be his God and he shall be My son. But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” - Revelation 21:1-8 NKJV

Thinking about the second coming of Jesus is also great for providing us with perspective.

So the seventh-day Sabbath and the second coming help me frame my life in light of deep value and eternal truths.

The Cost of Perspective

I really enjoyed my vacation with my family. We visited Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, Canyonlands National Park, Arches National Park, and the Grand Canyon National Park. We did all this in 8 days total. There was a lot of planning ahead of time. We saved for this trip, we planned the trip, we rented a camper van, we bought food, we planned each day.

Things did not always go according to plan, COVID restrictions made things interesting, this was our first time so there was a learning curve, we have kids who are 7 and 8 and always keep things from being too predictable. We woke up at 2:00AM to drive three hours to Atlanta to drop our car off at a hotel (in order to save on parking fees) then take a shuttle to the airport, we made it just in time to get our flight. We flew from Atlanta, GA to Denver, CO, and had just enough time to buy the most expensive bagels and smoothie we ever purchased and eat on the flight from Denver, CO to Las Vegas, NV. When we arrived in Las Vegas we took an Uber to where we rented our vans, we were starving and grabbed some food then realized one of the van doors was not locking well so we returned to van rental place and ate in their office as they got us a new van. We had to take everything out of one van and put it in another. Then we drove to a grocery store to buy our food supply for the next few days and then we hit for the three-hour drive to Zion.

That first day was extremely exhausting. Our days were made up of cold breakfast, long hikes, and long drives. But we had an amazing time and made memories that will last a lifetime!

I tell you this story to tell you this, it is not easy, but it is worth it!

Resting on the Sabbath seems like the easiest thing on earth until life happens, and you are tempted to study for an exam, to work a few hours because you could use the money, or the boss is asking you to, or there’s a competition you want to participate in. Suddenly, you have some competition. Is your special time with God really necessary? Is it really worth it?

I find it interesting how we often rationalize that God will understand our situation. When in reality we are the ones who do not understand our situation. We lose perspective. We begin to value the things of this world above God. We place temporal things ahead of eternal things. We begin to cheat, lie, cut corners, thinking it will benefit us. Thinking it will help us get ahead, or be happier. With the wrong perspective, we fail to value what is most valuable. We sacrifice our future for immediate gratification.

Fathers walk away from kids, spouses cheat, children dishonor and hurt their parents, mostly we hurt ourselves, ruin our careers, ruin our health, ruin our finances, all because of not having the right perspective. All because we refused to make time for God in our lives. If you only make time for God when it’s convenient then God is no longer God. Jesus is no longer LORD.

The consequences of rejecting God and His will not only increase pain and suffering in the world, and especially around us, especially hurting those who love us most, it also has eternal consequences.

So even though it can be challenging to take a Sabbath break, even though it can make us a bit uncomfortable to think about the second coming of Jesus and judgment and the end of the world, I believe it is incredibly worthwhile. With this perspective, the perspective of deep truths, we can live our best possible lives. When we live in accordance with God’s will not only do we enjoy a deeper joy but we also become a beacon of hope and blessings for those around us.

Look to Jesus

Jesus is our ultimate example. Jesus went to the equivalent of church in his time and culture on the Sabbath.

So He came to Nazareth, where He had been brought up. And as His custom was, He went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and stood up to read. - Luke 4:16 NKJV

Jesus also spent time alone in prayer.

And when He had sent the multitudes away, He went up on the mountain by Himself to pray. Now when evening came, He was alone there. - Matthew 14:23 NKJV

[I will restrain myself from going deeper into the topic of prayer here but you can check out these posts to go deeper on this topic. Always Pray, The Privilege of Prayer, Ask, Prioritizing Prayer, Not as I will, Spiritual Warfare, Some of My Favorite Bible Verses on Prayer.]

Jesus understood the importance of perspective. When Satan tempted Jesus he tried to shift Jesus’ perspective away from His mission, away from the will of the Father, to immediate gratification, to an easy out (Luke 4:1-13).

Jesus kept the right perspective, He placed the will of the Father above His own immediate desires as a suffering human. (I know that Jesus is God but He had set aside His divinity, so He was suffering as a human)

He went a little farther and fell on His face, and prayed, saying, “O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.” - Matthew 26:39 NKJV

Jesus kept the right perspective and achieved the ultimate victory. It was not easy, but it was worth it!

looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. - Hebrews 12:2 NKJV

Call to Action

Maybe you have lost perspective recently. Maybe you never saw the need to fully commit to God and to invite Jesus into your heart. Wherever you are in your spiritual journey, I want to invite you to take one step in the direction of God. Do not put this off. Do it today, gain perspective, live with this new perspective. God is calling you to live your best life! He will enable you to do it!

for it is God who works in you both to will and to do for His good pleasure. - Philippians 2:13 NKJV

May we live our lives with the right perspective, with the joy that God sets before us. God offers us eternal life, a new world without pain or crying, or sorrow.

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” - Revelation 21:4 NKJV

#practical #second coming #Sabbath

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literarydumpinggrounds · 5 years ago

Text

Twin Code

Pairing: Young!Remus Lupin/Potter!Reader

Word Count: 2,522

Warnings: none

Summary: James accidentally lets it slip that you’re in love with Remus.

Notes: I had no idea what to name this, but it was a cute little idea that I wanted to get out of my head. Enjoy! :)

“Come on, Y/N/N, I said I was sorry! What do you want from me? D’you want me to beg? Get down on my knees and grovel, that it?” James pressed insistently, the slimeball, whining childishlyㅡ in the dramatic manner always did when he didn’t get his way ㅡfrom across the large wooden table; just as he had for the past fifteen minutes, and the past four days. The stoic expression taking residence on your features never wavered, narrowed eyes focused viciously on your twin brother.

You couldn’t believe him, that slimy little snake!

You’d sooner give him a swift kick in the ass than forgiveness, not after what he did, and he knew it.

"Sirius, would you be a dear and tell my idiot brother that he knows exactly what I want from him, because he knows exactly what he did?" your voice was calm despite the daggers shooting from your irises and into your brother, earning a heavy sigh from the raven haired boy.

James Fleamont Potter had broken your code, the moronic berk!

From the beginning of time, you and your brother were inseparable. Your mother used to say that you were joined at the hip, like you were two halves of one soul. There couldn’t be one without the other because you each kept the other’s feet on the ground, prevented your minds from floating off into the clouds. You told each other everything, no matter what, and every secret was to be taken to the grave; those were the rules. Well, one of the rules. When you were younger, the both of you had formed a list of rulesㅡ the twin code ㅡthat became the guidelines of your relationship. Not once in your sixteen years of coexistence had they had never failed you, and James knew thatㅡ but he just couldn’t keep his big mouth shut!

You watched as James' features contorted into a deflated grimace, his hazel eyes leisurely wandering over your shoulder before his expression softened, and the signature twinkle of mischief returned.

Coming through the large threshold of the Great Hall was Remus, lopsided grin and all, and your heart leapt into your mouth. A thousand thoughts flooded to the forefront of your consciousness as if your bodily chemistry had sent out a blanket invitation, clouding your ability to think properly.

You were suddenly aware of that familiar rise of panic that could thrive or diminish depending on what your next move was. It would only grow if you allowed the storm of thought to overwhelm you, swirling into a vortex of stupidity, eating its own tail. You knew it would vanish the moment you weren’t in his presence, and that the momentary relief would only be until you saw him again, but the urge was too great.

So you shoved yourself from the table with a half-assed story about having coursework for Slughorn, and made a quick getaway.

ㅡ

Remus gave the boys a slight smile as he sat down in your place, glancing at your retreating figure just as you disappeared into the crowd.

"It's been four days, Prongs. When are the two of you going to make up so we can all get on with our lives?" he sassed inquisitively as he looked back to his friends, earning a snort from James as he ran his fingers through his unruly curls. “What have you done to make her so cross with you anyhow?”

Though it was no secret among them that Remus was smitten, he still wasn’t willing to admit how irritating it was to be avoided by the very focus of his affection; one of his best friends.

None of the boys spoke for a moment, only met with the chatter of the Hall, and Peter’s smacking as he shoved generous amounts of pastry into his mouth; until, as if completely oblivious to James’ silent reluctance, Peter piped up.

“Tell the whole quidditch team she’s in love with you.”

Remus choked on his drink, breaking out into a vicious bout of coughing as Sirius slapped Peter on the back of the head, grumbling about his inability to understand discretion. "Sorry, what?"

Four days earlier.

You’d been gazing dreamily at Remus studying in his usual spot among the Reference Section through the dusty shelves of the library for longer than you’d like to admit. Admiring the way that the mousy tendrils of hair rested restlessly against his forehead, and the way his lips moved along with the words he read so faintly that you’d hardly notice unless you were looking for it.

Remus really was the only boy you’d ever allowed yourself to really admire. Not simply because of your feelings for him, but because he deserves every ounce of it.

No matter how tough things got, he always knew the difference between essential virtues to be upheld, no matter what was and wasn’t negotiable. There were men that talked a better game, that spoke with angelic charisma, but he walked his talk and in that there was more honor than in all of the vain popularity in the world. He underplayed his own pains and needs in order to provide for those he loved. Whatever he said he believed in, whatever virtues he professed, you could take it to the bank.

That was him, black and white, cut and dried. Being with him was like being anchored to a rock, never again feeling lost in the storms of life.

You found that you had fallen for his soul rather than relying strictly on his appearance, though it was a benefit you often appreciated; his temperament was what lured you in, so different from the other Marauders. You craved his soothing voice of reason, and coveted his warmth. When he smiled, it was as if the whole world was in your hands, yours for the taking. When you exchanged looks, and laughed with one another, it seemed as if everything paused in its proper place; like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, and the universe was at peace. The feelings that you had for him had been developing for nearly two years, and they far surpassed admiration. You were falling hard, spiraling headfirst into the foreign lands of romance within yourself, and hitting your head on every love nest on the way there.

“Does Lupin know you’re so taken with ‘im, Y/N?” the inquiring voice of Caleb Buckhornㅡ one of the three Chasers on Gryffindor’s quidditch team ㅡpulled you from your daydreaming, and snapped you back into reality.

