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cryinginthebackseat · 3 years ago

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you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iii

part i part ii AO3

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 6.572

Warnings: here’s where the smut tag comes into play, boy with a copious amount of power play and yeah, it’s messy af

Author’s note: after three months, a couple of brainstorming in the bathtub, delays, revisions and self-doubt, chapter 3 is finally done. i hope you'll enjoy it. also, i don't think i have to warn you what will go down in this chapter.

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Fast forward to twenty-four hours since he discovers that Bell is fucking someone, Lazar drops about half a dozen of dusty manilas on his desk. Adler’s eyes sweep over them. He recognizes Bell’s handwriting etched across the memo attached to one of the folders right away.

He picks it up. It’s becoming second nature to him lately; drawing himself to her, an ineradicable magnetic force pulling his end of the pole.

A muscle on his jaw twitches.

For a moment, Adler despises her. He allows himself to really despise her. She’s started something in his head- a war; an intangible, unmanageable riot and if he lets her, she’ll rearrange him until he’s insane.

And he can’t let that happen. He’s the one holding the leash here, not vice versa.

“This is what we have on Dragovich’s activities in Yamantau,” Lazar informs him, pulling him back down to earth.

Adler stands, keeping his face easy, neutral. “Is this everything?”

“So far, yeah. Bell says she’ll let us know if she digs up something more from the archives though.”

Bell- the Bell in question- can be heard sighing, like she turns the corner and finds herself at a cul-de-sac; hunching over her desk, reading, her fingers keep buttoning and unbuttoning the top of her shirt, madly distracting (him).

She remains in her seat, for pretty much the remainder of the day. Eyes glued to the pages before her, factory-like dedication. She hardly looks up when Sims borrows her pen or when Park stands over her, sipping her coffee, inquiring about her progress behind a plume of smoke.

The only- truly time Bell ever lifts her head from her work is when Mason approaches her desk. She gazes up at him, notes forgotten, a kittenish smile etched across her face, come-hither eyes that could have time hung in motion, or held at ransom, perhaps. Mason’s own smile is full-blown, too wide, too genial, as he stalks closer and closer to her table, her whirlpool.

Adler does a double-take, like his eyeballs only functioning for the first time. He might as well be hallucinating it because no... this can’t be right, can it?

But then Mason is touching her hand, a blink-and-you-miss-it movement that was not lost on Adler and oh, she’s looking at him hopefully now.

The knots in Adler's stomach are vertiginous. Realization rings in his head like a gunshot, nearly leaving him in a daze. There’s no denying it. Not when the exchange unfurls before his eyes like a broken, warped film reel and there’s nothing to stop him from seeing it.

The thought of her and him haunts the rest of his waking hours, until there’s absolutely no telling how far he’s fallen into his own pit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ( Alex Mason fucked her that night.

Mason was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as Mason rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room.

Alex Mason fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ She haphazardly reaches for the mug and takes a hearty gulp of its content. It’s not hers.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Bell says, mortified and places the mug down noisily on the desk. “I’m sorry, I thought it was mine.”

The rim of his mug is now stained with her lipstick. Adler bites down on a careful retort.

He thinks he knows now. Why he lets it happen, why he thinks of her in metaphors, why she gives him that vertigo. The answer is at the tip of his tongue- he can almost taste it, like spoiled milk or rancid gardenia. But it’s much easier to ignore it until the words grow diminuendo and disappear, that he thinks he imagined it all along.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You can’t obsess without turning around and getting lost in the middle.

Or losing a part of yourself in the process.

The idea of obsession, to obsess, perhaps is a far riskier thing for a person to have than playing the knife game, blindfolded with absolutely no telling where to start.

Yet we all do it, despite knowing the very dark flipside it possesses.

Perhaps it’s the very nature of humans, tucked deep within the pigeonhole of our minds, suffused by the very promise of bogus achievements that usually leads most of us insane, thinking that obsession is essential to living. But without it, artists are corporate slaves, slack-jawed know-it-alls moving stiffly in the middle of the hullabaloo that is our world; Paris would be just as unrecognizable today without Napoleon’s artistic legacy.

Obsession is good.

Obsession is dangerous.

The very dichotomy should have us all warded off of it.

Yet, again, we all do it. Again, and again, and again until it taints our veins. And it’s always far too late until you realize, that yes, now all you see is her, the air has been poisoned by her perfume, that her name is now forevermore engraved in your skin, like an overgild tattoo.

That you end up in downtown Berlin, out of sight, out of mind.

He finds them there, in a shoebox-sized cafe. Ill-lit, low-ceiling, coffee-stained floor that shows the wear of three decades worth of boots, pantoffels and high heels and Adler is sitting in his car, nursing a beer with but one all-consuming, perplexing thought:

Bell and Mason.

Someone told him they arrived together, about an hour ago. The cafe has become their usual haunts, his source said, ever since they’ve returned from Ukraine and Adler just can’t wrap his head around this- them. In his head, they’re wholly different entities. Two proper nouns separated by a conjunction, or a comma if mentioned in a list.

They’re the kind of opposites that he thought don’t attract, yet here they are.

Perhaps it's inevitable, both are products of brainwashing. Maybe they sensed one another, speaking in code, like detecting an RF signal from a nuclear bunker.

Then the doors to the cafe swing open. They step outside, cheeks flushed, his arm wrapped around her waist, her lips glueing on the slope of his neck. Shaded eyes watch them from the opposite street, his disgust obvious.

Now, Adler wonders how this all began. Someone must have made the first move.

He wonders if it was her. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You wanted to see me?"

Adler looks up from his desk and nods. "Lock the door behind you."

And Alex Mason, the root of all this trouble, obeys. Looking somewhat uncertain under the scrutiny of the harsh lights, and shuts the blinds. Unlike Woods, he takes a seat at the chair Adler sets up before the desk.

"What is it?" Mason asks, after a long, almost unending silence. His curiosity seeps through the room.

There is very little control when the first domino falls. Oftentimes, once it starts, it’s like crossing the Rubico n and the next thing you know, you are lying flat on the ground in some theater, 23 fresh stab wounds decorating your body and the beat of your pulse seems dim and distant, everything feels cold except your blood; warm, bright and thick like gasoline, crawling into every space until it goes into your throat and strangles you, kills you. Fini, kaput.

But then again, he's not Caesar and this isn't Rome.

Adler pushes the first tile.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks without fanfare, tight and composed as ever. Never mind the way his eyes ignite like cold blue fire behind his glasses.

"How long has what been going on?"

“You and Bell." And Mason blinks at him in surprise. Bingo. "I saw the two of you leaving for her hotel from a cafe in Downtown Berlin last night. So don't bother skirting your way around this.” Adler leans forward across his desk. He’s a man on a mission- there’s no stopping him now.

“Now, let me rephrase the question, how long have you been fucking her?"

"Hold on, hold on, you were stalking us?" Mason asks, waspish.

Adler winces inwardly. "I was keeping an eye out for my asset.”

“Asset?” Mason hisses, like Adler just blasphemed. “Jesus Christ, Russ, is that all she ever is to you? An asset? She’s your protégé, for god’s sake- a person! What is wrong with you?"

"Plenty. Or apparently, so I've been told.”

"I don't find you amusing.”

“I'm hardly ever,” Adler parries. Mason remains silent, yet the tilt of his lips translate exactly what words can't. "And you haven't answered my question."

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything."

"Listen, Al-"

"No, you listen to me. You may be calling the shots around here, but this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Whatever- or whoever - we're doing in our spare time is none of your business, do you understand? So you can just drop it," Mason seethes, bitter, and, much to Adler’s surprise, rises to leave. “We’re done here.”

"That's where you're wrong."

Mason has only managed to put a few paces between them before he turns around, once again stepping inside this metaphorical boxing ring.

"What?"

"This has everything to do with me," Adler says coolly. "You said it yourself, I'm the one who calls the shots here. Meaning, anything that could potentially fuck up my operation is my concern and I have the right to intervene should it needed. This, being a case in point."

Mason looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What the hell does fucking her have to do with this whole operation?”

“Everything.” He says it like quiet resignation. It’s time to acknowledge the truth, he thinks, to that unusual idea that has been swirling in the deep recesses of his mind, that everyone’s weakness is varied.

Achilles had his heel, and Adler has her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, Al. You don't even know her."

Mason gives him a level stare. "And you do?"

Adler is so hard-pressed to say 'I made her' but even he wouldn't stoop that low.

"That is beside the point,” Adler tells him instead as he turns to his vice- one of them, at least- and lights it.

“There is literally no point to this conversation.”

“The point is, stay the hell away from Bell. I'm saying this for your own good."

"My own good or yours?"

Adler does not flinch, but his hand does ball into a fist under the table, how the fingers curl and then flex.

"Don't be ridiculous. I gain nothing from this except assurance." It's a lie, it's the truth. There's no in between. He doesn’t know which is which anymore. "You, on the other hand, I'm sure the old ball and chain wouldn't be near as thrilled about hearing this if word ever gets out."

Mason is quiet for a beat.

"Is that a threat?"

"Only once I pulled the pin," Adler replies, a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.

But the thing with Mason, he'll come to realize later, is how much, like with Bell, weaving through his mind is like trying to grasp for purchase in the dark as he, once again, does the unpredicted and smile- a venomous grin warps his face, like he’s mocking him, challenging him to move his piece on the board and make this mistake.

Adler stares back, surprised despite himself.

He shocks him further by saying, "Go ahead, then. Pull the pin, throw the grenade, tell her. See if she cares."

Adler’s eyes narrow at his askance. He then drags his attention to Mason’s left hand, and something grave and familiar rises in his chest.

The absence of the metal band around his ring finger tells him why.

“You know where to reach her. If anything, I’m sure she’d trust your words better than anyone else’s. So please, do it.” And Mason’s so goddamn sanctimonious about it. He’s clearly expecting this particular reaction out of Adler. It only leaves Adler angrier.

Another long pause stretches, heavy and unkind.

