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obbystars · 28 days

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Little Light

Synopsis: Not quite sent from above.

Notes: OC-Insert/Self-insert / Sebastian Solace x Oberon Sol / Oberon lore! / also not romantic despite the oc/self-insert ship lol / cursing / just silly ideas in here / p.AI.nter’s in here! / NOT CONNECTED TO SALVATION as this one is actually adding Oberon into the lore of Pressure / You can read Oberon’s document!

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(I said this wouldn’t be often but I’m getting ideas uhhhhhhh- anyway I have been thinking about trying my hand at p.AI.nter for a bit. He probably won’t be added to the list though.)

He’s not quite sure how long it’s been since he’s been locked in this containment cell. Thankfully, he does remember how he got here and clearly too. He managed to locate one of the facilities that’s owned by the sinners he’s been keeping an eye on. He went as far as to dive into the water and pierce through the Veil of the Let-Vand Zone. The water pressure didn’t even affect him, but he didn’t get very far before they spotted him. It only took minutes before all eyes were on him, but he didn’t fight back and let them take him.

Now all he felt were needles in his skin as he was held up by some sort of mechanism. He’s aware of what they’re doing and what they’re going to use it for, but he didn’t feel as angry as he probably should be. Despite all he had witnessed, he didn’t hate them for any of this. He’s not quite sure why.

He feels his wings chained down like that was going to do anything. One of the researchers got a little too close for comfort, and he admits that he may have been a little too harsh towards them. Now, because of that, they put a heavy metal box over his head. The voices outside were muffled, sometimes he heard machines moving, and sometimes he hears a door opening and closing.

Maybe curiosity did kill the cat. He vaguely remembers a discussion of a Guardian Angel being locked up in this place too for the same reason. He wonders where they could be held at. Sure his relationship with the other angels were rather complicated, but he can’t just turn away from something like that. There’ll be an opening soon enough. He just needs to wait, and frankly, he has all the time in the world.

He’ll just close his eyes for a little while. He wonders how many people have passed through his realm only to be greeted by no one. What form did he leave it in again?

However many hours, days, weeks, or months it’s been, he eventually hears a loud blaring sound followed up with an announcement he can’t quite hear. Something must be wrong, but that might mean this is his chance. He attempts to move his wings, but they could only twitch. He never realized just how tight the binds were, but he’s not surprised.

After a few hours, he hears machines moving until he’s suddenly dropped. The binds on his wings had fallen off as well. All that was left was the box on his head. He feels around the metal structure until he feels something that could resemble a lock. It doesn’t feel like a usual lock that needs a basic key for it, but if he could just…

A beep is heard and the box opens with a hiss. He pulls it off to be greeted by a dark room lit up with faint red lights. He drops the box and begins to stretch out his wings, his arms, and his legs.

…Now where was he?

The glass in front of him had shattered which gave him an opening to leave the containment room. He saw some scratch marks left by something big on the other side. He ultimately ignores it as his main concern at the moment is the location of the Guardian Angel. He wonders how they’ll react to him, but that’s saying if they even know him and what he does.

He shrugs it off, knowing full well he doesn’t expect nor does he look for forgiveness for it. Helping them would simply be his decision, but if he were to encounter anyone here who was an unfortunate victim under the sinners, then they would be his top priority. He hasn’t run into anyone yet, which made him feel relieved. Hopefully the people here managed to get out unscathed.

As he steps out into a hall, another loud blaring sound echoed through the facility.

“Attention, Z-222 has escaped containment. Do not let it leave the blacksite.”

He looks up, noticing a camera pointing at him. He raises a finger and swipes, knocking it off its hinges and shattering. That may be problematic. He’ll have to be careful from now on to avoid getting captured again. While he’s at it, perhaps he could also take a look around and see what others things are being kept here. Hopefully one of the rooms will have the Guardian Angel.

What he ended up getting caught up on, however, were some documents that had been left behind. Every single one he’s found in containment rooms, whether it was still intact or not, he thoroughly read the document. He’s not quite sure why, but he’s learned new things about this world with every document he’s picked up. He never knew such things existed until now.

As he opens more and more doors, the more he feels frustration beginning to boil up. There has been no documents mentioning the Guardian Angel, no clues on where they could be keeping them. Perhaps it was a good move for them to keep them separated, but damn it. Just how big was this place?

He comes across yet another room with two ways to go, but one of the large door’s wheels begin to turn. With no where else to go, he retreats into the side room just behind the other door and closes it before they could see him. He steps back from the door and turns around to see a computer with almost a cartoon-like face draw on it. It was locked behind a cage.

“O-Oh! Hello!” They chimed, “Uh… You don’t look like one of the workers here… H-How did you escape?”

A talking machine? And one that seems intelligent than the majority. Sentient, too.

He tilts his head, “I wish I knew, strange one. Perhaps someone had released me, but I never saw them as the people here had put a box over my head,”

“Someone released you? Oh, that must’ve been Sebastian then!”

“Hm? Sebastian?”

“Oh, right.. Box over your head,” the machine hummed, “He’s a pretty big guy. Uh, he’s blue, has an angler light bulb and a long tail. I think you’ll know it’s him when you actually see him,”

“You say as if I should go speak to him,”

Maybe his tone was a bit off which caused the machine to seem slightly nervous. He’s still not quite used to interacting with others despite his constant visits to the living realm and his interactions with their souls in his own little realm. Business talk can be vastly different from casual, after all.

“I-I mean-! You don’t HAVE to if you don’t want to!” They exclaimed, frantically trying to explain, “I just think maybe… Maybe if you wanna get out of here too, you could talk to him. He said he’d help me get out too, so…”

He thought about it for a moment. This machine seems oddly human despite it clearly being a simple program, but the tone, the face drawn on the screen, the reactions they express… It was like a person’s consciousness was in it. Strange.

“Tell me. What is your name?”

“My name? I mean, everyone really just called me “the painter.” Or just Painter. Even my… My creator,”

The sudden pause and shift in tone in their voice caught their attention. This brings him to ask, “What was your creator’s name?”

The machine looks up at him. They were silent until their expression changed into a rather sad one, “███████ ███████████████,”

That name was on a file in his realm. He remembers reading it as he stumbled upon his realm. If there was another face underneath the black mask, he was sure he’d be smiling. He had a pleasant talk with him when he passed by his realm. To this day, he still wonders why ███████ ultimately chose death over life.

“He was a good man, Painter,”

It was almost as if the machine’s expression lit up, “W-Wait, you knew him?! But, how-?”

“Please, I’d rather not fry your circuits,” he laughed, “But believe me when I tell you that he is at peace,”

“Well… O-Okay, I’ll believe you. I guess it’s nice to know he’s in a better place now,” as the machine says that, the lights suddenly flickered, “Oh, don’t go anywhere yet,”

He stares at them for a moment before the floor begins to shake. He had to balance himself as the trembles intensified and a muffled roar was heard just beyond the door.

The machine sighed, “Yeah, that’s been happening a lot lately. Been seeing it happen on the cameras before whatever it was knocked it out,”

“I see. I’ll keep an eye out then,”

The machine’s face turned into a smile, “What’s your name by the way?”

It was his turn to stare at the machine in silence. Part of him figured they already knew, but he stands corrected.

“The sinners called me Z-222. But for you, Painter, it is Oberon Sol,”

“Z-222? Oberon Sol… Ohh! You’re the one they mentioned in the announcement a few hours ago!”

He laughs, nodding, “Yes, the very same. I should run along now and find this Sebastian you mentioned. Until we meet again, Painter, and maybe then I’ll try my hand at painting with you,”

“Really? You mean it? Okay! I’ll see you around!”

Oberon nods, opening the door slightly to check if there was no one. Once he confirmed the room was empty, he leaves and makes sure to close the door behind him. He makes a break for it through the door that had opened.

He’s been trying to keep track of time in his head. It must’ve been around five to six hours since he was awakened by the alarms. Maybe even more. He hasn’t seen any clocks around to properly keep track of time, but perhaps that was intentional when this place was made. You’d only know if you are told or you have a watch that still works.

He comes across a somewhat narrow tunnel. He can’t see anything outside the windows other than the occasional underwater bombs that look a bit too close even for tempered glass. It was way too quiet as well. He hasn’t seen anyone, let alone any of the researchers or even the guardsmen. Part of him begins to wonder if the people who were in charge of him are still alive.

He hoped so.

He soon finds himself looking through drawers, looking for anything that may prove useful later. Light sources, however, aren’t that useful to him. He can create his own ball of light after all.

The next room he stumbles into has its glass slightly broken. It was enough to have water start leaking through, but he quickly notices that one of the edges is slightly darker. It’s red.

This blood’s fresh…

He decides to follow it, eventually reaching the end of the tunnels and a room with five corpses. These people didn’t look like workers or even the guards. Those were prisoner outfits. Seeing them like this caused his chest to feel a bit heavy. Did they send them down here? How cruel.

There’s no blood coming from any of them. There didn’t seem to be any physical done to them, at least on the outside. He kneels down to one, checking to see if he can find out what happened and maybe even recognize this one’s face.

He can’t figure out what happened. He’ll need to look through their file in his realm, but that right now can’t be done.

He returns his attention to the blood trail as it implies the person had checked each one before they moved on to the next. Looting, perhaps. The trail then leads to the next room over. Before he exits, he looks back to the bodies and only hopes that their deaths were swift and painless.

As he stepped into the next room and closed the door, he heard a click and felt something press against the side of his head.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you trailing me,” the voice growled.

He turns to the person as his small wing gently pushed the gun away. Half of his body was strangely human with an extra arm, clearly bleeding but looked to be bandaged up recently, an angler lure above his head, and a rather long fish tail as the other half of his body. He matched the description Painter had provided.

He fully turns to him, “Sebastian, I assume? Were you the one who freed me?”

“Maybe,” he doesn’t lower his gun, “I freed a lot of creatures held here, and a lot of them just mindlessly kill everything around them,”

“Fortunately for you, I don’t fall under that category. I refuse to take human life, let alone even try to harm them,”

Sebastian still doesn’t lower his gun until Oberon gently pushes it down with his hand, “A little painter told me that perhaps I should talk to you should I wish to leave this place. I assume you have a plan in mind,”

“So you met Painter, huh? He didn’t tell you what the deal was?”

“Perhaps he believed it to be best if I heard it from you,”

Sebastian sighed, putting the gun away, “Heard they’re trying to retrieve a crystal that’s deep in the facility. Apparently, it’s the main thing powering this entire place,”

“So you need to make sure the crystal isn’t picked up until you manage to find a way out,” Oberon hums, “Very well. I can assist in that,”

“You catch on quick, but you just said you wouldn’t even think of harming other people,”

“I did, but it is rather easy to throw someone off the guided path,” he snaps his finger, then points to the door behind him, “Remind me. What is behind that door?”

Sebastian turns to the door, then looks back at him, “Are you stupid or something? Didn’t you just come from that door?”

“What is behind that door?” Oberon repeats.

“The door leads to the trench tunnels,”

“It leads to a hotel lobby,”

Sebastian scoffs, “Now you’re just being ridiculous. How would a hotel lobby even-?”

As he opened the door that was supposed to lead to the trench tunnels, he was instead greeted by exactly what Oberon had said. Suddenly, he was in a hotel lobby. Oberon stands up and walks into the lobby, lighting up the fireplace. Slowly, Sebastian follows.

“What the f-?”

“I’ve made it so that it at least matches the style of this facility so it is not too out of place,” he cuts him off, “Although, perhaps if I had kept the original look, it’d make people really stop and question where exactly they are,”

“Is this a real place? Those people that were just here. Where did they-?”

He nods, “Not in this room as I pulled this one straight from where it came. Wherever this path leads, I suppose I can say I only hope they tread carefully if they wish to get through. They are not safe from the monsters you’ve released,”

Sebastian gives him a rather irritated look with that statement, one that Oberon ignores. He instead asks, “Did you know those people?”

“No. But I can only assume they’re expendable ranked prisoners. Their lives don’t matter to Urbanshade and are just used as cannon fodder. Seems to me they’re the ones being sent here to get that crystal now,”

Oberon says nothing to that. He should’ve expected such a thing existed.

“You’re leading them to their deaths, you know. That’s still killing them,” Sebastian then continues as he looks down to him, “No matter how you try putting it, them dying here will be your doing,”

Oberon is silent. Although, perhaps that’s not so different to what he normally does anyway. When people meet their end, they are brought to him and he guides them to their final destination wherever it might be. Guiding them to death.

“I still give them the chance to save themself. It’s an opportunity still wide enough for them to keep pushing forward. If I really wanted them dead, I wouldn’t give them places to hide and to retreat to,”

Even when guiding others to their death, he still gives them the option to go back and live just a little longer. This was the same thing, right? He gives them opportunities, chances, a choice. He gives them exactly what they need to keep pushing forward.

Oberon looks up to Sebastian, two stars appearing in his right eye, “You request that the retrieval of the crystal is to be delayed for as long as possible. Well, this is my method. I’m sure the one named Painter has their own methods as well, and whatever that may be, I will not interfere. A human’s will to live and desire for freedom can be extraordinary. I don’t doubt there will be one who will fight through it all and get what they so desire,”

He can see anger beginning to boil up in him as he says that, “What about what I want? Ten fucking years in this hell, and this is my chance for freedom! I had to be put through this shit before I could even think of fighting for my freedom!”

“And I don’t doubt you’ll get what you want soon enough,” Oberon lowered his head, “This is all I am capable of doing, and I apologize I cannot do more for you or Painter,”

“Aren’t you an angel? Wouldn’t the others like you come and get you out of here? Surely they can’t just leave one of their own stuck in a place like this,”

“Even if I could call them here, that wouldn’t be possible. There was a reason why the others didn’t assist the Guardian Angel of the Banlands when the sinners were there. There’s a reason why none of them tried to get them out of here, and there’s a reason why they want my light extinguished,”

Sebastian’s eyes widen a bit at that, “Extinguished? As in dead?”

He nods, “I don’t deny that I am guilty for something I did and that I still do. One rule we angels have is to never interfere with human life, much like their cycle of life. To you, death is the end, but not unless you find me. I can give you the chance to live once again, to start again where you left off. If you refuse the offer however, then I am to resume what I was originally created to do,”

Oberon pauses, then walks over to the next door. The stars in his eyes disappeared as he reached for the handle, “I always thought humans would give anything to cheat death as it was something a lot of you had feared, but… Some of you embrace it like it’s an old friend,”

On the other side was a dark hallway with windows on both sides, showing a red ocean with bones of an unknown creature. This still wasn’t the trench tunnels, and there’s no way they’re on the ocean floor to even see the bones. Either way, he doesn’t recognize those bones just outside the window. Sebastian follows him as they walk down the hall, the crimson color reflecting off of their forms.

“I suppose in a way, death is a beautiful thing,” Oberon continues, “Death is freedom to some. Maybe that’s how some of those prisoners being sent down here feel. They don’t care about the rewards. They just know this is an execution, one they fully embrace,”

He suddenly stops to look at the bones of the creature, “What do you think of it? Is death in this place truly an escape? Is embracing death in a place you would call Hell an escape?”

Sebastian stares at the bones, his eyes narrowing, “It’s the coward’s way out,”

Oberon remains silent. He will never understand humans and their way of thinking, but he loves them all the same.

Alright alright alright I swear this is the last Oberon lore post you’ll see after a while unless it has to do with art.

I’M SORRY, AFTER ACTUALLY THINKING ABOUT HIS LORE, I GOT REALLY INTO IT 😭😭

I’LL GO BACK TO WORKING ON REQUESTS

#🌑 // listen to his story #pressure #roblox pressure #pressure roblox #roblox #roblox oc #roblox pressure oc #pressure oc #sebastian solace #pressure sebastian #pressure painter #painter #sebastian solace x oc

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scaredshadowsswap · 5 months

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(I hope my English is as understandable as possible) I'm embarrassed to ask this but I was constantly asked how the SCP staff would react If they meet an androgynous person for the first time D:

Your english was great! I actually have a lot of ideas for this at the moment, but this is the first time I’ve gotten a request, so it might not come out right. I wrote this generally as the non-binary or genderfluid type of androgynous, but I think it applies just the same to people who just look androgynous :)

Clef:

Clef is probably pretty understanding, but that doesn’t make you exempt from one-liners that cross the line. I imagine Clef will make a lot of pop-culture references, so there’ll be no direct insults, but you may be called the names of famous androgynous people. Be prepared to answer to Annie Lennox or Boy George at least once. No matter your identity, he’ll call you the name of whoever your hair is closest to. Since you’re the first androgynous person Clef meets, you’ll be hearing it a lot, since he has no one else to tease. However, Clef’s insults are not reflective of their opinions, because Clef insults everyone. I think he’d almost like working with an androgynous person more? To Clef, your appearance would be a plus in certain field ops and Foundation situations, so Clef’d probably want you on their MTF.

If you work directly under Clef, he’d be fun and terrifying, just like normal. He’d definitely have an issue with anyone who made fun of your appearance and was serious about their comments, but he’d find a roundabout way of scarring them mentally for life :)

Kondraki:

If it was just seeing you in passing, Kondraki wouldn’t care. If it was working with you, I don’t even know if he’d notice. Kondraki is notoriously bad at names, which makes me think he’s probably also not great at faces. He seems like the type of guy who would take 4 months to notice your hair is firetruck red, so I wouldn’t worry about Kondraki at all. He only cares about if you are hardworking, if you’ll do his paperwork for him, and if you’ll change the coffee filter.

That being said, you’re the first androgynous person Kondraki is meeting. Since you look different from most of the people he works with, he’d probably love taking pictures of you because you’re a unique muse for photos.

Iceberg:

Iceberg will absolutely open the conversation with an insult about your appearance. How you respond will determine how he views you, almost like he was testing you. For best results, answer calmly, confidently, and do not reply with another insult, as he seems quite sensitive. His “Why do you look so weird?” would best be countered with a simple “I don’t know, but I like it!” or something along those lines. He will probably roll his eyes and not say anything else, but he will speak to you again in the future. However, I don’t think Iceberg would have an issue with you looking androgynous at all. I think he’s lacking a filter, and will say whatever pops to mind in a sort of mean way. He was simply acknowledging that you look different to what he is used to, but I think he’d like the style. If you end up becoming friends, he may begin to emulate aspects of your style. He would definitely gift you a scarf sometime to see you you’d style it so he could copy it for future reference.

Gears:

Gears is a short one because he wouldn’t care, or at least, he wouldn’t let anyone know. He is cold, reserved, and respectful, and treats you exactly the same as he treats most researchers. Even if you were working directly below him and he got closer to you, I don’t think he’d acknowledge your appearance except to tie it back to work. “Your hair is a mess, I suggest sleeping at your apartment tonight instead of on a couch” or something like that. Never a comment he wouldn’t make to someone else. However, I think he’d compliment you if you ever changed your hair/makeup/wardrobe, so he definitely notices and thinks positively of it.

Shaw:

Shaw would LOVE it. She’s been genderfluid for a very long time due to 963, so it would probably be a shock to them when they saw a person who looked gender-neutral and/or androgynous. But, it would be a pleasant surprise. He’d probably invite you to tea sometime or some sort of poker event, but you two are besties for the resties.

Shaw would definitely confide in you about their issues related to 963 very quickly, but they’re a decent judge of character and wouldn’t overwhelm you with their struggles. She will absolutely recruit you into her pranks, and sometimes play some on you.

Rights:

Rights would also love you, but it’s because she’d have so many ideas. She’s fashionable, and would have so much fun giving you ideas, whether it be for an everyday casual office outfit, or a formal suit or dress. If you worked directly with Rights, she’d be very low drama with you.

Glass:

Glass is a therapist, so he’ll probably be pretty happy to see that you are doing something that makes you comfortable. He might be able to give you advice on how to deal with some other staff who aren’t as accepting. Glass is a pretty short one because I can’t imagine him caring about your appearance past making sure that you felt comfortable in your skin.

Strelnikov:

Strelnikov…He’s from Russia. I think of Kondraki as traditional, but Kondraki is from Massachusetts, and Strelnikov is actually from Russia, and I think it would take him some time to get used to it. He calls all the male nurses “babies”, so I wouldn’t expect very much from this man.

If you’re hoping for any respect from him, you’ve already raised your standards too high. He may try to pull your records to find your sex at birth, he may snoop through your apartment, but he will not play fair or kindly. He might make comments about it, but at the very least, he won’t talk about you behind your back. Every comment he ever makes about you will be to your face. He might come around…three years later…

#agent strelnikov #dr alto clef #doctor kondraki #scp #scp fandom #scp headcanons #scp foundation #dr rights #dr gears #dr iceberg #dr kondraki #dr shaw #dr glass

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loveinhawkins · 2 years

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 ao3

Steve is the one to re-discover the tapes when they’re packing up, left in a haphazard pile on the bedside cabinet. There’s a clack of plastic against wood, and Eddie glances over to see that Steve, in reaching for his file, has scattered the cassettes, made them furl out like a fan on the cabinet.

“Oh,” Steve says. He just looks at the tapes for a couple of seconds. Blinks. “Are these Robin’s?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie doesn’t ask how he knows that—he gets the picture that when it comes to Steve and Robin, there’ll always be an implicit understanding between them.

Steve grabs a pen, winds back any of the tapes that need it, those stopped either just before or just after My Little Town.

What made it yours? Eddie doesn’t ask. Why that one?

He thinks of when he first heard the song, that ghostly, unreal feeling; the hope at Steve’s minute reaction to the sound. Not knowing what to do with the loneliness he heard in it.

“Here’s yours,” Eddie says, reaching over. His fingers drum over the cassette holder, indicating the worn sleeve; when he says, “Guessing this one’s well-loved, huh?”, it’s not supposed to mean anything, really. Just something light enough for Steve to smile at.

But Steve doesn’t reply for a moment. He turns the tape over and over in his hands, like he’s looking at some distant artefact instead of something that belongs to him. Then his shoulder raises in a half-shrug; his face does something too complicated and quick for Eddie to catch. Something between a smile and a wince—not quite one or the other.

“It was my mom’s first,” Steve says.

Robin arrives like a whirlwind as Steve’s getting discharged—if a whirlwind can be an at all reassuring presence, which right now is absolutely the case.

“Hey, look who’s decided to come crawling back,” Steve says when he sees her, grinning.

She slaps him on the shoulder. “Stop, Steve, Dad’s been a total—”

“Yeah, yeah, I—”

“—nightmare and, yeah, I get it, coming back home from a lovely Spring Break—”

“Rob, I was kidding!”

“—to find that oh, there’s kinda been a, uh, cataclysmic event might make anyone a teensy bit uneasy—”

“Holy shit.”

“—but, seriously, I was practically on house arrest! He only let me go ‘cause it’s you, and he thinks the sun shines out your—”

“Aw,” Steve says, sugary sweet, “told you I’m good with parents.”

“Gross,” Robin fires back. “Absolutely disgusting, never speak to me again.”

“Can we go already? Wayne needs the car back some time this year,” Eddie says.

But his annoyance is transparently fake: the whole time Robin and Steve have been talking, they’ve all pretty much seamlessly crossed the parking lot—the self-conscious air that had been following Steve around as he used his crutches vanishing completely in the face of Robin’s banter.

Steve and Robin sit in the back, Robin taking the crutches and basically contorting her body around them so Steve can get more space.

“Radio on, Eddie!” Robin says, then imperiously calls out the frequency. “Make it snappy.”

“Demanding, isn’t she?” Steve says, and when Eddie looks over his shoulder at him, Steve winks.

“If Her Majesty decrees it,” Eddie says.

He turns the radio on, fiddles with the dial until he reaches the right station—can feel Robin drumming the back of the driver’s seat in anticipation.

“Yeah, this one!”

They tune in just in time to hear the first chorus of Material Girl.

Steve starts to giggle. “R-Robin did you phone in and ask—”

“You can prove nothing. Maybe the stars aligned and thought, hey, we might as well—”

“Sure.”

“—because the universe was so impressed by the Harrington choreography—”

“Ugh, shut up.”

“Fucking children,” Eddie says through a smirk, and as he pulls out of the parking lot, he glances up to the mirror, catches Robin and Steve dissolving into twin peals of laughter.

Steve’s house is full, and it makes the whole space feel different; where previously the high ceilings would make every little sound echo within the emptiness, now it’s full of noise rebounding—there’s constant movement, people coming and going, the kids barging their way around the kitchen and living room, or lounging in the hallway. It all makes the house seem smaller. Warmer.

By some sort of unspoken agreement, no-one crowds Steve, and the clamour means that his arrival doesn’t draw undue attention, means that he can just slip through the front door and take as long as he needs. Eddie can see that he’s grateful for it, sees him take a deep breath of relief as he crosses the threshold.

Hopper’s in the kitchen on a flying visit; he stays long enough to show Steve that there’s casserole in the freezer, claps him on the shoulder, then heads off with a muttered, “Gotta… damn paperwork,” which Eddie suspects is either a lie, or a complete understatement. Or both.

Steve surveys the contents of the freezer, smiles at a box of Eggos, then fully laughs when he pries open a tub of ice-cream and finds a sizeable dent in it—shakes his head and says fondly, “Erica.”

Robin shepherds them both to the TV, gently but firmly insists that Steve take up one couch to himself, his leg elevated on cushions. Eddie and Robin sprawl together on the other couch, but then Robin’s scrabbling upright, crawling to a cabinet that houses VHS tapes—and there’s the collection, multiple rows of movie musicals.

“Oh, Steve, Steve, this one first, please.”

She turns back with a copy of Oliver! in her hands.

“Yeah, whatever,” Steve says—and it’s not dismissive. Eddie gets the impression that Robin could’ve said any movie in the world and Steve wouldn’t have cared, so long as he had her company.

Robin gasps in mock affront. “Um, excuse me, Shani Wallis’s performance as Nancy is not whatever.”

Steve groans, looks up at the ceiling. “Why do I feel like there’s history there?”

“Uh, Drama Club did it one year, right?” Eddie asks. He vaguely remembers being roped in to paint sets, never wanting to look at cobblestones ever again.

“Yeah,” Robin sighs dreamily. “I tried for Nancy.”