Frankly, you were scared to even ask, but turned to give him the most aloof expression you could manage.

“What are you on about?”

He shrugged, withdrawing his enthusiasm as your cheeks dusted a rosy shade of pink. "James told us you fancied Remus.” Caleb turned his green irises to the table briefly before returning to you. “I only asked if he knew."

Your blood ran cold. “Us?”

“The team.”

As James finished his explanation, Remus rested his elbows on the table, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperated realization.

"She nearly killed him when she got hold of ‘im!" Peter snorted, snickering at the annoyance on James’ face.

"It was hot." Sirius grinned wolfishly, before yelping as James elbowed him in the side, complaining about the comment being gross.

"So she's avoiding me because she thinks I know."

He couldn’t believe that you were in love with him. You, the one who had helped him through more restless nights than he could recount, making the seeming impossible seem tolerable with your kind eyes and kindred spirit. You were the sweetest melody he had ever heard, intoxicating him as your words wrapped around him and lulled him into a vulnerable peace.

That was supposed attraction, but his feelings were so deep, as if they were the beginning of a song that would play on and on, something that soothed his tortured soul. You, quite simply, were the kindest and most reliable person Remus had ever met; and he didn’t want you to think that reliable meant that he didn't love you with a fiery passion, because he did; for someone like him, reliable was everything.

As if he had heard Remus’ every racing thought, a devious grin painted over James’ lips, and he sat up straight.

"Think it's prime time you told her how you feel, Moons? Maybe you can convince her to forgive my gift of gab."

ㅡ

You sat at a table in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, leisurely sipping on a steaming mug of butterbeer as you read over the passage in your textbook that covered the Pepperup Potion, only acutely aware of the Marauders taking residence at the table distantly diagonal to your own.

The Pepperup Potion is an elixirㅡ composed of bicorn horn, mandrake root, english thyme, salamander blood, and fire seeds ㅡthat warms the body, and cures the common cold. If composed properly, it will turn a vibrant shade of orange, and steam will spout from the consumer's ears for several hours after it is imbibed. Linfred of Stinchcombe developed the rudimentary treatment for the common cold that would later serve as the basis for the Pepperup Potion. Centuries later, roughly between the mid-eighteenth and nineteenth century, Glover Hipworth built on Linfred’s work, consequently perfecting the-

“Can I join you?” Remus interrupted your studying with a nervous smile, which you desperately tried to ignore as you grew tense in your seat. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

“Suppose so.”

He settled into the seat across from you as you pretended to immerse yourself in your book, all too aware of his thieving eyes cautiously studying you, trying to read you as he ran his clammy palms on his trousers. For a moment there was silence between the two of you, yet the room around you was alive with jovial chatter and movement. Waitstaff bustled absentmindedly from table to table, taking orders and carrying trays of the drinks that Rosmerta aptly crafted behind the bar. Students dressed in their house robes filled the tables, some groups more diverse than others, but all aglow with cacophonous laughter and conversation.

Unable to focus under Remus’ lingering gaze, you read the same line of text five times before you began to grow a bit uneasy. Your nerves were quickly beginning to fray after these past few days of worrying, and isolating yourself from your blabbering brother. Within your building anxiety you’d encouraged the construction of elaborate rationalizations of why everything would be alright, but there was still that nasty little voice at the back of your consciousness that spoke of nothing but the inevitable doom ahead of you.

“Can we talk, Y/N?”

You closed your book swiftly, a single finger preventing the weight of the ample pages from slamming together and making an unnecessarily abrupt noise. “Full of questions today, aren’t you, Moony?” you inquired in mild agitation, crossing your arms over your chest.

In response, Remus gave you a lopsided grin that made your stomach flip, letting out a short, nervous little chuckle as he dropped his gaze to the table. “Go on then.” you insisted with a nod, regaining his anxious gaze. “You’ve got my attention.”

“Well, James saidㅡ”

You let out an indignant scoff, irises set ablaze as you snatched your Potions book off of the table, standing from your seat purposefully. "If that cockroach sent you over here to persuade me, you tell him to go boil his head! I'm not playing his littleㅡ" you were cut short as Remus huffed impatiently, slapping his hands down on the table with a rancorous expression as he rose to his feet.

"I'm in love with you, and if you would stop being so insufferably stubborn and listen I could properly tell you!" he insisted, ceasing all possibility of thinking clearly as your blood ran cold, staring at each other with mirroring expressions of shock.

Remus had never been good at talking like James or Sirius, who always seemed to have the unnecessary amounts of confidence. Whenever he tried to express the emotions whirling within his soul, his throat would tighten and block him from saying anything. Tongue tied and hopelessly alone with his thoughts, even among the little family his friends had become; but this feeling, it was so overwhelming, so foreign that he couldn’t help but speak.

You had always been there for him, through every challenge and complication he’d presented and faced. You stood by his side unconditionally, and supported him, stood up for him, believed in him. He had been lost within himself for years, and he’d never realized the blossoming emotions he felt towards you, he never wanted to confront it. He could tell you anything, without any trouble or hesitation, because he knew you would always understand; even when you couldn’t possibly understand. But most importantly you made him laugh. You made him forget his reality, while keeping him warmth and grounded within it. Remus loved you more than the best friend that you had been to him, and now he had the hope that you felt the same.

“That’s not funny, Remus.” you breathed, frozen in your spot as he took a tentative step towards you, giving you that sweet, puppy dog smile that melted you into a puddle every time.

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

His playful tone made soothed every nerve that had previously nauseated you, calmed the storm of thoughts that had haunted you for days, and warmed the ice in your veins.

Your smile was like a breath of fresh air, an action of blossoming happiness, much like spring flowers, that he couldn’t recall ever seeing before. He could see how it came from deep within, lighting your eyes and spreading into every inch of his body. It had always proved that one smiles with more than their mouth, but their soul.

"So, if I were to kiss you right now?" you took a step towards him, bringing the both of you close enough that your noses brushed, earning a shaky sigh from Remus as his shoulders sagged slightly.

"Please do."

You could hear it in his voice, that pleasant calm that your confirmation had brought him, you could practically see it in his cavity inducing gaze.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. This moment was… perfect.

The world around you was forgotten as he pressed his lips to yours, nearly knocking the wind from your lungs in the process. You hardly allowed him a moment to react before you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck, having to stand on the tips of your toes to even attempt to match his lanky figure. It was a long time coming, mingled with the fleeting taste of butterbeer in the intermingling of your billowing breaths.

And as abruptly as it started, it was brought to an end as Sirius whistled obnoxiously, a wolfish grin smearing across his face.

"Does this mean our dear Prongs is forgiven, darling Y/N/N?"

ㅡ

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perspective-series · 5 years ago

Text

Pet Perspective (15/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Unwanted touching

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Roman was used to entertaining himself. It certainly wasn’t the first time he was left on his own, and it also wasn’t the first time he had traversed a human home. But doing it out in the open, when nobody was home, with the knowledge that he wouldn’t get in trouble?

Well, that just took all the fun out of it.

It made Roman feel almost twitchy, trying to occupy his time and not make a straight bolt for the door. He had promised Virgil that he would stay put, and while a promise to a human meant jiddly-squat, he had promised the same to Logan. Roman wasn’t going to make a run for it.

But, that didn’t mean he had to stay all cooped up inside, either.

Roman grinned at this realization, abandoning his task of painting the kitchen table in favor of sliding down to the floor. He always felt better getting out and about. A little fresh air wouldn’t hurt anyone, and spending the day in the yard would hardly be dangerous. If Roman stayed close to the entrance, even stray cats would pose no danger. This line of thinking is what led to Roman ducking beneath the front door as human footsteps approached from the other side.

Virgil came up to his door, intending to unlock and open the door like normal, when he noticed movement coming from the ground. He looked down, eyes going wide as he noticed Roman walking about outside. “Roman!” He hissed, coming over and scooping him up. “What are you doing?” Was Roman going back on his promise? He supposed it wouldn’t be the first time.

Roman gave an almost-yelp, startled from the sudden grab. “Relax, Warden! I was just going for a stroll.”

Virgil winced. “S-Sorry.” He opened his hand so Roman was sitting on his palm before heading inside. “But is it really a good idea to go outside on your own? I mean...the last time you did you got hurt.”

“The last time I did I got unlucky.” Roman shrugged. “I don’t get pounced by a cat every time I step outside, you know.”

“I know but...I’m just worried.” He went up to his room and set Roman down on his desk. “Why were you outside anyway? You said a stroll but...why?”

“I got bored.” Roman admitted. “It’s less fun having the run of the place when you’re allowed. I find going outdoors to be much more pleasant, there’s more adventures there.”

Virgil shifted. “Well...if you want to go outside then it might be best for you to stick with me. Maybe I can take you to class tomorrow? Like how Patton took Logan today?” He still thought it was dangerous but it was less dangerous than Roman being outside on his own.

“I feel like that’s not exactly the same.” Roman argued, remembering a few times when Rebekah tried to sneak him into her class. He cringed in memory. “Being stuck in a backpack all day isn’t my idea of adventure.”

“You won’t be stuck in a backpack...if anything, it’ll be my pocket.” He wasn’t actually sure if his teachers would let Roman be out on his desk or not. He would have to ask Patton.

“Same principle, Emo Nightmare.” Roman gave him a slight glare.

“I know, okay I’ll talk to Patton about it and go from there. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be allowed to sit on the desk.” He hoped so, at least, or it would in fact, be boring for Roman.

“Oh, lucky me!” Roman mockingly clapped his hands. “I doubt your classes themselves are that interesting even then. Certainly not as interesting as the gardens.”

“I doubt that, actually. What fun is there to do out in our front yard anyway?” Virgil asked.

“Basket weaving, tunnel digging, ladybug chasing, spider fighting, berry collecting…” Roman easily began to list off activities on his hand.

Virgil frowned. “All that sounds more like work than fun. Also dangerous, why the heck would you want to get into a fight with a spider?” Virgil asked.

“To win?” Roman looked at Virgil like this was the most obvious thing.

“Yeah but if you don’t win then you die, so how is that smart?” Unless the spider attacked Roman first, Virgil couldn’t understand.