"Fine. Maybe she won't mind, but I'm sure the Agency wouldn’t be as tolerant.” Adler takes one last drag of his cigarette. He has that ‘Having nothing, nothing can he lose’ look on his face that makes Mason frowns. “Not when you’ve been fraternizing with the enemy.”

"What?”

"Bell. She’s not who you think she is, Al. Tell me, who do you think is the sorry bastard we saved in Trabzon?”

Mason blinks. His face is blank with shock, then he shakes his head. And he keeps shaking it, almost manic. If he laughs, which one would come first, he wonders, the gun or his fist pummeling the side of his face?

“You’re lying.”

“And why would I lie to you about this?”

"No, no, no, Woods- he told me the guy’s dead,” Mason says, his words are shaky.

“He’s not. And he wasn’t a he."

A crease forms between Mason's eyebrows, the starting of another frown.

“Hold on, if she’s helping us get Perseus then why is she the enemy?”

"Because she doesn't know that."

"Doesn't know what?"

"That she's the enemy."

Mason holds his gaze for a moment, his expression tense, like a slingshot.

And that cold elastic band finally snaps.

“What did you do to her?” He’s openly glaring at him now, mouth tight, an icy fury that is no longer dormant and for the first time since Adler has known him, he finds the man dangerous.

Adler takes a steadying breath. “We did what had to be done.”

"You sick son of a bitch. You brainwa- You-” Mason clamps his mouth shut, trembling hands finding his head. “Shit. How could you?"

Adler ignores his colorful outburst.

“She resisted every form of interrogations we threw at her, Al. We had no choice but to implement MK-Ultra as a last resort. We needed what’s in her head.” Mason is silent in reply. Adler continues, “Look, it’s nasty business, I know, but some of us have to cross a line just to make sure that line's still there in the morning. And as much as I hate agreeing with Hudson, he’s right. We need to preserve our way of life.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to play God,” his voice is resentful and crisp. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? You could jeopardize everything, and for what? You’ve seen what this- this experiment did to me, this won’t end the way you think!”

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

"You’re really willing to gamble on that?”

Adler scowls. “I don’t gamble, Mason. I calculate. And if by some chance I was given a second chance, I’d do it all over again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Mason doesn’t say anything at first, his loaded gun stare never falters. Then, “The flag may be different, but the methods are the same.��

"What was that?”

“Someone warned me, a long time ago, about how people like you will use people like me or Bell as pawns in your own game. You’d do whatever it takes to get what you want- and my, how you get results, don’t you? But you’re actually no different than the rest of the assholes you're fighting against,” Mason tells him, like he’s spitting out acid in Adler’s face.

“Bell may be the enemy- heck, she could be the architect behind all the chaos Perseus has done, but what you’re doing to her is vile and unethical. There are many ways to make her spill the beans, yet you chose the most immoral method there is out there. I sincerely hope you rot in hell for this."

Before Adler could formulate a response to his tirade, Mason stands to his feet.

“You want me to stay away from her? Fine. Consider this as my formal resignation. After Yamatau, I’m done. I’m out of the team. And if you know what’s good for you, you stay the fuck away from me because I don't ever want to see your face again, do you hear me?” he snarls. “If you think Woods is dangerous, Adler, just remember I nearly could have killed my own president."

Then Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the room, once and for all. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The fist is very much expected, and so does the pain that follows.

"You're out of your fucking depth, shithead," Woods spits, venom lacing his words.

Adler doesn't even bother to retaliate.

He doesn’t see the point. He didn’t think it would get this far. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage grows quiet and stodgy with now Mason and Woods are out of the picture. Everyone settles back into their own normal rhythm, the same routine before both men set their feet here almost a week ago.

Hudson doesn’t take the news of their departure kindly, naturally. He stands in Adler’s office, pacing, fuming. Adler ignores him, trying to nurse the skull-splitting migraine he's having at his desk instead. The nasty black eye hidden underneath his glasses. A secret locked, the key thrown away.

His headache, thankfully, has subsided when Sims takes a seat on the other side of the desk, hours later after Hudson left.

"I'm not trying to cause an alarm here, but you'd better watch your back."

Adler's brows furrow but doesn’t look up from the papers before him. "And why's that?"

"'Cause I think you just pissed off the wrong beast," Sims tells him. Adler pauses, then lifts his head to look at his cohort. There's genuine worry flashing over his face.

“Are you talking about Bell?”

“Who else?”

If she's a beast, then what am I? What he wants to ask, but there's a knock at the door and he swallows the words down his throat.

"Come in," Adler says, pretending to be reading again.

The door opens and Bell, fucking Bell, enters his office. It's like watching a tiger pass by your hiding spot in near dark. Neither he nor Sims breathes a word.

Bell's gaze immediately swings to him, like a cosmic pull. She's watching him as she wanders over to the desk and the weight of her stare burns him like Greek fire.

He pushes the documents close, all the while returning her stare. He is never the one who backs out of a challenge, and at this point, he knows that she probably knows that. Maybe that’s why she initiated it in the first place.

"Bell, what is it?" Adler asks firmly, in possession of his full power in this place.

Bell produces three diskettes from her pocket. Something odd definitely shining in her eyes.

"These have been lying on Lazar's desk for hours, but he's busy, so I thought I'd deliver them to you myself," Bell says. And he's trying to work out on her angle but she is unreadable. As always.

Adler nods, frustrated and indignant. "You can leave them here. Thank you."

It is only once the woman leaves that the two agents share a dark, significant look. That was too close.

And it goes without saying, something needs to be done about this. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 7th. A's insistence on raising the dosage is illogical. Recent behavioural analysis indicates depression. Will monitor for the next few days. Considering lowering the dosage instead. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The elevator reeks of smoke, cheap Soviet air freshener and something far more poisonous than the devil’s spider, silky hands.

It embodies the woman standing next to him right now- this special animal, emotionless, a constant mystery wrapped with a warning sign.

Adler is tempted to shut his eyes.

Or get out of here. He doesn’t dwell well in this atmosphere, this limited space shared with her alone. He probably should have listened to Hudson about taking Bell for this mission, but she’s the only one he trusts who won’t fuck this up. Not to mention her spotless Russian has proven to help them blend in with the crowd seamlessly.

He needs her, whether he would admit it aloud or not.

But she puts his head in such a spin.

She’s been near-mute since they departed from Germany. She barely acknowledges his questions and orders, barely looks at him. She’s been treating him as if he’s another shadow on the wall.

He rubs the side of his jaw. Something does need to be done about this.

“Are you going to stay quiet forever?” Adler asks. He’s bad at this, but he can’t stand her silence for much longer. Not to mention, they’re at the Lubysnka- the fucking lion's den. If she wants to wallow over Mason’s absence or sinks into whatever melancholic feeling she’s in, she can do it later.

Bell hums, her mouth curls up like serpentine. Adler sketches a confused frown. And she says, “I don’t know. Should I?”

And then, sudden and swift, Bell undoes the cuffs of her uniform. Beady eyes never leave his.

The sight catches him off guard. Somewhere in his mind, he curses something like ‘you’re a beast’ and ‘what the hell are you?’ at her, all in negative connotations. The effects she inflicts on him is maddening.

“What are you doing?” Adler doesn’t bother to hide his surprise.

Bell shrugs and gestures to the duffle bag at their feet. “Gearing up.”

Oh. Embarrassment wells up in him. Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of him.

Her fingers quickly move on to the buttons, still indifferent, nearly tearing them from the seams. The first glimpse of her skin and Adler can’t help but give in, openly stares at her in a way he has never imagined before. Her clavicles like daggers glinting in the lamplight.

Curiosity is a dangerous and heavy load.

He should have closed his eyes.

“Enjoying the show?” Her voice pulls him back from his musings. Her eyes still zero in on him, cutting him to pieces.

Her cleavage comes into view.

The lines on Adler’s face grow taut.

“What do you want, Bell?” He asks, intending for a bark but it ends somewhere like a plea.

“I want many things. As of right now, I want Alex’s cock inside me.” And Adler nearly chokes on his own breath. Bell, eagle-eyed as ever, caught the movement. “But it seems someone insists on being in control of everything, isn’t he?” she snaps.

Adler’s back goes rigid. Trepidation bubbles up in his chest.

Of course, she knows.

“It's not about control.” Adler turns around. He doesn’t quite know what he’s avoiding at this point, her flesh or the truth. “It’s about what’s right.”

He hears her uniform touches her floor as she laughs, mirthless, like broken chandeliers. “I didn’t know whose cock I’m riding is any concern of yours.”

“It is when he’s a member of the team,” he seethes. “What you’re doing with Alex will only lead to complications. And I can’t have tha-”

“Because this is all about you, isn’t it? It’s about upholding your precious reputation in the Agency, controlling the narrative the way you want it no matter how many characters you kill off in the process. It’s always about what you want.” Bell interrupts, not missing a beat. “You selfish motherfucker.”

"This has nothing to do with my reputation in the CIA."

She scoffs. "Spare me the crap, Adler."

Adler turns to fully face her again and holds his arms open, the way someone is facing the firing squad. “Fine. Fine, yes, I’m a selfish motherfucker. I did it because I thought it could ruin the operation. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now, what are you going to do about it?”

She says nothing at first. He silently catalogues her movements as she steps towards him now, half-naked and furious. He feels pinned.

Then, “What do you want me to do about it?”

His mouth dries at the implication. She is temptation, benediction, the coarse ice block before the carver.

How terrible it is to lose control, even just once.

A knowing, vicious smirk flashes over her face. Adler feels like he’s just shown his hand.

“You are one selfish bastard and a coward to boot, aren’t you?” Bell sneers before he has a chance to respond. “At least, Alex was brave enough to make the first move, but you…” her gaze raking up and down his figure coldly, a jeweller presented with second-grade imitations. Wind her up and this honey bee stings.

“You’ll always be the man who hides behind his shades,” she says, dry as dust, and steps back and snatches her clothes from the bag.