“Really? That’s cool,” Steve says. “Did you get it?”

Robin hesitates. “Nope.”

“Damn. Who did?”

“Um, can’t remember,” Robin says too quickly.

Eddie frowns in thought. “Wasn’t it…? Oh, yeah!” He clicks his fingers. “It was Tammy Thompson.”

And for some reason, this makes Steve cackle. Robin throws a pillow at him, which doesn’t land anywhere near his cast, but Steve groans like he’s received a fatal hit.

“Man down, man down!”

The movie mostly passes with stupid back-and-forths like that. Robin pauses at multiple points to enthuse about Nancy’s red dress and how gorgeous it is, in a tone of voice that means she isn’t just talking about the dress; and the way Steve responds with a soft smile somehow makes Eddie think that he, too, understands what she’s really saying, which… huh.

Steve soon creates a running joke which consists of pointing at any random extra in the movie, gasping and exclaiming, “Eddie, I didn’t know you were in this!”

“You’re not fucking funny, Harrington,” Eddie says. Any snark he might’ve once held is completely ruined by the grin that, without fail, appears on his face every damn time Steve makes the joke.

When the credits roll, Eddie gets up to put on another movie—finds Grease and makes a passing quip about Steve’s hair again.

When he’s getting the tape out, he hears a soft movement, turns back to find Robin’s slid off her couch to sit by Steve’s, grabs onto his wrist suddenly.

Steve sighs. Smiles, a kind of sad edge to the corners. “I’m… I’m sorry, Robin.”

“Shut up,” Robin says quietly. “Not accepted ‘cause it’s not needed, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says eventually. As the opening number begins, he adds in an undertone, squeezing Robin’s hand, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Robin whispers back.

Eddie keeps quiet, going back to his seat and giving them space. He knows it’s fine to joke again when Robin announces suddenly, “Hey, we’re leaving Eddie out!” And she blows him an air kiss with a delightfully obnoxious mwah.

Eddie mimes catching it and throwing it over his shoulder nonchalantly. Robin gasps again.

When Steve snorts, Eddie pats his jeans pocket with a comically wide-eyed look, like how did it end up in there? Blows the kiss back and winks—ostensibly to the pair of them.

But he knows that’s not entirely true.

As dusk approaches, Eddie waits outside with Robin for her ride home to materialise—she’d asked him to go with her, and he agreed without knowing the reason behind the request.

But now he’s starting to regret it as he sees the glow of headlights approach the driveway. He hurriedly gives Robin her tapes, then steps back reflexively into the shadows.

“Hey, Eddie?” Robin says. “You know, my parents… they didn’t see the news before they came back.”

Eddie can’t help it; he raises an eyebrow dubiously. “They’ll have seen some of it by now, Buckley.”

She shrugs. “I mean, yeah. But I also… they got, like, an edited version of… events. From me.”

“Edited,” Eddie echoes faintly.

Robin nods. “Super edited. I told them… they know the important thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’re innocent,” Robin says, low and serious.

Eddie takes another step back. “And I’m sure they believed you.”

“They did, actually,” Robin says, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s not like I gave them a choice.”

“…What?”

“Well, I… might’ve said that if they accepted any of the rumours about you, then I’d walk out. Permanently.”

Eddie stares at her. “Wh—why would you—”

“You’re my friend,” Robin says emphatically.

Eddie’s spared from answering by the sound of a car horn. He flinches.

But when Robin looks over to the car, she doesn’t look worried—instead, she claps a hand to her forehead, gripping her tapes with the other.

“Shoot, I forgot—stay right there.”

She runs over to the car, opens the passenger door one-handed and dumps the tapes. Eddie squints in the glare of the headlights, makes out what must be Robin’s mom in the driver’s seat. They have the same nose.

And then Robin’s running back, a gift bag swinging from her hands. As she gets closer, he sees that the bag is adorned with Happy Birthday written in looping purple and pink font.

“Sorry, it’s—the store only had the one kinda bag, and—if you hate them, it’s fine, I just thought, for when you and your uncle get a new place…”

There’s two mugs in the gift bag, with the most awful neon polka dots. Eddie adores them.

He hugs Robin in reply, and she must get that words are hard, because she pats his back a couple of times, then just holds him.

When the car pulls away, she waves enthusiastically—and he spots when her mom mirrors her wave, just for a moment.

He stands there alone, pretends like he’s not crying on Steve Harrington’s driveway.

He puts the gift bag on the counter, finds Steve swallowing his night-time pills with some water. It’s just the two of them now—or at least, it is for five minutes, until they hear the front door opening.

“I’m staying over!” Dustin bellows.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You gotta stop breaking and entering, dude.”

“Not breaking and entering when I use the spare key, Steve.”

“Hey, you’re off your crutches!” Eddie says as Dustin walks into view—there’s only a little bit of hesitancy to his gait now.

“Yeah, we swapped,” Steve says. He yawns, settles back on the couch and nods at Dustin. “You know where the blankets are, right?”

Dustin nods. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Think the guest bedroom’s made up if—”

“I was just gonna sleep down here,” Dustin says—and Eddie can tell from the studiously casual way he says it, that he just doesn’t want to be too far away from Steve.

Steve nods like he’s only half-heard him, tries to hide a yawn behind the back of his hand. “Sure, knock yourself out.”

It’s not that late, so they put on another movie musical, Eddie running a finger down the titles until Steve randomly says, “Stop.”

Dustin gets full use of the second couch after Eddie’s insistence on the matter; he might be off crutches, but Eddie reasons that the kid should stretch his legs out, at least.

Besides, the floor’s comfortable enough, even more so when Eddie leans his back against Steve’s couch, feels the warmth of his body heat.

They’ve hardly started the movie, Dick Van Dyke singing about, “Someone to strive for, do or die for,” when Eddie feels Steve’s hand clumsily graze his shoulder.

He turns. “All good?” he asks, keeps his voice low—Dustin doesn’t seem to hear.

“Yeah, just feel…” Steve sniffs, rubs at his face. “Kinda… heavy.”

Eddie watches over him sympathetically, thinks of Steve admitting, “It messed with me for a while, after. There was—that winter, I had to get a tooth taken out, and I didn’t want them to use numbing, because it felt a bit like…”

“You’re okay,” Eddie says gently. “It’s just the meds.” He lifts Steve’s hand, guides him until Steve is loosely holding onto Eddie’s wrist. “See? You’re right here. Not going anywhere.”

Steve breathes in deep. Exhales. “Think ‘m… m’sleepy.”

“S’all good,” Eddie says. “I got you.”

He doesn’t notice that Dustin’s looking over at them until Steve’s head tilts into the inside of the couch, fingers slack but warm around Eddie’s wrist.

“What?” Eddie mouths.

Dustin shrugs. “Glad you’re here,” he says eventually, then returns his attention to the movie.

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin buckley #steve and robin #eddie and robin

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thefrontofmymind · 1 year

Text

Proof Positive 4

a/n: i know, i know. its been a little while. i've been a bit distracted but i'm getting back into it all

series masterlist

It felt like your life had lurched to a stop when Ross went away for tour. On one side of the coin, all your work you’d been doing for months leading up to this tour had finally been set in motion and now you were supposed to just move on to the next project, and then on the other side of it, you were without the father of your baby. A baby that had been making it so that you could hardly swallow anything other than water without feeling a constant wave of nausea, even then, that was difficult to stomach.

It was a hard goodbye. You two had spent every day together for the past six weeks, you didn’t realise how much you’d preemptively miss him. You had to say goodbye at his flat, to keep with the secret between you both–it was still so new, you couldn’t quite wrap your heads around what was really happening yet, so you couldn’t just tell everyone about you three yet.

Once he’d left you in his flat, you just cried. You probably cried just as much as when you found out you were pregnant. Though that was for fear, this was just pure desolation. You texted each other constantly but with the time difference, his constant travel, and you now having some serious fatigue that resulted in many naps, it was hard to keep consistent.

You had to go to your ultrasound alone. It wasn’t even until you were sitting in the waiting room that you got the fear that something could be terribly wrong and you would be alone to deal with it. Yes, you were pregnant, but there could be every chance in the world that something could be wrong with the baby and you wouldn’t be able to carry it. Or that it was all just a false alarm.

In a trick of fate, there was some emergency and your doctor was far behind schedule so you had all the time in the world to dwell on your anxiety. You watched the other people in the waiting room with you; a woman around your age, quite a bit further along than you, with the biggest rock you’d ever seen on her left hand, a woman holding hands with another much older than her, her hair may have been greying out but their smiles were identical. Looking around you’d never felt so alone. You’d tried to busy yourself by scrolling through your phone but nothing could distract you from the hat trick of your melancholy, your nausea, and the fluorescent lights giving you a migraine.

You’d never felt such relief as when a nurse fetched you from the waiting room and led you down the hall to the ultrasound room. You met the sonographer, and she explained what she was looking for, confirmed that you were around six weeks along, and it was time.

You tried to keep your eyes off the black screen, splattered with white splotches, you didn’t want to look, you didn’t want to jinx it at all.

Until a pounding filled the room, and your heart just melted.

“There we are!” The sonographer said excitedly. “Baby was hiding from me for a bit there!”

Now you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen. Watching as measurements were taken of the little dot that was unmistakable on the screen.

“We’re looking good…” She said again, writing down a few notes on the pad next to her. “Can you see alright?”

You nodded. “Do you mind if I record a bit of it? The heartbeat?”

“By all means,” she smiled. “And I’ll make sure you get some printouts.”

“Thank you. The dad’s in South America for work and he was gutted to miss this…”

“There’ll be plenty more things he can join you for,” she answered.

You recorded a video as the sound echoed throughout the room. It was almost hypnotising, the beat over and over again. Each time you thought you’d gotten a handle on it, you could finally wrap your head around it all, you were surprised each time it just got more and more real. And you still had eight months left of this.

“Well that’s it for us today, I’ll send this all over to your OB, and I’ll get you to book in for another scan in about two…three weeks time so we can keep an eye on bub.” She gave you a tissue to wipe the gel off your abdomen. “And I’ve sent the photos to the printer in reception so just ask them for the photos.”

Walking out of the blue-tinted building, you were immediately on your phone.

would you look at who has the best beating heart?? [video attachment]

You were only four hours ahead of him, it was mid-morning for him, he’d see it soon enough. And soon enough, he did. Merely a minute after it was sent, your phone began ringing, you answered it without even looking at the ID.

“Holy shit!” Ross laughed, which you returned. “I…don’t know what to say!”

“Same!” You giggled. “We’re having a baby!”

The giddiness between the both of you was palpable. You both giggled through your conversation–you told him about the appointment, all the things the sonographer told you, and he told you how the tour was going, every detail of every show so far.

You heard someone talking to Ross, before he said to you, “we have soundcheck, I’ll call you later though?”

“I have a meeting with Atlantic Records people at 4 so in like two hours, I’ll text you when it’s over.”

“Alright…love you.”

“Love you too.”

It was only as you put your phone back in your bag after hanging up that you realised what you both said to each other. You didn’t even think about it, it fell so naturally out of your mouth. There was no fear, no worry, just a warmth spread through your chest–combatting the gust of early April wind that was blowing against you.

You wondered what Ross was thinking, whether it was something he planned to say or if it was as much of an instinct as it was to you. You hoped he didn’t worry if you would say it back, because obviously you would’ve–and you did. You pictured him as giddy as you, trying to focus on his soundcheck and not let the rest of the band suspect anything.

You couldn’t think about it for too long, making your way to your office, you had to turn that whole part of your brain off. It was work time.

You were always grateful for the respect that you had at work. Though, you supposed, it came with the commitment you’d put in, being one of the first workers for Dirty Hit, and staying with them for close to a decade now, it was very well earnt.

You got through your day blocking out the excitement, the giddiness, the nausea. Only finally taking a breath in the refuge of your home. You checked the time, four hours back is…three in the afternoon. You pressed call on the contact of the man you loved.

“Hello?” You heard chatter through the other side of the phone when he answered, laughs and yells–nothing unexpected.

“It’s me,” you answered.

“Hold on,” he said without another word. You heard the noise get quieter. “How are you?”

You let out a huff. “I love you!” You said with a laugh.

You heard him chuckle. “I love you too!”

You didn’t think you’d ever get over the feeling. The exhilaration you were feeling every time you two spoke now. Even just the thought of him could make you blush now.

“I wanted to say it properly,” you said. “Was thinking about it all day.”

“Were you? Daydreaming about me while you’re supposed to be working…” He teased. “Remember you’re working for me!”

“Sure, if that’s the way you think it works…” you quipped, which he laughed at.

“Either way I. Love. You.” He emphasised each word.

Then there was another voice, muffled but still just a little audible if you focussed. “Who you love, huh?” Unmistakably Matty.

“None of your fucking business, mate,” Ross answered.

“Fine! Fine if you don’t want to tell us…” You heard Matty say. “But we’ll all find out eventually…”

“Oh I’m sure,” Ross said. You heard whatever door Matty entered through shut again before Ross turned his attention back to you. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re acting like I haven’t known Matty as long as I’ve known you. I know what I’m in for here!”

“Yeah.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “We need to tell them eventually though.”

“We still have time.”

It went without saying. We still have time to actually fathom what’s happening here.

“I know,” he said. “Hate to go but…I have to.”

“Alright, knock ‘em dead,” you answered. “Love you.”

You could practically hear his smile through the phone. “Love you too”

#ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fic

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bird-slayer-brainrot · 8 months

Text

....In Love and Espionage - Ineffable Husbands but they're spies

(TW. reference to WWII and related content ie. bombing, Nazism, spying but nothing graphic.)

Crowley pulled the chair out from under the table. The scraping of metal against concrete alerted his company, but Aziraphale remained as he was, looking down at an unopened letter he clutched in his ungloved hands.

After a few moments, in which Crowley settled himself, removing his hat and coat and sipping the coffee Aziraphale had, knowingly, already ordered him. It tasted burnt and acrid. War rations, probably. Crowley looked at his surroundings. The cafe in some dirty corner of Soho (Aziraphale sent for Crowley, it was never the other way around. That was the new arrangement.), and it really put into context the quality of the coffee blend.

"Good afternoon." Aziraphale said in a low, quiet voice, still not looking up from his papers. Crowley made a noise in response. They were quiet a few moments more. This was not unusual. It was all part of the routine, really. Meet-ups remained short, unfussy affairs. They met in bars, parks, cafes, exchanged greetings, information, and then parted. It had been like this since their assignments began.

Crowley tried not to dwell on it. The assignments. The arrangement. The war. It was dragging, the flame of hate dimmed in periods of inactivity. Then, when the Germans dropped more bombs or the English secured a victory, there it was again. It was exhausting, keeping up. Crowley was tired. Exhausted. And it all seemed in no hurry to end.

Aziraphale folded his hands. Crowley met his eye. It was time.

"I'll keep this brief." His tone was steady, unswayed. This was a side of Aziraphale that, before the war. Hell, even before the "arrangement" - in an unofficial capacity - even began. "I need you to answer this truthfully."

Crowley smirked slightly. "I will not lie to you, Angel."

Aziraphale took a breath.

“Are you working with them?”

"Aziraphale!" Out of anything Aziraphale could have said (and it could, quite literally, have been anything. Aziraphale spoke almost every language. He predated language.)

“Shhh.” Aziraphale scolded, darting his head around. The cafe was still empty. He turned to look back at Crowley, frowning “Keep your voice down! You never know who might be listening.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, because the single waiter and the old lady walking her dog are surely itching to here what two people having coffee have to say."

This earnt him a look from Aziraphale. Crowley took another sip of his coffee.

"Will you please..." Aziraphale sighed again. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. "Would you please just answer the question?"

Crowley nodded. “No," he answered. "‘Course not. “Are you?”

"Of course not!" Aziraphale had the audacity to sound indignant. Just like him, too, even though he'd been the one to accuse Crowley not a moment ago, "I just thought, considering all the fighting happening on the Russian lines, with the Nazis." Aziraphale paused for a moment, "Hell might have decided to, you know, switch their agenda."

Crowley nodded in understanding. It was fair enough, really. Crowley really wouldn't put it past Hell to align themselves with whoever they believed to be winning.

"What about you guys?"

Aziraphale sipped his tea, before placing it down. "Of course not. Heaven just wants this war over.”

“So does Hell.” at this, Aziraphale looked at him, startled. “Don’t be surprised. As soon as the war’s over and one, there’ll be, quite literally, hell to pay.”

Aziraphale nodded, before picking up the letter. He knew what this meant. A war was only as terrible as what came after. The devastation, the hate. The pain.

“Why don’t we just talk in your bookshop." Crowley suggested. "Wouldn’t that be, you know..."

Safer. He was going to safer. Aziraphale frowned.

“Well, actually,”

“I figured this would be. Just in case I was being…” the angel paused for a moment. “Followed.” he said softly, glancing down.

Crowley tried not to let the alarm show on his face, but inside he was fuming.

He knew this was a dangerous job, but it’s not like demon’s had much of a choice. But for Heaven to put Aziraphale and the whole blasted human race at risk like this was just…. Well, it was exactly like them. No, Crowley was already sick of this war. He knew he had a part to play in it ending. He just didn’t wish it came with such a risk. The involvement of supernatural beings such as them meant something. It meant that they were important in this. The greatest risk wasn’t just discorporation. No, this threatened the outcome of the war as a whole. Heaven and Hell might not have cared about the actions of humans beyond sticking it to each other when they could, but Crowley, hell, Aziraphale too, cared. Cared way more than they let on.

“I see.” Crowley stated in a cold voice. Aziraphale looked up at the demon, but he was looking away.

“I am glad.” Aziraphale sighed, pressing a napkin to the corner of his mouth. “It means we are in agreement of how to act moving forth. I shall be in correspondence?” he spoke the word like a question, but Crowley knew better than to think it was anything but a statement of fact. “Do let’s try to act safely about this, my dear.” Crowley looked up. Aziraphale was glancing slowly around them, probably checking to see if anyone had noticed them. When he was satisfied, he stretched his hand across the table, and placed it gently over Crowley’s. The heat of it stung, and Crowley suddenly felt as though he had been mistaken for an ant colony, and all the misplaced soldier ants were trying to crawl back inside of him. “I would hate for you to get hurt, Crowley.”

Aziraphale paid the check, and left. Crowley remained in his seat for a quarter of an hour or so, then stood up and exiting the cafe, leaving in the opposite direction to the angel.

Two weeks later…

A letter came in the male of Crowley as promised. Crowley sat at the desk in the sitting room of his Mayfair flat. It was a new addition to the space. He’d never really had a need for a desk before all the war business began, but where else was he supposed to sit down and write letters, if not a desk. He read the letter once, committing its contents to memory.

That same evening, Crowley exited the motor car, careful not to let the train of his skirts not trail across the puddles left by the day's rain. The letter Aziraphale had sent requested Crowley's presence at a small get-together hosted by a Mr Fredrick Brown. This was a fake name. This was an important mission. It had to go perfectly.

Crowley entered the building. Immediately, he spotted Aziraphale speaking with another , and made his way over to the angel and his companion. As he slid up next to the angel, Aziraphale turned his head and, after taking him in, gave him a knotted expression.

“And this must be the lovely Mrs Phale.” the man, who likely hadn't anticipated being interrupted, as seen in the expression of abject annoyance on his face which was only partially masked by British politeness (but not will enough). He watched Crowley with almost sly amusement, taking in the red curls tumbling over Crowley's shoulder, down the line of his slim, black gown. Aziraphale watched Crowley out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, Mr Phale, it has been a pleasure conversing with you." he said in a tone that suggested the opposite. "Go, dance with your lady. I shall hope to speak to you again soon." he waved them off cheerily. Aziraphale, who had at some point taken Crowley's arm in his own, maneuvered them around. They walked a few steps onto the floor. A slow waltz played in the room, and as they stepped, Aziraphale spoke.

"Mr Brown." he said almost breathlessly, spinning Crowley. "Has invited me to dinner. To discuss plans." Aziraphale said in a hushed voice. He was shorter than Crowley, and Crowley could feel the lingering traces of Aziraphale's breath against his neck.

"Good job." Crowley replied quietly. "So, intelligence gathered. Can we go now?"

At this, Aziraphale let out a short, soft laugh.

"We could." Aziraphale replied. The waltz ended, and a more upbeat tune played. Still, they remained as they were. "We could leave right now. If we wanted to."

They stayed for an hour more. When they left, they left together.

"I missed you."

Aziraphale couldn't help the noise that came out of his throat then. It was halfway between a whimper and a sob. Like a deer trapped in a blackberry bush, trying to detangle itself. Hopelessly.

He didn't pull away, though. He didn't want to.

It had been too long. Far too long.

The war had ended. The war had ended. They were in the bookshop, and Crowley was clinging to Aziraphale like he couldn't stand the thought of letting go, even for a second. And he couldn't. Even if his arms went numb and fell off. Even if a bomb dropped on them now and restarted the war. That war had taken so much out of them. So much out of everyone. This short, small moment in a bookshop in Soho was nothing compared to everything else. But it was happening and it was theirs, and that meant everything.

When Crowley had got the news, he'd climbed into the Bentley and driven to Aziraphale's as fast as he could. Aziraphale had been waiting for him, had set out wine. Crowley ignored it.

Aziraphale held him. He didn't say anything, but even that didn't matter. Because the war was over and, for a moment, everything was a little bit safer. Humankind... Aziraphale, they were all safe. And that, for the moment, was the peace the end of the war brought.

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landofzero-archive · 4 months

Text

Absolute - The Pure Land 5

(Location: Luxury Hotel (Guest Room))

(At the same time. Eden’s accommodations, in a luxury hotel room)

NEGI: “Good mo~rnin’, everyone♪

Did you get enough sleep last night? C’mon, today let’s also do our best to search—”

Jun: ~……♪

Hiyori: ~……♪

NEGI: “Ah, okay. Sorry. You two are in the middle of something.

Let me just say, it’s okay.

I’m not all that prejudiced and this country tends to treat ‘these kinds of relationships’ with a lotta respect these days.”

Jun: These kinds of relationships– what kind of relationship are you talking about……?

I was just, well, Ohiisan couldn’t sleep because he was worried about Nagi-senpai, so I had him lay his head on my lap while I sang him a lullaby is all.

NEGI: “Sure. You should know that at first glance that doesn’t look anything like a normal friendship, okay? You don’t want to be misunderstood, right?

Or maybe— I didn’t misunderstand anything after all?

My heart’s beating out of my chest. I mean, it’s strangely embarrassing to see someone you know doing ‘something like that’, y’know.”

Jun: That’s why I’ve been tryin’ to figure out what you’re even talking about~?

More importantly, sorry you had to come all this way to pick us up. We’ll be ready in a sec, so please wait a moment.

NEGI: “Alright. I’ll be waiting.

…… The preparation is just that, isn’t it? Preparing to search for that Ran Nagisa person and Shaka-san, right?

Absolute is going to start in a few hours, but is that really okay? You guys are supposed to be performing, right?”

Jun: Well, being in Absolute is also somethin’ we were asked to do, so I don’t think we can just ignore it, right~?

It’s unavoidable though, the four of us are Eden.

We were asked to perform as Eden, not Eve, so we can’t just go and stand on stage like that.

Now, more than anything else, finding and protecting Nagi-senpai is our top priority.

Isn’t that right, Ohiisan? Why have you been quiet for a while? Usually, you yap constantly whenever I leave your side, did you fall asleep or somethin’?

Hiyori: …… I’m just embarrassed. Yes, I’ve said it a number of times before, but NEGI-chan, you really should learn to knock properly before you enter a room.

NEGI: “I’m reflecting on it. How awkward. It’s something I feel bad about.”

Jun: I’m sure you’re desperate to find that Shaka guy, so I can appreciate your enthusiasm~?

Hiyori: That’s right. …… I hadn’t asked before but, NEGI-chan, what kind of relationship do you have with Shaka-san? You’re quite desperate for someone who’s just his friend?

NEGI: “Hm~? Nope, we’re just friends, you see?

Maybe I’m projecting onto him a little, though. That person, he’s also a victim of my shitty father.

I think I’m cute, after all.

It’s embarrassing. I intended to sing for someone else’s sake, but in the end I was just singing for myself.”

Hiyori: I also think I’m the cutest person in the universe!

Jun: No one said anything about you?

Hiyori: Correct. The most important thing to everyone is themselves. Movies and novels move me to tears exactly because I compare myself to them and project onto them.

If someone were to put others before themselves, don’t you think they have a screw loose somewhere?

Jun: Ohiisan, are you talking about yourself?

Hiyori: I always put myself first, don’t I?

Jun: Haha. Wow, maybe people will believe that.

NEGI: “……? I don’t know what’s going on but, hurry up and get ready, alright?

We don’t have any time left. If we don’t find Shaka-san and stick him on stage by the time Absolute starts, there’ll be a riot if we aren’t careful.

Also, I’m sure my shitty father’s remaining subordinates will punish Shaka-san if he caused a huge loss like that.

That person’s chances of surviving have almost vanished into thin air.

If that becomes the case, then I won’t be able to find him ever again, so I can only hope that he escapes to somewhere safe.”

Hiyori: It’d be troublesome if we could never find him again! I don’t really care about Shaka-san, but we absolutely have to find Nagisa-kun!

I’m sure right this very moment he’s crying because he’s sad that I’m not there! Ah, I want to hug him!

That’s why yesterday I said we shouldn’t stop the search and continue it through the night! If we had done that, then by now—

NEGI: “By now our completely transformed bodies might have been discovered by the local garbage collectors?

I told you, didn’t I? This place is usually unsafe. To put it plainly, in peaceful Japan, “bad public safety” is completely different from here.

We should have gone back to this relatively safe hotel for the night. I can bet all my money that I made the right call on that. I don’t have much savings, though.”

Previous | Directory | Next

#ensemble stars #enstars #enstars translation #hiyori tomoe #jun sazanami #negi kurone #era: !!#type: event

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prouvaireafterdark · 1 year

Text

Practical Ethics || Chapter Ten

In which Armand and Daniel talk.

Also on AO3!