“Oh please, most of the spiders around here couldn’t kill me.” Roman waved off Virgil’s concern. “Hurt like a son of a nutcracker, sure, but I’m not exactly their prey.”

Virgil shook his head. “Still, it doesn’t sound fun.”

Virgil paused as he heard the door opening downstairs, Patton’s laughter echoing throughout the house. “Looks like Patton and Logan are home.” He offered Roman a hand. “Want to see how their day was?”

“Sure.” Roman appeased him, climbing on with still no intention of spending the next day at school.

Virgil walked downstairs, smiling to Patton as they met eyes. “Hey, Pat. How was school?”

Patton winced a little. “Well...they wouldn’t let Logan spend it out and about so he had to stay in my pocket…”

“Called it.” Roman gave Virgil a knowing look.

“The day was not a complete failure, however.” Logan still looked almost giddy. “Patton was kind enough to take me to the library where we completed an independent study.”

“Huh? When did you have time to go to the library?” Virgil asked, looking to Patton. Patton smiled sheepishly.

“I may have...skipped my other classes?” Virgil blinked, before smirking.

“Wow, didn’t know you had it in you.” Virgil joked. “So you just went to the library instead then?”

“Yep! And we had a great time!” Patton exclaimed.

“We read about biology.” Logan announced proudly.

“Wow, you really are a massive dork.” Roman teased.

“But...school was a bust?” Virgil asked again and Patton nodded.

“Yeah, I guess the school doesn’t allow borrowers.” He said sadly. “Which is unfair.”

“We’re... pets.” Logan reasoned, deflating from his excitement. “A place of education is no place for us.”

Both Virgil and Patton shifted uncomfortably. “Still.” Patton said.

“Well...thanks for the heads up, at least.” Now Virgil had to think of something else to do with Roman. Maybe the library? But Roman didn’t seem very fond of that idea. “Are you making dinner?”

Patton nodded. “Yep! I’ll get started on it right now. Logan? Did you want to help?”

“I’m not certain how I could be of assistance?” Logan frowned.

Patton giggled. “Well, I could always use a supervisor! And maybe a taste tester?” Patton offered.

“If Logan refuses, I’m always available.” Roman gave Patton a smile, wiggling his fingers.

“Roman, behave yourself.” Logan huffed. “Patton, I can certainly attempt to be of assistance.”

“Yay! Then let’s get started!” Patton ran into the kitchen, Logan in tow, leaving Virgil and Roman in the living room.

Virgil looked down at Roman. “Okay so...maybe school is a bad choice.”

“What? I was right?” Roman gave a mocked surprise face, complete with bringing his hands to his cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get a big head over it.” Virgil said, plopping down on the couch. “But, still, the library worked for them so...maybe we could go out and do something else?” Virgil suggested. “Anything in mind?”

“Well, I just like being outdoors.” Roman shrugged. “But it’s not quite as much fun when being monitored closely...or being played with.” Roman added that last bit as an afterthought.

Virgil winced. “I’m...guessing that’s happened before.” Roman had been with a child before, after all.

“Ding ding ding, give the man a prize.” As usual, Roman hid his trauma with a smile and finger guns. “Though something tells me you’re not a man of tea parties.”

“Er...no.” Virgil could guess what kind of play had taken place. “I’m sorry that happened.”

Roman waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s in the past.”

“Obviously, it won’t be anything like that. We could go anywhere...almost.” He was sure, like with school, there were some places that would kick him out for having Roman. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Something I’ve always wanted to do?” Roman repeated. Well, travel back in time, but that wasn’t possible. Live in a proper Outsider clan again, but again, not something Virgil could provide. “Um…” Roman felt his ears turn a bit pink, realizing one thing that could work but feeling a bit silly. “Don’t laugh, but I’ve always wanted to visit some old human structures. Like the stone ones you see in novels.”

Virgil blinked. “Old structures?” Virgil hummed. “I mean...I’m not sure where we would find one but...other than that, I don’t see why not?” As long as Virgil was there, nothing should happen, anyway.

“I’m not certain where they are either.” Roman admitted. “But I’ve just always thought they’d make the ideal base, and I wondered if any borrowers used to live in the walls when the structures were still standing.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll...I’ll look it up. And if one is close enough then I don’t mind taking you.” Virgil said with a soft smile.

“Why thank you, Virgil.” Roman gave him a smile in return. Of course, there was still a large chance it wouldn’t be possible, but Roman liked to dream.

“Yeah, of course.” Virgil said, suddenly hoping he would be able to find one close by. After all, if it made Roman happy he was willing to do almost anything.

Virgil picked up the remote. “Want to watch something while Pat and Logan are making dinner?”

“Sure.” Roman agreed, leaning back. “It’s been a while since I watched Steven Universe, I’m probably several seasons behind.”

As Virgil turned on the TV, he looked down at Roman. “Oh, you’ve seen the show before? Wait, right you were a...with a kid before.” That made sense then.

Roman winced, getting defensively embarrassed. “I’m- it’s not just a kid’s show, you know.” He didn’t want Virgil to think lesser of him.

“Oh, no I know!” Virgil backtracked a little. “I mean, I like it too, after all. I just...figured that’s where you most likely would have seen it? Sorry.”

“It’s fine; I mean, you weren’t wrong.” Roman waved him off, his cheeks only a bit pink. He cleared his throat. “So...you really watch it too?”

“Yeah, Patton got me into it. He loves the show and honestly, it’s pretty good. Good plot, good animation, nice representation. I think more people should be watching it.” Virgil explained himself with a small smile.

“Same!” Roman’s expression lit up. “It’s got so many interesting subplots that are far more complex than adults give it credit. Plus the style is astounding.”

Virgil grinned. “Exactly! Glad to find someone else who understands.” Virgil went over and looked through all the episodes. “Since you’re behind, did you just want to start at the beginning?”

“Yeah, sounds good, gives me a chance to get back in the zone.” Roman gave a grin of his own.

“Sounds good, and hey! Now you’ll finally be able to finish it. Might take us a month but it’ll be worth it.” Virgil said, before pressing play.

“A month?” Roman’s eyebrows rose incredulously. How much had he possibly missed?

Virgil laughed. “Alright, maybe not that long but it’s five seasons long with a movie coming out soon, so it’ll take us a bit of time to get through it.” Virgil further explained, turning back to the TV as the intro finished playing.

“Ooh, I can hardly wait.” Roman appeared positively giddy, clapping his hands eagerly.

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

Patton set Logan down on the counter and started looking through the pantry, humming as he did so. “Whatcha hungry for, Logan?” He asked.

“Anything is satisfactory.” Logan said, attempting to peer around Patton to gauge the options himself.

“Hmm…” Patton looked through everything. “How about...tacos?” He asked, smiling over to Logan.

“Ta-cos?” Logan tried the word, unfamiliar with another meal. “It does fall under the category of ‘anything’, so therefore must be ‘satisfactory’.”

Patton blinked at Logan trying to pronounce it. “Logan? Have you...never had tacos before?” Geez, the poor kiddo. He really has led such a sheltered life.

“I have had exactly as many meals as you have provided me.” Logan recited.

“Right, right, sorry. It’s just still surprising to me.” Patton admitted, getting the meat out and turning on the stove. “It just sucks that this is the first time you’re experience these things in all your years...wait, how old are you anyway?” Patton didn’t think he ever asked.

Logan thought back for a moment, ticking the years off on his fingers to double check. “I am seventeen years old.”

Patton froze, slowly looking over to Logan. “Uh...can you say that again?” Maybe he heard wrong?

“I am seventeen years old?” Logan looked to Patton, puzzled. “Is something the matter?”

Patton blinked. “N-No, no, I just...H-How are you only seventeen! I-I thought you were in your twenties at least!” He thought Logan was at least as old as himself!

“I’ve always acted mature for my age.” Logan seemed to find Patton’s reaction bizarre. “How old are you?”

“23.” Patton answered, mouth feeling dry. “But 17? You’re-You’re practically a kid!” He wasn’t far off, it seemed, calling him kiddo and all.

Logan’s nose twitched. “I’ve hardly been a child for years, and there is no age requirement to indicate we have reached maturity, humans often view us the same.”

“Huh? Oh! Sorry Logan, I didn’t mean...I’m just surprised. You’re a lot younger than I thought and it...just kind of puts this whole thing in a newer light.” A harsher light, Patton thought as he stirred the meat around.

“I still don’t understand.” Logan was wary. “Do you mean to treat me differently now that you know I am of a different age? Because truly I thought you were closer to my own given your mannerisms.”

“Oh, no, no! I mean, not if you don’t want me to. I mean, honestly seventeen isn’t that young just...younger than I thought.” He repeated, putting the seasoning on the meat as most of the pink was already gone.

“I see.” Logan mused. “No, I would not like you to treat me differently.”

“Then I won’t, I promise.” Patton said, turning back to the meat. It was just about done now, so he turned down the stove. He drained out the grease and then placed the meat in a bowl before getting out cheese and lettuce and olives and putting those in bowls too. He then placed all the dishes on the table. “Alright, I think that’s good. Now, onto the tortillas.” Patton got them out and started grilling them on the still hot stove.

He was quiet for a moment. “When’s your birthday?” He asked Logan.

“November 3rd.” Logan answered, uncertain how that could be relevant.

Patton slowly nodded, noting that it wasn’t too far out. “Got it!” They were going to do something amazing and fun for Logan’s 18th birthday. “I’ll go ahead and add it to the calendar.”

“Why are you adding it to the calendar?” Logan asked. It was not a particularly notable date.

“So I don’t forget! And so we can throw and awesome party for you! That’s what people do for their birthdays. Especially important ones like someone's 18th.” Patton explained.

“...intriguing.” Logan seemed surprised by this revelation. “I will need to make a note of that. I was not aware of this tradition.”

Patton had figured this but it still made him sad to actually hear it. “I think you’ll like it. You get cake, any food you want and a whole lot of presents!”

“There are certainly many benefits to such an arrangement.” Logan agreed, wondering what cake was and why it was so prized.