This is, without a single doubt, the longest elevator ride he’s ever experienced in his life. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler arrived back in Berlin breathing a little harder. Worry wrapped around his neck like a noose, placed by Bell herself; the judge, jury and executioner.

The knot tightens every time his mind refers to her.

The agency trained him, specifically, to keep calm under pressure. He didn’t coin the title “America’s Monster” from his colleagues for nothing. They don’t fear him because he’s hot-headed or thinks in large-scale violence— guns blazing, napalm-induced flames over the hill in the morning, bloodied knuckles and fractured jaw, blood-soaked soles tarnishing the white marble floor. Someone can point a fucking shotgun to his face and he’ll barely flinch. Only monsters remain impassive to direct threats of violence.

But there’s something about Bell that elicits this visceral, primal reaction out of him. Something strange and new; lightning about to be uncapped from its chains.

It chokes him, frightens him to the core.

How gauche is it, don’t you think, that his own mind is conspiring against him?

Now, in the garage, where it dawns on Adler that she’s probably the only person who can make him walk around the city, feeling like a fool, he decides he’s had enough. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’ll drive you back.”

Adler apprehends Bell outside the garage. He kind of assumed she’d have a pistol aimed at his head right now, but she spins around, hands shoved deep inside her pockets and clayey mouth curls in distaste.

“Get in the car, Bell,” Adler says tightly, almost adding please.

But he would not beg.

The brunette remains rooted in her place. For a moment, a calculating look crossed her face. Always, always that sharp mind of hers turning and he wonders where it would take her this time.

“Try asking nicely,” she demands.

Adler’s eyes flash. She really is testing him. But fine, he'll play her game.

“Bell, would you kindly get in the car?” He is all but snarls, teeth gritting. Bell hardly wavers- he wishes she would waver for a change.

She does what he asked of her, finally, the shadow of a smirk on her face mocking him. Adler follows suit, teeth still clenched together, and starts the car and drives away.

It's sort of like a deja-vu, he supposes; him and her in this very same car, except that stupid krautrock music is absent this time. Neither says anything for the first twenty minutes. Everything feels heavily still.

Until he realizes she’s probably waiting for his move.

This might gloriously blow up in his face, yes, he knows this. Especially remembering the last time he was alone in a tight space with her, it had cost him his pride.

And his mind.

But he’s been here before, in the eye of the storm. He was at his calmest here. He has his cards prepared now.

Adler inhales deeply.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he utters resolutely. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to. “I was out of line, I admit it. Your affair with Mason should be no concern of mine but I really am just trying to look out for you.”

It’s weak, he knows. The words feel more like an anchor than an actual apology in his tongue anyway, but Adler didn’t expect that Bell would give him nothing. Not even an acknowledging hum, a scathing retort, a scoff. Nothing.

A twinge of irritation brews in his stomach. Why does she insist on playing games?

The car comes to a stop. They’ve arrived. Adler wrests his hands from the steering wheel to say something harsh to her, but Bell is already stepping out of the car.

She stands on the sidewalk; an enigma in royal red, and her lethal, all-seeing eyes gravitate to him in the night.

There is a long paralyzing beat where they just stare at each other- which seems to be a running theme between them lately. Adler is fuming, as he is confused.

It feels like hours, centuries, eons, but, like all magic, the spell is broken. Courtesy of a stranger hailing a cab behind his car.

Bell turns and walks inside the building. She doesn’t bother sparing him the final glance or extend her appreciation for the ride back and Adler thinks to himself, this universe, god fucking damnit, nothing makes sense here.

But it is also in moments like this that the world spins, when he notices a singular, significant detail that makes his stomach roll, nearly throwing him off balance:

Bell left the passenger door open.

And he’s insane- he has to be, right? He’s looking too much into this. It doesn’t mean anything. His mind conjures an image, like a graphic guideline or something, step one: get out of the car, two: make your way around and close the passenger door, and third: zoom out of the neighborhood while your sanity is still intact, all in that order. Easy to comprehend, to follow.

Adler only does the first two steps. He’s ass-backwards doesn’t even bother to digest the third step.

He enters the hotel instead and takes in the surroundings. The lobby is pointedly bare, but warm and smoky. The concierge is reading behind the counter- a young, wiry boy with shocking bleached hair- with headphones on. It’s late, he probably doesn’t expect anyone to check in at this hour.

A movement by the staircase catches his interest. He sees Bell climbing up the steps slowly, leisurely. Adler makes his way there.

Halfway reaching her floor, Adler has the inkling that she knows that he’s following her. Also, because the next she does is glancing back at him over her shoulder. He waits for her to push him down the stairs or wrap those delicate hands around his neck. She does neither. She doesn’t want him gone.

Yet, his mind betrays him. Only because she doesn’t know what other atrocities he’s committed to her.

She stops by her door, opens it and goes in first. Adler, without waiting for a formal fucking invitation, slips in behind her.

Her room is much smaller than his. The TV is still on- a German dubbed of All the President’s Men is playing- a stack of books and meds lying haphazardly on the desk table.

The door clicks shut behind him. Bell wanders over to the table and turns off the TV. Her back to him.

She doesn’t bother turning the light switch on. The green neon of the hotel sign outside illuminates the room, bathes her in it, making her look even stranger and faraway.

He doesn’t take off his sunglasses.

“What do you want, Bell?” Adler is all but snarling. His anger comes in a bottle with a twist-off cap. “I’m fucking sick of playing your games. I apologized, I admitted I was wrong- I fucked up, but what more could you want?”

Jesus, and now he’s losing his temper over a brainwashed Russian who rarely talks. How did it come to this?

She tugs off her gloves. Once again, barely acknowledging him. Apparently, if ignoring him is an art form, she is the fucking Monet.

Until:

“Take them off.”

Adler blinks hard behind his glasses. Like he’s just stepped into a whole different earth.

His mouth moves.

“What?”

“Your sunglasses. Take them off.”

He stares at her back. Trying really, really hard to make sure he’s not hallucinating this, but then Bell turns around, a finger tapping against her arm, waiting.

Realization hits him like an uppercut in the face and nearly leaves him in a daze. He’s walked into a trap. That much is clear as day. She wants him to suffer as she does. An eye for an eye.

Adler holds no modicum of control in her domain, not unless she gives the reins. Once again, she plays the judge, jury and executioner at her own court.

But, like before, he’ll play her game.

There, the glasses are off. His eyes, bare, blue like fractured ice, meeting hers. In the dark, he feels her eyes shift to assess his bruise.

His heart booms against his ribs.

"Kneel,” she says glibly.

He obeys, again. His legs and hands don’t shake, but his mind is much less governable than his limbs. No, the CIA didn’t prepare a manual for situations like this and he doesn’t trust his instincts to help him dance his way around this.

Nor does he want to.

The thought fucks him up to a degree.

Adler should have known that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees, no, no. That would have been too easy, anyway. Although history has dictated and taught him that women are never to be underestimated, Adler hasn’t expected that one woman would be able to do the deed and succeed.

But then again, when that woman is Bell, he supposes anything is possible.

When Bell approaches him, he’s unable to take his gaze from her. Her eyes spangle with determination, an avenging soul in the neon lights. Her fingers work on the sash of her coat. The line of her mouth is flat and inscrutable. The air crackles with electricity and a promise of the unsayable, the unattainable.

She stands over him now, gloveless and coatless. She’s powerful like this and he can only crane his head up at her, ceding his fate in her hands, against his better judgement. She catches that.

Suddenly, something unpleasant breaks on her face, like when one’s smelling something foul or pungent.

Bell reaches down and grips his jaw painfully in one hand, her nails digging into his skin, and tilts his head sideways. Strange that his stomach leaps at that.

“Say you’re sorry,” she spits furiously. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”

He feels, suddenly, triumphant and chuckles darkly. Eight fucking long weeks and the beast finally shows her claws.

“Try asking nicely,” Adler parrots her words from before, not a beat missed. Two can play that game, he thinks. "Or are you above niceness, Bell?”

Her grip tightens.

"You’re one to talk,” Bell says. Then, rubs the pad of her thumb over his scarred cheek and it feels like forgiveness, or the beginning of it, at least.

His confusion spikes.

Her nose skims down his jawline.

A better, sensible man would apologize. He'd squander it until his tongue burns acid, he'd beg for her forgiveness like a man asking for repentance before his god.

“Why did you do it, Russell?” Bell whispers against his skin now, baleful and raspy. Her chest rising and falling too rapidly.

But he’s a sick bastard, a selfish motherfucker, a heartless monster. All he does is hurt the people around him. He doesn’t get to take from her, not after what he's done.

Still, Adler catches her wrist. Relishing the way her wrist bone grinds under his hold. He pulls his face back to look at her.

“You know why.”

Her eyes flick dangerously to his lips.

Desperation really can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

“Then prove it.”

So he does. As his hand reaches up to her neck, past the delicious column of her throat and with a precise swift, Adler grabs a fistful of her hair, the feminine gasp escaping her mouth is like a jolt to his groin, and kisses her.

Bell responds in kind. That little beast. She grasps his collar and drags him up to his feet, impatient with want. She laps at him, bites and sucks. His free hand snakes around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

She pulls away, catching her breath, and his teeth skim down her jaw, her neck. He bites her there in retaliation, on the delicious junction of her neck and shoulder, into the fabric of her shirt, making his intentions clear. Bell chokes in surprise and scrapes her nails over his scalp.

It hurts. But with pain, along comes pleasure and it’s good. It’s so good, Adler melts with a shaky breath.

His gloves come off first. Next, she pulls him free off his jacket, his sweater and snakes a hand between his legs, stroking him. He bites off a strangled ‘fuck’ into her throat. He’s worked up real fast already. Adler manages to make a short work of her shirt, unclasping her bra before he’s all but pushes her onto the bed.

Adler settles above her, capturing her lips in another feverish, hot-blooded kiss. He tugs her zipper down and slips his hand inside her pants. Her cunt’s everything he’s come to expect: wet, warm and oh-so wrong. She sucks in a breath. Her hips move against his hand. His blood sings. She throws her head back against the pillow, while his finds her earlobe.