***

When Armand wakes, he leaves Daniel sleeping soundly in his bed. He goes about his morning routine the same as always—shower, pray, eat, work—but throughout it all his mind returns again and again to all that transpired yesterday.

It’s the unknown that bothers him most. He chastises himself for not having the forethought to exchange numbers with Lestat so he would be able to text him for an update on how Louis is doing. It’s too late to do anything about that now, though. He’ll simply have to wait and hope the department is kind enough to send an email to let them know how Louis is recovering. It happened on campus, after all. Word would have gotten around and the decent thing would be to let everyone know Louis is okay before any rumors get out of control.

At that thought, Armand checks his email. He finds no new messages in his inbox save the one from Marius he’d marked unread on purpose as a reminder to finish his work.

Perhaps after the weekend there’ll be an update, he thinks hopefully.

Without any news, he tries to take solace in the fact that the doctor did not seem overly concerned. Besides, Lestat is surely keeping a close eye on him. However dubious his dedication to his studies is, if anything does happen to Louis, Armand knows Lestat will stop at nothing to get him the help he needs.

Louis will be fine, he tells himself as he opens Marius’ email. You, on the other hand, won’t be if you don’t have this finished for Marius by the end of the weekend.

The threat of Marius’ ire is motivation enough to get started. Armand settles down to work at his small kitchen table without much further distraction.

The afternoon sun is high in the sky by the time Armand hears Daniel groan from the other room.

His fingers pause above his keyboard at the sound. After a brief moment of deliberation, he rises from his seat and heads down the short hallway that leads to his bedroom.

Armand lingers at the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb as he watches Daniel wake up properly. It never fails to hold some sense of fascination for him, seeing the man he loves still soft and warm with sleep, his curls sticking up at odd angles. Mundane it may be, but after the harrowing day he had yesterday, Armand considers the sight a pleasure that should never be taken for granted.

Unaware of Armand’s presence, Daniel lies motionless in bed. He’s on his back, his arms raised above his head on his pillow like he’s just stretched and is too lazy to move just yet. Sunlight peeks through the closed blinds on the window by the head of Armand’s bed, casting striped shadows across his body. He’d borrowed one of Armand’s graduate student union shirts to sleep in and as he shoves the covers down to his hips Armand sees that the hem has ridden up nearly to his bellybutton.

Daniel reaches blindly for the bedside table a moment later, his hand nearly knocking the bottle of Advil Armand had left there for him off the table. He manages to grab it before it rolls too far and with another groan he sits up at last. He opens the bottle and shakes it so a few pills fall into his open palm before he reaches for the tall glass of water sitting on the table. He takes a few greedy gulps before he even puts the pills in his mouth and it’s at that moment that he catches Armand watching him from the doorway.

“Holy shit,” Daniel jumps, nearly spilling his water on the bedspread. “How long have you been standing there?”

Armand laughs and steps into the room.

“Not long, I assure you,” he says on his way to the bed. He climbs onto it and stretches out beside Daniel on top of the covers, his right elbow propping him up as he continues to look at him.

“See something you like?” Daniel asks him when the attention becomes too much, his lips curled into an amused smile.

Armand smiles back.

“Always, beloved,” he tells him, quite seriously, and he’s pleased to see a pink flush brighten Daniel’s cheeks. He has the sudden urge to pull him down to his level and kiss him, but he resists for the moment. He puts two fingers to the bottom of Daniel’s glass instead and encourages him to raise it up toward his lips. “Now be a good boy and take your medicine.”

Daniel glares at him, but Armand knows the heat behind his eyes is most assuredly not from anger.

“It’s not fair when you call me that,” Daniel says before he does as he’s told, popping the pills into his mouth all at once before taking a sip of his water.

“When I call you what?” Armand asks, his eyes glued to the way Daniel’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat with each swallow. “‘Beloved’ or ‘good boy’?”

“Both,” Daniel tells him once he’s drained his glass and set it back on the bedside table. He pushes Armand onto his back then and slides down the bed so he’s looking down at him from mere inches away. “You could get me to do anything for you when you call me that and you know it.”

Armand thinks again about Daniel’s frequent drinking, the drugs he takes to study or just unwind after a long day, and the damage he must be doing to his body every time he does it. He wonders if a few well-placed ‘beloved’s would be all it would take to get him to stop, or even cut back. He doubts it very much.

“If only that were true,” Armand sighs as he reaches up to cup Daniel’s face with his palm. His morning stubble scratches softly against his thumb as he strokes a line over his cheekbone. “You’re more stubborn than you give yourself credit for, I fear.”

Daniel laughs at that. “Pot, meet kettle,” he says, gesturing between the two of them.

Armand cocks his head to the side. “What does that mean?” he asks.

“It means that of the two of us only one was stubborn enough to follow through on breaking into his professor’s office even after the other tried to tell him that that was a terrible fucking idea,” Daniel says.

“I wouldn’t say it was a terrible idea,” Armand disagrees.

“And how do you figure that?” Daniel asks, a deeply skeptical look on his face.

“I learned something. A few somethings, actually,” Armand points out as his eyes dip down to the chain around Daniel’s neck. His fingers follow, pulling the amulet out of his shirt so he can see it. “In the end, it’s what brought us closer together. It’s what made you mine.”

Daniel looks down at where Armand’s thumb is running over the A embossed on the amulet’s face and huffs a soft but incredulous laugh. “I was already yours, Armand,” he reminds him.

“Perhaps,” Armand concedes, “but I didn’t know that I was hurting you. I didn’t know what you needed from me. For getting us to have that conversation, I’d say the whole ordeal was more than worth the trouble.”

Daniel bites his lip as he stares at him for a charged moment, his chest rising and falling with one heavy breath before he surges down to kiss him with so much raw feeling Armand doesn’t even mind that Daniel hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. He drops the amulet and gives himself over to the kiss completely, letting the whole world fall away for one brief but blissful moment.

“I love you,” Daniel tells him when they part, his forehead pressed to Armand's, his fingers tangled in his hair.

“I love you too,” Armand says.

He leans up with his eyes still closed and blindly steals another kiss, a softer one this time. When they part, Armand looks up at Daniel and sees that his eyes are wet with unshed tears.

“Hey,” Armand says, his brow creasing with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Daniel reassures him with a watery smile, but Armand is not so convinced when he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Just a lot going on in my head right now.”

With graduation so close and no job yet secured, it isn’t hard for Armand to imagine why. Still, he doesn’t like the tension lingering in Daniel’s body and he likes the space he has put between them even less.

Armand joins Daniel beneath the covers, seeking to get close to him again. As he does, Daniel lifts his arm in invitation and Armand presses himself to his side. He wraps an arm around Daniel’s waist and throws a leg over his thigh. He hopes his presence is as soothing to Daniel as Daniel’s is to him, but if it isn’t enough to distract him from his troubles, Armand, regrettably, has another card up his sleeve.

“Well, I have something to tell you that might cheer you up,” Armand begins.

One of Daniel’s expressive eyebrows raises in curiosity at that.

“I’m listening,” he says.

Armand takes a fortifying breath, mentally preparing himself for the gloating to come. Daniel is lucky he loves him so much.

“You were right,” Armand tells him at last. “Lestat is Louis’ husband.”

Daniel blinks at him and then laughs, his head thrown back and his mouth stretched in a wide grin. Armand decides in that moment that to see him smile like that is well worth any pride he has to swallow.

“I fucking knew it,” Daniel says, turning his head to gaze back at Armand. “How’d you find out?”

“He came to the hospital as Louis’ next of kin,” Armand explains.

“Hospital?” Daniel asks, his expression twisted in sudden confusion, and it is then that Armand realizes how much of this story he has left to tell.

He sighs and begins to tell it.

“Well?” Armand asks once he’s finished and Daniel is staring at him in silence. “Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Uh,” Daniel says intelligently, his brow drawn tight with concern. “I’m a little stuck on the part where you had to hold Louis’ head together while the ambulance got there and then spent the next several hours at the hospital consoling your arch nemesis.”

Armand grimaces a little at Daniel’s synopsis of his day.

“It wasn’t so dramatic as that,” he protests, but then remembers the way Lestat had burst into the ER wearing a period accurate 18th century costume and screaming at the receptionist and wonders if Daniel perhaps has a point.

“Still, I mean, fuck,” Daniel says, staring at him with wide, sympathetic eyes. “Are you okay?”

Armand blinks at the question, taken off guard by Daniel’s reaction.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“Why–?” Daniel starts before he changes tack and continues, “Armand, someone you care about got hurt and you spent hours not knowing if he was going to be okay. And on top of it, you had to sit with his husband, who you hate, while he was an inconsolable wreck. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with.”

“‘Whom,’” Armand corrects him automatically.

“What?” Daniel asks.

“Its ‘whom,’ not ‘who.’ Lestat is the direct object of the verb in the relative clause,” he explains with all the insufferable pedantry of the philologist who trained him. “And I don’t hate him. I just find him insurmountably irritating at times.”

Daniel looks unamused. “Would you stop deflecting for five minutes and hear what I’m saying?” he asks.

Armand sighs at that. “I hear you,” he says. “And yes, it was horrible and terrifying and I hated every minute of it, but I wasn’t the one who ended up in the hospital. I wasn’t the one who had to sit there and wonder if the man I love more than my own life was going to make it through the night.”

He staunchly ignores the way his own voice begins to shake the more he rehashes it all, the pain of it burning a hole in his chest he plans to fill with as much of Daniel’s love as he can stand.

Daniel purses his lips like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how. Armand cuts him off at the pass and leans in to kiss him softly on the mouth.

“I’m fine, Daniel,” he insists when they part. “I’m just happy to be home with you.”

He watches Daniel melt at that, won over by Armand’s words in spite of how he wanted to argue. Armand takes full advantage, curling tighter around him and resting his head on his chest.

Daniel sighs, Armand’s head rising and falling with the movement, and begins to play with Armand’s hair the way he likes, gently curling the inky dark strands around his fingers. Armand closes his eyes and lets Daniel’s touch ease the tightness that’s been coiling around his chest.

He thinks that’s the end of it, that Daniel has let it go and is content to simply let them enjoy each other’s company for a while, but he speaks again a moment later.

“I wish you’d texted me back,” Daniel says, his fingers scratching pleasantly across his scalp. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know. I would’ve come to sit with you while you waited.”

Daniel’s words are touching, but as Armand tries to imagine it—an inebriated Daniel calling an Uber to drive him to the hospital, or worse still, taking his own car in his haste to be with him and getting himself into an accident—an unpleasant shiver runs down his spine.

“It’s best that you didn’t,” Armand says, not unkindly as he tightens his arm around Daniel’s waist. “You were not exactly in a state last night to deal with my problems.”

“Sorry,” Daniel audibly cringes. “You were gone a while and I was nervous and, well...”

Armand understands what he’s trying to say. In the months they’ve known each other, he has learned that Daniel often overindulges when he’s feeling stressed and once he starts, it’s difficult for him to stop if he’s left to his own devices. There is one thing he doesn’t understand, though.

“Why were you nervous?” Armand asks him, opening his eyes and lifting his head off his chest to look at him.

Daniel bites his lip, but doesn’t answer. He looks adorable, to be fair, but it worries him to see.

“Daniel?” he presses.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Daniel says.

If Daniel had hoped that that response would calm Armand’s worry, it does not. Armand sits up properly, Daniel’s hand falling to the mattress as it slips from his hair.

“What’s going on?” Armand asks him.

Daniel takes a deep breath and sits up so they’re on the same level before he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” he says at last.

Armand doesn’t have to ask him which offer he means.

“Oh,” he says, his own belly twisting with nerves suddenly. “And?”

“And,” he starts, smiling as he reaches for Armand’s hand and threads their fingers together, “I wanna take you up on it. After graduation, if you still want me to… I’d like to move in with you.”

Armand’s vision fills with light, warm and golden with little swirls of pink. The thought of it—of coming home to Daniel every day, of sharing and building a life with him here in this apartment that now feels so empty the moment Daniel leaves—has his heart nearly full to bursting, his apprehension from moments before nothing but a distant memory.

He can’t help himself—he practically pounces onto Daniel’s lap, straddling his hips as he smothers him with kisses. He lets go of Daniel’s hand to cradle his face between his palms and Daniel’s arms come around his waist, holding him close as he kisses him back with equal fervor.

“You were nervous about telling me that?” Armand laughs at him when he finally brings himself to pull away, looking down at Daniel’s smiling face with affection so strong Armand is sure there must be cartoon hearts in his eyes. “I love you, you ridiculous boy. Did you think I might have changed my mind?”

Daniel laughs, but the smile in his eyes begins to dim slightly as some unknown thought tempers his happiness.

“No,” he says, looking down as if suddenly finding the V of Armand’s neckline very interesting. “It wasn’t you I was nervous about telling—am nervous about telling.”

“Then who?” Armand asks, not understanding the issue.

It takes a moment for Daniel to meet his eyes once more, and when he does, he confesses, “I’m nervous about telling my parents.”

Ah.

“They don’t know you’re bisexual, do they?” Armand guesses, letting his hands slip from Daniel’s face to rest on the sides of his neck.

“No,” Daniel confirms. “I didn’t even know I was bisexual until you came along.”

Armand raises his eyebrows skeptically at that. While it’s true that Daniel was relatively inexperienced with men when they met, Armand knows for a fact that he wasn’t his first.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Daniel pouts. “Sucking dick for drugs in bathroom stalls isn’t the same thing as falling in love. Being in denial about my attraction to men was a lot easier before I met you.”

Armand’s eyes soften, oddly charmed by that statement. “I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” Daniel tells him and that smile begins to come back, bit by bit. “It was only through your relentless determination to drive me completely insane that I had to face the facts.”

Armand laughs. “You say ‘relentless determination’ as if you didn’t put yourself in my path at every opportunity.”

“I did no such thing,” Daniel denies.

“Oh no?” Armand asks. “Then what do you call sprawling out on the grass in the middle of the quad?”

“Enjoying the sun,” Daniel answers. “You should try it sometime.”

“It was November,” Armand counters.

“Global warming’s a bitch, huh?” he shoots back.

“Alright,” Armand laughs with a shake of his head. “Then how about working at the front desk of the library for weeks even though we both know you hate customer service and would rather be reshelving book returns?”

“We were short staffed,” Daniel shrugs.

“And studying at the table by the window of the Starbucks across from Trinity Hall?” Armand presses.

“They’re insanely overpriced, but their coffee is excellent,” Daniel answers.

“Yes and there’s another location on the other end of campus that’s closer to the student newspaper’s office,” Armand argues.

“I needed to get my steps in,” Daniel deadpans.

“Daniel,” Armand laughs, leaning into his space until their foreheads rest together.

“What?” he asks, trying and failing not to laugh along with him.

“Admit it,” Armand insists. “You wanted to be chased. You wanted me to find you again or you wouldn’t have made yourself so easy to find. If you want to blame your bisexual awakening on me, fine. I will gladly wear that as a badge of honor. But let us please not pretend you weren’t begging for another taste when I ran into you in the Commons after Khayman’s Halloween party. If you truly were trying to avoid me, you certainly wouldn’t have looked at me like that when I found you.”

“And how did I look at you?” Daniel asks, the pitch of his voice dipping lower, as if in anticipation of what Armand’s answer will be.

“Like you said yourself earlier,” Armand answers, craning his neck to the side to whisper the words in his ear. “Like you’d do anything for me.” He takes the silver hoop earring dangling from Daniel’s ear between his teeth and gently tugs, quietly delighting in the soft gasp he elicits. “Like you’d let me do anything I wanted to you.”

Armand feels Daniel’s pulse quicken against his fingertips, feels his hips shift beneath his weight, and when he pulls back to look at his beautiful face he sees his mossy green irises nearly swallowed up by large, doe-like pupils and a rosy flush high on his cheeks.

“Yes, just like that,” Armand praises him with a tender smile, his eyes hooded as he watches his own thumb run along the edge of Daniel’s parted lips. “I challenge anyone to try to resist this face. I’m sure Helen herself would weep with jealousy at the sight of you.”

“Fuck,” Daniel groans, his fingers tightening their grip on Armand’s waist. “And you say you didn’t seduce me.”

“Oh, I never said that,” Armand responds, smiling with teeth. “I just said it wasn’t very hard.”

Daniel laughs at that, a sudden, sharp sound that bursts from his chest without permission.

“You’re such a dick,” he says.

“Lucky for me that’s one of the things you like about me, then,” Armand quips.

Daniel laughs again before he leans in to kiss him once more. Armand has half a mind to push him back against the mattress and find new ways to distract them both from their troubling thoughts, but there’s something he needs to make sure Daniel understands first.

“There’s no shame in wanting who you want, Daniel,” Armand tells him when they part. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” he nods, but his smile dims again in a way Armand does not like.

“Then why are you worried about telling your parents?” Armand asks him gently. “Do you think they’ll have a problem with it?”

Or is it me you think they’ll have a problem with? he almost continues, but he dares not speak the words aloud. It is not the first time it has occurred to him that his half-Armenian, half-Irish Catholic boyfriend’s parents might not approve of their only son being involved with a Muslim man, but Armand is not sure he’s emotionally prepared to receive the answer to that question today.

Daniel sucks on his bottom lip as he thinks about it.

“They’re New York Democrats so probably not,” Daniel says, his voice lifting at the end as if in a question. “My grandma would have if she were still alive, but she was a born hater who had a problem with pretty much everything so that’s not really saying much.”

Armand huffs a laugh at that.

“But, you know,” Daniel continues with a shrug. “Just because they don’t complain about pride parades congesting the city doesn’t mean they’ll be happy to hear their son is moving in with his boyfriend.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you no matter what,” Armand assures him.

“And if they don’t?” Daniel asks, looking lost in a way Armand has never seen him.

Armand places a kiss on Daniel’s forehead before he wraps his arms tightly across his shoulders and holds him close, his cheek resting on the top of Daniel’s head.

“Then I’ll just have to make up the difference,” Armand says.

Daniel’s arms circle his waist once again. Pressed this close, Armand can feel each rise and fall of Daniel’s chest, each beat of his heart as he processes what he has told him.

“You really think you can do that?” he asks quietly, whispering the words against the hollow of Armand’s throat.

Armand’s heart aches at his question, at the uncertainty and vulnerability in his voice.

“Of course I can,” Armand tells him softly, but with conviction. “I have a lot of love to give, Daniel. To you most of all.”

Daniel’s grip becomes so tight it’s nearly painful as he lets out a harsh breath against his skin, but Armand says nothing more. He only runs his fingers through Daniel’s curls as he takes a moment to compose himself again.

When Daniel pulls back from their embrace, his cheeks are wet with tears. There is a powerful need in his eyes too, one as well-worn and familiar to Armand as a pair of old boots. It is as if he can hear Daniel’s voice in his own head, whispering, begging him to touch him, to kiss him, to love him, now and always.

Armand has no intention of ever disappointing him.

He gently kisses the tears from Daniel’s flushed cheeks before he leans in to kiss him on the mouth. Daniel’s lips are pleasantly warm against his own and this time when Daniel opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, Armand lets him, his own need for intimacy nearly overwhelming.

He loses himself completely to the heat of Daniel’s mouth, to the way his fingers grip at his waist and run along his back, to the feel of him warm and solid beneath him. He’s so focused on Daniel, Armand doesn’t even notice how hard he’s getting until strong hands haul him even closer by his hips so he can grind his cock against Daniel’s belly.

He moans, taken off guard by the sudden burst of pleasure he feels at the friction. Daniel’s mouth curls into a satisfied smile against his own as he goes in for another kiss, his palms sliding down to cup Armand’s ass over his sweatpants.

Armand nips at Daniel’s bottom lip in retaliation and the smug grin drops from his face as he groans, his grip on Armand tightening for just a moment while his lip is caught between his teeth.

Armand reaches for the hem on Daniel’s borrowed shirt then and breaks their kiss to pull it up and over his head, desperate to feel him skin to skin. Once his shirt is off, Armand pushes Daniel down by the shoulders, sending him flat onto his back. From this new perspective, he can see how Daniel’s lips have become red and wet where Armand had bitten him. It gives him an idea.

“Hey,” Daniel pouts, moving to sit up again, but Armand just pushes him back down with his hands planted on his chest.

“Stay there,” he tells him with a firm, but loving voice.

Any further protests Daniel might have made die in his throat immediately as he does as he’s told.

“Good boy,” Armand says, rewarding Daniel’s obedience with a smile as he strips off his own shirt and tosses it to the side to deal with later.

If Daniel’s eyes weren’t nearly black with desire before they certainly are now. Armand doesn’t give himself long to enjoy the view before he follows him down to the bed and pulls him into another feverish kiss.

Daniel is quick to touch him again, his hands warm against Armand’s cold skin as they eagerly travel the expanse of his back and try to pull him even closer. Armand begins to rock their hips together, grinding his cock against Daniel’s through their clothes. It’s good, but not nearly enough to sate the desire coursing through him.

It’s not long before Armand begins to trail warm, wet kisses down to his neck. Daniel must sense Armand’s intentions because his breath begins to come quickly then, his heart racing with anticipation as Armand lingers there, lavishing his sensitive skin with attention with his lips and tongue.

“Please,” Daniel begs him after a few moments of teasing, leaning his head back onto the pillow and baring his throat to his mouth.

Armand smiles at Daniel’s impatience. They’ve only just started and the begging has already begun. Were this any other time, Armand would draw this out, make him wait for it that much longer, until he was so wound up he would pop like a bottle of warm champagne at the first press of Armand’s teeth.

Right at this moment, however, he can’t think of a single reason to deny him. With one last tender kiss to his throat, Armand finally gives Daniel what he wants and delicately sinks his teeth into his flesh—not enough to break the skin, but just enough to hurt.

Daniel moans, arching his neck into the bite, his cock so hard beneath him he must be leaking through his boxers by now.

Armand soothes the pain with an open-mouthed kiss before he does it again on the other side of his neck without warning.

Daniel keens, higher this time at the unexpected pain, and as Armand runs his tongue over the indents left by his own teeth, Daniel calls his name.

Armand ignores him at first, thinking it only an impassioned exclamation, until he hears him say it again a moment later.

“Armand,” he pants, restlessly squirming beneath him.

“What is it, Daniel?” he asks, lifting his head to look at him. “What do you need?”

“I need you,” Daniel whimpers, his hips rolling insistently upward, seeking friction. There are tears gathered at the corners of Daniel’s eyes, but that’s not unusual when they play like this.

“I’m here,” Armand soothes him.

He shifts to the side of Daniel, one leg still thrown over his thigh to give himself more space. The sheets have migrated well below their hips and as he looks down Armand can see now the small damp stain spreading across the front of Daniel’s tented gray boxer briefs.

Daniel lets out a plaintive noise at the new distance between them, but it’s shortly followed by a soft gasp as Armand slips his hand beneath the elastic waistband of his underwear and wraps his hand around him, his thumb circling the slippery head of his cock.

“How do you need me, beloved?” Armand asks him, his voice low as he spreads the precome weeping from his slit down the length of his cock. He starts to jerk him off nice and slow as he continues, “I’ll give you anything you want. Do you want to finish in my hand, just like this?”

Daniel shakes his head. Armand kisses his cheek before he places his lips at his ear.

“How about in my mouth then? Or with me inside you?” he asks, listing the options as they come to mind, before he finally adds, “I’ll even let you fuck me if you want to.”

Daniel’s cock twitches in his grip as soon as he says it and Armand hides his smile against the curve of Daniel’s jaw. It was an impulsive suggestion, but the thought of it fills Armand with a need he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“Is that it, Daniel?” he asks as he presses a kiss to his throat. “Do you want to fuck me in our bed?”

Daniel lets out a shuddering breath. When he shifts to meet Armand’s eyes there’s something hesitant about his expression, the desire he’d just been experiencing taking a back seat for the moment.

“You know I do, but…” Daniel says, his voice tentative like he isn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words. “Are you sure you want me to?”

It’s no wonder why he’s asking. It’s not something he’s ever offered Daniel before. In fact, the one time Daniel had brought up the idea of switching early on in their relationship, Armand had shot him down immediately.

For the longest time, the act reminded him too much of Marius and the ways he had taken control from him for Armand to ever wish to repeat it. He likes to be the one in charge these days, to be the one making decisions for himself, and it has been hard for him to divorce the idea that being fucked means being submissive—and being controlled—from his mind. As innocent as Daniel’s suggestion had been all those months ago, it had filled him with dread, fear gripping him suddenly and completely. He told himself he could never allow himself to be vulnerable like that again—not after how hard he’d fought to pick up the pieces of his heart and regain his autonomy after Marius abandoned him in Venice.

As he looks down at Daniel now, though, his heart full to bursting at the sight of him, it doesn’t feel like submission to offer him this. It feels like love.

“I’m sure,” he promises him. “I trust you.”

Daniel’s eyes soften at that and when he leans in to kiss him again, it’s gentle and sweet. Armand quickly deepens the kiss and before long the heat has built between them again, reigniting the need burning inside them both.

“Okay,” Daniel pants when he pulls away, more to himself than to Armand before he looks him in the eyes again and asks him, “How do you want to do this? Maybe on your hands and knees? That was easier for me at first.”

The tiniest tremor of fear runs through Armand at that suggestion.

“No,” he shakes his head, the answer coming a little too quickly for it to sound nonchalant. “I need to see your face.”

I need to know it’s you, he thinks, but doesn’t say aloud.

Daniel gives him an easy smile. “Sure thing, boss,” he says. “How about you lie back for me then?”

Armand nods and rolls onto his back. He pulls off his underwear along with his sweatpants, kicking them both haphazardly to the floor as Daniel climbs off the bed and pokes around in his bedside table for a minute. He returns a moment later with a bottle of their preferred brand of lube and a box of condoms, placing them on the bed beside Armand.

Armand takes a deep breath as Daniel nudges his legs apart and moves between them. The pleasure he experiences as Daniel settles his weight on top of him and rocks their hips together is dulled by the nervous feeling suddenly creeping in on him. He tries to shove it down with a string of comforting affirmations—It’s just Daniel. There’s nothing to be scared of. He loves you, more than you deserve—but it’s difficult to ignore.