“Well, I’m at least glad I’ll get to be with you when you experience it for the first time.” Patton smiled. He set out the cooked tortillas before offering his hand to Logan. “Ready to eat?”

“Indeed.” Logan climbed on.

He set Logan down on the table before cupping his mouth. “Virgil! Roman! Dinner!”

“Coming!” Virgil called back, pausing the episode. “Looks like we’ll have to continue this later.” Virgil said, standing with Roman in hand.

“I can hardly wait.” Roman assured him, meaning it as he climbed on.

Virgil brought Roman into the kitchen and set him down before taking his own seat. Patton grinned. “Hope you like tacos Roman!” Patton said as he passed a couple of mini versions towards the two borrowers.

“Oooh, excellent!” Roman grinned, excited by the idea of getting to fold his own taco for once. “Gracias, esto es genial!”

Both Virgil and Patton paused. “...You know spanish?” Virgil asked, surprised.

Roman looked up at him. “...you don’t?”

“I took some in high school but I’m far from fluent. I know you said thank you but what else did you say? And where did you even learn that?” Virgil asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Apuesto a que te gustaría saber.” Roman gave a large grin, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

Once again both humans were at a loss. “...What?” Virgil asked.

“He said ‘I bet you would like to know’.” Logan said offhandedly, taking a bite of his taco. “And the first time he attempted to compliment the meal.”

Both human eyes snapped to Logan. “You too?” Virgil exclaimed.

“Logan, how do you know spanish?” Patton asked this time.

“Borrowers are taught a number of languages.” Logan explained as though this was common knowledge. “Seeing as it is unknown what the nationality of a future owner might be.”

“Eres un traidor.” Roman grumbled, crossing his arms and feeling off-put that Logan didn’t just let him have his fun.

Logan paused, the taco halfway to his mouth when instead he turned to give Roman an annoyed glare. “I am not a traitor!”

Both human’s eyes widened. “Whoa, hey, what just happened?” Virgil asked, looking between the two.

“I called him a traitor for translating my words.” Roman stuck out his tongue at Logan. “You always miss the big picture, short-stack. We could have held secret conversations right under their noses.”

“It’s not exactly a secret if they can hear us, and a translation app would quickly make that process unnecessary.” Logan huffed, clearly still annoyed about being a traitor.

“He’s got a point.” Virgil pointed out. “I just can’t believe they teach you all of that. How many languages do you know?”

“About a dozen.” Roman shrugged, clearly looking proud despite his nonchalant attitude. He neglected to mention that a few of those were only a handful of phrases that he remembered.

“Wow…” Patton’s eyes were wide in awe. “That’s amazing! Logan, I can’t believe you know so many languages at only seventeen!”

Virgil paused, turning to look at Patton with wide eyes. “...Come again?”

“Huh? Oh! Logan is only seventeen.” Patton answered, knowing the shock Virgil was currently going through.

“Wha-but, but how?” Virgil exclaimed.

Roman barely tried to hide the snort behind his hand. “Practically a baby borrower.” He teased.

“I am not!” Logan retorted in an uncharacteristically childish way, easily riled by Roman. “And as to the ‘how’, I will not educate you on the details but I think you can understand the concept of my arrival to this world seventeen years ago and I fail to see the merit of your question.”

Virgil’s face turned a bright red. “That’s...That’s not what I...nevermind.” He shook his head, shoving some food into his mouth.

“Anyway, Logan is still Logan though. No matter what age.” Patton said. “Oh! And it looks like his birthday is the next one coming up!”

“When are your birthdays, then?” Logan asked, guessing it was polite to ask.

“January 15th!” Patton exclaimed happily.

“December 19th.” Virgil said with a shrug. “Oh wait, I guess we don’t know Roman’s birthday either.”

“Thanks for the consideration.” Roman rolled his eyes lightly, leaning back as he tried to remember. “Ah...I think it’s June 4th, that might be it.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Borrowers don’t celebrate birthdays.” Roman explained. “It’s just a date, and I’ve swapped households enough that even my forms have gotten muddled.”

“You don’t celebrate birthdays? But that’s so sad! Everyone should get a party for their birthday. With presents and cake!” Patton shook his head, looking up with determination in his eyes. “Well, don’t you worry. Once your birthday comes back around, I’ll make up for all the parties you’ve missed.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” Roman perked up, eager to see such a thing. He had seen birthday parties, naturally, but to have once focused on him sounded wonderful. Too bad his birthday was so far away…

Virgil hummed. “Hey, Pat?” Patton turned towards him and Virgil smirked. “Why wait?”

Patton gasped. “You’re right!” He grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Wait, what?” Roman frowned slightly, confused. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“Well, it does a little but we can make an exception this time for the two of you, since you’ve never had a party before.” Patton said with a smile. “Only if you want, though.”

“I mean…” Roman tilted his head back and forth as if weighing the options. If he was really gonna make a run for it at the end of the week, might as well take the opportunity. “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea, Patton.”

Patton jumped up and clapped his hands together. “Awesome! Then tomorrow, we’ll have cake and presents to celebrate the both of you! Oh! Virgil, we have to go to the store!” Patton said, pulling Virgil up and out of his chair.

“Wow, Pat, slow down.” Virgil chuckled. He looked towards the two borrowers. “Will you two be okay here on your own for an hour?” He asked.

“We will be fine.” Logan assured him. “Solitude is often our normal state of being.” He had been left alone in a cage several times in his life, but in this world that was almost preferable to being bothered. Here he could roam free.

Virgil nodded. “Alright, then we’ll be right back.”

“With cake and presents!” Patton added on and then dragged Virgil out the door.

#pet perspective #perspective series #borrower!logan #borrower!roman #human!virgil #human!patton #part 15

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

Text

my gift is my song (and this one’s for you)

part 2 of the your song series which is once again dedicated to loml @calumcest helen i hope....this gives u some modicum of joy :’) i wrote it literally at like 1am so if it sucks that would be why

part 1 on tumblr // part 1 on ao3 // ao3 link for this part

There are certain invariable facts: London is the capital of England, E flat is the most beautiful key to play in, and Michael is in love with Calum Hood.

He hadn’t meant to be. In fact, he’d tried not to be, because it can be difficult, being in love with your closest (and only) work partner, and it’s bad enough that they’re fucking. This thing he and Calum have is unnamed, and as such unaddressed. They sleep in the same bed most nights, and kiss a lot, and have passionate sex that leaves both of them breathless, but they’re not, like, dating — they're not in love. They can’t be. At this stage in their career, one scandal like that and they’re out of the game forever.

So it’s not like Michael has been seeing Calum casually for a few weeks and is starting to feel something more. It’s more like Michael had watched Calum chew on his lower lip as he worked on lyrics over breakfast one morning, and it had hit him full force.

Michael’s in love with Calum. That’s just one more thing he has to repress and never think about. It’s not like he’s wanting for much, anyway; the realization hasn’t put much of a damper on his life, because Calum’s right there, always, just within arm’s reach, so willing and easy and pliant that Michael thinks it’s too good to be true. Calum is too good to be true, and he’s too gorgeous to be Michael’s, but here they are anyway.

(He’s not Michael’s, not really, Michael has to remind himself regularly. At any point Calum could decide to go get a girlfriend or fuck someone else, and Michael would have to be okay with it.

Calum doesn’t seem like he plans to do that anytime soon, though.)

Michael wakes up and decides today is going to be a no-pants day, because it’s his own fucking house and he can do what he likes. His mum will fuss, probably, but Michael’s also an adult, so her words don’t hold much weight anymore.

He treads heavily as he takes the stairs, and when he enters the kitchen Calum is already awake, along with the rest of his family. “Morning,” he greets them all. Calum doesn’t acknowledge him; there’s a pen in his hand and he looks close to being done with something, so Michael doesn’t bitch at him for it.

“Get dressed, Mikey,” his mum says.

“Michael,” Michael corrects her, forcefully. Calum’s the only one who calls him Mikey, and that’s only because he’s too much of a little bitch to listen when Michael tells him not to. He ties his bathrobe anyway, as a compromise.

“I’m not having you moping around here all day,” his mum says, which is funny. What’ll she do? Kick him out?

“We’re songwriting,” Michael tells her. He jerks his chin at Calum for emphasis. Calum glances up at Michael’s mum, then at Michael, as if only just realizing there’s a conversation going on above his head.

Michael skids his eyes over the pages Calum’s scribbling on, but he’s a moment too late to read them; Calum picks them up, staring at them as if they’ve unlocked the secret to the universe, and Michael doesn’t hear anything anyone else says after that. Calum looks the way he looks when he’s got a winner, and Michael wants it.

Sure enough, moments later Calum hands the pages off to Michael, wordlessly. Michael takes them and scans the lyrics: it’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.

His heart rate picks up, and he’s not sure why. These words are personal, and sincere, and they feel like —

They feel like how Michael feels, about Calum.

He looks back at Calum, and wants to ask a million things, but his mum’s in here, still fucking talking, so he just says, meekly, “There’s egg on this,” and then immediately leaves the kitchen. He can hear this song, already. God, he can hear it so clearly that Calum might have plagiarized it. Except he can’t have, because Michael would surely remember hearing a song this — well —

Adoring, Michael’s subconscious provides.

He sits at the piano and sets the lyrics on the music stand, and when he puts his fingers to the keys (Calum calmly saying, “I better go take a shave, I think,” in the background), the melody appears unbidden. It’s like it’s been sitting under his fingertips for years, just waiting for the right words, and now they’re here, and Michael’s heart is too big for his chest, and his lungs too small, and he plays every note and tentatively sings.

“It’s a little bit funny,” he starts, “this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.” He pauses, takes a breath. “Don’t have much money, but, boy, if I did…I’d buy a big house where we both could live.”

He can feel these lyrics in his bones. He wants to sing them to Calum, to look in Calum’s eyes and say this is what I’ve felt for you since the day we met in that cafe and sang “Streets of Laredo” too loud to be appropriate, since I kissed you on the roof and you kissed me back, since I’ve fucking known you.

But these aren’t even his words. They’re Calum’s. These aren’t his own thoughts, or feelings.