“Has this proven my point, Bell?” he asks. His answer starts on a moan and ends with a breathless ‘yes’.

He doesn’t let her come that easily. No, he wants to drag this out for as long as he can until it drives her mad. So, Adler peels the rest of her clothes away, pulls her shoulder and turns her onto her stomach. He pins her down, hard. She gasps loudly against the white pillowcase, her hand fists into the sheets.

Adler slots himself behind her. His hand tracing along her spine, followed by his mouth, just how he fantasized once upon a time. His other hand quickly undoes the snap of his pants. Everything has been poisoned by her and her only; she is in his tongue, his veins, his mind, his lungs. She takes the centrefold of his mind and it's ridiculous.

He presses himself against her ass. His mouth falls open. Her body trembles. She’s all sin and racing hearts and sweaty flesh. She’s perfect. His now free hand slides up to the nape of Bell’s neck, reaching her throat, pressing down. She makes this high-pitched, demanding noise as she moves her hips back against him, leaving him wanting, helpless at the thought of having her right here, right now, in the warm neon glow of her hotel room.

“Please,” Bell begs. He groans in response and he gives it to her. Fuck, he’d give her anything if she begs just exactly like that.

When Adler is finally inside her, he thinks his world drops dead. He sets a merciless pace. He is not a gentle man and there is nothing gentle in the supple arch of her back, a rose bent backwards in the wind, as he pants along her neck before he pulls out, twists her onto her back again and pushes deeper into her until she comes apart underneath him (he’s made sure she begs for it- please, Russell. Oh god, Russell)

(He didn’t have to. Russell Adler is never the kind of man to fall for his dark side, but Christ knows he is only one man)

#russell adler #russell adler x bell #adler x bell #cod cold war #cod bell #cod #call of duty #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #alex mason #frank woods #helen park #lawrence sims #jason hudson #lazar azoulay

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luvyanfei · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request hcs of going on a library date with xingqiu 😳

xingqiu’s was very short and boring so i added in diluc. i hope that’s okay.

xingqiu.

his honey-like eyes twinkle in amusement when he finds you reading one of his novels while lying down on his bed. “i didn’t take you as the type of person who is fascinated with literature, [name].” he slides a finger up to the palm of your hand teasingly and an idea lights up in his head.

“would you be willing to accompany me to the library by any chance? i need to go there to return a book.” you pause from reading and looks at him curiously. it would be nice if you could find more varieties of stories to immerse yourself in. you shrug indifferently and accept his proposal.

“great, then it’s a date!”

when you actually arrive at the library, xingqiu is already there, flipping through pages and concentrating hard. his features have a seriousness to them that you don’t normally see. you almost decides not to disturb him, but he looks up anyway, as if he’s sensed your presence. “oh, you’re here,” a beam plasters itself on his lips and he gestures with his hand for you to take a seat beside him. “i’ve found us a few books that i’m sure you will come to love.”

you randomly select one from the pile and begin reading it. xingqiu ends up turning this into a mini-competition, wanting to know who can read the fastest, but also because he just wants to spice things up a bit. if there’s a book situated at the highest shelf that piques your interest, xingqiu will offer himself to search for a ladder and climb it himself while you’re holding the sides. being the trickster that he is, he’ll probably pretend he’s lost balance and falls down, your hands quickly reaching to grip his shoulders to secure himself. he gives you a mischievous glance and winks, exclaiming that he was kidding.

of course, you’re naturally irked by his immaturity and tells him sharply you’re going to head off, but he stops you by wrapping an arm around your waist and presses his lips to yours, stealing your breath away. “i’m sorry, [name]. i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whispers in a quiet tone, “will you forgive me?”

you roll your eyes and crosses your arms, an exasperated sigh falling from your parted lips. “fine, but only,” you shyly break eye contact with him and blushes slightly, “if you kiss me again.”

the boy is at a loss for words for a few seconds top at your bold word choices but smirks. “as you wish, my liege.”

diluc ragnvindr.

being the wealthiest man in mondstadt, he probably has his own private library, right? if not, then he guesses he can step into the knights headquarters, but only for you. you’re just going there to read, after all so he’s sure there’s no harm. diluc hopes that you both don’t run into kaeya though during your visit or any of the other incompetent knights. well, even if his brother did decide to pester him, that’s not going to stop diluc from enjoying his date with you.

he was surprised when you entered his office to suggest going to the library to read books since there’s a lack of entertainment at dawn winery. feeling guilty, he complied and told you to wait a moment as he took out his jacket to wear before going outside. it’s been a while since the last time you two went on a date together. he partly blames himself and his busy schedule, but he’s also thankful that he has a considerate and thoughtful partner. whenever he apologizes for being occupied with work, you always manage to say things that never fail to leave his heart beating violently and his mind content, something that no one else can pull, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t remorseful all the same.

when you finally reach the library, diluc, at a loss for what to do, sits down on one of the empty chairs’ and watches you search for any books that catches your interest. piling up a couple of random novels, you head on over to where diluc is and accidentally trip over your own feet in the process, knocking the books down and yourself as well, on the floor. he scurries to where you are and uplifts you carefully with his hands gripping your arm.

“[name], are you hurt anywhere?” his protective side switches on and he starts checking your body for any injuries, mild or severe. before he can look any further, you hold onto his wrist and smiles in reassurance that you’re fine. when it dawns upon him how close you two are together, diluc promptly releases you and picks up the fallen books to distract himself from you.

once he’s finished, instead of handing them back to you, he walks over and sets them on one of the desks. “[name], please be more careful next time,” he mutters softly, worry seeping out of his tone. you’re conscious where his overprotective tendencies stem from, the trauma of his father’s death too much for him to bear alone, but perhaps you’ll confront his behavior another day.

while you’re busy flipping through the pages of whatever book you’re reading, diluc’s eyes will sweep over you, staring at your hair, your fingers, and then unconsciously trail his sight to your lips - for a good couple of minutes before he quickly looks back at his own novel. he wonders, how his own lips will feel against yours, how his tongue will- wait, what? he immediately halts himself from thinking any further and tries to desperately focus on reading instead.

“diluc, is everything alright? your face is a bit red.” you place your book down on your lap and gently prop a hand up to his forehead. he stops himself from flinching at your touch, hands trembling on either side of him as you feel his temperature. “you don’t have a fever. are you feeling hot?” he answers with a shake of his head, too stunned to speak, and lowers his head to the ground sheepishly.

after that, the two of you continue reading in silence - well, one of you, that is. the poor man is still flustered from the incident and he’s itching for you to touch him again. unfortunately, he’s quite prideful so he keeps his desire to himself, but every so often, his hand will unconsciously reach for you and pull back just as suddenly. this happens for quite some time until you sense what he’s trying to do and intertwines his gloved fingers with yours. without looking up from your book, you say, “next time, just ask diluc and if i don’t answer, don’t hesitate and go for it.”

he blinks his vermillion eyes in astonishment and nods. “okay.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc #xingqiu x reader #xingqiu

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petri808 · 3 years ago

Text

Nalu Yakuza Au *cover art by @jmoart214 💜

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |

This chapter came out a little longer than usual. lemony teasing

Natsu’s secretary called her boss from the front office. “Mr. Dragneel, Mr. Avatar is here.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kinana. Send him in.”

Because no one in the organization was a computer whiz, he contracted with an independent IT person who was recommended by Yura. The guy, Jerome Avatar wasn’t skittish, didn’t care who he worked for as long as it paid well, and generally had a pleasant demeanor. As the accountant, Yura was in contact with Jerome the most, but for any major issues or changes, those had to be cleared with Natsu first. It was mostly quick, in and out of the office dealings.

Jerome shook Natsu’s hand over the desk before taking a seat.

“So,” Natsu questioned, “what brings you here today? Is there something I need to approve?”

“No, nothing new. I asked for this meeting because I came across some intelligence you might be interested in.”

“Oh?”

“I learned that your rival Heartfilia had been in contact with a new cyber security client, Mikage Kaishā who’s into a lot of shady dealings with government contacts.”

Natsu shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds like just a typical client for her, probably has her launder money for them. I don’t really pay attention to her clients because we deal with different things. But I do appreciate you telling me.”

“Should I keep an eye on them?”

“That’s fine if you believe it’s worth it. And if you learn about anything that could hurt us let me know immediately. By the way, how did you find out this information?”

“A friend in the field told me about it, then I hacked into Heartfilia’s computers to authenticate the information.”

Natsu sat forward in his chair. “You hacked into her computer? I’m surprised her employee didn’t catch that, cause I know she’s good at this stuff too.”

The man grinned. “Well, not as good as me.” He pointed to Natsu’s laptop. “If you’d like, I can set it up so you can access her system from your computer too.”

“Oh, I don’t want to tamper with her company—”

Jerome waved a hand nonchalantly to stop him. “I wouldn’t advise it either, if you touch things, that’s what’ll get attention, but you can watch what’s going on. Keep an eye on her calendar, meeting dates, whatever you want.”

Natsu sat back, rubbing his chin. The offer was a very tempting one indeed. A chance to stalk his ex through cyberspace… someone must have mentioned to this Jerome guy their history. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but not something talked about either amongst lower ranking employees. This wasn’t the first time Jerome had brought them intelligence info, so maybe he was looking to increase his usefulness, climb the ladder so to speak? Being connected to a powerful Yakuza house was certainly handy, and what better way than to tap into such a personal subject.

“That could be interesting,” Natsu finally responded. “Alright, what do you have to do to set it up? And make sure it’s nothing I could screw up accidentally cause I really don’t want her to find out.”

Jerome looked at his watch as if calculating his options. “I could do it now. Might take me about an hour if you can go without the laptop for that amount of time.”

“You have to take it back to your office or something?”

“No,” the man shook his head. “I can do it right here, so I can explain along the way.”