“Armand,” Daniel says suddenly, interrupting Armand’s train of thought.

He must have closed his eyes because he opens them now to see Daniel looking down at him, his green eyes warm and searching.

“You with me?” he asks, leaning over him on his elbow so he can reach up with his other hand to brush the backs of his fingers over Armand’s cheek. His gentle touch tickles a little, but Armand is so disarmed by his question he barely notices.

“Always,” Armand tells him, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

Daniel smiles softly and leans in to kiss him then. Armand feels the weight on his chest grow lighter with every reassuring press of Daniel’s lips. The distinctive scent of stale cigarette smoke and faded cologne that clings to his curls fills Armand’s nose once more and he finds a strange sense of comfort in it.

It’s just Daniel. There’s nothing to be scared of. He loves you, more than you deserve.

“Tell me if you need a break or if you want to stop, okay?” Daniel says when they part.

Armand nods distractedly, his eyes still glued to Daniel’s mouth.

“Ah, ah,” Daniel chastises with a smirk and Armand’s eyes flick back up to Daniel’s, his brow drawn in confusion. “I have it on very good authority that communication is very important at times like this. Can you repeat that back for me so I know you understand?”

Armand rolls his eyes, but it makes him laugh too. He’s had Daniel do this for him many times before, just to make sure Daniel remembers he can say no or ask for a break if things get to be too much. With their history of miscommunication and Daniel’s occasional reluctance to share what goes on inside his beautiful head, it felt important that they make it routine to ensure Daniel is safe, especially during their more intense scenes. To see Daniel flipping the script on him, so to speak, is surprisingly endearing.

“I will tell you if I need a break or if I want to stop,” Armand tells him. “Does that satisfy you, Daniel?”

“It’ll do,” he grins wider with as much of a shrug as he can manage from his position.

Armand rolls his eyes again and huffs another quiet laugh before he surges up to kiss the smile off of Daniel's face. This time, when Daniel's hips rock against him, the tension Armand felt earlier is nothing but a memory and a soft sound of pleasure escapes him, caught by Daniel’s kiss.

Daniel indulges him for a long moment before his lips leave Armand's mouth and move to his neck. He kisses a lazy path from his throat to his collarbone and finally down to his sternum. He feels one of Daniel's hands cup the defined muscles of his chest, his thumb flicking over one of his nipples before he turns his head and latches his mouth onto the other.

Armand moans, his thighs dropping open a little wider around Daniel's waist as he starts to suck. He gives Armand a taste of his own medicine, alternating between teasing his nipples with his lips and tongue before tugging them between his teeth. It distracts him well enough that Armand doesn’t even notice the bottle of lube has been uncapped until he feels Daniel's slick fingers between his cheeks. He must have warmed the lube between his fingers first because it isn’t cold like he’s expecting when he rubs them over his hole.

Armand gasps softly as Daniel’s finger finally breaches him. As familiar as the sensation was to him once, the stretch feels odd at first—uncomfortable, even—as Daniel starts to work him open with one finger and then two. He tries his best to relax and focus on the sucking heat of Daniel’s mouth on his chest instead, but his erection starts to flag a little anyway. It doesn’t help that Daniel hasn’t found his prostate yet—whether by choice or inexperience, Armand isn’t sure—and Armand begins to grow restless, desperate for the pleasure he knows Daniel is capable of giving him.

Something must show on his face because when Daniel lifts his mouth from Armand’s chest to look at him, he asks him, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Armand tells him, trying hard not to squirm.

“Hmm,” Daniel hums thoughtfully, studying his face as he pushes his fingers back inside him. When he starts to pull them out again, he curls them toward Armand’s navel and asks, “How about now?”

Bright golden sunspots burst behind Armand’s eyes as Daniel's fingers finally stroke over his prostate.

“Ah, fuck,” Armand cries, his back bowing off the mattress, his hand clutching at Daniel's shoulder. “Daniel.”

Daniel laughs softly at the drama of his reaction, shifting up the bed to press a kiss to the corner of Armand's parted lips.

“What, you think I didn’t learn a thing or two from you?” he smiles, curling his fingers once more and dragging a heated moan from deep in Armand’s chest as he rubs against that spot inside him. “You've been a very thorough teacher.”

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but Armand cannot bring himself to care so long as he keeps touching him there.

“Don't stop,” he gasps, canting his hips into Daniel's touch.

“Anything you say, boss,” Daniel manages to answer before Armand tugs him into a proper kiss, both hands buried in his wild curls.

Daniel kisses him back eagerly and it’s not long before he has Armand writhing on three of his fingers, his cock once more a heavy weight on his stomach.

“Enough,” Armand whines when the tension begins to build too much, reaching for Daniel's wrist to still his hand. “Please.”

“Please what?” Daniel asks him, like he doesn’t know, like it isn’t fucking obvious what Armand is so desperate for.

Frustrated tears begin to gather in Armand’s eyes. This has to be revenge for their first night together, when Armand fingered Daniel in his small twin bed until he nearly bit through his own lip so the partygoers outside their door wouldn’t hear him begging for it. It had been fun for him then to delay the inevitable, to watch Daniel approach the edge again and again, so close to falling apart Armand could feel him tightening desperately around his fingers. The prospect of Daniel doing the same to him now, though, is almost too much for him to bear.

“Fuck me,” Armand answers, too strung out to put much force behind the words.

Though his voice lacks the usual power of his commands, Daniel obeys him all the same. With one more tender kiss, Armand feels Daniel’s fingers withdraw from his body before he sits back on his knees between Armand’s thighs and reaches for the bottle of lube he left lying on the bed.

Armand misses his warmth immediately, hating how the cool air conditioning feels against his heated skin. He watches, propped up on his elbows, as Daniel rolls a condom down his cock and spreads some lube over himself with a loose fist.

Just as he thinks Daniel is finally about to fuck him, he squeezes a little more lube into his hand and brings two fingers back to Armand's hole, slipping them easily back inside him. Armand is about to groan a complaint about how long he’s making him wait for it when he notices the focus in Daniel’s expression as his fingers spread more lube inside him.

He realizes then that Daniel isn’t dragging this out merely for his own amusement—he's trying to make sure Armand is ready.

The thought strikes him mute for a moment. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that. No one he’s ever been with—not even Marius on his best day—has ever handled him with such care.

“I won’t break, you know,” Armand says quietly.

“I know,” Daniel says. He curls his fingers just a little as he eases them out of Armand’s body, once more pulling a gasp from Armand. He leans over him then, their faces so close Daniel’s features start to blur as he says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna do my best to make sure I don’t hurt you.”

It’s hard to argue with that, especially when Daniel silences any protest he could possibly make by capturing his lips in a kiss.

“Can you lift your hips for me for a second?” Daniel asks him when he pulls away.

Armand swallows the emotions rising in his throat and complies without a word. He lets Daniel shove a pillow beneath his hips, raising them so he'll have a better angle. Once he’s exactly where Daniel wants him, Daniel finally takes his own cock in hand.

Armand watches between his thighs as Daniel lines his cock up against his hole, his heart pounding with anticipation.

“Ready?” Daniel asks him.

Armand nods, not trusting his voice.

Twin groans fill the air as the thick head of Daniel’s cock pushes past Armand’s rim. If he thought Daniel's careful preparation was gratuitous, he was wrong. It doesn't hurt, but with every inch Daniel sinks into him Armand feels a little like he's being split open, like Daniel is carving out a space for himself inside him.

“Oh god,” Daniel moans, sounding every bit as overwhelmed as Armand feels. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby.”

Armand opens his mouth to speak, but he can hardly manage more than an inarticulate groan. It’s like all the air has been pushed out of his lungs and all he can focus on is the all-consuming fullness inside him. He drops his head back against his pillow and tries to breathe through it. He reaches for his own cock where it lies trapped and leaking between their bellies, but Daniel lightly bats his hand away and wraps his own around him instead.

“Let me,” he says and starts to stroke him, his hand still slick with lube.

The glide of Daniel’s hand over his cock is the perfect distraction as he adjusts to the feeling of his cock inside him. A fire catches low in his belly that grows and grows until Armand is urging Daniel to move, his legs wrapped high up on his waist and his hands touching him wherever he can reach.

With a few experimental rolls of his hips, Daniel starts to find his rhythm, fucking him with increasingly strong, steady thrusts that have Armand panting for more. He shouts as the head of Daniel’s cock bumps his prostate, pleasure bursting in sunspots behind his eyes.

“Right there, baby?” Daniel asks him, and he doesn't wait for an answer as he does it again, angling his hips just right and tearing another moan from Armand’s chest. Daniel starts to fuck him in earnest then with sharp thrusts that make punched out little sounds fall from Armand's lips as his hand still twists around his cock.

He watches Armand closely from above, as if committing every gasp, every moan, every sigh he makes to memory. Armand is no stranger to exhibitionism, but this is different. The attention makes him feel raw, flayed open and bare, as if his soul—not his body—is exposed for all the world to see.

Except it isn't the world looking down at him with devotion in its eyes. It's Daniel, the person he trusts most, and there is such freedom in that, he realizes, in knowing that someone sees you, all of you, and loves you all the same.

“Kiss me,” Armand tells him, begs him, and Daniel is quick to follow orders, slowing his movements to a deep, dirty grind that has Armand's toes curling as he licks into his mouth.

Armand kisses him until he can barely breathe. He’s gasping as they part, drawing in greedy breaths as he looks up at Daniel like he's the only thing that matters. The afternoon sun pales in comparison to the golden light Armand sees emanating from him as he hovers over him, his chest glistening with sweat as he drives his cock into him over and over, just where he needs it.

Of course it does, he thinks, a little deliriously, as he reaches up to cup Daniel’s face in his hands, staring intently into his mossy green eyes. What is a mediocre star compared to him?

It’s that thought that echoes in his mind as he feels the tension in his belly coiling tighter, his orgasm rapidly approaching. His world narrows to the hot drag of Daniel's cock inside him and within moments, Armand is coming with hardly a sound, his cock jerking hard in Daniel's grip as he makes a mess of them both.

“That's it, baby. Come for me,” Daniel groans as he fucks him through it until Armand’s thighs are trembling on either side of his hips and he’s on the edge of overstimulation.

Daniel follows him over the edge a moment later, moaning into Armand’s neck and shoving himself so deep inside him Armand is sure he’ll feel him there for days. Armand holds him close as they both catch their breath, one hand raking his fingers through Daniel’s sweat-damp curls as the other traces patterns over his shoulder.

A small sound of discomfort escapes Armand as Daniel pulls his softening cock out of him. Daniel places an apologetic kiss to his lips before he moves off of him to sit up. He disposes of the condom, tying it off before dropping it in the trash can beside the bed.

He feels uncomfortably sticky and in desperate need of another shower, but when Daniel lies back down on the bed next to him, Armand can’t help but seek him out again, rolling over so he can rest his head on Daniel’s chest, too loose-limbed to even think about cleaning up just yet.

“So how’d I do?” Daniel asks him, his breath warm against Armand’s forehead as he wraps an arm around him, his fingers resting in the dip of Armand’s waist.

Armand huffs a delirious laugh against his collarbone.

“Ask me again when I can feel my legs,” he says, the dark hair covering Daniel’s chest tickling his cheek.

Daniel laughs and presses a kiss to Armand’s hair.

“That good, huh?” He asks, sounding wildly pleased with himself. Armand supposes that after that performance he deserves the praise.

He lifts his head off Daniel's chest to look at him properly. His smile is smug, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his hair looks utterly ridiculous. Armand falls just a little more in love with him.

“It’s always that good with you, Daniel,” Armand tells him, his own smile impossibly fond.

Daniel pulls him into a kiss then. It must be their thousandth one today and yet it still feels just as powerful as their first. Armand stays close when they part, pulling back just far enough to see Daniel's face.

“Are you feeling any better?” Armand asks him.

“Yeah,” he nods, and this time it is convincing. “Thank you.”

Armand tilts his head curiously at that. “For what?” he asks.

“For what you said,” Daniel answers. “For being here. It means a lot.”

Armand doesn't know what to say. Before he can try to find the words, Daniel continues.

“And it goes both ways, you know,” Daniel tells him. “Whatever happens with Louis or Marius or whoever else is giving you shit, I'll be with you, okay? We can handle it together.”

Armand isn't quite sure what that would look like—not with the sort of problems Marius gives him on a semi-regular basis—but he must admit he likes the sound of it.

“Together,” he promises and seals it with a kiss.

He rests his head on Daniel's chest again when they part, relishing the warmth and comfort of his embrace. He still has work he ought to finish before the day is over, but it can wait. There's always tomorrow, after all, and this moment feels too precious for him to ruin by getting out of bed right now.

It should come as no surprise, then, that he finds a way to ruin it anyway.

He's mapping the freckles on Daniel's chest with the tip of his finger when Daniel calls his name.

“Hey, Armand?” he asks.

“Hmm?” Armand hums, turning his face up to look at him.

“Have you told your parents about us yet?” Daniel asks him. “Or are you in the same boat as I am with having to come out and everything?”

Armand goes very still.

It’s a fair question. He can’t blame Daniel for asking it. Neither of those truths soften the blow to Armand's heart.

Because Armand has always been secure in the knowledge, at least in the flashes of memory he still retained, that his parents—wherever they were—loved him very much. It had been his sole source of comfort in the hellish catacombs he had once called home, the one thing his tormentors could never take from him. As he was forced to sleep on rough stone floors night after night and was savagely beaten for the crime of even mentioning their existence, he never let himself forget that somewhere in the world, his parents were looking for him. Somewhere in the world, they still loved him.

And as he considers the implications of Daniel’s question, it occurs to him that, were he to ever somehow find them again and tell them about his life—about Daniel—that there is a chance that that might no longer be true.

The wall Armand keeps in between the raw, jagged piece of his heart that mourns them and the rest of the world crumbles. A sudden, gaping emptiness opens in his chest, so wide and all-consuming he almost doesn’t notice the racing of his heart. The features of Daniel’s face blur beyond recognition and his voice, his beautiful voice, sounds warped and fuzzy as it reaches his ears.

“Armand?” he hears him say, a haze of confusion rounding out the edges of the consonants.

Armand opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Shit, was it bad?” Daniel asks, jumping to a logical, but incorrect assumption.

Daniel reaches up to cup his cheek, but Armand flinches at the unexpected touch. His eyes focus once more and he sees the way Daniel's brow is furrowed with worry, concern etched into every line on his face.

The guilt he feels is crushing. He hates that he did that, that he'd ruined Daniel's happiness even for a moment. He needs to get away from him before he makes it worse, he needs to—

“I need a shower,” he manages to say, his own voice drowned out by the ringing in his ears. He climbs off the bed without waiting for Daniel to reply.

He leaves his bedroom and crosses the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He turns the shower on in the hopes that the noise will drown out the thoughts running through his mind too quickly to even articulate.

When it doesn't work, he gets inside the shower. The water is ice cold as he steps under the spray, but Armand barely notices. He stands with his back against the cool tile wall and slides down to the floor, his knees pulled tight to his chest.

He can hear Daniel calling his name, but he can't find his voice to answer him. Faintly, he registers the bathroom door swinging open on its hinges. He can't bring himself to take his eyes off his knees.

The water stops. A towel is draped across his back and shoulders. Warm arms wrap around him, holding him tight. He smells stale cigarette smoke and faded cologne. Bit by bit the world comes back into focus.

“Baby, what happened?” Daniel asks him, his tone sharp with worry and confusion. “Talk to me, please, what's going on?”

“They're gone,” Armand tells him, the words leaving his mouth as if he learned to say them by rote, his voice as hollow as his heart. “They're gone.”

#devil's minion #the vampire armand #daniel molloy #interview with the vampire #devil's minion fic #ethics professor louis fic #FINALLY

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joyfullyacat · 2 years

Text

Mistakes and Miscommunication

haha woops happy belated valentines day (this got really wrong and its now officially the longest oneshot i've ever done!) legally beta'd, i think the formatting is alright? anyway, lots of stuff explored so a touch experimental glitch and design i describe belongs to @sleepykas (ty for letting me write for him ;;;)

CW: mild violence, slightly suggestive notes, a touch of angst but it ends fluffy and stupid (silly references and jokes ahead) word count: 8.3k on this bad boy -

There’ll always be a part of you that is ready for danger, a sliver of haywire paranoia that never quite rests when you enter the field of law enforcement. That sliver will grow and hairline cracks will form at will at the slightest wrong interactions and it’s… Problematic.

But it keeps you safe. Somewhat.

The itchy feeling in the back of your head you’ve learned to ignore causes you to learn a lesson time and time again it feels like - that lesson being you should always trust your gut instinct when it tells you something is off about a situation. Even if the paranoia is bad - your gut proves to be good.

If you did listen to it, you’d probably be in far better shape than you were currently.

It was supposed to be a simple patrol, a call about “suspicious activity” which you get dime-a-dozen of day in and day out. Usually it’s a distinct bias against neighbors or particular groups of people, things that get settled with placating words and-or your thinning patience.

The setting sun meant you had to work fast and maybe that was where you began to slip up. Wanting to make it in time to clock out as you had been around the city and on your feet since before it even rose to greet the windows of your high rise apartment.

A show you had been watching recently was releasing its finale tonight - you had lots to look forward to! You were gonna order pizza and pig out, it was gonna be a good night.

However, the location given by the tip-off wasn’t the standard neighborhood or busy shopping district which meant you were in distinctly unfamiliar territory. Instead, you were at a relatively desolate port. An extensive strip of land that had towering stacks of cargo containers that seemed to form an endless maze in an array of colors and graffiti markings.

Not to mention warehouses.

You parked a small distance away from the buildings and crates, noting the overall lack of traffic over in this area - how quiet it seemed silent for the soft natural ambience of the ocean nearby. With the distant echoing hustle and bustle of the city, it’s not like anything would really be noticed going on here.

The lack of people busying about should have been your first clue that things were not quite what they seemed here but, then again, you weren’t wholly sure how this business worked in the first place.

Your shoes crunch against gravel before clicking against cement, you strain your ears to pick up on anything out of the ordinary.

The shadows casted by your surroundings are steadily growing and street lights are popping up, you fetch your flashlight from your belt and click it on, casually swinging it this way and that.

A developing sense of unease makes your stomach feel heavy, but you persist.

You shouldn’t be here for too long, there’s no reason to be here any longer than you need to be, yet there’s an invisible force that draws you to one of the warehouses.

Muffled voices steadily become audible, they’re rising at one another in a clear shouting match.

You stop at the wall, a small distance from the large overhead warehouse door that’s not fully closed and light peeps out from under it. This could either be some off-load workers getting riled up or it’s something far more nefarious going on.

Another moment is taken to scan the surroundings and your flashlight catches onto something shiny.

A very expensive looking car with silver accents and too dark windows peeks around the corner opposite from your own.

In another moment, in your peripheral, something gleams in the dying moments of sunlight in an elevated position. A keen whine forms in your ears as it feels like time slows in your fear.

Suddenly, you’re dropping to the ground and practically scuttle away, a bullet right where your head once was making a pretty, smoking hole with a startling clang as the metal is torn through like paper.

There’s a beat of silence, the arguing from inside coming to a halt.

Then the door starts to rise open and now you’re running to the crates, your car wouldn’t be safe, not with the sniper that’s thankfully a terrible shot and probably adjusting their sights with the early night darkness that’s settled.

With fumbling fingers in your adrenaline fueled fervor, you grasp at the radio clipped to your lapel, giving a hasty. “Send units, I’ve come across possible gang activity and have been, -” Shots ring out behind you and ding the crates that you round the corner of but you continue, in your pursuit of safety, you hear a confirmation buzz among the static of the radio.

You’re definitely outnumbered and now your only goal is to survive.

Maybe you should start to take a patrol partner no matter what, your usual wasn’t available - there was Glitch at the time but you were certain he hates you and you weren’t about to make a coworker suffer you.

Even if you think he looks quite nifty since his latest changes and would love to hear all about them.

That was a matter for another time however.

Distantly you hear shouts of finding “the rat” and getting “the boss” out, there’s sharp clanging of chains and echoing barks of dogs and you internally cringe. Hoping they wouldn’t sic those on you.

“Bring them alive! I wanna know what dingbat has the balls to come here!” A hoarse voice barks out and his presumed underlings don't even have to give a word of acknowledgement, just immediately acting on the order as steps sound across the pavement.

“This night is turning out terrible.” You breathe out as softly as you can, trying to steel your nerves as you brace for what is to possibly come. The descending night air is soothing as a gentle breeze ghosts the nape of your neck, carrying the smell of the waters near.

Briefly, you consider praying to whatever god is watching this sudden turn of action movie-esque events that you wouldn’t end up in those waters against your will.

The weight of the pistol is distinct in your hands as you ready it, pulling back the slide until the familiar click rings out like a church bell, ringing for, ideally, not you.

You keep light on your feet as you weave around the cargo stacks, letting the aggressive stomps of your pursuers act as a muffle for your noises but it’s not long until you turn the corner and ram yourself right into someone’s back.

A note for next time, check around corners before taking them in a situation such as this.

They’re not a friend but neither you nor him have an opportunity to act as deafening too close shots ring out. An itchy trigger finger finally given reason to engage.

Bang!

The body you’re pressed up to jerks against you.

Bang! Bang!

In those next moments, you’re ramming the goon forward, shoving them into your shooter. Fruitlessly trying not to think of the terrible moral implications of the deed or the fact that they’re so desperate to get to you - that they’d kill their own to do so.

The situation suddenly becomes all the more real as you’re shooting over the shoulder of the fallen and splattering the crates around you in red before there’s two heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground together.

At least they weren’t alone? That… Doesn’t make it better.

There’s a tremble that’s developed in your hands but you’re unsure if it’s from adrenaline or from fear. Have you ever done this before? No, the bits of blood that coat your hand and run down your face feels foreign and disgusting.

Was this a you-or-them situation? You think so. Could you have simply disabled the shooter somehow? The two of them?

You don’t have much time to think that through as a flurry of racing feet begin to converge and get closer to your location, loud and steadfast, no doubt attracted to the rapidfire of shots and the only choice left is to run for it once again. Bob and weave through the environment, the location wasn’t that far from the station but traffic could hold support back from getting to you in a timely manner.

Granted, was anything timely when your life's on the line?

Distantly, you think you hear sirens. Maybe that’s just you being hopeful…

…Glitch was beside himself. Hands gripping tight on the wheel and making the leather creak as he sped along the road as legally as he could with his equally racing thoughts burning holes in his head in their loops. Every second felt like a minute and every minute felt like an hour and it all felt like you were rapidly running out of that very precious time.

You hadn’t updated the radio line since your initial call for help.

The shots over the receiver set his inner workings on a frenzy, a distinctive rush of electricity that no doubt made his face appear unbecoming if the looks his coworkers gave him while heading out were any indication.

But it didn’t matter - none of it would if he - if they couldn’t get to you in time.

It was him with five other officers, three cars total, hopefully it’d be enough but if he had any say in the matter - he’d have taken more.

There was so much he would take and do for you and your safety and…

“Hey… Big guy?” His accompanying partner pipes up, snapping Glitch from his thoughts. Johnson was one of few coworkers that wasn’t naturally intimidated by his mannerisms, a somewhat grounding presence when ambitions went above capabilities.

Except the animatronic wasn’t too sure if he could be leveled with at the moment. Just managing through his strain a deceptively polite hum of acknowledgement, head tilting towards the human in the passenger’s seat.

“...You’re bending the wheel.”

…

What? He’s what?

If he was capable of it, he would have started to break out in a cold sweat as yes, he was in fact contorting the steering wheel underneath his stress. The top half now held a noticeable curve inwards, towards himself that made his crushing grip clear.

Glitch made a vague sound, pretending to clear his throat as he relented his force almost entirely after that point. “I’m… Not quite sorry, but apologetic to worry you like that.”

All he gets in return is a disarming chuckle, “Not offended, if anything it’s cool, always wondered if those things could actually be damaged. They tend to survive wrecks outside of the air bags… Besides, I know why you’re worried. We’ll get to our fellow officer, it’s not much farther now.”

Not much farther now, that’s right.

It still feels like it’s been too long.

Did you even have any more minutes to spare?...

…You’re not sure how much time has passed, it all feels like too long yet not long enough for what you’re waiting for. You’ve downed more goons than you’ve been struck and you’ll count every single one of your blessings if any are left after this.

But those sirens are feasible now, your pursuers have caught wind of them too.

You’re tucked in the midst of crates, trying your best to take in desperate heaves of air as quietly as you can. You were doing so well at surviving that you were cursing at how you pigeon-holed yourself now.

It felt like a rookie’s mistake.

There’s the repetitive clicking of a lighter before a deep, raspy woman’s voice sounds, “The fuckin’ leak got help, cops are closing in - what do we do?” A moment of silence, the individual breathing in a cigarette presumably before coughing some.

Well at least she wasn’t very fussed in finding you it seemed, a good sign.

“Seems we may have to cut losses ‘ere, we’ve lost quite a few as is - impressive but annoying.” The voice is cool, collected. Honeyed even, though it holds a drawl as if he watched just a few too many pirate cartoons and movies. This voice had been tailing you casually for a bit now, ever since the initial run in you had with some of his fellow gang members and left them in a heap in each other’s arms against your own volition.

If him having a level head was supposed to be an intimidation tactic, well…

Consider yourself apprehensive, not a good sign. It seemed he always had a general idea where you were but didn’t want to clue the others in - maybe he liked the chase?

You didn’t like that thought remotely.

Distant shouts start up, orders being barked, there’s slams of car doors and people are clearly making their leave now. Your salvation must be real close, spotted on some not-so-distant horizon line.

“They’re calling a retreat, Tod.”

Todd?

You were being stalked by a guy named Todd?

“Mmm… So they are.” There’s a sigh that’s distinctly crackly, mechanical… This was an animatronic, “I’ll let y’go, I’ll be able to catch up - I wanna leave ‘em with a message.” His tone was firm, giving a resolute dark promise for your head to whoever they were prowling around with.

A choppy cackle breaks into a coughing fit, “Bring back a souvenir.” Another audible deep drag of a cigarette before pounding steps announced her leave.