Something moves in his periphery. “If I was a sculptor,” he continues, and then chuckles a bit at the next line, “but then again…no.” He glances to the side, and Calum’s standing at the doorway, mesmerized. Michael smiles and looks back at the lyrics. “Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.” He turns his head, slows down a bit, and meets Calum’s eyes. “My gift is my song, and this one’s for you.” For you, he thinks, with his whole heart and soul, and Calum looks spellbound by the music and a little bit scared and a little bit desperate, but there’s no mistaking the amount of love in his gaze as he watches Michael. Even Michael can see it, and he feels it all the way into his fingertips.

He looks back at the words just as Calum cracks a smile, so sudden that the room lights up with it. “So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do; you see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue,” and oh, oh. Sometimes Calum tries to write from Michael’s perspective, but not this one. Calum’s eyes are deep and brown, and Michael’s the one with the blue-green eyes that change colors whenever they fucking feel it, apparently.

“Anyway, the thing is…what I really mean,” Michael goes on, and hides a smile as he sings it. It’s just like Calum to write lyrics like this, so stream-of-consciousness, to say things like anyway and then again, no and try to double back and explain himself. This isn’t just a song; this is a letter, a message, and Michael feels every feeling ever about being the one receiving it.

He reads the next line and almost stutters over it; as it is, he has to tense his jaw so he doesn’t cry. “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he sings, softly, because this isn’t a line for the world to hear, this is his, his and Calum’s.

He thinks Calum is still standing in the doorway, but he’s too nervous to look over now, afraid that one glance will make him too misty-eyed to read the words, or make his palms too sweaty to play. He’s overwhelmed with love, and he’s not done with the song just yet.

“And you can tell everybody, this is your song,” Michael goes on, and fuck it — he turns his head again, and Calum is still there, wide-eyed and staring, like he can’t quite believe something. “It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done, I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…” He nearly chokes on the next part. “How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he manages, gentle.

He doesn’t deserve these words, but he knows they’re his. And when he looks again at Calum, thoughtlessly playing a final chord, he knows that Calum knows that he knows they’re for him.

He glances around himself when he finishes. He mum and gran are both sat in the room; Michael feels exposed, and he needs to be alone with Calum, like, yesterday.

Calum blinks at him, doe-eyed, then steals out of the room, and Michael swallows thickly and follows after him, footfalls muted by the carpet.

He closes their door behind him. Calum’s standing in the middle of the room like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

“You wrote that?” Michael says. Okay, stupid question. He amends, “For me.”

It’s supposed to be a question, but comes out like a statement. Calum nods.

“Did you mean it?”

Calum stares at him. “How could I not mean it, Mikey?”

“Fuck,” Michael says. “That’s, like. A love song.”

“Yeah.”

“A real, proper love song, not some cheesy poppy Daniel you’re a star shit.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, nervous but steady.

“For me,” Michael says again. He’s not sure he can believe it.

“Yeah,” Calum says a third time. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fucking okay,” Michael says, a little out of breath. “More than okay. But I thought we were — like. I don’t know. Not…that.” He sees Calum flinch, and hurriedly adds, “But I don’t care. I want to be that.”

“You do?” Calum says.

“Fuck, are you kidding me, Cal? I love you. I — I love you more than anyone’s ever loved. I didn’t think I was capable of love until I met you. You make me feel like I’m something more, like I’m something worthwhile, like I’m artwork, when in reality you’re the artwork, and I’m just the lucky bastard who —”

Calum cuts him off with a searing kiss, and Michael startles and then sinks into it. The kiss spreads to every part of him, more than it ever has; he can feel it in his palms and the arches of his feet and his stomach and his chest. He wraps his arms around Calum’s waist and pulls him in, crowding as close as he can. He’s kissed Calum too many times to count, but this one says everything he wasn’t allowed to say before. I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it.

Calum pants against Michael’s lips when they break apart, and Michael feels dizzy. “Mine are the sweetest eyes you’ve ever seen?” he can’t help asking. “Really?”

“Fuck off,” Calum grumbles.

“No, it’s cute.” Michael kisses Calum again. “Very romantic. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I haven’t anymore,” Calum says. “It’s yours now. Your Song, you see?”

Michael shakes his head. “Cal, it’s our song,” he says quietly.

“The name of the song is Your Song, you idiot,” Calum says.

Michael shoves his shoulder for ruining the moment, but Calum grabs his sleeve as he stumbles back, and they both collapse onto the bed.

(They don’t leave the bed for a while.)

(Michael could die right now and he’d die a happy man.)

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #michael clifford #calum hood #malum fic #malum fanfic #rocketman au #stuff #my fic #fic #im . happy about this #i dont hate it which is always a nice feeling #5sos

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picassho-18 · 5 years ago

Text

creative writing piece!

A/N: Hi guys! So I am in a introduction to prose writing class right now, and I just wrote a short story I am really proud of and thought I would share it on here. Its not marvel or fandom related but it is set in the 1800′s and I like to think it’s interesting! Please feel free to read it, and it would be great if I got some feedback on it! Thanks!!

Word Count: 2190

Trees on the Horizon

Short story by Kate

19 years old.

The words were simply not writing themselves down on the blank, yellowed paper in front of her. Her fingertips danced on top of the paper, fountain pen tucked in the crook of her hand as she debated the message she wanted to send.

Elizabeth Mae Williams.

Her name was written neatly, perfectly, scrawled across the top with her best ink. But what was needed underneath was undetermined. Who was she and how did she want to convey herself?

Was she progressive? This unwavering and determined woman, alone in a cruel world made by men. Or was she someone who craved the comfort and support of one of those men? Surrendering to a role designated for women in this society that meant warmth and security, but limited any and all freedom.

While she was already her father’s possession, surely she must want escape from a limited lifestyle of servitude. But must that lead her into the arms of another man, a transference of property and dowry, a transaction, that never allows any form of decisions or wants on behalf of the woman?

Or could this promise of education provide the escape she craves? Could society be moving forward enough to allow her into a college that enables her into an independent individual?

All these thoughts swirled inside her head as she debated the perfect message, one that must convince a group of people that she was worthy of college, which would provide her passageway from the only world she knows; the ever shrinking Georgetown; a place she has called home since birth and yet her only desire is to leave it.

11 years old.

Elizabeth always sat in the front row. Every day, her mother would remind her how lucky she was that Georgetown had a schoolhouse, especially with how it allowed girls to learn with the young boys as well. So she sat upright and at attention, her eyes following the teachers every movement of her wrist as she wrote on the blackboard.

“Our lovely Georgetown has suffered many fires, but the very first one caused our town to relocate. Does anyone know what year that was?”

No one raised their hands. Elizabeth looked around, hesitant when none of the boys in the classroom appeared like they knew.

Slowly, she raised her hand, “It was in 1852, Miss Everling.”

The teacher clapped her hands together in joy, “That is correct, Miss Williams.”

The boys groaned, annoyed that she yet again got an answer correct. The few other girls glared at her from rows away. Only the red-headed boy gave her a soft smile of encouragement.

Miss Everling glanced around the room, noticing the hostility before clearing her throat and continuing the history lesson, “Alright, boys and girls. Can anyone explain how the fire department was established in Georgetown?”

Elizabeth peered around the room again, the answer on the tip of her tongue. Yet again no one raised their hands. And neither did she. Instead she looked out her window, staring at the trees on the horizon that seemed to grow farther and farther away.

12 years old.

Slowly passing the wooden buildings on their sides, the bar soon approaching on their left, Elizabeth and Mary matched stride for stride, the pair leaned close, heads tilted together. With ever so slightly hushed voices, Mary began to talk, explaining exactly what Elizabeth has been anticipating to hear since she had woken up this morning.

“And now my aunt is the Dean at DePauw University!” she exclaimed a little too loudly, earning a few undesired glances from a few of the drunks lounging outside the bar. Quickly, the pair walked past the entrance, before resuming, “she got promoted; the University thought it would be progressive and recognized her talent!”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise, not believing that a woman could actually become a Dean of the University. “Please tell me you are not joking!”

“I swear it. It is bottom fact!” Mary said, grinning madly, excitement coursing through the pair as Elizabeth heart swelled at the revelation, pulse picking up at the new possibilities springing into her head.

“Oh, how desperately jealous I am of your Aunt!” Elizabeth shook her head, grin still on her face, as she thought about how lucky —

Mary nudged Elizabeth playfully, interrupting her thoughts, “Don’t you think Dean Arabella Mansfield of DePauw University just sounds lovely?!”

A hopeful grin rested on Elizabeth’s face, as she sighed woefully, “Yes. It sounds splendid.”

14 years old.

Oh how lucky she was! Elizabeth was ecstatic, and a beaming smile shining brightly, as she had an old edition of a law textbook in her hand. The pages were battered, the spine worn and discolored, yet the name written inside the book was as evident and bright as day; Arabella Mansfield.

Mary had requested any study materials that Arabella could spare, which led to her aunt sending back two law textbooks she had used to study for the Iowa Bar exam.

Elizabeth was walking home from Mary’s home, her heart beating fast like she just acquired pounds of treasure.

The book opened in her hands, her fingers brushed over the pages delicately, squinting closely at the handwritten marks left behind by Arabella. Her focus was directed entirely on her new possession, her face decorated in awe at what was right there, between her hands.

She had no time to notice the approaching wagon, pulled by two brown horses, coming closer right in her path.

The man holding the reins shouted out, “Get out of the road!” trying to pull the horses to the side.

Elizabeth yelped out, barely getting out the way of the gigantic horses as they squealed at the close quarters. She lost balance, falling down, her dress now directly in the muddy water off the side of the road.

The man grumbled, “Ya damn girl!” before continuing down the road, getting control over his horses once again.

Teeth gritted, and hands clenched in tight fists, she calmed herself while her fingernails dug into her palms. Slowly, she gathered herself, trying her best to brush off the dirt and mud from her skirts, but her heart sank when she saw the book laying open, and faced down. She quickly got up and reached for the book, frantically wiping off the mud that was caking the exposed pages. Her chest tightened, tears threatening to spill down her face, but she refused.

Elizabeth straightened her back and continued her walk home.

15 years old.