“Perfect.” Natsu then called his secretary and requested she double his lunch order due to an extended meeting.

While the computer tech fiddled, Natsu just sat back with his meal, watching him work. Math wasn’t his strong suit— nor academics for that matter. Growing up, his father had always told him he would be next in line as boss, so he only learned what he needed to for that world. One needed strength, cunning, street smarts, not book smarts. Though he had to admit the things these hackers could do was scary when you thought about it. Lucy was lucky in that her best friend was just a wiz at language— including computer languages. It all looked like gibberish, but the woman interpreted it almost like a savant. According to Jerome, from what he’d seen so far, Levy was not yet at his skill level, but that could easily change with time and experience like he’d been through.

“Natsu you—” Gray paused his knock on the doorframe. “Sorry, I thought the meeting would be done by now.”

“It’s fine, Jerome is hacking Lucy’s system for me right now.” Natsu responded with a grin. “Now I’ll see what she’s up to in real time.”

Gray groaned and ran a hand down his face in disgust. “I’m not even gonna respond to that. But I will tell you I told you so when it blows up in your face later.”

“Tch. She won’t know, right Jerome?”

“She shouldn’t unless you touch something.” The man answered while continuing to type.

“See. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re an idiot. Anyway,” Gray waved a hand nonchalantly as he left, “call me when your free to go over the new orders.”

“It will be fine, right?” Natsu asked Jerome a second time with a bit of anxiety in his tone.

Jerome stopped typing. “As long as you just observe they shouldn’t see you, just don’t get excited and touch something.”

“I don’t plan to; not like I’ll know how to do that anyways.”

“I’m almost finished, but do you want me to turn on her web camera so you can see through it?”

“But she won’t see me?”

“No, for you it’ll just be like watching a one-way video feed with image and audio.”

After a momentary pause, Natsu’s eyes narrowed with a mischievous grin. “Do it.”

Being able to see Lucy every day and feed his addiction was just too tempting, ‘I’m turning into a junky.’ But Gray’s words entered his mind. What if the man was right, could this bite him in the ass later? Probably… Though how bad could it really be? He really had no plans to interfere with Lucy’s business, just her personal life— and yes, he knew it sounded horrible. What right did he have to stalk his ex? None. ‘I just worry about her, is that so wrong?’ Lucy’s tough, but she’s just a woman and their world didn’t always treat women fairly. His desire to protect her bordered neuroticism, but could anyone blame him considering the underworld they worked in. ‘I’m just doing it to protect her,’ Natsu justified it to himself. Guys like Gray who haven’t fallen in love yet, ‘they just don’t understand.’ If anything were to happen to Lucy, he didn’t know what he would do. Probably move Heaven and earth and kill any in his way for what they’d done.

It took just over an hour before Jerome finished installing the spyware and making sure the systems were still secured. Just a one-way mirror that Levy shouldn’t catch unless really digging for it. Another 20 minutes were spent explaining to Natsu how to do the accessing part, including pulling up the webcam whenever he wanted to. “Or just leave it running,” Jerome noted. “It’ll just show up in this window,” he pointed towards the screen, “and as long as you don’t log out completely from your computer it’ll stay open.”

“Who turns off their computers?”

“Actually, it’s a good idea to turn them off now and then so any software updates can be completed, but since I manage your systems, there’s not really a need to.”

“Great.” The two men stood up and shook hands. “Thanks, Jerome.”

“It was my pleasure.”

When Natsu arrived each day at headquarters, the first thing and last thing he did was check to see if there was anything new or interesting going on Lucy’s side. It was like being hooked on one of their products, because the high it gave sucked him right in. But so far, he also stayed away from the video feed. Looking through her calendar or emails were cold and impersonal, but maybe the video was too close, too real, too much of a moral dilemma in crossing that line of a peeping Tom. That didn’t mean his addiction may one day require more feeding…

October had rolled around, and the air outside grew crisp and cold. It was a beautiful time of the year with the color changing leaves, reminding that winter was soon upon them. How quickly the time sure flew. The Dragneel Yakuza clan had already started preparing for their end of year Bonenkai to happen in mid-December. This plus the Shinnenkai in January were the two biggest parties the clan threw for all their members. The first is to forget the stresses of the past year, while the other was to welcome a successful new year. Natsu spared no expense on the food and drinks to take care of the loyalty and hard work their members contributed. From the emails, he knew that Lucy’s group had also started preparing for theirs. ‘Maybe I’ll crash her party,’ he mused to himself. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ His eyes fell on a new email of an appointment reminder for the next day. It was for Lucy’s monthly massage at an upscale spa. Natsu checked his own calendar and noticed he had nothing booked, no meetings, no shipments arriving— a perfect opportunity.

The next day, Natsu went to the spa early and spoke directly to the owner, paying them a nice chunk of change to allow him access and to play along. Lucy was scheduled for 2pm and arrived right on time. So, as he waited behind the scenes, the receptionist acted like normal and directed her inside. She had a regular masseuse, something Natsu knew he couldn’t fake upfront, so that person stood inside the room to greet her.

“Welcome, Ms. Heartfilia. I’ll step out while you get ready. Please lie on your stomach like normal.”

“Thank you, Kenji,” Lucy smiled. She’d been coming here for a couple years and was aware of the routine. The male masseuse had strong, but gentle hands and knew her body well by now.

Natsu had to admit he wasn’t happy to find out Lucy’s regular masseuse was a guy but held back from lashing out. He didn’t want to do anything to mess up this adventure— and oh, he planned to have his own revenge. It wouldn’t be as sexual as the soapland incident but knowing many of her trigger points meant he could do a bit of damage well enough. Now, Natsu had noted that Kenji’s voice was a bit deeper than his own, which would be difficult to fake, but the man explained he didn’t do much talking while working and played relaxing music during the session. Perfect. Natsu could just hit play and not talk at all.

“Ready, Ms. Heartfilia?” Kenji called out through the closed door.

The muffled yes was heard, and the man stepped away, leaving Natsu to his business. He entered the room and immediately turned on the pre-set music, a light instrumental with Asian undertones. It was quite pleasing to listen to. And there Lucy was under a silk sheet to cover her naked body, with her arms up and crossed, head perched on the relaxed hands, and hair up in a loose bun, revealing her beautiful neck. Natsu almost shuddered at the sight and knowledge he would get to touch her skin… it was the one thing she didn’t allow him to do at Soapland— touch. His grin grew as he rubbed his hands together to warm them before making the first move.

He moved the sheet to uncover Lucy’s lower half, up to the thighs, then applied a film of scented massage oils to his hands with a few drops over the taut muscles along her long legs, chasing the dripping liquid along her skin to smooth them over. His hands glide through several passes to the swell of her ass, then back down again all the way to the ankles, fingers applying pressure against the tendons and ligaments to gently work out any tension it encountered. Lucy sighed wispily as his hands massaged each foot, squeezing, smoothing, paying attention to each digit and every curve. His thumbs applied pressure at the arches, kneading the tight knots there from wearing heels all day long. He stayed focused on the area, her toes curling and flexing as the mewls leaching from her show their pleasure, until Natsu felt the knots give and relax away.

“Mmm, you’re getting good at that Kenji,” Lucy purred with a little huskiness in her tone.

Natsu grinned to himself as he lowered the sheet back down, so she stayed warm and moved onto her supple ass. Using both hands, he took his time to knead each cheek through the silken fabric, using his fingers to follow the gluteus muscles, starting near the leg, and following the swell of her curve upwards, slowly riding the fibers looking for any knots or tense areas. One cheek, then the other paying loving attention to and listening to the sounds Lucy made to clue him in on where to go. Every sigh a notch in his belt, each mewling purr a win. Natsu grew bolder, fanning out his thumb each time it got closer to her thighs to touch…

“Oh, Kenji,” Lucy whined, “you’re being a naughty boy today— keep it up.”

‘What?!’ Natsu’s hands paused and tensed for a split second before catching himself. Does Kenji mess with her too?! He shook his head and finished up in the area quickly trying not to let such thoughts stop him. ‘Just focus…’ Natsu grumbled in his head.

After applying more oil to his hands, he moved the sheet down to reveal Lucy’s back and for a second time, Natsu paused on what it contained. Her tattoo… It symbolized… he took a deep breath and dropped more oil on to the skin, willing away the memories breaching his mind. He didn’t want to think about it, not now. It was too painful.

“You okay, Kenji?” Lucy questioned as if noticing the slight pause or tremble in the man’s hands.

Natsu mumbled a soft Mmhmm and dived into the massage so Lucy wouldn’t grow more concerned, missing the uptick in the corners of her lips. He slowly smoothed along the skin using the base of his palms for pressure, each hand following the muscles, moving out from the waist, up the center of her back, and flaring out towards the sides just below the shoulder blades, repeating the same movement, each time increasing the speed while lessening the pressure. Next, he targeted the upper back and shoulder blades, an area he knew Lucy held a lot of tension from carrying the weight of her voluptuous bosoms. With precise ministrations, Natsu applied careful pressure with his thumbs and follows the curve of the blades up and around to the top of the shoulder. He then searched with the pads of his fingers for any knots along her trap muscles, moving up along the spine and fanning out to the top of her shoulders.

“Oh, yeah, right there,” Lucy mewled when he reached a specific spot.

The area around her spine, between the shoulder blades held the most tension and knots from constantly holding the upright, flexed posture that wearing heels will create. Her wispy sighs signaled the release of her tense muscles, bringing another wave of pride swelling in him. Natsu continued onto her neck, his strong hands kneaded the supple flesh, fingers palpating and soothing all the knots. Her neck too, held a few tense areas, especially around the base of the head, so he did his best to melt them away. He worked through Lucy’s mewls and moaning sighs, almost sexual in nature, aroused and a little heated in the face knowing his handiwork brought forth such sounds. Ugh, how he wanted to hear more of it! Lucy putty in his hands and spread between his thighs, calling out his name…

“You’ve gotten better at this… Natsu,” the cocky teasing tone, snapped him out of his dream.