A moment of silence.

A chuckle echoes out, warm and confident.“...Now s’just the two of us, lil’ pup.”

Oh that was a dubious nickname… You were unbelievably screwed if this Todd found you - but there was no moving from where you were, you couldn’t figure out how close the mafia member was.

The back-up was so close now, you could practically see the flashing lights bounce around and reflect from various metal surroundings.

Screeeeech!

As well as soon smell the burning rubber of tires from vehicles stopping too harshly along the cement, car doors opening and shots echoing out across the way. Distinctly, there’s a loud crash that reverberates through the ground, someone knocked a vehicle into something it seemed.

“Hands up! You’ve no way to go!” A voice you vaguely recognize bellows out the familiar command. Help was right there…

They’d probably be occupied with stragglers for a bit.

You’re much too occupied with figuring out a way to run to your safe haven that you don’t realize the wandering steps of your would-be hunter had tapered off into very careful tip toes. How unbelievably quiet it had gotten in your immediate vicinity, the noise outside of this personal bubble that was your potential dead-end being an easy distraction.

A distraction that would be your downfall.

Click.

…Safety was just turned off. You look down.

It wasn’t your own, even if you had a gun in your hands aimed at your only way out as means of protection.

So you look over and up, craning your head back.

The towering figure above you has a gun aimed at your forehead. No doubt, he’d be quicker on the draw as he didn’t exactly have vitals for you to maim like his far fleshier counterparts.

The animatronic’s grin is outright predatory as he looks down at you, “There you are…” He all but purrs out, golden fang glinting in the low light of your surroundings. Piercing orange eyes practically sparkle at his discovery of you.

It’s then you realize that this was a fox.

Who’s name was not Todd but in fact Tod.

A male-presenting fox animatronic. Named Tod.

How wonderful.

You’d laugh if you weren’t staring death in the face at this point in time.

“Wonder who tipped y’off our way, did y’never consider it being a trap? Your sorts never wander around these parts.” Tod speaks casually, almost flippantly as he leans forward, pressing the barrel of his pistol to your temple with a little pressing nudge that had your hands going clammy. “You’ve cost us so much, it almost seems fitting we should return the favor to those friends y’called.”

Buy time.

You had to buy time - more time. How much debt were you in right now?

“Is your name actually Tod?” You blurt out without thinking, looking up at him with a wide-eyed blink.

Tod looks just as perplexed as you feel, the hold on his weapon falling slack just a bit.

You could probably survive a shot to the jaw, right?

Belatedly, you recognize he has an eyepatch flipped-up at this moment, he really was a pirate wanna-be. “...I guess if the question is so burning…” He begins, unsure and still bewildered at your outburst, “It’s not Tod - I hold the name Foxy. We jus’ have aliases.”

“...Foxy the fox automaton.” You relay after a beat, helpless against the dopey grin that forms at the ridiculousness and very on-the-nose nature of his name.

This was even better than Tod and if you didn’t know any better, you’d outright giggle but you know just enough to just settle for your smile instead.

…Okay, a snort broke out. Ugly and undignified but could you be blamed?

Foxy just looks at you, positively floored at your sheer audacity… Or maybe it was your blatant stupidity - considering the current situation you were in with him. However you were frazzled, tired if you were honest. You were stained with blood that, while you sure wasn’t your own, couldn’t be too sure. You definitely had bruises if nothing else.

So you were going to find your entertainment where you could.

A few moments of silence pass.

Are those steps heading your way?

You’re not exactly sure what you or him are waiting for as the once tense air where your life was in peril subsides into something far more awkward.

It reminds you just a little too much of interactions you have with a certain other animatronic who works with you.

Finally, with an ear twitching in acknowledgement to outside noises, Foxy decides to cut through the silence with a sharp huff of amusement. “You’re something else y’know tha -” His words are suddenly cut off by a black blur moving past your hidey-hole and barreling into your captor. The gun held against you clatters to the ground, Foxy’s voice box breaks into something of an animalistic screech of static before an all out brawl starts between the two of them.

You stay right where you are. Getting in the middle of that is a good way to find yourself pummeled…

…Glitch found you.

He finally found you.

He found you facing down the muzzle of a gun with a deer in the headlights look that you shared with your potential killer. He was already high-strung before.

It was safe to say that he saw red then and it wasn’t just the fur of the animatronic that he tore away from the fox at the base, exposing the endoskeleton and wires alike without care.

When the squad arrived, the criminals were scattering, getting into cars and tailing it out of there or trying to get away on foot. More enforcements were called in, cars were already noted and license plates were spread, the city wouldn’t be quiet tonight and probably not for some nights after.

Especially with the amount of members they were able to apprehend. Many new database entries would be added. New mugshots to be made fun of. The precinct would finally have things to do after what seemed like too long of crickets.

That wasn’t even going over the amount of members you had single-handedly felled. Even if every body he came across filled him with trepidation - there was unbelievable relief when they were turned over and it wasn’t your face. There was a growing sense of pride too.

Who knows how many operations you had interrupted with your actions this night.

It did unmentionable things for him that he’d have to unpack later but for now, all there was to focus on was you and you alone.

He - … They… No. He was so close to losing you just then and he would have been just… Seconds off the mark. Just mere seconds, a blink of the eye really.

A moment of hesitation or if something else caught his attention, what could have happened to you?

…Very possibly, it’d be you in a bag with half a dozen others and that was a thought he couldn’t bear.

Even more shudder-inducing was the potential of you being captured and used.

All his worries, his frustrations - both with you and with himself, were unleashed in this one moment.

Metal groaned in protest as he forced limbs to snap and contort outside of their range, joints becoming useless at multiple points. Glitch was deaf to the cries of his fellow automaton - but he didn’t kill the bot.

That’d be too good for them.

There was a final, keen creak of the fox’s arm before it came clean off with a shower of sparks, the very arm responsible for aiming a gun at you and it seemed his system forcibly shut down now to hide from further trauma as the beast-like animatronic fell slack beneath him.

A pitiful play dead response.

“...Is he dead?” He hears you speak out brittley once it had all gone quiet, Glitch peers over his shoulder to look at you peeking over a crate and looking back at him with doe eyes.

You’d be cute if you weren’t painted with blood… But at least your vitals read normal.

This night was gonna haunt him for a bit it felt like. Rather - you’d be haunting him for a bit. That's more accurate.

“No, no he isn’t… Just out of commission. They’ll patch him up for interrogation.” He answers unsteadily, there’s definitely a drive - a wish to finish the job but he’s done enough damage and they need to find out all they could about what was transpiring here.

So he merely radios-in the stray before peeling himself from the fallen and heading over to you…

…You look up at the new too-tall figure, this time a friend that you finally recognized as your coworker, Glitch.

Were all animatronics just built to be large? You didn’t think you were particularly short but you were beginning to see a pattern here. Though you were also on the ground currently.

He’s scratched up from his scrap and holds tears in his nice suit. Honestly it seems like he got more hurt than you did, if damages to his surface coloring counted.

“...Can you stand?” He asks after he lowers himself to a squat in front of you, probably trying to gauge your current state of being at a closer level… Or maybe he just didn’t wanna overwhelm you.

You were ready to be out of this terrible resting spot.

“I… Think I can?”

Though, at this moment, you’re not sure where to even start. You wanna put your gun away, you want to wipe your sweaty palms on your pants despite it being uncouth, you also still wanna get up and walk out and get back in your car and go home and -!

Hands carefully go over your own, plucking you from your adrenaline fueled spiraling thoughts. He navigates your fingers deftly with his own, nudging them to get the safety on and to unload the bullet in the chamber. Little clicks and rings being a very nice change of pace from all the chaotic noises you were surrounded by before.

Which, you realize morosely, that bit of ammo was your last one.

You truly were standing on your last leg just then.

The gun is guided back to its holster, Glitch leaning in and making you focus on nothing but him and all that was him in this moment. A hand settles at your hip and for a moment, you’re looking into eachothers eyes.

You don’t decipher the emotions dancing within them - you can barely figure out your own currently.

In a flash of bravery, you ask, “Could I bother you to pick me up?”

Golden eyes widen some - well, his left eye widens as much as it can. “...You could bother me for anything.” He replies with seeming breathiness without missing a beat this time, almost as if he was relieved you were back to your shenanigans with that request.

The hand at your hip suddenly grips you firm and is matched with another hand on the other side before you’re picked up like you weigh no more than a couple of grapes. You only have time to gasp as you’re not held like a ballerina waiting to be held overhead for long, instead carefully maneuvered to be in a bridal carry and held protectively to him.

This is the closest you’ve been to the bot and frankly, you’re unsure what to do with yourself.

Your hands seem to dance between wanting to rest against him on his chest - or resting against yourself in an awkward cradle to your own chest. A need to comfort your savior but also not wanting to overstep whatever was sat between you and him.

“...You’re tense.” You note after a small while, you hadn’t realized how far you went into the maze of crates in your digs for survival.

Glitch hums above you, “I am also made of metal, there’s not much of me that isn’t rigid.” His words are teasing but his tone doesn’t quite match up, it’s distant. Not all there. His thoughts have his attention more than you do.

“You know what I mean…”

“I’m sure I do.” Without further word, he paws at something along your belt line and you squawk at the sudden prodding.

“What are you-!”

The familiar jingle of keys to your patrol car sounds and is tossed recklessly to another officer on the scene.

Your hands finally know what to do with themselves then and that’s flail, all outstretched in front of you in a pathetic attempt to take your keys back, “I need those!”

The animatronic holding you pointedly ignores you, as do the rest of your fellow officers, too busy snickering and likely spreading gossip for the image Glitch and you offered them tonight.

“Take the patrol car left over on the gravel, officer…” The animatronic announces your name before holding you up like some prize and you feel your face burn in embarrassment at some of the snickers that ensue afterwards. “Here is unfit to drive in this current state.”

There are cheers at your safe recovery but of course the statement draws some concern.

The coworker who has your keys, Johnson, you think it is. Someone who commonly teams up with Glitch only gives a curt nod before gesturing to you. “Do they need medical attention?”

“I don’t think so. Not emergency at least.”

You squirm, “Do I get a say in this?”

“Not currently.” Replies Glitch without so much as a second thought. It’s amusing how adjusted the others seem to his antics.

Your current escort splits from the rest of the team present after that, you wanna laugh and coo at how he tries his absolute damndest to keep you in his arms. Like a toddler unwilling to let go of their favorite soft toy or blanket that needs to be washed. Going as far as leaning a bit too far forward at his height, just to be able to open the door before putting you in the front seat without so much as an inquiry to your state of being.

There’s a part of you that wonders how much of this is for you and how much of it is for him.

You’ve just gotten your seatbelt clicked into place by the time he gets into his seat and it’s not long after that where the two of you are off, the soothing hum of being on the road allowing you to fully relax now.

“...Has that always been screwy?” You gesture to the bent wheel a few minutes into your return to the station with him.

“...Not quite.” He admits after a moment of hesitation, “I, ah… Got worried on the way here. Everyone heard the shots over the radio.”

Oh.

“Is that why you’ve been so…?” You gesture vaguely to him and barely spot the way his gaze flicks to you before going back to the road that stretches ahead.

Eyelights flick to you, “So-? I lied when I said I was able to get what you mean.” This time there was an actual teasing lilt to his words, a little curl to his teeth in a clear smarmy grin that has you huffing.

“...Touchy? Protective? …Comforting?” The last word is said with a moment’s worth of hesitation, unsure if that was quite the word to use. “...Maybe reassuring is the better word all together there.”

“Comforting?”

Before you can even note the small way he echoed one of your words - if you had blinked in that moment, you would have missed it. The screen of his face, for lack of a better word, glitched much like his namesake. Turning into a reflective black void of nothingness for a moment before flickering back on and being loudly silent.

Yeah. He had a way of making silence audible. Where no words needed to be said.

Impressive and intimidating. Just a touch annoying.

Then, like nothing happened at all, he bobs his head in a half nod. “So I have - is this… A problem?” He notes, clearly toeing the topic line of boundaries without outright asking.

With a snort, you’re unable to stop yourself from pointing out the obvious interaction you just had with him, “...I let you carry me, didn’t I?”

“So you did.” He confirms.

“And it was nice…” You say, genuine, but also as a test as you keep a close eye for his reaction.

Glitch doesn’t disappoint as he noticeably grips the wheel with a strength you’d know would crush your hand without so much as a batted eye, yet funnily enough he actually manages to straighten out some of the contortion he subjected it to earlier. Pushing it back into place a fair deal.

His strength was known around the station but still… Poor steering wheel.

It’s not long after that when you finally arrive with him at the station, tumbling out the car as soon as he’s parked safely and stretching obnoxiously with your hands over your head, a number of your joints popping with satisfaction… as well as pulling at some strains you gained over your terrible adventure.

Glitch snickers from the otherside of the car at your theatrics and you look back at him and his tattered state.

With a grin, you ask. “Could I bother you for something again?”

“You can bother me for anything.” He responds much like he did before, this time more like a quip and far more impish with a for-show roll of his eyes to boot.

You turn towards him, throwing your arms over the roof of the car and stretching your hands out for him to take with, what you hoped was taken as, an inviting wiggle of the fingers. “Let me help patch you up? You kinda got all… Scratched saving me, thank you by the way - I can’t say that enough, I can’t remember if I did or not already, but thank you.”

He meets you with a stare you can’t quite place. It’s heavy and questioning, unsure but accepting, like you’ve given him something he thinks is too good to be true yet wants so badly to trust in it.

“...Can I help get the blood off of you first.”

“Oh. Yeah, I should probably get myself cleaned up before handling anything…” You note the patches of dried red on your sleeves with a whine in the back of your throat. “It’s gonna be a pain getting all this cleaned up.”

The animatronic finally takes your hands into his own - only to push you off the car with his reach that surpasses yours. “Don’t you have spare clothes?”

“I did in the patrol car that was left in someone else’s care…” You sulk, looking at him beneath your lashes in a momentary pout as you're pushed away, “I typically keep them with me.”

You miss the way he falters at your look towards him, too busy being full of loathing at the days of cleaning and soaks for your apparel, maybe you’d have to pay extra this month for dry cleaning.

“...borrow one of mine?” Is all you catch as you’re brought back to the present when he’s standing in front of you, hand on hip and head tilted to the side some.

So, in all of your brilliance, you offer in reply a dumb, “What?”

He clears his throat despite the lack of need. “Would you… Like…” Glitch holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, looking away as if your distracted attention was the only reason he prompted this to begin with. “Would you like to borrow one of mine?” He finally gets out, looking at you briefly only to look to the side again and pretending to be far more occupied with the nearby road.

“...Borrow one of your shirts?”

“Yes.”

Both you and him ignore how eagerly he replied to that inquiry.

“Sure.”

“Ah, it’s alri- wait what?” He shoots a look at you of shock, shoulders straightening with rigidity.

“I said sure, I’ll borrow one of your shirts. They’re probably nicer than mine anyway and you dress nice.” You point out casually, making a motion towards his nice leather belt.

“...Right. Yeah - thank you.”

Both you and him also ignore how clearly flustered he was over the compliment and clear fact that he was, in fact, a dapper dresser.

With a toss of your chin, you gesture to the station. “Should we head inside now?”

“We should, yeah…”

He doesn’t move. He’s just looking at you with rounded eyes.

Neither do you. You’re looking back at him with growing curiosity.

You wonder if you’ve had him pinned all wrong as you take the initiative to move, the animatronic moving wordlessly and seamlessly out of your way to follow obediently in step with you. It was… Odd to see, coming from him.

Glitch opens the door for you and the moment you step a foot into the station, there is a sense of disappointment when nothing occurs, you’re not sure what you were expecting but at least some fanfare? A check-up?

It’s unbelievably quiet, you’re not even sure if anyone is available. Someone could be having a meeting or maybe there was an interrogation in progress but still.

At least the front desk worker pays you mind with a nod and a smile.

“Think most of them are now busy with catching runaways and the like…” The animatronic chimes in suddenly as if sensing your drop, just guiding you along with a hand by the small of your back to his office. “Cabinet in the back left corner, bottom drawer should have shirts.”

You look over and up at him, “Do you have spare everything?”

“It pays to be prepared.” Is all he says as he peers down at you with mischief before letting you into his office and nudging you inside, following through and closing the door behind himself.

It’s not that you didn’t realize, it’s just that you didn’t care as you begin to unbutton your top after removing it from its tuck, going from the bottom-up while taking yourself over to the cabinet.

And just as fast as you began to do that - the door abruptly opens and closes behind you, Glitch effectively showing himself out without a second word of input.

“...Sorry!” You half-heartedly bark over your shoulder, not knowing if things were soundproofed but you might as well be courteous as you shrug off one shirt and tug on a new one.

Of course, it’s large on you. You have to tastefully tuck it in where it’ll count and still have a fair amount of room left over, the sleeves also get rolled up to your elbows for sake of ease.

After a final tug to your collar to ensure everything is nice, you call to the closed door, “I’m decent now!” Your old shirt is in a haphazard ball in your hold and the automaton comes in with a plastic bag in hand that he passes to you shortly after.

He also holds a rag and a bottle of water which you look at, puzzled.

“For your face.” Glitch confirms, opening the bottle of water with one hand using his index and thumb. An act that enamours you far more than it should as the cap is dropped off on the desk, some of the water being poured into the hand towel before he begins to dab at your forehead and cheeks.

It’s not a long process but it’s an oddly pleasant one, just being fussed over like this. Occasionally he guides your head to move this way and that with his thumb at your chin.

You get to admire the subtle changes in his expressions. Especially when he finds an area he missed by your hairline and carefully brushes the locks away to get to it, you could practically see a tail wagging behind him in self-satisfaction.

If he notices your staring, he doesn’t comment on it.

By the end however, the sweetness is gone as he drives the cloth hard into your cheek as if getting a particularly stubborn spot before pulling away altogether.

“You’re clear, you should properly make yourself squeaky clean later however.”

Poutily, you rub at your cheek with a withering, weak glare that has him chuckling but with the most pressing matter out of the way, one of them at least, you look around his office before looking back at him, “So how do we fix you up, hm?”

“Well you can’t help with my clothes, for one.” He notes dryly, snickering at how you dramatically gasp in clear mock-offense.

“Why, I never! Just because I’m quick to dress myself down does not mean I don’t respect you enough to attempt to dress you down just as fast!”

“But you wanna dress me down at all?” Glitch goads, peering down to you, evidently humored by your theatrics if the pleased glint in his eyes was any indicator.

Though at this rate, perhaps he should learn that you desperately need a filter as you reply without missing a beat, “I would actually love to see your model as a whole, yes.”

Silence.

His face did the thing again. Becoming blank and eerie just for a heartbeat before coming back to life in full force.

The stare he’s giving you now is… Intense, putting it kindly. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not, plus you’re probably gonna have to remove your shirt anyway if nothing else because you’re covered in scratches. Do you have something for those? Anything?”

“...Top right drawer in my desk, little jar. There’s a brush in there too.” He moseys over to the chair at said desk, sitting himself down in it and beginning the process of getting his shirt off.

This feels oddly domestic as you fetch the items needed, looking at the name of the color with an obvious, obnoxious hum.

“What?”

You waggle the jar playfully from side to side at him, “Obsidian bulwark, really?” you jest before opening it up to reveal the glossy dark red, almost black paint within.

“I can’t help what companies name their products.” His pout is so blatant it has you giggling.

“Mhm. Arms out now.” Glitch does as he’s told and so the long process of touching up all the imperfections commenced. Of course you couldn’t paint all of it, some of the metal was actually torn through, but you could at least make him presentable.

In that time, you spend a fair deal just… Admiring, that felt better to say than ogling, his make. The details of his chest, the two shiny gold buttons that stood out starkly compared to his dark body and you find them absolutely adorable. “I have to say this kinda feels like painting nails.”

“I suppose it’s not that different…” He’s been silent for the most part, just watching how each of his little marks are erased from sight, even ones you’re sure he didn’t get during his time at the harbor but instead sometime in the past that he just never saw. You’re thorough, minding the gradient on his forearm that goes from the almost-black of his body to a carnelian red towards his wrist.

You lift his arms, you turn them this way and that, you get his palms and in-between his fingers.

When you get to his chest, there’s a desperate need to speak so you feel less like some handsy lecherous artist getting too personal with their latest muse.

“Glitch.” You begin, pulling the brush away for the possible outburst that could come from your new, seeming friend.

He looks at you quizzically, probably wondering why you’ve stopped his free pampering treatment of touch-ups. “Yes?”

“This is probably a bad time but I totally thought you hated me.” There’s an absolute one-eighty in his visible emotion, the unknown tension in the air dissipating in seconds when he levels you with a deadpan look that has you doubling over in laughter in record time. It was a good thing you pulled away as the little jar of paint clatters on his desk.

“You thought I hated you?” Glitch echoes your words with bewilderment, almost sounding offended by the sheer notion as he puts his hand to his chest, gesturing to himself. “Me? How?”

“Okay - hold on… I think - maybe this was a miscommunication.” You try to placate through your shoulder-shaking mirth, “But… You never - talked to me really. Not like this. We especially have never interacted like this.”

That gets his attention. “We didn’t?”

“No, if I tried to talk to you - you’d get all like… Awkward and stiff? You’d act short with me. Kinda made it seem like you were looking for the soonest opportunity to stop talking with me.”

Every example you begin to point out afterwards, his apparent inability to interact with you before, makes him visibly recoil more in on himself.

“I - Okay I… I get it.” Now he’s gesturing with his hands to have you stop, “I hope my actions today have shown you otherwise that I very much do not hate you.”

You nod, “Which is why I’ve been very confused for a better half of this whole time spent.”

“Suppose I should try to explain myself but…” He fidgets before ultimately going for the move to make himself comfortable, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. An act that is far too tempting considering his shirtless status. “Easiest way to put it, I could not figure out how to… Act around you, Wildfire.”

“Wildfire?”

“Mhm. That is how I see you, a burning wildfire. Beautiful and necessary in nature, scary and destructive, going by its own whims or following the winds. You are capable of so much as showcased earlier with how you handled yourself, surrounded by enemies. You’re vibrant, brilliant,” He stops suddenly, slowly blinking at you before tilting his head quizzically, “Your heart rate is startlingly fast, are you alright?”

No. No you very much weren’t. There’s a heat behind your ears and you’ve never felt so flushed in your life before - save for when you were severely sick. Maybe he didn’t recognize it, the way his face steadily shifted the longer he spoke. Sickeningly sticky-sweet fondness and utter adoration in his eyes, his ever-sharp grin softening into a genuine smile.

All for you.

All for what he apparently saw you as.

He called you wildfire. Like you were his wildfire, to bask in its warmth and never fear its wrath.

When you don’t answer in a timely manner, he reaches out to gently brush your cheek with knuckles that hadn’t needed to be painted, the coolness of the metal surface bringing you back to the moment.

You try to get your thoughts in order with little success, “So… Earlier. When you said you were worried for me - so much so you bent the steering wheel…”

Glitch’s laugh is light and airy, a bit embarrassed at his actions being brought up again. “I was worried for you, yes. Not just as my coworker, my fellow law enforcement, but you as an individual, your person. I was worried that fire would be put out and I would be left cold for quite some time.”

This was the same man… Animatronic… Robot. Man. Who struggled to ask if you’d like to wear one of his shirts for a very clean and very honest reason.

You feel blindsided by this development.

“...When did this start?” That was probably the most burning question that needed an answer right now.

At least he has the decency to look thoughtful now, not giving you the “since we first met” spiel that you were expecting. You don’t think your heart would have been able to handle that.

“Do you happen to remember the first times we were out on the road and so on together? When you first joined the force.”

Ah, your green days… You remember those well, you got one of your first and really one of your only major scars on duty back then. You’ve since learned your lesson of course but… Oh.

“You mean when I took on that madman with you?”

“Yes, when you took a wild stabbing for me - quite literally on that note. Despite your very fleshiness compared to my metal being.” He carefully prods your side where the scar sits, it was far nicer than what it used to be a few years ago. “You didn’t even look agonized over it - you smiled at me in reassurance despite you being the one injured. Most typically put me on the front lines for a reason.”

Damn it all. “...So basically when we first met?”

“It would seem so, yes.”

You deflate with a hiss through your teeth, hiding your face in your hands as you belatedly realize too late you still have the paint brush in your hand. Promptly smearing color across your forehead and into your hair. You could worry about that later. Maybe you’d just dye your hair with it.

You peer at him through a crack in your fingers. “...Are you also why we immediately stopped being paired together on duty no matter what after that?” You wanna cringe at the way you sound so pitched but your nerves are shot and you’re riding an unbelievable high despite how embarrassed you felt.

To be so prized and valued? Right beneath your nose? For months? All because you wanted to respect a seeming unsung wish while he wanted to protect you?

This feels right out of a movie.

“Mhm, I couldn’t let you risk yourself for me in case of any more bad cases or calls. I know you are not fragile - but I am far more resistant to attacks than you are.” The corners of his eyes get sharper, that sweet smile he held turning back into the cheshire grin you know once again as he’s unbelievably smug about the reaction he’s pulling from you now.

It seems he finally understood why your heart was going a mile a minute.

“Are you satisfied over there?”

“Immensely.” He drawls. “Are you satisfied with your discoveries?”

You hum, “Two more questions?”

“Shoot.”

“Will the paint stain my skin?” You take your face away from your hands, noting the wet feeling across your forehead with a grimace as the brush falls away from you.

“Probably not, it should come off like any other paint. If it did stain, wearing clothes would be an issue for us.”

Sound reasoning, that leaves you with your next question if he doesn’t pull the “but you already asked a question” thing which sounds right up his alley to do but… Well.

He’s looking at you patiently, kindly.

If a bit smugly.

“...What does this uh… Mean for us?” You point to yourself then to him, swapping it a few times before letting your hand fall limp at the wrist.

Glitch reaches out to hold that hand in one of his own, the paint having now dried it seems, “I don’t believe it has to mean anything if you don’t want it to. I think we got over the obvious issues I… Seemed to have while interacting with you before.” His fingers find their place in-between yours, lacing the hands together seamlessly.