Alone in the school room, save for the teacher that was gathering her worn leather bound books, Elizabeth sat in the front row, the familiar seat an echo of comfort. Her window framing a dark and cloudy landscape outside, as her classmates trudged home through the gusty winds.

Miss Everling walked right in front of the desk that separated the two ladies, soft eyes staring at the young student, “Miss Williams, do you know why I wanted to talk to you after the lessons?”

“No, ma’am. I do not know.” Elizabeth gulped, worry now eating away at her, as the teacher looked around the room, ample time on her hands.

“You are a very bright student, Miss Williams. Do you have any dreams of furthering your education?” Miss Everling asked simply, as Elizabeth’s breath caught, becoming excruciating aware of the book she had stashed in her bag, alongside her feet.

Elizabeth responded hesitantly, choosing her words wisely, “Well, it is not deemed very proper for a woman to go to a university. Not many would accept me.”

“But would you want to go? If you could?” Miss Everling continued to prod, but then said something that caused Elizabeth’s heart to skip a beat, “What if I could help you get into a University?”

Elizabeth sat completely still, confusion flooding her system, yet deep inside her, hope began to grow despite her refusing to believe.

“How?” she asked quietly, refusing to make eye contact.

Miss Everling smiled, seeing her student’s possible excitement at the notion. “I would make it work. Are you interested?”

Elizabeth stared at her, wonder in her eyes, breath caught in her chest, but she managed to nod, “Wholeheartedly.”

16 years old.

They were nicknamed the Growlers. The miners covered from head to toe in dirt and ash, save for the clean skin around their eyes, nose, and mouth. When Elizabeth and Mary would walk to the school house in the mornings, the Growlers would be breaking their fast from the west.

Today was no exception. They were huddled, coffee and biscuits scattered around the dirty bunch, nibbling hungrily around the food, most of them barely batting an eye towards the pair as they passed every morning.

Mary always liked to pass them. For when they broke their fast, they would strip to their trousers and pants, leaving the sweaty and dirty skin of their abdomens and chests exposed.

Elizabeth found it very entertaining, gesturing to the men, “You are in such a dire search for a husband, are you not?”

Mary giggled under her breath, catching the eye of her favorite, one of the miners’ sons. She gave him a soft wave along with a slightly flirtatious wink, as she walked past, before whispering to Elizabeth, “Oh, however did you know?”

“It could possibly have been the desire in your eyes whenever they lack shirts,” Elizabeth stated, smiling at her friend’s action. However, there was a young miner Elizabeth looked out for; his vibrant red hair only partially covered by the ash of the mine. The books in her hands slightly forgotten as she looked for the recognizable color whenever passing, a blush creeping over her face whenever the pair made eye contact, and more soft smiles were exchanged.

17 years old.

The neighbor's old wife was in her usual position, a ball of yarn nestled on top of her lap, as she rocked steadily in her wooden chair.

“Darling, I simply do not know why you are playing around with this little dream of yours.”

Elizabeth glanced up, seeing the disapproving frown plastered on her face.

She continued, a shadow covering her eyes, cast by the white house behind her, shaking her head as she eyed Elizabeth up and down, “You should stop before you become too unobtainable. You do not want to appear unattractive with that wild spirit of yours.”

Mr. Smith, her husband who was somewhere in the house, called out, “Is that John's daughter?”

His wife responded, “Yes, darling. She was just stopping by for a chat.” She turned back towards Elizabeth, “I really do want what’s best for you. I do not want you ruining that life your daddy worked so hard to give you.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth slightly, stopping the rushed response she so desperately wanted to yell out, before she curtseyed, grabbing the front of her skirts in the proper fashion and tipping her head. “Thank you, ma’am. I will most definitely keep that in mind.”

Suddenly her husband called from inside the house, his voice louder and booming, causing both Elizabeth and his wife to flinch suddenly, “Woman! Get in here and fetch me some whiskey!”

The wife glared and shook her head one last time at Elizabeth before standing up and brushing her skirts off. Elizabeth curtseyed one last time, calling out to her husband inside the house, “How a good afternoon, Mr. Smith!” and nodded a goodbye to the dutiful wife, “And you as well.”

27 years old.

She sat there, alone in the middle of the school house. The chair was much smaller than she remembered; The wooden desk in front of her, covered in etchings and symbols from past students from Georgetown. Looking around, Elizabeth observed the eerily familiar walls, old and withering maps adorning the wooden planks, and the same dirty and rusted blackboard at the front of the room. Chalk laid scattered about the floor, the dust collecting in shallow piles on the floor.

The window to her right, the one she would usually sit next to, was open. Outside, she saw the familiar head of red hair, her husband giving her a moment alone.The landscape beyond him consisted of an array of trees scattered about the horizon that still called out to her, as it always has.

But now.

Now she knew what it was like to have an education outside the four walls of the small school house. Now she knew exactly what it took to go beyond these confines of the small Georgetown, and that she had what it took to get there.

Elizabeth now knew what was beyond the trees in the horizon, and she planned to know even more.

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Let me know if you liked it! And if you would like to see more of my not fandom related writing as well! Thank you!

#prose writing #creative writing #original character #not marvel #1800's #1800's aesthetic #western #western au #western aesthetic #short story #poem #poetry #fictional #researched fiction

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yehet-me-up · 6 years ago

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A Truth Universally Acknowledged - Chapter One

Pairing (this chapter): Junmyeon x Reader (female)

Genre: Jane Austen-inspired, Regency fun + angst

Rating: PG (this chapter)

Word Count: 5,296

Summary: A chance meeting brings a handsome, charming man named Jun into your life and your heart. But as your family gets used to their new life after a scandalous loss of money and status, the obstacles between the two of you stack up.

Moodboard by @gingersaysjump A GODDESS, TRULY 😍

A/N: I’m indebted to Shanae and Kat @yeoldontknow for support and plotting with me and for fanning the flames of this series. 💕😘

Story Masterlist

The meal is half finished by the time your father finally joins the breakfast table; ambling and struggling to remain proud even in the face of ruin.

He sits down at the head of the table like the king of a crumbling country, lost and diminished with lack of purpose.

Your mother watches him anxiously, her toast abandoned on her plate as she takes in his drawn brow. He clutches a letter in his hand, his mouth thinning to a tight line.

Across the table, you and your sister meet each other’s gaze. She chews anxiously on her bottom lip and you give her a small shrug of surrender. Since word came out that your family’s fortune was lost in a series of bad investments, the news of your fate has felt like a sword hanging above your head.

But now, apparently, the sword has fallen.

Your father clears his throat. ‘John has written to me.’ The words stretch out into a pause.

With a noise of frustration your mother drops her glass to the table. ‘And?’

He can’t meet her eyes, staring at the unfolded paper in his hand. ‘The house has been purchased. And at ten percent over what we asked for.’

Your sister raises her brow. ‘Why on earth would someone pay more?’

He clears his throat, awkwardly looking out the wide dining room window to the lush garden beyond. ‘We... came to an agreement.’

Dread settles low in your stomach. Whatever this agreement is, you have a sickening feeling it involves you.

‘As Mary and Daniel will be coming with your mother and I to Bath, the house will be lacking proper help,’ he says softly, ashamed. ‘The new owner inquired as to whether my daughters would be willing to remain at the house under his employ. Your room and board will be provided for.’

Your sister stands, fire in her eyes. She slams her palms on the thick wood table. She is a spark, always a roaring blaze, while you are the embers, burning hot beneath the surface, consuming yourself with indignation.

‘You mean he offered us the gracious opportunity to be servants in our own home? And you accepted?’ She demands sharply, rooting out the truth with a voice like a knife.

Next to you, your mother drops her head into her hands, quietly weeping. ‘How could you?’ she pleads.

When she looks up her cheeks are shiny with tears. ‘How will our daughters ever find husbands now Richard? What will become of them?’

He straightens, trying to regain some of his pride. ‘It seemed the best situation… for all.’

Your mother and sister scoff but all you can do is stare at the way the light glints off the water in your cup in front of you. Sadness settles over you, heavy and resigned, and you try to find something positive to cling to.

‘This is humiliating,’ your sister hisses. She folds her arm and goes to stand at the window, radiating shame and heat.

‘We have hardly enough money for your mother and I to live. There is not enough to- you would have had to support yourself somehow anyway. There are still those in this village who are sympathetic to us. It seemed... the best solution.’

‘What about Bradley?’ your sister asks. The fact that your brother is able to work a respectable job and earn his own living is a wedge between him and you two.

‘Your brother will remain here in town, as well,’ he says. ‘The Allens have consented to let him sleep in the back room of the shop, in exchange for some extra work he will do from now on.’

Silence falls in the room.

Finally you speak, resigned to this fate. ‘When?’

Everyone turns to your father. ‘Well. Your mother and I are essentially packed. The furniture, the art, most of the clothes will remain here with the house or be sold to appease our debts.’

‘We can’t even take our clothes?’ your sister demands. Her one true love is fashion and this must cut her deep.

He raises a hand. ‘Now, now darling. You can select three gowns to take with you to the servant’s quarters. That should be plenty. And Mary has a few spare work dresses she can leave behind for you and your sister.’

She glares at him, resembling a snake, spitting venom. ‘When? A month? A week?’

Your father pauses, rubbing his eyes. He looks as old as time itself when he finally looks around the table. ‘Tomorrow.’

The word is akin to a punch in your gut and you gasp. It’s drowned out by your mother and sister speaking in unison.

He makes a noise like a bear. ‘Your mother and I will depart in the morning. The two of you will move into the servants cottage tomorrow and begin preparing the house for the new tenant. Anna will be staying here, she will show you what to do.’

‘I’ll be meeting him later today to formalize the papers with the clerk.’ Message delivered, he slumps back in his chair. The last of his kingdom gone.

The wounded pride, your family name tarnished, you could tolerate. What use have you for the opinions of the small-minded people in town, as long as those you love are happy and in good health?

But the sight of him like this, broken and hollow, undoes you. Robs you of the naive hope you’ve kept hidden in your heart for weeks. That somehow this was all a joke. That it would somehow be fine.

The stories you read had built up in your mind a fervent hope in divine intervention. A distant relative who would take you in. A gift from a wealthy friend who takes pity on you. A fairy godmother or a magical witch to grant your deepest wishes.