“Natsu?” He tried failingly to disguise his voice. “I’m Kenji, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“Uh-huh. You think I can’t tell the difference Natsu?” Lucy quipped back with a chuckle. “Kenji’s routine is very different. Plus, I knew the moment I smelled your cologne.”

Busted.

“Tch. Well, if you knew it was me all along, why’d you let me do this?”

��Making you work is my payback.” She settled back down, relaxed on her arms. “Now, chop, chop, finish the job.”

This little minx! He was the one supposed to be torturing her this time, not the other way around! “Fine, kitten.” Natsu gritted out a smile and took hold of her neck again to placate and lull Lucy back into thinking he would go along. He massaged the sides with the tips of his fingers Both hands wrapped around, and his thumbs pushing up through her hair against the muscles on the back of her head.

“If only you’d taken care of me like this before,” Lucy mumbled.

Natsu paused and leaned over her ear. “Why not let me take care of you now?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“No, I don’t know the answer, that’s part of the problem!”

Lucy sighed. “Natsu, I don’t want to fight right now. I’m here to relax, not fight. If you’re done, then leave and send Kenji back in.”

“Oh, yeah. Why? Because he’s another one of your boy toys? He gonna be naughty again with you once I leave?!”

“Pfft, I said that knowing it was you, idiot.”

“I think you live to torture me, Angel. But you’re right. I don’t wanna fight right now either, so—” Natsu leaned down quick and latched his mouth onto the area between her shoulder blades, sucking hard.

Lucy squealed and reached back frantically trying to claw at his face, but he grabbed her hands, knowing if she struggled any harder, she risked completely exposing herself. He held her for a few seconds, and once satisfied he’d achieved his goal, let go.

“Natsu! Did you put a hickey on me?!”

“This Angel,” he trailed his fingers over Lucy’s tattoo as he spoke, “belongs to me. Will always be mine,” he whispered close to her ear. “You know it, I know it, and your boy toys will know it too.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah,” Natsu stood up and covered her back up with the sheet. “You hate that you don’t hate me. It’s okay. I still love you too. See ya around kitten.”

Natsu heard the woman’s sigh as the door closed behind him and smiled to himself. He knew she didn’t actually hate him, their relationship was just complicated at the moment, never love the actual problem between them… Though, it had been a dick move to give her a hickey, but that’s what Lucy gets for leading him on like that. She could’ve just stopped the massage immediately if she knew it was him all along, so to let him go through the entire process, it was tit for tat— and hey, at least it’s only temporary.

‘It’s your move next kitten…’

#nalu #nalu au #nalu fan fiction #nalu yakuza au #nalu fan fic #natsu dragneel #lucy hearfilia #ch 7 #we'll take back heaven #petri808 #lemony scented

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Secrets in the Moonlight

After the disappearance of his uncle, coming back to Hogwarts is harder than Derek could have imagined. Especially now that he has a secret.

For @overthetopobsessed

“Mr Hale?”

Derek shook himself from his thoughts, straightening in his seat and looking up with wide, alert eyes.

Mr Harris stared at him with the same cold, unyielding glare he always wore, but his voice held a note of irritation—bordering anger.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Derek apologised quietly.

There was a quiet buzz of whispers around the room.

“Can you tell me the difference between a werewolf and an Animagus?” Harris repeated the question.

“No, sir,” Derek replied.

Mr Harris opened his mouth to lecture Derek when a voice called out from the back of the classroom, interrupting him.

“An Animagus is a witch or wizard who can take the form of an animal and return back to their human form at any time and of their won free will, whereas a werewolf – or any were-creature for that matter – changes form against their will based on the lunar cycle.”

Derek glanced over his shoulder at the boy who had answered.

Stiles Stilinski.

The boy met Harris’ gaze defiantly, a smug smile – a common trait among Slytherins – turning up the corners of his mouth. His dark brown irises glimmered with amusement at the professor’s stunned silence. His eyes shifted to Derek, his gaze softening and his smugness fading as a friendly smile played across his lips.

“Correct, Mr Stilinski,” Harris said, his voice tense—as if saying those words pained him. “Although, next time, I would appreciate it if you showed some degree of manners and respect and raised your hand before answering.”

“Sorry, sir,” Stiles replied, but his voice was dry and everyone knew he didn’t mean it.

Harris screwed up his face bitterly, drawing in a measured breath as he held his composure. “As for you, Mr Hale—”

Derek turned back around to look at the professor as Harris took a step closer and stood at the corner of Derek’s desk.

“—leave the day dreaming for outside my classroom and don’t come to class unprepared, understood?”

Derek swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and bowed his head guiltily.

“Yes, sir,” Derek answered meekly.

“Very good.” Harris let out a huff before turning sharply and strutting back to the front of the classroom and continuing the lesson.

Derek waited for a second before glancing over his shoulder.

Stiles met his gaze. Derek didn’t have to say ‘thank you’; Stiles could read it in his eyes and winked mischievously in response.

Derek turned back to face the front of the class, his heart skipping a beat and a soft rosy blush colouring his cheeks, but the feeling didn’t last long.

He looked down at the text book that lay on the desk before him, the pages open to the monstrous illustration of a werewolf. It didn’t look remotely human: its limbs were elongated and its body hunched over. It was covered in fur with the bony nubs of its spine sticking out rigidly. Its arms hung by its side, hands flexed to reveal its sharp claws. The face had been elongated into a snout, the creature snarling and bearing its jagged teeth. But what stood out the most was the bright red ink that had been used to colour in the creature’s irises, giving it the illusion of glowing red eyes that stared at Derek, making his heart fill with dread and terror.

Below the illustration, bold black letters spelt out ‘LYCANTROPY: WEREWOLF’.

Derek swallowed hard against the bile that rose into his throat, burning at his insides. A wave of anxiety and fear clutched his heart. Unease settled in his gut as he dropped his gaze—unable to look at the picture and not wanting to look up in case someone saw the fear in his eyes.

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

“What’s this I hear about you getting in trouble with Harris?” Laura asked as she caught up with her brother and walked alongside him through the crowded hallway.

Derek looked at her. She was as radiant as ever; her long brown hair cascading past her shoulder and the bold navy blue of her Ravenclaw tie bringing out the sparkle in her dark eyes.

They used to joke about needing a fourth sibling since the three Hale siblings were sorted into different houses: Laura into Ravenclaw, Derek into Hufflepuff, and Cora into Slytherin. All they needed was a Gryffindor and they had a full house.

“I wasn’t in trouble,” Derek replied. “I just didn’t hear him ask me the question.”

Laura tilted her head slightly as she looked at her brother sceptically. There was a glimmer of worry in her dark eyes.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” she said, trying to gently coax the truth from him.

“I know,” Derek replied, trying to reassure her.

It didn’t work.

She kept her gaze fixed on him.

“I’m fine,” Derek insisted.

“If you say so,” Laura said quietly, backing down; she still didn’t believe him, but she knew him better than to keep prying—Derek would only shut down if she did.

Derek drew in a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I’ll see you at the quidditch game.”

“Who are you cheering for?” Laura asked—calling after her brother as he began to walk away.

Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff.

And his big sister was Ravenclaw’s star player.

“You,” Derek answered. “Like I always do.”

Laura offered him a sweet smile, but it fell from her face as her brother turned his back and disappeared into the sea of people. The worry still lingered in her eyes as she watched him leave.

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The library was a large space filled with towering shelves full of old hardcover books, leather bound journals and other books that looked like antiques, all bound in magnificent colours of scarlet, burgundy, deep green, gold, and grey. The spines of the books were decorated by gold or silver lettering that read the titles, adorned with small metal studs and a few were even fastened with small hinges that looked to be made of brass or silver.

The shelves covered all the walls, large ladders on casters were scattered about the room where the occupants had last left them. Higher up, there was a small platform that stretched around the room, a mezzanine that allowed them to access another storey of bookshelves that the ladders couldn't reach. High above everything was a dome-like sky light, the slightly misted glass allowing the golden light of day to drift into the large library and illuminate the shadowed space.

Several books moved on their own, returning to the shelves and sorting themselves into the right places.

On the far side of the room was a small fireplace with a marble mantelpiece. Atop the mantelpiece sat a few of the sturdier-looking books, some candles and a vase of flowers that never seemed to wilt—probably because the librarian hexed them. Before the fireplace sat two arm chairs and a larger couch, each made of beige fabric that were covered in a faded floral pattern. Two Gryffindor students sat on the rug before the fireplace with their books sprawled out in front of them as they talked quietly.

Derek sat on his own among the rows of tables and chairs set up for students to study.

The library was quiet, which was both a blessing and a curse: it was a place where Derek could get away from all the noise and chaos, but it also meant he was left alone with his thoughts.

He tried to drown them out, focusing on his homework.

A stack of textbooks were piled up beside him, several more lying open on the desk before him as his quill scratched at the paper of his notebooks, leaving elegant scrawls of ink in its wake.

“This seat taken?” a familiar voice asked.

Derek glanced up, his aventurine eyes meeting the smoky quarts depths.

“Uh, no,” Derek stammered. He gestured to the seat. “Please.”

Stiles set his books down on the table and pulled out the chair across from Derek. He sat down and opened up his books.

Derek bowed his head and glanced up through his eyelashes, watching as Stiles’ dark eyes danced across the pages as he read the lines of text.

“I didn’t get the chance to say thank you for this morning,” Derek said.

“No need. Harris is an ass and you didn’t deserve that.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, offering him a friendly smile.

Derek smiled in return.

He wasn’t like the other Slytherins that Derek knew—he wasn’t obnoxious, prideful, arrogant or snarky. Maybe that was because he wasn’t a pureblood like most of the others; his mother was a witch, but his father was a muggle—a police officer, apparently. Stiles had grown up in the muggle world, far away from magic. He tried to make up for it—working twice as hard to prove he had what it took to be there, but he didn’t need to; he was smarter and more powerful than any other student. His only weakness was he was powerful, but he had no idea how to control it.