You can’t help it, the seemingly running joke between you and him now, “...Does it mean I get to bother you more often?”

He sighs and instead of giving you the reply that you expect by now, he draws your hand close and turns it towards him, pressing it to his teeth in a very clear note of affection.

“You will never and I do mean never be a bother to me. You will be yourself and I will admire you endlessly for it every time. Do not hold back on my account… Is this clear?”

The glare he gives you over your hand is plain as day. There’s some underlying threat there despite the tenderhearted words, that there’d be a consequence if you’d push yourself down again even jokingly.

You swallow thickly.

“Crystal… Crystal clear, Glitch.”

The animatronic pulls you in suddenly, pressing his face to your cheek in another kiss.

“Good. You look nice in my shirt by the way.”

“...It’s made out of boyfriend material so I’d hope it looks good.”

You’re unprepared for how he bonks his head to yours in admonishment.

Worth it.

#eclipse x reader #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #foxy x reader #if you squint #fnaf sb x reader #fnafsb x reader #sorry not sorry for what this inspires at the end of the day #joyfic #(edit: forgot a tag im sorry)

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granulesofsand · 10 months

Note

hey there, good timezone. wishing you well. i've considered this for a while but never quite committed to the concept because.. hoo boy. anyway:

tbmc survivor here. do you personally feel that understanding the perpetrating organization's ideology could be useful in communicating, understanding, and figuring out how to work with parts? and, when their dogma/ideology is so complex/layered, how would you go about tracking and understanding it? especially when there's an excess of unusual vocab and concepts to be unraveled.

many thanks.

Unraveling Dogma

That’s up to you. I can tell you how we went about it, and if any of it sounds familiar we can talk again.

We’ve found a lot of good in unraveling our group’s ideology and what each alter was taught. It’s been smoother with the higher ups; not everything they learned was bad, but they couldn’t change anything until they understood what the different pieces meant to them.

They listed the principles, picked them apart, and put something together that was safer. It took a while, several cycles of picking and assembling, but a good few have come up with a healthy practice.

Part of the time spent in the spiral will be learning more about the heftier concepts— you can probably find a few fundamental beliefs and work out from there. It’s a spiral because you’re moving in more than just the same circle, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

You’re probably going to find conflicts in what you experienced versus what they claimed they were doing. Groups tend to work like that, and even abusive groups with abusive doctrine stray every so often. There’ll be times when people placed power over procedure, especially if it’s an offshoot of a nonabusive practice.

There were likely tricks to convince you the group or an authority was all-powerful or capable of defying the laws of physics. Even if you believe in some of what you were taught, you don’t have to believe they did it (talking with deities, for example).

Expect pushback from alters who were conditioned with all of it. Showing them new points to empower themselves where power was taken can help. Higher ups are often told they’re special or suffering for a cause; they might have to break down where they find meaning, but they can also build it back up.

The plain logistics with vocabulary and layers we did with charts and drawings. Every time we found a hierarchy, we drew it out separately. Every new word gets added to a list and a web connecting it to similar concepts.

Pull it apart and lay it out so you can see it, even if not all at the same time. We make books for our internal archive so others can learn without fronting, but that’s different for everyone too.

Researching other religions, starting with those entwined with that one, helps trace the origins of each bit. There’s a chance of finding other means of worship if you can trace the root

Our group was primarily dualist Christian, heavy belief in both God and Satan. Converts brought their previous culture with them, including some religious ties. The leaders prioritized power and balance, and thought their best bet was to trace those beliefs as far back as they could.

The end result was a convoluted and twisty belief system that sometimes contradicted itself. We learned about Crowley and sex magic and the Assyrian gods who used temple prostitution, and from that alone we got two of our higher ups participating in alternative methods.

You might be chasing word etymology and ceremonial history for a while. Ultimately, it’s good to have a better understanding of other beliefs. It might be too difficult to get into what your group had, but there is still benefit to exploring similar ideas and other options.

Grocery store school supplies are your friends. Get some 50 cent notebooks and pencils, get into it when you have a few hours free. It’s interesting if you can connect to it, and you can. Take notes on anything even vaguely relevant.

I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s hard. Sometimes you might end up learning a language to read old poems or counting in base 60 to understand numerology. It’s up to you whether it’s worthwhile for your system.

I do recommend it, though. With breaks and vacations where you hide the notebooks and do leisure activities only for a week. You get a lot of new information, even if it doesn’t relate back how you hoped. I cannot overemphasize the breaks, though.

Treat yourself and your system members well. Maybe pretend you’re an anthropologist. I believe you can do it, or I believe you can make the informed decision not to. Good luck.

#did osdd #osddid #ramcoa #tw ramcoa #cult abuse #cdd system

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artknifeandglue · 4 months

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as shattered stars shine: DVD commentary (3/12)

It is remarkably easy, the transition from dancing around Harry to whatever this is that they’ve got going. Eggsy makes himself at home in Harry’s office as always, sits there with his laptop or folder of readings or phone, stays until the evening sun paints the sky golden yellow and starts its descent towards the horizon. As always, he walks in step with Harry through the brightly lit corridors, stands patiently in wait for the shuttle, slips into the seat opposite Harry at dinner. What isn’t the same: the step he takes to close the distance between him and Harry, the warmth of Harry’s arm around his waist or shoulders, the fleeting goodbye kisses on Harry’s doorstep or his own. The world keeps turning, the stars keep shining in their places; here by the fireplace in Harry’s office, Eggsy sits in the armchair, cup of tea warming his hands while his second chance frowns at Bors’ latest mission report. This is worth a thousand souls, a thousand of him, a thousand times over.

The mundane is worth the extraordinary, or something something, I don’t know. At risk of sounding faux-poetic, I do think the small everyday moments of bliss are most precious, especially for Eggsy, who’s lost them once and probably didn’t have all that many of them to begin with.

“Hello, handsome,” he drawls, “come here often?”

Most unbelievable of all is how Harry leans forward in his chair and narrows the distance between them, resting his hands just within reach of Eggsy’s. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I’m already taken."

“Shame,” Eggsy shrugs, though the grin he tries to suppress makes it to his face anyway. “Lucky guy, landing a bloke as fit as you.”

Harry reaches forward to put a hand over Eggsy’s, lifting the other to cup Eggsy’s cheek. “He’s quite the catch himself, actually.”

Any excuse to write stupid-ass cringey boyfriends sickeningly in love.

He’ll never get used to this, he thinks wildly, this ease of getting close enough to feel the heat radiating off Harry, to see the pretty curl of each dark eyelash, to be near enough to hear Harry murmur words of affection that make his heart beat a giddy rhythm against the walls of his ribcage. He’ll never get used to this, and he’ll never know how to live without this ever again, because how is he supposed to find a way to live without the knowledge of what Harry’s broad palm feels like against his skin?

He won’t, Eggsy thinks. And if he plays his cards right, he won’t have to.

Foreshadowing! But also, I do think being with your soulmate (whatever definition that word takes, platonic or romantic or anything) changes you in utterly irreversible ways just because there’s no one quite like that person ever again. Maybe I’m just a hopeless-romantic aromantic, I dunno.

“How,” Merlin demands, “did you manage to fuck up stealing?”

“AirTags don’t usually come with explosives built in!”

Headcanon from Kingsman: The Golden Circle: Eggsy’s being entirely sincere when he says “You know, I really don’t have as much experience with all this drug stuff as people think.” I think people in-universe probably make assumptions about how extensive Eggsy’s criminal background is, when he’s probably just a hell of a pickpocket and nothing else. I can’t remember where I read on Tumblr (probably?) someone suggesting that maybe he took the fall for a friend r.e. a drug charge, but that sounds like something he’d do. Quite funny for even Merlin to go “yeah okay we’ll send the thief to go steal shit, he’ll be just fine” only for it to not be fine.

As the last man keels over with his throat open and bleeding out, Harry straightens up and begins dusting plaster and gunpowder off his jacket, and Eggsy lowers his gun to stare. There are too many alarms going off around them and if they don’t get going now, there’ll be another fucking shootout and another report they’ll both have to write, but Harry looks brilliant like this, put-together and proper even with dust in his hair and on his suit and still devastatingly handsome. “We should go,” Harry says. When Eggsy doesn’t respond, he looks up and frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Eggsy grins. “Anyone told you how hot you are?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he steps closer. “You’re incorrigible.” Yet he wraps an arm around Eggsy’s waist anyway and tugs him in, pressing their chests together, his heart beating strong against Eggsy’s ribcage as Eggsy laughs against his collarbone. In a few seconds, there are going to be bullets, and there is going to be hell from Merlin later for wasting precious getaway time like this, but right now Eggsy thinks only of tipping his head up enough to press his lips to the faintest hint of stubble on Harry’s jaw.

“We should move,” Harry murmurs, but he doesn’t let go. Eggsy buries his face into Harry’s shoulder, breathes in the mingled scents of cement dust and Harry’s cologne, and waits for the footsteps to draw nearer before he lifts his head and starts shooting.

To quote my lovely beta Bri (@lovingherwasgay), “my dude Merlin can see through YOUR GLASSES. he’s developing homophobia right now in the command centre” because ehhh what’s a bit more extra shooting if we get battle boyfriends hugging?

A thought crosses Eggsy’s mind as Harry kneecaps a man and then shoots him with his own gun. How odd it is to have an Everest-sized crush on a bloke like this one whose hands are gentle on Eggsy’s waist or shoulder one moment and then lethal in the next, to have spent hundreds of hours in his company and known the taste of Earl Grey on his lips. How marvellously strange it is to know Harry Hart under the Galahad armour, to see the slight shift in his brow and glimpse the annoyance a second before he gripes about some bit of bullshit or other in the mission report in front of him, to make a cup of tea with lemon and two sugars alongside his own, to recognise in a slightly clenched jaw a migraine Harry tries to bullheadedly will out of existence. To know all the bits and pieces that make up this wonderful man, to love every inch of someone Eggsy barely knew a year ago and can’t imagine living without now. Even odder it is to realise how many more layers of Harry Hart await, how much there is to learn, how much there is to know.

The mundane is extraordinary. ‘Nuff said.

Later that night, as they lie in a tangle of limbs on thousand-thread-count sheets and the inevitable shelling from Merlin is still half a world away, there is all the time in the world to lean in for lazy, unhurried kisses. It’s dark out and has been for hours, the faint glow of the bedside alarm clock the only clue to the passing of the night. “I love you,” Eggsy whispers, and feels Harry’s lips curve into a smile against his. Outside, the stars sit frozen in their places in the sky, like time itself might stop for them, just for a little while.

Beautiful lil’ confession of love on a starry right, or lovely moment undercut by ominous celestial presence? Both.

But Harry hasn’t answered, and Eggsy turns to look and finds that Harry isn’t looking at him or even at the stars whizzing above them. Instead, his gaze is fixed on the oak tree at the edge of the grounds. Eggsy glances over in its direction, but the oak tree is still just an oak tree. Gently, he nudges Harry with his elbow, and Harry turns his head to meet Eggsy’s questioning gaze. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Is it the butterflies again?” Only Harry’s arm keeps him from scrambling to his feet to get Merlin or the medics all the way on the other end of the field. “No, seriously, is it them? The meds are supposed to—”

“It isn’t. Don’t worry.” Harry shakes his head, his arm tightening around Eggsy’s waist as though pre-empting another attempt to go fetch Merlin. “I thought someone was standing there, but I was mistaken. Trick of the light, that’s all.”

This is one of the parallel scenes in which Eggsy’s side of the story intersects with Harry’s side. Not all is well, but there is always a much more plausible explanation than “doomed by the narrative and Mephistopheles in a suit”, and Eggsy’s damn well not going to own up to having sold his soul for Harry.

It’s this, and a thousand more mornings like this, and a thousand more after that, again and again and again until they run out of time.

And they will run out of time living like this, Eggsy knows, but at least they have these moments, ones borrowed from a distant tomorrow. Harry’s lips are warm against his, and that is enough.

That will always be enough.

If anything, these few lines are probably the thesis of the entire fic. To put everything on the line for another chance at ordinary happiness because ordinary happiness itself is a rare commodity, and to seize every bit of it precisely because time is never on anyone’s side.

And later, curled up next to Harry on fresh sheets, bodies moulded close like they were made to slot together, he tucks his chin into the dip of Harry’s collarbone and whispers those same words against the line of his neck, squeezing Harry’s hand and feeling him do the same in return. Harry runs his other hand through Eggsy's hair, gentle and slow and soothing. As the soft caresses on the back of Eggsy’s neck lull him to sleep, Eggsy closes his eyes and presses a light kiss to Harry’s shoulder for good measure. “I love you.”

Why’s he saying it so many times? I think he’d want to make up for never saying it previously. Not that Harry minds.

The phantom echoes of a gunshot echoing off the walls, Harry’s head snapping back with the force of a bullet piercing flesh and shattering bone. Oxfords slipping on concrete slick with blood, chunks of scorched brain matter and pulverised skull squelching and crunching underfoot with each step as he hurls himself towards the heart of a mountain bunker. Bodies, tens and hundreds of them lying heaped in his way, a second of weightlessness as he trips on an outstretched hand. Metal rasping as Gazelle shears away entire chunks of his makeshift weapon, blade edges inching closer and closer to his hand, his chest, his throat. Sickly green spidering along her arm, up her neck and all over her face as flesh rots before his eyes and she gasps for air that she won’t need any longer. The sickening crunch of Valentine’s body hitting the ground, thin lips pulled back to reveal twin rows of bloodied teeth, the macabre grin of a dying man whose every shuddering breath sends air hissing through pierced lungs and torn flesh, flecks of red sputtering in every direction with each exhale. With an awful sucking sound, Valentine takes a deep breath and says—

“Eggsy?” That isn’t Valentine’s voice. “Eggsy.”

Obviously as an action movie, the aftermath gets glossed over quite a bit, especially the psychological aftermath of everything. I do think Eggsy would have been trained well enough to hold his own and that he’d be prepared for a fight, but the utter horror of V-Day is an entirely different thing that’s grotesque and terrible in its own way. Some things stay with you long after they end, and I wonder if some part of Eggsy’s mind will always be in that bunker desperately trying to prevent the end of the world. While I’m not ruling out the possibility that the nightmares are deliberately induced by Mephistopheles, I don’t think he needs to do very much in that regard. The human brain is sort of fucked up in that way.

“Four,” Harry answers. “Nightmare?” “Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

No, Eggsy thinks, no, he doesn’t. The last thing he wants to talk about is the memories staling and yellowing in the recesses of his mind. Instead, all he can think of is how wonderful it is to wake up and wrap his arms around Harry like the world’s clingiest octopus, to feel the feather-light brush of Harry’s thumb over his cheekbone. How wonderful it is to be surrounded by sheets and pillows that Harry’s scent clings to, to wrap himself up in blankets that smell like home; how precious it is to wake up with Harry beside him, close enough to reach out and touch, to have, to keep.

How it was always going to end this way, the two of them in the house that they share, hand in hand as Eggsy lifts their joined hands to his lips and presses a sleepy kiss to the ridges of Harry’s knuckles. “Nothing,” he replies, feeling the last of his panic fade away. “Love you.” When Harry murmurs I love you too, it sounds like a confession, a blessing.

That night, Eggsy sleeps and doesn’t dream again.

Ahahahahahahaha it’s never a good thing when the words that appear in the summary actually turn up in the fic, is it? This was the first line I wrote and decided I was absolutely going to repeat, because it does capture a lovely domesticity at the same time as there’s a sense of doom or inevitability. Is their happiness inevitable, or is it their doom? Yes. Dunno. Both. I think it’s also worth pointing out that none of their dreams are pleasant ones, because 1) opportunity for the subconscious to make itself known 2) meddling Mephisto? Maybe.

#fic commentary #fic #writing #lys talks #kingsman #hartwin

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blusandbirds · 2 months

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writing patterns: closing lines game

thanks @zannolin for tagging :)

rules: list the last lines of your last 10 fics and see if there are any patterns that indicate how you tend to end stories, basically!

A pretty good team, indeed. - chilling with that nerd shit

Mitch watches their backs and thinks maybe he's finally ready to get somewhere. - reinventing the wheel (to run myself over)

He still hasn’t been swimming since, but it’s summer again—the community pools will be open and Darla just bought a new swimsuit with a unicorn of all things on it—and Billy’s ready to try. - the worms and me

"Well," he says, squeezing her fingers in his. "Don't be." - you're making me uneasy (so maybe you can see me)

Demetri, like a good friend, just replies that Eli will be paying for his future hospital bills. - close to you

Maybe he'll just call her Sam. - hey princess

There’ll be hell to pay if anyone finds out. His superiors and Bueller will have his head, balls, and career for it. Still, he can’t quite bring himself to regret his decision. - keep me in a cool, dry place

It's the last thought he has before he falls asleep, and Mick can admit he doesn't mind it at all. - (anyway) don't be a stranger

"Bring it," he says. - anything in between

Robby’s lips close over his. No mercy. - see you later boy

this is fascinating because honestly i never know how to end my fics. i distinctly remember number 8 being a pain because as you can see i love an optimistic ending, but also i never want it to sound too cheesy. last lines either come to me immediately like 2 4 5 6 7 and 10 or i have to wrangle them out like all the others. i guess the patterns is that they all close with this idea of looking towards the future (with a few exceptions) i very rarely end on dialogue and both the fics that i did that with were actually ficlets i wrote for tumblr first.

this was fun! no pressure tagging @kermit-coded @many-gay-magpies @transvalkilmer and anybody else who wants!

#tag games

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my-head-is-an-animal · 1 year

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The Sitter

Mycroft Holmes x Bethany Wheeler (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 16 - Culverton Smith

Over the next three weeks, Bethany had stopped by Sherlock’s flat a few times, but it became increasingly clear that Sherlock was on the verge of losing it. Mrs Hudson was worried and even Wiggins was starting think Sherlock had gone too far. He was definitely using again, but Mrs Hudson had devised a plan to get him to John Watson. She just needed Mycroft to clear her name.

She passed the phone over to the police officers who were chasing her car through London all the way to John’s new therapist’s house. He told them to back off and return to work and when he called Bethany to assure her that John was fine, she laughed that he had that kind of power over people.

‘Well, it is my job.’ He said, signing something that Anthea had shoved in front of him, before settling down behind his desk to work.

‘I know, but I just love the fact that you can say things like “hey it’s Mycroft, back up or I’ll incarcerate you”.’ She laughed. He could hear a baby crying in the background and the sounds of her picking up Rosie and calming her down. ‘That’s a good girl Rosie, such a good girl.’ Somehow the sounds of anyone else using a juvenile voice with an infant would irritate him, when Bethany did it, he loved it. ‘Sorry, Mycroft, you were saying.’

‘If you have other priorities, I can call again later?’

‘It’s fine, she’s just hungry, need to get you fed, don’t we? Yes, that’s right, because when daddy gets home, he might to sleep. Yes, Rosie, that’s right, darling.’

Mycroft chuckled a little.

‘Are you laughing at my baby voice, Mycroft Holmes?’ She said with a smile on her face.

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

‘Quite right too,’ Bethany said, making her way into the kitchen. ‘You just wait until she’s all grown up, there’ll be two of us you’ll have to contend with.’

‘I’ll send the hitman now then, shall I?’

‘You just try it, I’ll send him back crying more tears than Rosie. Don’t think I won’t.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘Four nil. I yield.’

The sound of Bethany’s raucous laugh was something he could never get enough of.

‘When will you be on placement?’ Mycroft asked, not knowing what her schedule was in the next few weeks.

‘First day is in about two weeks time,’ she said, managing to get Rosie to stop crying, all he could hear was the sounds of her being fed. ‘I’ve got a paper to finish between now at then though, shouldn’t take me too long, it’s just some molecular biology rubbish.’

‘I thought you enjoyed it?’

‘I do, when it’s challenging.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘Has anything you’ve done at university been challenging?’

‘Maths. I suck with numbers. Surprising really when you think my dad’s an engineer.’

‘We all have our weaknesses.’

‘Yeah? What’s yours?’

Mycroft went quiet. Both of them knew the answer to that question, but there was no way he was saying it. No chance at all.

‘Will you keep a night free for me?’ He asked, changing the subject.

‘Sure, I’m usually free Thursdays if John doesn’t need me to babysit, but Sundays are good too, café isn’t open and Mrs Hudson never needs anyone in on that day.’ Bethany knew he didn’t want to answer and never once pushed for it.

‘Thursdays and Sundays.’ Mycroft repeated to himself.

‘Sounds to me like you have a plan?’

‘Indeed.’ Mycroft was thinking about actually cooking for her and watching a film. He wanted to invite her over under the normal rules of a date and not get interrupted by Sherlock for once in his life. ‘I’ll let you know the details.’

‘Great. I look forward to it.’

Mycroft soon got on with his work for the day, feeling a little more settled in himself. He was constantly in a battle between not wanting to waste any more time and thinking that getting involved with Bethany was a bad idea.

The day rolled on and the last thing he expected was another phone call from Bethany. She was panicked.

‘Bethany?’ He smiled answering the phone, ignoring the look from Lady Smallwood as he wandered to the other side of her office.

‘Mycroft, I’m sorry,’ she was panting hard. ‘It’s Sherlock, he’s in hospital.’

‘Which hospital?’

‘Culverton Smith’s hospital. Have you seen what’s been going on? Sherlock accused him of being a serial killer publicly. He got high and then somehow he and John ended up in a fight and now he’s being treated at the hospital.’

‘If he’s being treated, why are you panicking?’

‘Because I think he might be right.’ She was obviously running somewhere. ‘And I’m not allowed to visit him. I think he’s using the hospital to kill people and I’m scared Sherlock is in deeper than he anticipated.’

Mycroft took a breath.

‘Greg!’ She called. ‘Jesus, is John alright? Yeah, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Rosie’s with Mrs Hudson, she’s fine.’

‘Bethany.’ Mycroft got her attention.

‘Yes?’

‘There’s no need to panic, if I send a car will you get into it?’

There was a faint pause. ‘And where will the car take me?’

‘The flat. If he’s been using again, we need to find out why and put a stop to it.’

Bethany sighed. ‘Fine.’

‘Thank you, I will see you there.’ Mycroft promised.

He hung up, glad that she was at least at the police station and Lestrade would keep her safe enough. It was just about the only thing he could place any kind of faith into. He sent a car to pick up John and another to pick up Bethany, leaving the meeting with Lady Smallwood who was treading on thin ice with her forward language. It made him uncomfortable.

Mycroft made it there first and looked around the mess that Sherlock was happy to call a flat, it was covered in newspaper cuttings and pictures of Culverton Smith. Sherlock had become obsessed with the man in such a short space of time, his kitchen was basically a drugs lab and Mycroft had no idea where to start for a moment. He sat down in Sherlock’s chair and sent someone to get Mrs Hudson.

‘Where is she? Where is Mrs Hudson?’ He demanded as his men began searching through Sherlock’s things.

‘She’ll be up in a moment.’ One of them said. John came through the door and looked around at what was happening.

‘Er, what are you doing?’ John asked, ducking underneath a string of clipped up papers.

‘Have you noticed the kitchen? It’s practically a meth lab.’ Mycroft asked, severely irritated. ‘I’m trying to establish what exactly drove Sherlock off the rails, any ideas?’

‘Are these spooks?’ John stared at the forensic team inside Sherlock kitchen, examining every surface and edge. ‘Are you using spooks now to look after your family?’

At that moment, the sound of Bethany running up the stairs could be heard. Mycroft turned to see something that made his blood boil. She had a black eye and bruising on her arm.

His mind went slow for a moment, freezing the moment and assessing her state. The black eye looked fresh, possibly only a few days old, the bruising on her arm was starting to fade, but nothing was going to hide the fact that it was a clear handprint. She’d been pulled somewhere against her will, possibly when she refused she was struck on her face, but she didn’t display any other signs of discomfort so they must have been her only injuries. But why was she injured in the first place?

‘Why didn’t you call?’ He demanded, earning himself a glare.

‘I called Greg because he’s a police officer.’ Bethany shot back. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Hang on, are they tidying?’ John brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

‘Sherlock is a security concern,’ Mycroft turned back to John. ‘The fact that I’m his brother changes nothing.’

‘Yeah, you said that before.’ John threw out, catching Bethany’s attention.

‘Why fixate on Culverton Smith? He’s had his obsessions before, of course, but this goes a bit further than setting a man trap for Father Christmas.’ Mycroft couldn’t help but notice John’s flickering gaze. His attention was elsewhere. Bethany just folded her arms and examined the cuttings around her. ‘Spending all night talking to a woman who wasn’t even there.’

‘Mycroft, last time when we were on the phone-‘ John started and Mycroft knew exactly where it was going.

‘No, no, no, stop. I detest conversation in the past tense.’

‘You said the fact that you’re his brother didn’t make a difference.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘You said it didn’t the last time and it wouldn’t with Sherlock. So who was it the last time? Who were you talking about?’

Mycroft felt Bethany’s attention narrow in on the conversation, he wished he hadn’t sent a car for her.

‘Nobody.’ Mycroft said, rather unconvincingly. ‘I misspoke.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I assure you I’m not.’

‘Beth?’ John turned to the one person that knew for certain that he was lying, but she remained silent, folding her arms. ‘What do you know about this?’

‘Nothing. I never asked.’

John turned back to Mycroft. ‘Sherlock’s not your only brother,’ John concluded. ‘There’s another one, isn’t there?’

‘No.’

‘Jesus.’ John laughed, not being able to believe it. ‘A secret brother. What is he locked up in a tower or something?’

John may not have caught it, but Bethany definitely did and Mycroft could sense her disappointment from where he was standing.

‘Mycroft Holmes.’ Mrs Hudson finally arrived saving him from any further questioning. ‘What are all these dreadful people doing in my house?’

‘Mrs Hudson, I apologise for the interruption. As you know my brother has embarked on a programme of self-destruction, remarkable even by his standards, I’m endeavouring to find out what triggered it.’ Mycroft explained concisely.

‘And that’s what you’re looking for?’ Mrs Hudson clarified.

‘Quite so.’

‘What’s on his mind?’

‘So to speak.’