But as you listen to the sounds of baking through the open kitchen door, you know it is well and truly over. Neither of your parents have siblings of means. Your best friend, Maggie, has to work as a seamstress to help her husband’s meager income. Fairies and witches only exist between the pages of books.

No one is coming to rescue you.

Your parents will be far away. Any hope you had of a life spent in the gardens - reading and laughing with your sister and Maggie - is dashed. Freedom leeches from your life and you find it suddenly very hot in the room.

Soon, you will be forced to marry to survive, whoever will take you. Either that or spend your days working in the kitchens, scrubbing pots and floors and pillow cases until your fingers grow old with age.

‘I’m coming with you,’ your sister says harshly. ‘I want to look this man in the eyes before you sign our fates away.’

He waves a hand listlessly in agreement. Despair roars in your chest and you stand abruptly, chair clattering to the floor behind you.

‘I’m sorry, I have to- I can’t breathe,’ you say, heart thundering in your chest.

You turn and rush through the entry to the kitchen, your father calling after you. But you don’t stop as you run through the back door out into the yard. The chill of winter is finally melting from the earth and it cools your skin as you run like a woman possessed.

The length of your dress threatens to trip you and you gather the fabric in your arms with an uncharacteristic growl of frustration. Frustration at the stupid material, impeding your desperate run. Frustration at your father and mother for what feels like abandonment. Frustration at the men in your family for losing your very livelihood.

Frustration at whoever purchased Springwoods for offering this ludicrous arrangement. He must be an old man, you think savagely, as you leave the neatly trimmed garden of your family’s home and enter the wild field beyond.

The path through the expansive, unclaimed territory at the edge of the town leads to a small hill and you dash up it as though salvation is at the top.

An old man with a miserable wife and several greedy children. You hate them all already with a fire you didn’t know you possessed.

The vitriol of your thoughts makes you stop and catch your breath. You drop to your knees in the long grass with surrender.

No, you shake your head. No matter how horrible this feels, you vow to not let circumstances turn you cruel, mean, and bitter.

For long moments you breathe, savoring the sweet smell in the air. It must have rained last night while you slept, for the air is rich and full with the scent of earth and the ground is damp beneath your palms.

You wish it would rain again; cleanse the world back to what it was before the news of your family’s ruin. But the sky is clear and the sun shines tauntingly through the white clouds.

If the world refuses to offer you relief, you’ll give it to yourself. Underneath the great tree at the top of the hill you allow the tears to fall. Up here there’s no one but the wind to hear your sobs.

Just when you begin to wonder if there are no more miracles in the world, you see something that feels positively magical.

On your left you hear barking and you watch as a large golden-brown dog comes barreling up to you. Your mouth falls open with surprise as the creature reaches you.

He pants, his tongue to the side. His mouth pulls back in what you would consider a smile if he were human.

‘Well, hello there,’ you say with a laugh. He roots himself under one of your arms, wiggling to settle himself against you. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.’

You giggle when he looks up at you, eyes wide with innocence. Without hesitation you begin to pet his head. He closes his eyes and makes a rumbling noise of pleasure that melts your heart.

‘Where did you come from, little love?’ you ask him around the thickness in your throat.

He lifts his head and his tail starts to wag, thumping against your side and back. You see what he’s excitedly watching - a man is making his way up the hill.

A noise of surprise leaves you. You can’t help it, this man looks like an angel or a God; something powerful and radiant, impossible and otherworldly.

His black hair sweeps messily across his forehead in the wind. The white shirt and black pants he wears fit him perfectly. He must have some money, then, if he can afford such nice, tailored garments.

He’s not from here, though; you absolutely would have remembered meeting him. He seems to have appeared suddenly from your imagination. His face is open and unbelievably handsome in a way that makes you smooth your free hand through your hair self-consciously.

When he reaches you and your new furry companion, he laughs. The sound is melodic and deep, reaching down to your bones.

‘There you are, you rascal,’ he says to the dog with amusement in his warm, dark eyes. ‘I see you’ve made a new friend.’

His attention turns to you and heat blooms in your face under his gentle scrutiny. There are several boys in town you entertained a fancy for growing up, but none of them made you feel this way - the way the air feels heavy and dangerous when a storm is brewing.

But this is not a boy, you think. This is a man.

To avoid embarrassing yourself further you turn away, wiping at the tears on your cheeks with the back of your hand.

From the edge of your vision you see him sit next to you, leaning his head on one elbow and stretching his legs out in front of him. He does it casually, as though he happens upon women crying in the wild every day.

You sniffle, hating how small and fragile it sounds.

‘I think our new friend is sad, Oliver,’ he says softly, petting the dog’s head. ‘I wonder if there is anything we can do to help her.’

When you turn back to him he’s looking up at you with warmth and compassion. The sincerity and honesty of him is readily apparent.

‘You already did, just by being here,’ you answer, attempting a small smile.

He smiles broadly and you think of the stars, shining on a clear summer night. You think of him as a creature from the forest beyond this field, sent by magic to come and whisk you away from your fate.

You imagine him riding away with you on a great white horse like some knight of old. In this moment you’d go wherever he wanted to take you.

‘No one should be alone when they are crying,’ he says gently.

His mouth tugs to the side, his thick brows pull together. He looks as though he speaks from experience and you wonder what sadness has visited his life.

Against reason you feel instinctively protective of him. Something in his nature is too open, too ready to help, and you feel a desire to shield him from everyone in the world that would take advantage of him.

Oliver shakes himself before resting his head on your knee, looking at you and begging you to pet him. You chuckle and wind your fingers through the soft fur at his neck.

The man laughs, the rich sound spreading along your skin like a balm. ‘Sorry about him, he’s a bit… wild. He’s not used to being in the company of beautiful ladies.’

He fights the tug of his lips as he watches you. His words undress you with his boldness, warm your heart and make your chest feel pleasantly heavy.

‘Untamed, wild things are the best of all, I think,’ you answer confidently, leaning back on your own elbow, mirroring his pose.

Oliver stretches out in response, sticking his nose in between the fabric at your knees and huffing. The man sighs. It’s impossible to tear your focus away from the playful glint in his eyes, the comfort you feel around him wholly unprecedented

He raises a brow and cocks his head, considering. ‘Yes, I think you are absolutely right.’ He smiles at you like the two of you now share a secret.

If he were Joseph, the barrister your mother has been shoving you towards for years, he’d turn the conversation to matters of politics. If he were Lord Clarke, he’d bore you to tears with tales of his days at sea with the Navy. If he were your brother Bradley, he’d make some inappropriate joke to get a rise out of you.

But he proves himself to be an unexpected kind of man.

‘Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave…’ he says dreamily, looking up at the swaying branches of the great tree before meeting your focus once again.

This time there’s a heat, a knowing, in his expression that feels like the time you burned yourself on a candle. But this burn is far more pleasant.

You laugh with joy and surprise, the grief and anguish from an hour ago feel acres away from you.

It occurs to you to remember your manners. You should sit up, straighten your dress; ask after his name, his family, his occupation. But up here, above the town, slightly damp and dirty, amongst the wind and the unruly grass, you can’t find it in you to care.

‘You like Keats?’

He nods. ‘I prefer Lord Byron, myself. But I can’t deny the beauty of Keats.’

Delight flares in your chest. ‘I adore Byron, the scoundrel. ‘Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.’’

He smiles and hums, satisfied at something. The sun breaks through the clouds and he follows it, watching as it dances along the folds of your dress down to the sliver of exposed skin at your ankle.

You should find your dignity and cover it. He should stop looking. But neither of you move.

He breathes deeply and you watch as the motion moves the fabric of his shirt. Absently you wonder what his skin would be like beneath your lips. If it would be as warm and soft as it looks.

The bell in town distantly sounds the hour and you both jolt; the spell is broken. You tuck your legs under you, feeling as though a pitcher of cold water has been poured over your head.

The wildness in his eyes is hidden safely away when he looks back to you. ‘I’m sorry, I have an appointment in town I cannot miss.’

You nod sadly, wishing you could stay here forever. ‘I should get back to-’ you start, unable to give voice to the tangle of circumstances that await you back home. ‘I should get back.’

He stands, dusting himself off. Oliver stirs, raising himself and running in a lazy circle around his master.

The man moves closer, offering you his hands. Something warns you not to touch him. Warns you that once you know what his palms feel like against yours, the sensation will haunt you all the rest of your days.

Ignoring reason, you reach for him with a recklessness born of longing. He clasps his hands around yours and pulls you upright. You stare at him and savor the heat and the roughness of him against you, unwilling and unable to release him.

His thumbs lightly stroke the top of your hands; a thrilling and foreign sensation builds in you. The way he watches you reminds you of the cover of a book you saw, hidden away in the back of the shop. Swirls of reds and oranges. A couple in an embrace. Hands and lips and nakedness and everything forbidden and raw and sensual you had longed to know.

Your rational mind reminds you of your family, waiting for you, mourning and broken. You take a step back, dropping your hands and regarding him with surprise and a tinge of fear.

This is a dangerous thing. And you cannot afford the luxury of danger.

You curtsy for him, trying to remember how you are supposed to act. ‘Good day, sir.’

He frowns, shaken. But his good breeding takes over and he bows to you formally in return, dissonant with the lawless nature sprawling around you.

‘Good day, miss,’ he says politely in return. ‘I hope to see you again.’

Swallowing all the desperate and foolish things you with to say to him, you simply nod. Before you can do something truly reckless you turn and hurry down the hill.

‘Wait, I forgot to get your name!’ he calls out, sounding desperate.

You turn and don’t fight the smile that graces your lips. You shout your name to him and he reaches a hand in the air, pretending to catch it and tuck it in his breast pocket.

‘My name is Jun,’ he shouts back and you mimic his motion, pretending to hold his name in your hand.

For long seconds you hold his gaze, once again wishing you could leave with him and never return. When you turn from his sight you imagine hiding his name away inside your chest.

The walk back to your house feels effortless, as though you are floating on air. A giddy lightness lives in your heart alongside his name and refuses to abandon you.