The hiss of whispers reached his ears. Derek turned his head slightly to see two students glance at him before turning away and gossiping.

“Ignore them,” Stiles said softly.

Derek turned back to his text book, feeling his chest tighten and his heart hammer against his ribs.

“They’re talking about my uncle, aren’t they?” Derek asked.

“Most likely,” Stiles replied.

Peter Hale was well known in the wizarding world, but he disappeared the week before Derek and his sisters went on break. No Aurors had been able to track him down and many believed he was dead. When the Hale siblings returned to Hogwarts, everyone looked the other way or talked behind their backs. The whispers followed Derek everywhere.

Derek looked up at Stiles. “Thank you.”

Stiles lifted his head, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “What for?”

“For not treating me different.”

The corner of Stiles’ lips turned up in a kind smile.

Derek bowed his head, trying to focus on his homework, but his mind kept going back to the monstrous illustration.

“You know a lot about werewolves,” Derek remarked, unsure of how to start the conversation.

“I guess so,” Stiles said modestly. “I tend to take in a whole lot of information—most of it is useless.”

“Is it possible for a werewolf to become an Animagus?”

Stiles sat back in his seat, thinking it over for a second. “I don’t know for sure, but I did read something about a werewolf gaining control of their shifts by defying their alpha. But that either means defeating them or finding an anchor strong enough to keep your humanity in control of you psyche.”

“An anchor?”

“An anchor is something meaningful to you; you bind yourself to it to keep your human side in control,” Stiles explained. “It can be a memory, a person, a place or an object—it just has to mean something to you. At least that’s what I read about Animagi Transfiguration, so I guess it would be something similar in the case of a werewolf controlling their transformation.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully.

“A werewolf becoming an Animagus is extremely rare and probably very difficult,” Stiles continued. “But I don’t think it’s impossible.”

Derek felt the tension in his gut ease, letting out a sigh of relief as hope found its way back into his heart.

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

He felt the burn of power flow through his veins, setting his nerves on fire as the lure of the moon hummed ignited his senses.

He made his way out of the castle, sneaking out through the passage his uncle had told him about back in his first year—the one Peter had found during his time at Hogwarts. The cool night air met him, offering little relief to the searing heat that flooded his veins.

Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, soaking through his shirt and making the fabric cling to his skin.

His breathing grew heavy as he staggered towards the shelter of the forest that bordered the school.

A piercing howl rang out through the night, making Derek’s heart leap in his chest.

There was a sharp rush of air as a figure appeared before him. His dark hair a tousled mess and his clothing dishevelled. He clutched his fir wand, the pale wood standing out against the darkness.

“Stiles?” Derek rasped, feeling fear clutch his heart. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Stiles replied. “I nearly got caught sneaking out of the dorms. I was trying to get to the Gryffindor dorms; seems like I missed the mark.”

Stiles froze, his eyes widening as he looked at Derek.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice edged with worry. “You don’t look too good.”

“It’s not safe out here.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked, his voice catching in his throat as hesitation and anxiety filled his chest.

“You have to go.”

“Derek, you’re starting to scare me.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something but his words caught in his throat as a low growl echoed from the shadows.

Stiles wheeled around, his eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest.

The bushes rustled, clumps of leaves and low hanging branches crackling, shaking and breaking as a big black shadow slinked into the open, broad feet thumping the ground. Their claws dug into the mud, upturning the dirt and releasing the sweet earthy scent.

A pair of glowing red eyes emerged from the shadows, the thin veil of moonlight illuminating the creature’s figure as it stalked forward. The creature rose up onto its hind feet. Its large form was unhuman; standing tall on curved, slender legs. The bright red eyes were set above an elongated snout. Long arms hung at its side, disfigured hands – hairy like a wolf’s paws – stretched, thick, curved claws lit by the bleeding streams of moonlight.

Stiles froze, eyes wide.

It snarled, baring its ivory teeth as it focused its glare on Stiles.

Stiles staggered back slightly, his mind screaming at him to run but he couldn’t move; his body was frozen in place.

“Derek?” he rasped, glancing over his shoulder.

The clouds parted, exposing the moon.

Derek winced, doubling over in pain.

“Derek?” Stiles called, alarmed.

Derek’s eyes flew open, his pale adventuring irises glowing crimson.

“Run,” he growled.

Stiles flailed about, stumbling backwards. His feet pedalled beneath him. He lost his footing on the uneven ground, falling against the damp earth. He turned, using a hand to steady himself as he leapt to his feet and tore into the darkness.

He ran along the tree line, glancing over his shoulder as he saw a dark figure charge towards him.

He sprinted through the dense forest, weaving his way through the labyrinth of thick tree trunks. He sprung over the fallen trees, broken branches and thick shrubs, his nimble legs and spring-locked ankles projecting him over the large logs. The thick undergrowth and claw-like twigs dragged at his feet. He tried to keep himself upright, struggling not to stumble or trip as he sprinted away from the massacre.

The sounds of low growls and spine-chilling howls drained away, disappearing behind him as he ran further and further into the dense forest.

He took a sharp turn, heading back towards the castle grounds. He broke through the tree line, slowing his pace as he neared the Whomping Willow. He turned, running on the spot as he looked back at the forest—checking to see if anyone – or anything – had followed him.

He let out a sigh of relief, letting his nerves calm. He drew in heavy breaths, trying to slow his breathing.

Stiles was tackled to the ground, letting out a pained wheeze as the air was knocked from his lungs. His eyes flew open wide, looking up at the glowing red irises of the werewolf.

He thrashed about, letting out a vicious animalistic cry as he tried to fight the creature off.

The werewolf pinned him to the ground, sharp rocks tearing open Stiles’ pale skin as the werewolf pushed them against the ground. Stiles felt a sharp wave of pain flood his arms, his bones near breaking.

Then, all of a sudden, the weight was gone.

There was a rush of air as the second werewolf tacked the alpha off of him, knocking him to the ground and fighting him.

Stiles rolled onto his side, scrambling to his feet and sprinting towards the swaying branches of the Whomping Willow. He dodged past the branches that swung at him, the thick wood hitting the earth with a heavy crash that snapped off twigs, shook the earth, and sent dirt flying through the air.

Stiles dove towards the trunk, something catching his eye. Among the twisted aged wood of the tree was an ancient door.

Stiles pulled open the small door that was built into the base of the tree. He pulled the ricket wooden door shut behind himself, staring at it for a second before slowly backing up.

He made his way down the flight of rickety stairs, following them into a large room. The windows were all boarded up, the moonlight bleeding through the thin gaps enough for Stiles to see.

He drew in steady breaths, calming himself as he looked around. The wind that blew past the windows echoed like screams as it rattled the glass and a draught blew through the warped wooden walls.

“Shrieking Shack,” Stiles muttered.

The wooden panelling of the doors were broken in, some doors lying off their hinges. The walls had patches of plaster missing, exposing the wooden framing beneath. The decorative wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the wooden floorboards warped, worn down with time and covered in stains. Every piece of furniture was moth-eaten and broken—as though someone has smashed it in a fit of rage.

There was a thin layer of dust over everything.

He stepped through one of the other doors, looking down the old staircase and into the foyer of the Shack. There was an old chair that had one of its legs ripped off.

He stepped back into the room. Beside him was an old four post bed, the wooden base snapped in half and the frame that had once held up the canopy had fallen down.

He edged over to the bed, lowering himself into the shadows that dwelled in the corner where the bed met the wall. He shrunk down into the darkness, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He waited.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, stopping him from falling asleep, but his eyes grew heavy as he stared at the warped hardwood floors.

The light of dawn began to creep through the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

There was a loud crash as someone came sprinting down the stairs that lead up to the Whomping Willow.

Stiles’ heart leapt into his chest. He shifted, crouching behind the bed as he readied himself to run.

“Stiles?” a familiar voice called out.

Derek stumbled into the room, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths as he frantically looked around the dark, decrepit interior of the Shrieking Shack.

Stiles shifted slightly, rising to his feet and stepping out from behind the bed.

Derek let out a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?”

Stiles tightened his grip on his wand, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. His voice was quiet and raspy, but firm as he said, “Explain. Now.”

Derek dropped his gaze. “When my uncle went missing a few weeks ago, I stupidly thought I was the only person who could find him. I ran away from home to go look for him. A few hours after walking through the woods behind my family’s estate, I was attacked. It was a rogue werewolf.”

“One that holds its shape,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek nodded.

He fell silent for a minute, feeling his chest tighten and his gut twist in knots.

“It bit me,” he admitted.

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles said. A thought struck him, a look of realisation washing over his face. “That’s why you asked whether a werewolf could become an Animagus.”

Derek nodded.

“And the, uh—the other werewolf. Was that the rogue that bit you?”

Derek nodded again.

“I’m so sorry… I never meant to put you in danger,” Derek said, his voice breaking and full of pain.

“You didn’t put me in danger,” Stiles replied. “I just have a tendency to stumble right into it.”

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked, his voice full of concern.

Stiles looked down at himself, his pale flesh was caked in mud and covered in bloody welts where sticks and stones had scratched open his skin.

“Just a few bumps and bruises,” Stiles said dismissively. “Nothing too bad. How about you?”

Derek seemed taken back by the question.

“I—I’m fine,” he said. He glanced down at his arms, the tan flesh marred by dark bruises and faint pink lines where thick gashes were stitching themselves back together. “Werewolves heal quickly.”

Derek glanced back over his shoulder, up the stairs at the door that lead back outside.

“We should gat back,” he said. “Everyone will be waking up soon.”

Stiles nodded, slowly edging towards Derek.

Derek took no offence to Stiles’ hesitation; he was surprised that he trusted him at all. He led the way up the stairs and pushed open the rickety door at the base of the Whomping Willow. He squinted slightly as he stepped out of the cool shadows and into the world lit by the golden glow of the morning light. He looked up at the thrashing branches, feeling his chest tighten anxiously.