‘And you’ve had all this time?’

‘Time being something we don’t have an infinite supply. So, if we could be about our business?’ Mycroft was suddenly confused as to why Mrs Hudson was suddenly laughing.

‘You’re so funny, you are!’ She said, giggling away.

‘Mrs Hudson?’ Mycroft frowned.

‘He thinks you’re clever, poor old Sherlock, always going on about you.’ She suddenly turned to John. ‘I mean, he knows you’re an idiot, but that’s okay because you’re a lovely doctor, but he has no idea what an idiot you are.’

‘Is this merely stream of consciousness abuse, or are you attempting to make a point?’

‘You want to know what’s bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world, anyone can do it.’

‘I know his thought processes better than any other human being in the world, so please try to understand-‘

‘He’s not about thinking! Not Sherlock.’ Mrs Hudson cut him off and suddenly Bethany’s gaze was scanning around the room at a faster rate than before.

‘Of course he is.’

‘No, no, he’s more emotional, isn’t he?’ Mrs Hudson explained, but Mycroft was now more concerned with where Bethany’s attention was going. ‘Unsolved case, shoot the wall,’ she made shooting noises at the wall where several gun shot holes were visible. ‘Unmade breakfast, karate the fridge. Unanswered questions, well, what does he do with anything he can’t answer, John? Every time.’

‘He stabs it.’ John said, starting to catch up. But Bethany had already taken the step over to the mantle piece.

‘Anything he can’t find the answer for, bang! It’s up there. I keep telling him, if he was any good as a detective, I wouldn’t need a new mantle.’

Bethany had an envelope in her hand and pulled out a disc that had the words “miss me?” written on the top. Moriarty. Mycroft felt his heart drop. They all exchanged looks and John helped her set up the laptop to see what it said. They gathered around, Bethany pulling up a chair for Mrs Hudson and sitting on the arm of it.

Mary Watson entered the screen and Mycroft thought Bethany would throw up, John wasn’t much better.

‘If you’re watching this, I’m probably dead.’ She said.

‘Okay, no, stop that now, please.’ John said, backing away and Bethany just held her head in her hands. Mycroft was struggling to understand it, but if she was in distress then he wanted to help.

Mrs Hudson stood up defiantly. ‘Everybody out now. All of you!’ Nobody moved, they were waiting for Mycroft’s order. ‘This is my house, this is my friend and that’s his departed wife. Anyone who stays a minute longer is admitting to me personally that they do not have a single spark of human decency.’ It took a moment and glare from Bethany, but Mycroft nodded for everyone to leave. Mrs Hudson then turned to square up to Mycroft. ‘Get out of my house.’ She hissed. ‘You reptile.’

Mycroft decided it was best for him to leave. He heard the sounds of Bethany about to follow, but Mrs Hudson urging her to stay. She was already distressed, injured and upset. He wanted her to follow him out so he could find out how she got her bruises, but she stayed and watched Mary Watson’s last words.

It was a moment before Bethany came down the stairs and out of the house, she was crying and trying to breath calmly.

‘Bethany.’ Mycroft said just as he was about to get in his car and drive away. She was pacing around and he carefully approached her. ‘Bethany.’ He said again, she suddenly saw him and started crying hard, wrapping her arms around him.

‘I couldn’t,’ she sobbed. ‘I just couldn’t, I couldn’t watch it.’ Mycroft held her close, his hand stroking her soft hair, it seemed to settle her slightly, so maybe he was making the right call? ‘God, I miss her so much.’

‘I know.’ Mycroft was aware he was being watched, but he didn’t want to let go of her just yet, not if she needed him.

Suddenly she began pulling back and away from him. ‘Sorry, God, I’m sorry.’ She said, roughly wiping away the tears and flinching at being so rough with the bruising around her eye.

‘What happened to you?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bethany waved his concern away.

‘Bethany, please.’ Mycroft demanded, making her stop. ‘Just tell me who did this to you.’

Bethany sighed, her eyes seeing how desperate he was to know. ‘That house down the road from me…’

That was all she needed to say for Mycroft to turn and get into the car behind him. His rage was the only thing driving him forwards now. He glanced out the window and saw John rushing out, Mrs Hudson tossed the car keys to her Aston Martin to Bethany who just followed John towards the car. Wherever they were going, surely it was into trouble and as much as he disliked it, he hated the men who lived in the house on her road even more.

Mycroft sent his men to the house to clear it out and contacted Scotland Yard to send over a few detectives to deal with the arrests. He then returned to his office to find out what was going on with Sherlock and Bethany.

It was Lestrade that phoned him several hours later to tell him that John and Bethany managed to catch Smith in the middle of trying to kill Sherlock. He was now in custody and couldn’t stop confessing to all the people he’s killed. Mycroft sighed in relief and debated asking the question.

‘How is Miss Wheeler?’

‘Beth?’ Lestrade said a little too loudly for his liking. ‘She’s fine. She’s upset with everything that’s happened and I can’t imagine it’s helping her studies any, but she’d fine Mycroft. Why do you ask?’

Mycroft stood from his chair and took a calming breath. ‘The house down the road from her, the one that’s being cleared out-‘

‘Look, I should say that while we appreciate the heads up, it is still an ongoing investigation.’ Lestrade put his foot down and Mycroft suspected Bethany’s involvement in it. ‘All I can say is that Beth is no longer in danger from the young men occupying that house and neither is anyone else. I will update you when I get the chance, but you need to give me a chance to find something to update you on.’

‘Work faster.’ Was all Mycroft said before hanging up. He took another calming breath and put his phone away. It was late, he needed to go home and come back with a fresh head.

Are you alright? – MH

He text her the morning after, he’d just finished his morning work out and his only thought was Bethany.

Fine. I’m assuming you’re responsible for the house down the road being surrounding by police all night? – BW

This is how you win the war against men like those. You utilise your resources. – MH

And you’re a resource I have, are you? – BW

Of course. – MH

She didn’t text him back after that. In fact, Mycroft didn’t hear from her for several days. He got his updates from Lestrade and the four young men they arrested from the house would serve long sentences for more than just casual sexual assault, they were also facing drugs charges and that of robbery.

Mycroft was working with Lady Smallwood who he thankfully wouldn’t see for another week. He had the sudden and inexplicable urge to ask Bethany to stay with him for a few days, she would say no instantly and the fact that he was even considering asking was unreasonable.

The meeting with Lady Smallwood was coming to an end.

‘So, what about Miss Wheeler?’ She asked.

‘What about her?’ Mycroft asked, casually.

‘When’s the last time you saw her?’

Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

‘In person.’ Lady Smallwood clarified, thinking he was watching her at all times.

‘The night Culverton Smith confessed to being a serial killer,’ he said. ‘She was at my brother’s flat briefly.’

‘It’s not what I meant.’ Lady Smallwood was doing the annoying thing where she would hold his gaze and look up through her lashes, she was flirting and it was grinding on him. ‘The last time you and she caught up.’

‘The gala.’ Mycroft answered instantly. ‘Hardly a catch up, the PM was fascinated by her, I was just on standby.’

Lady Smallwood frowned slightly. ‘So, you really are just friends?’ She seemed surprised by that. Mycroft just rolled his eyes and stood up to put his coat on, Lady Smallwood followed suit.

‘So, you’re off now, I won’t see you for a week.’ Mycroft said, adjusting his coat.

‘Just spending it at home.’ Lady Smallwood checked herself in his mirror. ‘Unless she calls.’

‘The PM.’ Mycroft nodded.

‘Here.’ She handed him a small business card.

‘What’s this?’

‘My number.’

‘I already have your number.’ Mycroft frowned.

‘My private number.’

‘Why would I need that?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe you’d like a drink sometime?’

‘Of what?’

‘Up to you. Call me.’

Mycroft was just confused, she wasn’t making much sense, his thoughts were already with what he was going to do with his free evening. Lady Smallwood left his office and Mycroft looked down at the card, chuckling to himself at what was an unusual display. He tossed the card down on top of his notes and thought no more on it.

He was about to leave when he realised something. Lady Smallwood had just flirted her way into his phonebook. He turned back and thought about picking up the card again. Mycroft was torn for a moment, before putting the card in his pocket and leaving the office.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes x ofc #mycroft x original female character #bbc sherlock

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humanoidtyphoons · 2 years

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sometimes i wish bleach had gone a bit deeper with exploring karin’s character, bc i do wonder how/if her views on ghosts shifts, over time? like, to begin with, she wants nothing to do with them, and they are effectively, invisible to her because she can somehow pretty much deny their existence.

doesn’t quite seem to apply with hollows, (grand fisher, and the first hollow that caused ichigo and rukia to meet), but. at least it seems like from then on, she cannot turn away, if only because ichigo is involved, and she worries about him. but i still don’t know if she actually feels like acknowledging ghosts, from then on?

i think karin has to make up a frame of reference of her own, bc nobody tells her anything, but she can recognize the uniform that ichigo wears, that rukia wears, that toushirou wears, that she can safely go, oh they’re an ally. if they’re okay with ichigo, friends? or something like that, then that must mean that they’re okay in her books as well. so she can distinguish the difference between ghost, hollow, shinigami.

this is why her meeting toushirou is so interesting. it’s not quite ichigo&rukia take 2, but karin at that point, is more open to the idea of the supernatural. she’s gaining more awareness of the supernatural, and maybe she’s never that involved, but she’s still conscious of it. (maybe she can’t tell that kon-is-ichigo, but i bet she can sense that something is off, even if she can’t figure out what). it’s why their two episodes together are so cute, because both are kind of out of their comfort zones, but they’re still so sweet as burgeoning friends.

anyway, ichigo loses his powers, and during the timeskip, karin steps up. but how? i don’t see her fighting hollows, because ichigo’s friends have got that covered, tho i guess the super sentai thing with don kanonji could still be in effect, regardless if he’s in town or not; and karin does visit urahara’s shops, so maybe her and jinta talked something out.) so my best bet is that karin just... talked to ghosts. told people off and acted as a messenger for some ghosts, stuff that ichigo prolly did before the first chapter when ichigo met rukia happened.

karin steps up, because someone in the family has to. karin steps up, because she sees it as a way she can protect ichigo. it’s duty, rather than interest.

but after? after the thousand blood war. does karin go back to ignoring ghosts again? there’ll be less hollows about, thanks to aizen not needing to create them. shinigami should be good at their job, but there’ll probably always be a stray ghost wandering before a shinigami performs konsou. does karin pay attention to ghosts now that ichigo has his powers back and can see them again, or does she go back to ignoring them like before?

anyway, kind of want a future fic where karin is like. right, i want to get this supernatural stuff out of my system, convinces herself that it’ll happen symbolically, if she just has a one night stand with toushirou, and then they can go their separate ways, only for karin to try and move on, and realize that that damn kurosaki gene is kind of in her dna, (that desire to help people no matter what) and toushirou to realize that actually. he’s in love with her.

#onion sprouting text #hitsukarin #the details are fuzzy bc the manga isn't fresh in my mind but i'm also like. this manga must be wild from her pov.

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anderstrevelyan · 2 years

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It's WIP Wednesday time

Thanks for the tag, @midnightprelude!

I'm back to working on Force of Nature in earnest—I shared the first bit of this a while ago, but the second part needs it to come full circle on some delicious breakfast pastry and Anders' new mission to figure out if his attempts to flirt with Garrett (Amell) are doing anything at all, sooooo all together now:

He finds him in the dining hall, working his way through half a dozen small plates with a book laid flat on the table. He’s not in his uniform yet, just the tall boots with a simple pair of trousers and white shirt tucked in, legs crossed as he flips a page between bites. If Anders were anyone else, he might feel a moment of doubt at his own relative extravagance. But instead he preens the dark feathers on his new mantle’s shoulders, adjusts the skirt of his new robe, a shade between blue and green, soft fabric shimmering between his fingers, and drops himself into the chair beside Amell.

“Wow. You look…”

“Utterly ravishing?” he suggests, hands spread in a flourish. “Like exquisite taste itself?”

“Those weren’t the words on my tongue, but I’ll give you that, sure.” Anders reaches for an elaborate-looking pastry on the nearest plate, apple of some kind he thinks, but Amell knocks his hand away. “I know you’re beholden to the metabolism now, too,” he says, “but you could at least get your own.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Maker, it smells good in here. He almost stands and follows his nose to his own breakfast, but he leans forward instead. If he doesn’t ask now he might lose the nerve. “So! I have a proposition for you.”

Amell doesn’t acknowledge his words, his eyes on his book again as he marks his page and flips it shut. “You might not want to wear that today.”

“Are you trying to get me out of my robes, Amell? A bit forward of you, but maybe I’d consider it. If you let me eat breakfast first.”

“I—” He falters, just for a moment. His recovery fast enough that Anders is almost disappointed. “We have a task before us, I’m afraid. There seems to be an opening in the tunnels, a way for the darkspawn to get through. Voldrik Glavonak’s prepared to repair it, but we need to do a sweep first, kill any darkspawn that remain. Ready to face them for the first time?”

“You seem to be forgetting the ones I barbecued quite recently.”

“The first time as a Warden. On a different scale. It’s not something to take lightly.”

“I get that a lot.”

Amell raises a brow. “You wanted to ask me something?”

Well, here goes. “Things are getting bustling around here,” he starts. “The new soldiers seem pretty green—there’s already been some broken limbs in training, and don’t think I have to tell you there’ll be worse if they have to do any actual soldiering. There was a case of the coughs going around last week. Some of the families moving in have more children on the way. Amaranthine’s far.” He looks down for a moment, worrying his robe between his fingers, but forces his gaze back up. “What I’m saying is, I think I should open a clinic.”

It takes Amell a moment to finish his bite. “We already have a clinic.”

“Well, yes, but we don’t have a mage running it. And certainly not one like me. Do I have to be humble about it? I am pretty amazing.”

“You realize you’re asking to do this in your free hours? You’re a Warden first, and frankly I need you on the field.”

That’s the point, he almost says, far too fast, but holds his tongue for a beat. “I do realize that.”

Amell sits back and takes a sip from the coffee he’s never far from in the mornings, seeming to consider. It doesn’t take long. “Okay. Yes. As long as you’re not running yourself ragged, I think that’s a splendid idea, actually. Speaking of the field, though, can we talk fighting strategy?”

Anders glances over at the line for food, teeming now that it’s more than just the early risers, but before he can turn back and say anything, Amell’s nudging a plate his way. The apple pastry, after all. He bites into it with a grin. As delicious as it smelled.

“Assuming we do find any darkspawn down there,” Amell continues, ”I’ll go in close, but I’d like you to hold back. Stay away.”

“Look, I know I’m a healer, but I did study offensive magic, too—”

“I know. But you have skills that I don’t, and I’d like to use them.”

Emboldened, Anders shuffles his chair closer and reaches for the plate of bacon. Amell does, too, then freezes when their fingers brush. His hands are warm, soft, and for a heartbeat Anders lets the touch linger, until Amell snaps his hand away. Quietly clears his throat. Is he…flustered? Anders grabs the largest piece of bacon in triumph.

A no-pressure tag forward to @noire-pandora @mxanigel @potatowitch @milesmentis @effelants @cleverblackcat @mxkelsifer @noetikat @my-dumb-obsessions @glowing-blue-feathermage @delicatefade @dismalzelenka @sulky-valkyrie @dalish-rogue @pierogipie @transandersrights —I'd love to see what you're up to, if you feel like sharing.

#wip wednesday #dragon age fan fiction #anders #amell #dragon age awakening #garrett amell #there's some more context to Anders' ask here that I'll save for the chapter itself!#buuut it's probably safe to assume this is another edition of Anders Pretends to be Light and Fun and Fine

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angstyandromanticwriting · 10 months

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Barbie/Barbra Handler X Fem!Reader Fluffy, Cute and Angsty Hidden Feelings + Confession Prompt with a hopeful(?) ending

• There’ll be another part to this at some point!

• Occurs after the events of the film

!TW: Mention of anxiety/suffering from anxiety, mention of previously being gaslit by family + having an abusive ex, pregnancy/being pregnant, hint of being self-conscious, hint of separation anxiety, hint of self-doubt + self-put down(s), implied suffering from depression, implied being previously poorly treated by family, feeling sick + dizzy, having a nightmare/suffering from nightmares, being sick, attempted suicide - if I’ve missed any, let me know ❤️!

You and Barbra had been best friends ever since you’d both first met outside of the gynaecologist’s office, in the car park, and she insisted, after hearing that your boss couldn’t let you stay within the Primroses building you were working and singing within, for you to stay at Gloria and her husband’s house, where she was currently residing. Though you’d, at first, refused; you had been worried about getting in her or anyone else’s way, and claimed that you could try and sleep in your car outside of Primroses, once you tried, you hated it, and found yourself not being able to sleep, at all - instead, you had found yourself riddled with anxiety the entire night, thinking someone was watching you, and that someone could easily smash your car’s window open, and try to kill you. You had also been worried that maybe your family would find you, and force you to go back home with them; you’d fled from them, after they had been constantly gaslighting you, and after your ex had grown to be more and more abusive toward you, ever since you’d found out that you were a month or so pregnant with his child.

The next morning, you were surprised, as well as elated to find that Barbra had decided to come and see you; to make sure that you were okay, after you’d decided to sleep in your car; she’d been worried all night about you; that you might get hurt, or be cold as it had been quite a cold night, last night. “Hey-!” She chimed, whilst you shyly walked up to her, smiling warmly whilst you did; you had never been looking forward to seeing someone again more than you had been looking forward to seeing her, again - in fact, you believed yourself to be even more elated than you had been previously, with your ex.

“O-Oh my gosh, hi! You - You came? I didn’t think - I didn’t think you would,” you admitted, stammering whilst you did, prompting you to silently curse yourself for constantly being nervous around her like you had been ever since you’d both first met, “my family were never really interested in anything that - that I did, before, s-so-..”

You would falter, and wince, before quickly looking away from her, wishing you’d not let yourself accidentally bring them up like you had, just a few seconds ago. “Then your family were either blind, or just rude,” she replied, before pulling you into a hug, and you, when you felt able, after growing rather flustered by her holding you the way she was, now, returned the hug, feeling your cheeks beginning to heat up whilst you did; she made you feel warm, and fuzzy, and like nothing could ever hurt you again, as long as she was with you, “I was listening to you, Y/n, you’re amazing, a-and I think your voice is honestly the best I’ve ever heard.”

You would be surprised again, not expecting her to think that it was; you had been worried that maybe she didn’t like it. “R-Really-?” You inquired, and she would hold you at arm’s length, whilst nodding and smiling widely over at you, prompting your heart to skip a beat, startling and overwhelming you as you lifted your left hand up to your chest, prompting Barbra to begin worrying about you; she evidently thought that there was something wrong.

“Y/n? Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do - Do you want me to call Gloria?” She questioned, her eyes wide, and full of the concern she was currently holding for you.

You winced, before shaking your head, and forcing a smile over at her, though you were on the verge of panicking; you’d never felt this way before for anyone. “N-No, I think I’m fine, I just-.. I don’t know,” you mustered, occasionally stumbling over your words whilst you did, “I’m - I’m fine, b-but thank you, Barbra.”

“No problem,” she chimed again, “a-and you can call me Barbie, if you want to - G-Gloria and the others do.”

“Barbie,” you mused, whilst smiling softly, before you nodded, and shyly looked away from her again, “n-no one’s ever cared for me as much as you do, and I guess it’s just - new to me.”

“Of course I care about you, silly,” she replied, “you’re my - my best friend, and that’s what friends do; they care about one another, and-” She then looked as if she’d remembered something, whilst you found yourself wondering why her referring to you as her ‘best friend’ had disheartened you a little; that was new to you, too, and it was as if you were now longing to be more than that, to her; to be something more than just her best friend, and the new feelings you were now experiencing were terrifying you; you were worried that you would lose her, if she found out about them, or that things would be awkward, and you didn’t want that to happen. “They never forget to get each other a gift for their birthday,” she added, and you would be surprised, “I know it was a few days ago, now, but - I felt bad that I wasn’t there for it.”

You wouldn’t know what to say, at first, whilst you glanced up at her again, your eyes soon beginning to fill with tears whilst you did, worrying her again. “You-.. You got me a gift?” You mused, your voice briefly trembling whilst you did, and she nodded, smiling softly over at you again whilst she did. “Barbie,” you whined, before throwing your arms around her, and she would return the hug in an instant, rubbing your back to provide comfort to you whilst she did; she could hear that you had begun to cry quietly as you were sniffling, and had buried your face into her right shoulder. “T-Thank you so much,” you expressed shakily, your voice close to a whisper, “but you didn’t have to - you - you know that, right? We literally met a couple of days after-”

“I know,” she reassured, “but I wanted to; I didn’t want to have to wait until next year to get you one - Follow me!” She then led you outside to Gloria’s car, where she was waiting for you both, and as soon as she’d noticed that you and Barbra were walking up to it, she got out, and rushed up to hug you both, prompting you to falter again, until you felt able to return the hug; you weren’t used to being made to feel so welcome, and wondered why they were both bothering with someone like you, and the thought prompted you to frown, but you would quickly try and hide that it had disheartened you by forcing a smile over at both of them, once the hug had been sadly broken. “Let me just get the bag out, a-and - Gloria?” She prompted, and Gloria would remember what they had both been talking about, before arriving and parking outside of the Primroses building. “Wanna tell her about the other gift-?” She inquired, and you would wonder what it was, and why they were doing so much for you.

“Sure - Unless you wanted to?” Gloria offered, and Barbra would appear nervous, evidently worried about how you might react.

“I could try,” she replied, before opening the passenger seat of Gloria’s car, where the bag was waiting, “but first-”

She then took out the bag, before turning to face you again, and you would hesitantly accept it from her, though you felt as if you didn’t deserve anything that she, or anyone else offered you. “Wait,” you managed, your voice barely audible, whilst you looked into the bag, recognising the black material of the dress almost immediately, “is this-?”

“It’s the dress you wanted the other day,” she confirmed, beaming whilst she did, and you would quickly lower your gaze again, whilst more uninvited tears began to invade your eyes, and blur your vision, and you could even feel that a lump was forming in your throat; you were on the verge of breaking down again, and were worried about what they might think of you, if you did, especially what Barbra might think of you; you were terrified of her perceiving you to be a freak, like your family, and ex-friends as well as bullies in school, and college had.

“But - wasn’t it - expensive-?” You recalled, your voice cracking occasionally whilst you did, and she shrugged, unperturbed, before shyly stepping closer to you, so she could intertwine the fingers of her right hand with the now trembling fingers of your left.

“You needed it, Y/n,” she stated, and you would tilt your head partially, prompting her smile to grow even more; she found everything you did to be adorable, as well as magical, as you somehow managed to make her feel warm, and fuzzy, “we’re gonna have a little party tonight, t-to - well, celebrate!”

You would subconsciously shake your head, not wanting them to do everything that they were doing for you; you believed yourself to not be worthy of any of it, and definitely not of Barbra’s company, and friendship, whilst she believed the complete opposite; she wanted to do everything she could to make you happy, and to prove to you that your family had been wrong about you; that you were, and would always be the most amazing, talented and strong woman that she’d ever met, alongside the fact that she would also try and prove to you that she would always be there for you, no matter what happened, because you were everything, and had always been everything to her, ever since she’d first met you, and she then faltered, whilst beginning to wonder why she might have been feeling different recently, especially whenever she found herself thinking about you, resulting in her heart beginning to race, and in her briefly forgetting how to breathe, whilst blood rushed to her cheeks. “N-No,” you whined, “you don’t have to do that - why - why are you doing all of this for me? I’ve done nothing to deserve any of this; to - to deserve you, o-or your family-”

“That’s not true,” she contradicted, a hurt look on her face, “Y/n, you more than deserve us.” You would scoff, evidently doubting that you did. “Look at me,” she instructed gently, and you would hesitantly let your eyes meet her stunning icy blue ones, prompting your heart to overwhelmingly skip a couple of beats, before it began to race, and worried you as it felt as if it could break your rib cage if it kept going the way it was, “whatever your family said about you, n-none of it was true - they were just jealous of how amazing, talented and u-utterly perfect you are.”

Gloria couldn’t help, but smile whilst she watched you both, remembering how she and her husband had been together, before they’d started dating. You would manage a weak smile, upon hearing that she thought you to be perfect. “You-.. think I’m-.. perfect?” You mused, and she nodded quickly, whilst beaming over at you warmly, her eyes glinting whilst she did.

“I don’t think, I know,” she clarified, “I-..” She quickly caught herself, before clearing her throat, and nervously rubbing her arm. Gloria would look over at Barbra, smirking; she’d guessed that she had been about to blurt out a certain three words to you. “A-Anyway, the - the second surprise that we have for you, i-is - is that - we’ve sorted out the spare room for you,” she revealed, and you would falter for the one hundredth time that day, not expecting them to have arranged that for you, “you can stay with us and have your own room now!”

“You-.. You guys set - set up a room for me-?” You asked, a pained expression on your face, and Barbra would appear worried again, wondering what you were thinking, now. “Why-? I’ll never be able to repay you, y-you know that, right?” You pried, and both Barbra and Gloria would then ease you into a hug again, and you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore as you began to cry, believing you didn’t deserve anything that they were doing for you.

“You don’t need to repay us, Y/n,” Gloria tried to reassure you, “we want you to stay with us, and any friends of Barbra’s are our friends, too; they’re more than welcome to be a part of our family, and I know for a fact that Barbra wants you especially to stay with us.”

“Gloria,” she whined quietly in reply, appearing flustered, but you would try and stop yourself from getting your hopes up, believing someone as amazing as her could never feel the same way for a supposed nobody like you. She then looked over at you again when she felt able, after the hug had been sadly broken. “Don’t ever think that you have to repay us, Y/n,” she corroborated, “you - you already do enough; you’ve made - you’ve made me - all of us, happier than we used to be, a-and - we want you to be happy, too; to care for you like you should be cared for, a-and to give you the support you deserve.”