You skip breakfast and stay in bed the next morning for as long as you can, savoring the softness and comfort of your bed, knowing you won’t sleep in it again.

When you cannot delay any further you rise and dress yourself in a simple purple dress and plain shoes.

With a heavy heart you pack two more dresses, one plain and blue, the other white and finer, into a square of fabric with some underclothes. Along with that you add a pair of sturdier walking shoes, the essentials you need for your hygiene, and your favorite book of stories.

Once the task is complete you linger to make the bed, straightening the already tidy room, and to stare out the small window out at the garden and the field beyond.

You sigh. Yesterday you felt magic in your fingertips, that around Jun anything was possible.

Today, by yourself, you feel small and human and fragile. As though you are already fading away in the background of his house.

‘Time to go,’ you say to yourself, to the room that is no longer yours.

Gathering the corners of the fabric together, you pull the small bundle into your arms. In the hallway you find your sister with a similar pile of fabric and items.

‘I don’t care what he says, I’m taking four dresses,’ she says, indignant and regal, like a queen.

You laugh, reassured that even though everything has changed, you still have each other.

The departure of your parents is strained and emotional, but neither you nor your sister cry as they drive off. You’ll need all the strength you have to face the days ahead and it wouldn’t do to break down now.

Once their carriage disappears around the bend you go to set up your meager possessions in the small corner of the servant’s cottage. Two beds and a small closet to share now belong to you and your sister. A short few minutes later you head off to the house to begin your new life as servants.

The two of you find Anna, the housekeeper, in the kitchen inventorying the food. Lucy, a woman in her early twenties and a close friend of you and your sister, gives you a nod as she kneads a mound of dough.

Aside from Anna, the only members of the staff left are Frederick the butler, promoted from footman at Daniel’s departure, and Lucy, a kitchenmaid who is now the head cook of the house with Mary gone.

Anna notices you both standing there. ‘Good morning ladies. We all know the state of affairs here,’ she says with characteristic bluntness.

‘Your father told me the new family is bringing a ladies maid. So, one of you will help out in the kitchens with the cooking and one of you will need to tidy the rooms and do the laundry. It’s up to you to decide, I know you’re both capable young ladies.’

You and your sister look at each other and both start talking at the same time.

‘Well, obviously -’ ‘Of course, I’d-’

She laughs and looks at Anna. ‘I’ll cook and she’ll clean.’

‘Exactly,’ you say in agreement, a smile pulling at your lips.

Everyone knows you’re an awful cook and she’s messier than a hoard of wild animals. Anna chuckles and rolls her eyes. Maybe this won’t be so awful, you think with a small candle of hope in your heart.

‘What time are they arriving?’ you ask Anna, already imagining the dozens of things that must need to be done.

‘They’ll be here for dinner.’ She says before waving a hand at you both. ‘Go on, get out of the house. Enjoy the day. Lucy and I have the meals for today. The house is in fine state. We can start on your duties tomorrow morning,’ she says with a wink.

‘Let’s go to the market, shall we?’ your sister asks, a light in her eyes you haven’t seen in weeks.

The air in the town is hot and close, crowded with shoppers and sellers. You and your sister cling to each other until you pass through to one of the quieter side streets.

Neither of you are inclined toward melancholy. Despite the change in fortune and status, you’re both determined to enjoy yourselves.

‘Hmm, what shall we buy today?’ she muses, knowing full well neither of you can afford a single thing.

Always ready to play a game, you join her. ‘Let’s buy another horse for our extravagant carriage. Perhaps some jewel-encrusted slippers for the next ball.’

She laughs, squeezing your arm. A shop selling ribbons, bows, and other assorted fabric is just ahead. She dashes inside and unfurls a length of long pink ribbon from a display, wrapping it around her waist dramatically.

‘And I shall buy a new dress, the most lavish and expensive one we can find,’ she says, fanning her lashes and pouting her lips absurdly.

You laugh so hard you almost snort and clasp your hand to your mouth. She fixes the ribbon and twines her arm through yours again, pulling you forward, cackling happily in your ear.

On days like these the loneliness and drudgery of country life seems far away and manageable. On days like these, when the sun is shining and there are reasons to laugh, life seems downright idyllic.

The two of you round a corner and the sight of a pair of men up ahead makes your heart leap into your throat.

Though he’s cleaned up a bit, one of the men is definitely Jun. Color rises in your cheeks at the sight of him, the way his lips pout as he speaks to his companion.

He laughs, reaching a hand to the other man’s arm in delight. This man wears the standard red and gold military dress, highlighting the auburn tint to his hair. Jun is much more formally attired today in white trousers, polished leather boots, and a high-collared, deep blue shirt, confirming your suspicion that he has money.

His eyes crinkle in the corners and your stomach flips with something hot and untamable. You freeze to the spot and your sister tugs on your arm.

‘What? What is it?’ your sister asks, looking around.

You pull her back slightly around the corner so you can observe. ‘That man, up ahead. That’s the one I met yesterday. Jun,’ you say, unable to help your grin when you say his name.

She turns and scans the crowd before frowning. ‘Oh no. Him? In the blue shirt?’

You frown in confusion at the intense dislike in her voice and follow her gaze. ‘Certainly you can’t dislike Jun?’ you ask, searching her face for signs she’s joking. ‘He must be new to town, what can he have done?’

Aside from Jun and his friend the only other people on the street are women and children shopping for food at the grocers across the way.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the gentleman in the blue shirt - I met him yesterday,’ she points, none too discreetly, to Jun. Her intense bright eyes brook no laughter. ‘That is Lord Junmyeon Kim, the man who has purchased Springwoods from us.’

‘Oh.’ Your whole being sags in disappointment against the stone wall.

Already your foolish and impetuous heart had fantasized about seeing him again. Last night, when you told your sister about the things he said, the way he made you feel, you’d felt brighter than the moon shining in the sky.

But if he is the new owner of your family estate, then there are several monumental obstacles between you now. While he is no old man, he might be mean and dreadful underneath his cheerful exterior.

When he realizes you are not only a servant, but a servant in his very home, he will certainly never take you seriously. You clasp your hands together at your chest to stifle your dismay. How on earth can you face him now?

‘And so we meet again,’ comes a warm male voice to your right.

You turn, gasping in surprise when you see Jun and his companion standing next to you. You were so distracted you didn’t even hear them approach.

He’s fighting a smile again, his lips twitching at catching you off guard.

‘Hello again, Lord Kim,’ your sister says pointedly, curtsying to him. ‘May I introduce you to my sister?’

You grit your teeth and follow her lead, forcing yourself to keep your emotion locked inside as you curtsy to the new Master of Springwoods. Your hope and joy at his presence turns to embarrassment in the pit of your stomach as you straighten to look at him.

He looks to your sister and falters, his attention darting between the two of you, no doubt putting things together. His easy, open expression draws back into something confused. After a beat he bows to you both.

‘Pleasure to see you again, ladies,’ he says, resigned, brows pulled together. ‘You must be Lord Hayward’s youngest daughter then?’

You nod. The moment stretches out while you get lost in his eyes once more. You wish there was some way to undo this moment and return you to the purity and lightness of yesterday on the hill. No doubt he realizes how lowly you are in comparison to him and wants nothing further to do with you. Given the circumstances, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him, either.

Blessedly, you're all saved by the military man.

He bows. 'Don't worry, I'll introduce myself,' he says gamely. 'My name is Colonel Kim Minseok. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies.'

The corners of his mouth tip up like a cat and you feel your sister grab at your elbow like you've always done when trying to discreetly get each other's attention.

There's something playful and mischievous in his face and you look between the two of them. Your sister's cheeks color and she bites her lip. As always, she is able to recover and cut through awkward situations with grace.

'So, what brings the two of you to the market today?' she asks the Colonel in an attempt at conversation.

'Ah, well. My friend Jun here is new to the life of a Lord and I decided he simply must stop dressing like some retired military scoundrel and look the part,' he says, motioning to a shop up the road.

'Oooh, I love Taylor and Sons,' your sister exclaims, clasping her hands together in delight.

She takes a step towards the Colonel and asks how a military man came to be have such exquisite taste in fashion. In the space left by the pair of them you and Jun regard each other.

‘And how are you today... Lord Kim?’ You hope he can’t see the way you knead your palm with your thumb in the folds of your dress, doing your best to stay composed.

He winces. 'Please, call me Jun.' His expression implores you, attempting to draw you back into his warmth.

But if your mother bred nothing else into you, she always encouraged you to be polite and formal. Though she could never curb your wild and imaginative nature, you can't help but follow her lessons on decorum. It gives you the feeling of being in control in spite of your aching heart, and you cling to it.

'I think we had better remain on formal terms, Lord Kim, given our mutual statuses,' you say softly.

'Please, if we could -' he starts, reaching a hand to the space between you, seeming saddened at thought.

But something behind him catches your attention and he stops speaking to look at what caused the sudden change in your mood.

Your older brother Bradley steps out of the men’s club opposite you, looking far more disheveled than usual, especially given the early hour. He looks awful, hair matted and eyes hollow, a large stain on his shirt.

He darts a calculating look up and down the street before turning up his collar and hurrying off. It's such an odd moment you can hardly believe it's the same person you've known all your life.

'Do you know that man?' Jun asks, perplexed.

If he was gambling... Gods, how much more trouble can this family cause in one week, you think with a sigh. An instinct to preserve what is left of your family’s reputation makes you move.

'Sister, we must go,' you call to her abruptly, interrupting her conversation and stepping forward to grasp her clothed elbow.

She looks at you with confusion, as do Lord Kim and Colonel Minseok. 'Now?'

'Yes, now,' you say, trying to convey to her the urgency of the moment with a look. 'Please.'

With a sad look to the Colonel she nods and winds her arm through yours. 'Well, it's been a pleasure Colonel.' She smiles at him and her mouth sours with tension when she looks at Jun. 'Lord Kim.'

The last thing you see as you pull her back towards the direction Bradley went is the unguarded expression of longing on Jun's face as he watches you hurry away.

#exo fanfic #exo au #exo x reader #suho x reader #suho fanfic #junmyeon fanfic #junmyeon x reader #exo fluff

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