You managed a weak smile over at her, and she would smile back at you, somehow prompting your heart to begin racing even faster than it had been, before. “T-Thank you both, for everything,” you expressed, “I promise I’m gonna try and - and be better, and I won’t get in your way, I promise; I don’t wanna be a burden-”

“You could never be a burden,” Barbra interjected gently, “now c’mon, we - we should go back - I wanna show you your room, a-and it’s getting cold; I don’t want you getting sick before the party.” You would wince, before nodding in agreement with her. Gloria then opened the back right car door for you, and you would smile your thanks to her, before carefully getting into her car, and before Gloria could get into the driver’s seat, Barbra anxiously pulled her aside. “I - I need your help,” she stated, and Gloria would appear intrigued, as if she didn’t know why, “something - something is happening to me, a-and it always happens whenever I’m with, or thinking about Y/n. What - What is it, and what do I do-?”

Gloria would simply smile; she evidently had already put together a plan to try and bring you both together. “You really love her, don’t you?” She guessed, and Barbra would appear flustered again, before nodding her head timidly, whilst she began to blush, and rub her right arm subconsciously. “Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea, and I’ll tell you about it when we get back home, whilst we get the decorations for tonight sorted,” she informed, and Barbra would nod, evidently excited and elated to hear it, and to try and tell you about how she felt about you, when she felt able to, tonight. “For starters, though, I think you should join her in the back,” she suggested, and Barbra would nod again, before rushing around to the other side that you weren’t occupying, so she could get in and sit beside you for the blissful journey back home to Gloria and her husband’s house.

🜚

After Gloria had convinced Sasha to go to bed a little while after the party had kicked off, she quickly checked her playlist, and made it so that the next song would be Lord Huron’s ‘The Night We Met’, as she knew that you both liked the song, and found that it was good, and would be good for you both to possibly slow dance to. “I’ve just gotta check on Sasha and make sure that she is in bed like she should be,” Gloria stated, after setting down her phone, “why don’t you guys have a look at the decorations and lights outside whilst I do? I promise I’ll be back down in a bit.”

She then rushed out of the room, and Barbra would nervously turn to face you, before beaming over at you, and offering you her left hand, so she could lead you out into the garden. “W-Wow,” you whispered, whilst looking around at the makeshift, and subtle romantic set-up, “it’s - it’s beautiful, like - like y-..”

You would quickly stop yourself, a pained expression on your face whilst you did, and Barbra would appear disappointed; she wanted to hear you say what you had been about to say; to hear that you did feel the same way that she felt, for you. “Isn’t it just?” She chimed, whilst trying to smile, though she was worried about what might happen, after she planned to tell you about how she felt for you; how you would react, or if it would result in her somehow losing you, terrifying her, as she felt as if she wouldn’t be able to live if you were no longer by her side. “Gloria wanted it to be special for us,” she stated, and would try to force the anxious thoughts from her mind, before turning to face you, whilst ‘The Night We Met’ began to play, surprising you as you subconsciously smiled, finding yourself thinking back to the moment you’d both first met; the very moment you’d instantly fallen in love with her, and she with you, unbeknownst to you. “H-Hey, would you - would you maybe wanna dance-?” She inquired, and you would wince, appearing nervous as you quickly looked away, prompting her to tilt her head partially, wondering why you looked as if you were terrified all of a sudden. “What’s wrong?” She asked, before holding both of your hands in her’s delicately, prompting you to suddenly forget how to breathe, and your heart to begin racing again, overwhelming and flustering you at the same time.

“It - It’s nothing, I just,” you managed, your voice barely audible, and trembling for a brief moment, before you looked back at her, your eyes instantly locking with her’s in the best way possible, “I don’t really know how to dance.”

Her face would suddenly light up again whilst she grinned over at you, finding that you being so nervous and shy around her was adorable, and made her feel warm and fuzzy, like she usually did whenever she was with you. “That’s fine,” she chimed, “because it’s never too late to learn, a-and slow dancing isn’t as hard to do - Here.” She then eased you closer to her by wrapping her arms around your waist, before she used her right hand to direct your arms so that they were hooked over her shoulders. “Just copy what I’m doing,” she advised, and you would try, whilst you both moved slowly together in time with the music, “you’re a natural already, see!”

You would giggle, prompting her to join you; she found your laugh infectious. You both would then fall quiet, finding yourselves getting lost in one another’s eyes whilst you did, and she would subconsciously inch closer to you, flustering you even more than you had been, before. “You - You look adorable when you smile,” you blurted out breathlessly, and she would smile lovingly over at you, prompting you to falter, and stop in place, after she had, whilst she connected her forehead to your’s, appearing nervous again; she longed to kiss you, but was worried about how you might react, if she did.

“Well, you look even more adorable when you smile,” she replied, “Y/n, I-.. I’ve been-.. wanting to - to tell you something ever since I first met you, I just - at first, I wasn’t sure what it was, but now I know, a-and-.. I think I’m in love with you.”

You would glance up at her again, when you felt able, your eyes glinting whilst you did; you’d been wanting to hear that she felt the same way ever since you’d both first met, and you found yourself feeling elated, until you were reminded of who you were; a nobody, compared to her, and it pained you; made you feel empty all over again, and as if you weren’t, and could never be good enough for her. “N-No, you - you can’t be,” you murmured, your voice close to a whisper, before stepping back, a pained expression on your face whilst you did; you hated yourself for what you were doing, but tried to tell yourself that what you were doing would benefit her; she’d be able to give up on you, and search for someone else who could actually make her happy; you knew you’d never be able to keep her happy for very long, no matter how much you wanted to at least try to give her everything you could, “you deserve so much better than me, Barbie; the best, and I can’t give you that; I’m a nobody, okay? I have nothing, but the love I’ve been, and still am holding for you, to give you-”

“Good, because I don’t want anymore than that,” she interjected, certain that that was all she wanted, “I just want you, Y/n, please just - just give us a chance.”

She would attempt to step closer to you, but you would quickly step back before she could get any closer, prompting her to falter, whilst tears began to cloud her vision. “I’d only ruin everything,” you murmured, and she would quickly shake her head, desperate for you to just try; she wanted to give you everything that she could, too, after you’d been so horribly treated by your family, before, and wanted to help you raise your child, as she felt as if it was what she was meant to do, ever since she’d first seen you, and spoken to you in the car park, “a-and - I’m scared, Barbie - what if - what if I somehow - hurt you? I’d never be able to forgive myself-”

“You won’t,” she contradicted, “I trust you, Y/n, more than anything; you’re nothing like your family were, a-and I’d never treat you like your ex did, I promise; he was just a control-freak, a-and an abuser, and I could never even imagine doing anything like what he did to you. If you’d just give us a chance, then you’d see that we’re meant to be together; I can feel that we are, but-” She would fall quiet, after her voice had begun to falter; she was struggling to keep herself together, now, and was afraid that she would soon break down if she continued. “If you need time, t-that’s okay, of course it is; I don’t wanna force you into anything,” she cooed softly, and you would manage to stop yourself from moving away again, whilst she tried to inch closer, allowing her to intertwine the fingers of her now trembling hands with the fingers of your’s, “j-just - just know that - that I’m always gonna be here for you; I don’t mind waiting, e-even if you decide you just want to - to stay friends with me-” She then couldn’t hold it back anymore as she wrapped her arms around you, and began to cry quietly into your left shoulder, prompting you to feel guilty for how you’d previously reacted. “I love you so much,” she expressed in a shaky whisper, before a strained sob managed to escape her, making your heart ache even more; you found you couldn’t even bring yourself to return the hug, feeling as if you didn’t deserve to, after you’d upset her like you evidently had, “just - please just stay; I can’t live without you, I just can’t..”

“I’m - I’m not going anywhere,” you managed, before wrapping your arms around her to try and provide comfort to her, and she would express relief, whilst subconsciously clinging to the material of the dress she’d bought for you, “I-..” You then found yourself beginning to cry alongside her, wishing you could be better for her. “I’m so sorry,” you whined, and she would shake her head in reply, not wanting you to feel as if you had to apologise for anything, “I just wish.. wish that I could be something.. more - for you.”

She then, without hesitation, held you at arm’s length, whilst wishing that you’d stop putting yourself down like she found you did, constantly. “But I don’t want you to be something more for me,” she stated, “you’re already perfect, Y/n; you always have been; I love you, and will always love you, just the way you are, and I could honestly write a never ending list of reasons why I love you - wanna hear some of them?” You would hesitantly nod, intrigued as to why someone as amazing as her would love a supposed nobody like you. “Okay,” she chimed, already flustered, though she’d not yet begun, “w-well - first of all, you’re adorable, funny, smart, stunning somehow all the time, c-caring, talented-”

“Talented-?” You mused, and she would nod quickly, surprised that you were even doubting that you were.

“You have the most amazing voice that I have ever heard,” she explained, “a-and - those drawings I saw in your bag - yes, I did see them - were incredible.”

“Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before,” you responded quietly, “whenever I drew something for my parents, t-they just - ignored me, or tore it up and threw it away whilst I was watching..”

“They were just lashing out because they knew that they could never be able to do anything that you can do,” she tried to reassure you, but you would still appear to be doubtful, regardless.

“Come off it,” you uttered, after scoffing, “nobody would, or should ever want to be like me.”

“Why not? Y/n, you’re amazing, and c’mon - surely you know that,” she replied, but you would shake your head, “wanna know something? I wish I could have a voice like your’s, and be able to draw like you do; you’re so cool.”

You would be surprised, and had evidently not been expecting to hear that even someone as perfect as her wanted to be like you. “R-Really-? I am?” You pried, and she would nod again, hoping that you actually believed that you were, this time. “I could-.. I could try and teach you, m-maybe - if you want me to?”

“I’d love that,” she answered, and before either of you could say anything, thunder rang out above you both, startling you, but she would relax you instantly by easing you closer to her, “we should get back inside, before it starts-” It then began to rain, the droplets surrounding you both, prompting you to giggle breathlessly together, before she offered you her right hand, and you accepted it, allowing her to lead you back inside, and out of the cold, and Gloria assumed that everything had worked out, until Barbra had convinced you to go and get some rest, and then returned to her, crying quietly again, whilst she told her about what had happened between you both whilst you had been out in the garden together.

🜸🜚🜸

Ever since that night, neither of you had mentioned anything about what had happened, though it had been playing continuously on both of your minds, and it pained the both of you more than you thought it would, especially when you both really did feel the same way for one another, and that was now out in the open. “H-Hey,” Barbra chimed suddenly, whilst you both were walking back toward Gloria and her husband’s home from Primroses; the bar you were currently singing at, “I.. I heard a song today, and it reminded me of you - w-wanna hear it?”

“Sure,” you answered brightly, whilst smiling over at her warmly, and she would smile back at you, prompting your heart to skip a beat, and you to forget how to breathe again, before she took out her phone, and began to play it for you. You recognised it immediately: ‘If You’re Not the One’ by Daniel Bedingford, and you faltered, a pained expression on your face whilst you both listened to it together. Once she’d noticed the look on your face, she would appear disheartened, but would try to hide it from you, smiling feebly over at you, whilst she slid her phone back into her bag, before averting her gaze back down to the ground; she was fearful that she might begin to cry in front of you again. “It’s-.. It’s a nice song; one of my favourites,” you stated, and she would be surprised, but elated to hear that you liked it, too.

“Cool,” she replied brightly, and in a strained manner, prompting you to look over at her when you could hear that she was trying to hide that she was upset, making you feel guilty again; you hated upsetting her.

“Barbie,” you mustered, your voice close to a whisper again, and she would try to fight back her tears, before looking over at you, and smiling to the best of her ability, but you could see - despite her attempts to hide it - that she was in pain, and it made you want to cry alongside her, and to run away so she would never have to be reminded of you, or wait for you ever again; it broke your heart to see her like this, and you hated yourself for upsetting her after everything she’d done for you.

“You’re - You’re the greatest best friend anyone could ever ask for,” she continued, and you would fall quiet, appearing disheartened for a moment, before you nodded, and managed a faint smile over at her, before you looked away again, though you didn’t know why you were upset by her referring to you as her ‘best friend’, when you’d reacted the way you had to her confession the night before.

“Well, I think you are an even better best friend,” you expressed, “a-and I’m grateful, and glad that you’re always there for me, when - when you really shouldn’t be wasting your time on me, at all.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” She questioned, a hurt look on her face, and you would hesitantly stop beside her, after she had stopped walking upon hearing your reply. She then intertwined the fingers of her right hand with the fingers of your left, and you would reluctantly turn your head partially in her direction, whilst staring down at your hand currently residing in her’s. “Y/n, I-..” She would quickly catch herself, and you would frown when you noticed that her eyes were beginning to glisten due to the tears which were currently invading them again.

You would hesitantly step closer to her, whilst silently cursing yourself for doing what you were doing, though you wanted it to happen; you just felt as if you’d only make things worse if you gave in to your feelings, and you didn’t want to hurt her anymore than you had, recently. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, before adding in your mind: ‘for making things so much worse for you by doing what I’m going to do’, whilst you lifted your free right hand up to her left cheek, prompting her to melt into your touch subconsciously, whilst her eyes locked with your’s in the best way possible, resulting in you finding yourself easily getting lost in her eyes. “I love you so much,” you choked, whilst you began to cry alongside her, and she would use her free left hand to ease your head closer to her’s, so she could connect her forehead to your’s affectionately, “your eyes are sore.. P-Please tell me you’ve not been crying b-before now, too.”

“M-Maybe just a little,” she admitted, “I’m sorry, they’re probably all red and stuff, but-..”

“Doesn’t matter,” you reassured gently, before booping the tip of her nose with the tip of your’s to provide comfort to her, and make her smile again, which she did, prompting your heart to skip a beat, and a soft smile to play on your lips subconsciously, “your eyes are beautiful, no matter what. D-Do - Do you need a hug?”

“I’d love one,” she answered, and you would carefully wrap your arms around her, prompting her to bury her face into the crook of your neck, before she returned the hug almost immediately after she had, sniffling quietly whilst she did. “Does.. Does this mean we’re-..?” She inquired, and you would try not to hesitate, though you believed things would be better for her, if you did; you would never stop believing that you weren’t good enough for her, and that she deserved better than you, because you were sure that she did; that you could never repay her for how she’d made you so much happier than you used to be; you would forever be supposedly nothing, compared to her.

“Does this answer your question?” You asked, before you shyly connected your lips to her soft ones delicately, and she would subconsciously melt into the kiss, easing you even closer to her whilst she did, effectively closing any remaining gaps between you both.

During the kiss, you found yourself forgetting about what you had been previously thinking about, instead revelling in how it felt to have your lips finally against her’s; it was elating, and made you feel warm and fuzzy, as well as as if it were only you and her all of a sudden; the last two people remaining on earth; she was all that mattered to you in this moment, and you - unbeknownst to her - were all that mattered to her, too. “T-That was-..” Barbra managed in a shaky whisper, and you would smile lovingly over at her, before you both began to giggle breathlessly together.

“Amazing,” you finished for her, “I’ve never-.. felt this way before for - for anyone.”

“N-Neither have I,” she admitted, before timidly brushing her lips against your’s again, prompting you to kiss her lovingly once more, before you attempted to slowly deepen the kiss, and she managed to follow suite, though she’d never kissed anyone before. You both would only pull away once you needed to breathe, and found yourselves giggling together again, elated upon finding that you both were now going to start dating, like you’d both always wanted to, ever since you’d first met in the car park outside the gynaecologist’s office. She then noticed that you’d begun to shiver; the wind had begun to pick up, and she made to take off her coat. “Here,” she offered it to you, surprising you, and you quickly shook her head, not wanting her to feel as if she had to give her coat to you, nor did you want her to be cold, too.

“N-No, keep it,” you responded, “you’ll be cold, if I take it, and I can’t allow my princess to be cold.”

“I insist,” she persisted, whilst appearing flustered after you’d referred to her as your ‘princess’, “and I won’t stop until you take it.” You would hesitate, before giving in; you didn’t want to upset her.

“Fine,” you replied, and she would beam victoriously over at you, before draping her coat over your shoulders, and you would smile your thanks back over at her, whilst slipping your arms through the sleeves, “we should get back-”

You would falter, before wincing, and leaning heavily against her, whilst you appeared uncomfortable, and as if you were in pain. Barbra would appear worried about you, whilst she held you close to her, a pained expression on her face; she didn’t like seeing you like this, and was terrified that she might end up losing you somehow, if something was wrong in terms of your pregnancy. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” She inquired, and you would frown, hearing that she was worried about you; her voice had begun to tremble a little, and sounded as if it were somewhat more strained than it had been, before.

“It’s nothing,” you answered, “I just-.. I feel sick, a-and dizzy all of a sudden..”

“Do you think you’ll be able to make it back home, o-or do you wanna stop for a little while, at least until you’re - y’know, sick?” She pried, and you would think about it for a moment, before you shook your head, feeling as if you’d be able to push through it, for now. “Are you sure? Do you want me to carry you?” She questioned, desperate to do all she could for you to make you happy, and to make you feel comfortable, after everything you’d been through, before, with your family, and ex.

You couldn’t help, but smile lovingly up at her again, finding how she was reacting to your current demeanour adorable, as well as flattering; nobody had ever cared about you the way that she did, and you found yourself beginning to wonder what you’d done to deserve her again. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you tried to reassure her, and she would reluctantly give in, though she was evidently still worried that something might happen to you, or that you’d only get worse if you walked back home, instead of allowing her to carry you back. You then held both of her hands in your’s, and would be surprised to feel that they were trembling a little, prompting you to glance up at her with a pained expression on your face. “Your hands are shaking,” you mused, and Barbra winced, before looking away from you, “I’m fine, see? I’m okay, as long as I’m with you.”

You then began to feel a little dizzy again, and would find yourself beginning to stagger a little, whilst Barbra was slowly leading you further down the street, desperate to get you back home, where she could ensure that your safety, and comfort were granted. “That’s it - I’m carrying you,” she decided, and you would be surprised when she suddenly turned to face you, and managed to lift you, before beginning to walk as fast as she possibly could whilst carrying you like she was. You found you couldn’t protest, feeling much too weak to, so instead you let yourself go somewhat limp in her arms, exhausted, to the point that you even found yourself eventually falling asleep within her hold.

🜸🜚🜸

After you’d both officially decided to get together, Barbra would try and spend even more time with you, especially after you’d almost fainted the day before; she was afraid of something happening to you whilst you were alone, at work, and made sure to be there with you every day, and you loved it, whenever you weren’t finding yourself thinking about how you believed yourself to be a burden on her; that she couldn’t have been doing anything she wanted to be doing, because of you, and these moments hurt you a lot more than you thought they would, resulting in you, once your shift was over, rushing off of the stage, and into the toilet, where you locked yourself within a stall, before beginning to cry quietly; you hated what you thought you were doing to her, and even wished you’d not decided to kiss her yesterday, when you’d known already that this might happen. When you felt able, and were somewhat more stable, you left the toilet, and would smile subconsciously when you noticed Barbra waiting for you outside, whilst hiding something behind her back, and you would be intrigued as to what it could be. As soon as she noticed you, her whole face seemed to light up, whilst she smiled lovingly over at you, her eyes glinting whilst she did, and you found yourself feeling elated, at first, until more invading thoughts decided to bring you down again, prompting you to be thinking: ‘don’t smile at me like that - like you’re happy to see me, I don’t deserve it; I’m only making things worse for you.’ “I - I got you something,” she chimed, and you would be surprised, tilting your head partially in response.

“Did I sound particularly good today, or-?” You mused, and she would giggle, before nodding, and shyly stepping closer to you.

“You sound amazing every day,” she replied, “a-and I got it for you partially because of that, because of how you’ve been doing so well recently with your pregnancy, and b-because - because I love you.” You would falter, beginning to feel warm and fuzzy again, whilst your heart began to race, and you could feel that your cheeks were now beginning to heat up, too. “H-Here,” she then revealed the pastel pink roses, and you would be amazed; they were your favourite flowers, and you didn’t recall ever actually telling her that, before, “I - I heard you liked them, so I brought you some.”

“Why - Why do you always do such nice things for me all the time?” You asked, after accepting them, whilst small tears began to cloud your vision.

“You know why,” she answered, “Y/n, you deserve everything that’s good, and because I can’t give you everything that I want to give you, I have to give you what I can; I love you so much.” She then eased you into a hug, and you would instantly melt into her embrace, before you returned it, the tears managing to escape whilst you did. Once the hug was sadly broken, she held you at arm’s length, smiling lovingly over at you again, and you would reflect her smile back at her. “You look tired,” she pointed out, “let’s go home; you need to sleep.”

“Only if you want to,” you responded, and she would nod, before smiling reassuringly over at you.

“I want to,” she claimed, “why wouldn’t I, if it means I’ll get to lie by your side for even longer than I usually do get to? C’mon.”

“W-Wait,” you mustered, your voice close to a whisper, and she would look back at you, grinning, before shyly returning to your side, so she could intertwine the fingers of her right hand with the free fingers of your left, “I love you, too, m-more than anything, and I always will, I promise.” She then leaned forward to delicately connect her lips to your’s, and you would instantly melt into the kiss, feeling empty as soon as it was over, but her smile would soon make you feel whole again, whilst you both walked out of Primroses, and back toward Gloria and her husband’s home.

🜚

Though you’d managed to get to sleep, eventually, you ended up having a nightmare shortly after about your family finding you, and forcing you to return home with them. Before it could progress, you were gently shook awake by Barbra, who was cradling you whilst you whimpered, shook, and cried quietly in her arms. “Y-Y/n,” she cooed, “it’s okay, I’m here; I’ve got you.”

“I-..” You whined, whilst beginning to feel nauseous and dizzy again. “I feel sick,” you managed shakily, and Barbra would help you out of bed, and to the bathroom, where you would somewhat collapse to your knees in front of the toilet, so you could be sick into it, and she would hold your hair back, and rub your back with her free left hand whilst you did, to try and provide comfort to you. “I’m so sorry,” you expressed feebly, and she would shake her head, not wanting you to feel as if you had to apologise for anything, “you don’t have to stay in here if - if it makes you feel..” You whimpered quietly, before doubling over again.

“I want to,” she reassured, “and I’m okay, don’t worry about me, it should be you who you’re worried about, not me. Would it make you feel better if I tried to distract you by telling you about something weird I saw today?” You managed to nod, and she would smile softly, whilst you leaned back heavily against her, feeling as if you were done. Whilst she began to describe what she’d seen, she carefully flushed the toilet, before she picked off a couple of pieces of toilet paper to delicately wipe your mouth clean, and dumped the tissue in the bin beside her. Once she’d noticed that your eyelids were beginning to droop heavily, she would lift her right hand up to your left cheek, prompting you to melt into her touch subconsciously, whilst you glanced up at her through your now dark, and sore eyes. “Should I stop talking and get you back to bed, now, or-?” She inquired, and you would shake your head to the best of your ability, wanting to stay as you were with her for a few moments longer.

“P-Please don’t,” you requested, your voice sounding strained, and as if it might break any second now, “your voice is very - your voice is very soothing..”

She would grin in reply to your remark, glad to hear that her voice was relaxing you. “Okay,” she chimed, “but when you do want to go back to bed, just tell me, and I can stop.” You would nod again, though you knew you’d probably not want to go back to bed for a little while, after you’d had that nightmare.

🜸🜚🜸

Whilst you began to think that things were starting to go well, they seemed to get worse, and now that you really thought about it, you knew that it was all your fault, and it broke you, mentally and physically; you and Barbra had had your first fight, and though you wanted for her to hate you after it had happened, she didn’t, and that hurt you even more. Whilst she was trying not to cry after the fight had occurred, she was still trying to help you at Primroses, where your manager had now offered you a few extra duties to clean up the backstage area. Whilst you were working on these duties, she was begrudgingly trying to stay sat at the table in the corner, like you’d suggested for her to do; you’d not wanted her to feel as if she had to help you anymore, especially after you’d fought with her, and upset her again. However, once she’d noticed that you were appearing to get a lot more stressed out than you had, before, and were evidently beginning to experience dizziness again whilst you leaned heavily against the wall for a moment, and decided to get up, and warily approach you, not wanting you to have to do anymore work whilst you were in the condition that you were in. “Y/n,” she cooed, and you would falter upon hearing her voice, a pained expression on your face whilst you recalled the fight again, and began to think about how painful it would be, to never be able to hear her voice again, if you really did end up losing her. “You’ve done enough, now,” she stated, “I’ll take over from here, go and get some rest-”

“N-No,” you interjected, and she would appear disheartened, making you feel even worse, “Barbie, you-.. you need more rest than I do, after-.. that fight, a-and-.. everything else..”

“No, I don’t,” she contradicted, “please, let me do something for you - anything.”

“You’d do anything-?” You inquired, and she would nod quickly, desperate to fix things after the fight which had previously occurred between you both. You would then bow your head, hating yourself for what you were doing to her. “Go home,” you murmured, and she would falter, a hurt look on her face whilst she did. “Please,” you added, “I’ll be done with this soon, a-and will join you back there as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Fine,” she gave in, with great reluctance; she didn’t want to upset you any further, “b-but-.. if you aren’t back there in at least half an hour, I’m coming back to take over, a-and to make sure that you’re okay - see you, in half an hour, exactly - d-don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” you tried to reassure her, and she would manage a soft smile over at you, breaking your heart even more, to the point that it felt as if there was nothing left of it anymore, “s-see you there, in half an hour sharp.” She would nod in reply, before leaning forward to delicately connect her lips to your’s, and you would melt into the kiss subconsciously, feeling empty as soon as the kiss had ended, and as soon as she’d dragged herself out of the room, leaving you alone. You would then find yourself soon breaking down after she’d gone, until you couldn’t take it anymore; you were sick of hurting her, and being in pain all the time, so you dragged yourself out after you’d finished the cleaning duties you’d been assigned, but wouldn’t return home. Instead, you were on your way to the local bridge, intending to finally end everything, and to end your burdening existence for Barbra, Gloria, her husband and Sasha, however - before you could, Barbra had stuck by her warning that she would check on you, and began to panic when she found that you were no longer there, prompting her to call Gloria, who rushed to help her search for you, managing to find you on the bridge, and to pull you down before you could jump, with the help of the police who had just arrived on the scene alongside them.

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed it! ❤️

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