Stiles stepped up to Derek’s side, both of them keeping their back pressed against the thick tree trunk. He held his wand out.

“Immobulus.”

The branches stilled, frozen mid-action.

Stiles drew in a measured breath and took a step forward, and then another, making his way across the divots and dirt holes that covered the ground beneath the Willow.

He and Derek made their way back across the open field and up to the gates of Hogwarts, where Mr Harris stood, his arms crossed over his chest and his cold eyes staring down at the boys. Beside him stood Coach Finstock, his dark unkempt hair sticking up at all angles.

“Mr Stilinski, I expect this kind of behaviour from you, but Mr Hale – I must admit – I am surprised to see you,” Harris said, his voice cold.

“Everyone’s looking for the two of you,” Coach added. “I hope you have a good explanation for this.”

Derek bowed his head, his stomach twisting in knots as a sickening wave of bile rose into his throat. This was it; he’d be exposed and sent to Azkaban.

“I was helping Derek study,” Stiles lied. “We nearly got caught outside of the dorms after lights out and we panicked, so we apparated and ended up outside where we were attacked by a werewolf.”

Derek blinked in surprise, glancing out the corner of his eye at Stiles.

Harris looked at him, his face deadpan with disbelief. “A werewolf?”

Stiles met his gaze defiantly.

“A werewolf,” he said firmly. “We were chased into the Shrieking Shack and hid there until the sun came up.”

“That’s quite the fanciful story, Mr Stilinski.”

“It’s the truth,” Stiles insisted.

Harris opened his mouth to say something but Coach Finstock held up his hand, interrupting them.

“We’ll decide what to do with the two of you later, for now go back to your dorm rooms and clean yourselves up,” Coach instructed. He turned to Mr Harris. “Why don’t you go tell the others that we’ve found them.”

Harris let out a measured breath and turned sharply, storming off down the hall.

Stiles and Derek turned the other way and began to head down the hall.

“Mr Hale, a moment,” Coach called after him.

Derek stopped, glancing at Stiles before turning back to Coach.

Coach lowered his voice. “I know things have been tough for you since your uncle went missing, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to start acting recklessly and breaking the rules. It’s not going to change anything.”

Derek bowed his head.

“Your sisters were worried sick when they found out you were missing,” Coach continued. “I know things are hard for you, but you��re not alone; think about them.”

Derek nodded.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Coach said. He gently patted Derek on the shoulder “Now, go get yourself cleaned up.”

Derek nodded again, turning and making his way down the halls. He made his way to the shifting staircases, the buzz of chatter reaching his ears. He glanced up to see crowds of students gathered on the stairs and the landings, staring at the walls and talking quietly.

Among the crowd he spotted a familiar face.

“Cora,” he called out, hurrying over to his sister’s side.

“Where the hell have you been?” Cora growled.

“It’s a long story,” Derek dismissed. “What’s going on?”

“The paintings,” Cora said.

The crowd parted and Derek saw what she meant. The paintings that hung on the walls were destroyed—the canvases were slashed, the frames broken or hanging crooked, and the living portraits injured and cowering in fear.

“What happened?”

“The paintings say some kind of wolf tore through the castle,” Cora replied.

Derek’s heart sank into his gut.

“A wolf?” Derek repeated, his voice catching in his throat.

His eyes followed the trail of destruction, a path winding around the walls and leading up to the higher flights of stairs—to the Slytherin dorms.

“Stiles.”

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Stiles dragged his feet across the smooth wooden floorboards of the dorm room. His eyes were heavy and his movements slow and lethargic as he shrugged off the mod-stained hoodie that he wore. He tossed it over the end of his bed, stepping over to his trunk and pulling out his uniform.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears. His brow furrowed slightly in confusion; no one else should be in the dorms.

He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see who was there. His heart dropped.

He barely caught a glimpse of the alpha’s glowing red eyes before he lunged at Stiles.

Stiles dove aside, reaching for his wand, but the werewolf tackled him to the ground. He thrashed around, his elbow colliding with the creature’s jaw as he tried to fight back or break free.

The werewolf pinned him to the floor, pressing their weight against the teen’s wrists until his frail bones threatened to break. The alpha’s jagged talons tore through the pale skin of Stiles’ arm. The bitter metallic smell filled Stiles’ nose as streams of blood coursed across his skin, the searing pain igniting every nerve in his body and flooding his veins.

Stiles cried out in pain.

The alpha let out a low growl, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl as he leant in closer.

Stiles felt the heat of the creature’s breath against his skin, squeezing his eyes shut as tears fell from his eyes.

He let out a broken sob.

There was another growl, one more fierce than the alpha’s low, threatening rumble.

Stiles hesitantly opened his eyes to see the alpha tackled off of him. He turned his head to see Derek thrown back.

Derek let out a stifled grunt as he hit the solid wooden frame of one of the beds. He bared his teeth in a vicious snarl, his eyes burning with rage as he charged at the alpha.

He slashed at him blocking his bows and fighting back as he put himself between the alpha and Stiles; protecting him.

The alpha snapped and snarled, his claws tearing at Derek’s clothes and clawing open his skin.

Streams of red stained Derek’s skin, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He fought back, but the alpha was too strong for him.

The alpha threw Derek back against the far wall. His head slammed against the rough bricks, bursts of light and colour blinding him as he dropped to his hands and knees.

The alpha grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off his feet.

Derek let out a strangled breath, kicking out as he tried to free himself.

The alpha’s grip didn’t waver.

The crimson glow of the creature’s eyes was full of bloodlust as he raised his arm, flexing his claws; ready to kill Derek.

The alpha froze, his body stiffening.

His grip weakened.

Derek fell to the floor, coughing, sputtering, and gasping for breath.

The alpha collapsed, hitting the ground with a solid thud.

Derek looked across the room to see Stiles, half slouched against his bed with his other arm outstretched and his wand in his hand.

Stiles slowly lowered his wand, his shoulder rising and falling with heavy breaths.

There was a thundering crash as the door to the dorms was thrown open.

Harris and Coach rushed into the room, skidding to a halt as they looked around the room.

Harris’ eyes fell on the werewolf, growing wide.

“Quite the fanciful story, huh?” Stiles said bitterly between broken breaths.

Harris shook himself from his stupor, straightening as he looked between the two boys. “Let’s get you two to the infirmary.”

Derek sluggishly pushed himself upright, bracing himself on the wall and he rose to his feet. He staggered across the dorm room, holding his hand out to Stiles and helping him to his feet.

A crowd od students gathered behind Harris, craning their necks to look in through the doorway.

A small figure shoved her way through the crowd, pushing past Harris and into the room despite his objections. She rushed across the room, throwing herself into her brother’s arms.

Derek let out a small sigh, wrapping his arms around Cora’s narrow shoulders and holding her tight.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”

“Oh my God,” Coach uttered, his quiet voice catching their attention.

Cora stepped back. Derek and Stiles turned, following Coach’s gaze to where the alpha lay on the floor, shifting back to his human form.

Coach grabbed a blanket from one of the beds, draping it across the man’s body.

Derek couldn’t take his eyes of the man.

The slender body lay bare on the ground, his fair skin covered in pale white scars. His chest slowly rose and fell with even breaths. Black ink stood out on the underside of his forearm, the Slytherin crest tattooed into his skin and a bold black triskelion on his wrist. His light brown hair was streaked with grey and longer than Derek remembered, but the man’s weary face was the same as always.

Derek’s heart stopped.

“Peter.”

#sterek #sterek au #sterek hp au #sterek harry potter au #sterek fanfiction #sterek fanfic #sterek fic #long post #text post #slytherin stiles #slytherin!stiles #hufflepuff derek #hufflepuff!derek #please read the tags on ao3 #for overthetopobsessed #overthetopobsessed #sorry it took so long

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acraftedmistake · 3 years ago

Text

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 16

He should be at the shrine right now.

Leaving the shrine again without telling anyone will make the Visions furious, especially after what happened last time, but Jesse needed to see her. He needed to know if she was there. If she was alive.

He managed to claw his way to the top of his old home, his hands were aching, and healing skin had been torn, but he didn’t have time to pity himself. He didn’t give a damn about himself, about anything, all that mattered was Olivia.

Jesse thought he’d never see the day where he was excited to be here again, but the thought of seeing Olivia--holding her in his arms--it excited him.

And if she was alive, then Lukas could be too! They can all be together, they can all live in the shrine, far far away from Aiden and the others, and they can be happy again. They can be together.

The roof used to be Jesse’s favorite place to go to whenever he was stressed. He could lean over the fence, look over the town’s rooftops, watch the clouds roll by, and forget his worries. Lukas would often join him. He’d write his stories, they’d go back and forth sharing ideas, then he’d get to hear Lukas read their story out loud.

Jesse approached the trapdoor leading to the attic. It’s always had an awful lock, which used to be a pain, but now? It was a blessing. Jesse was able to open the door with ease and make his way inside. The ladder was covered in dust and cobwebs. This place hasn’t been visited in years, he bet.

Jesse quietly closed the trapdoor as he descended the ladder; he thought about how much Lukas would love the shrine. The interior, the garden, the gatherings, he could get so much inspiration. And Olivia! She’d love the Awakening’s appreciation for redstone dust. They understood it’s value as much as her, maybe they’d even let her use some of it for her inventions! They could make so many gadgets again, it’ll be fun.

Jesse navigated through the cluttered attic, being careful not to knock anything over as he passed through boxes filled with items he used to treasure. Scrapbooks, letters, handcrafted weapons, and other old, random items that he and his old friends collected throughout their adventures. Strange looking rocks, flowers that were withered beyond recognition, pieces of relics, whatever caught their attention back then. It was amusing at the time, but now they’re all worthless to him. Junk.

For a moment, Jesse thought about searching through the boxes and taking memories of Lukas and Olivia back to the shrine with him, but that’d cause a ruckus. Besides, they’ll make plenty of new memories once they’re reunited.

‘What if she’s not here?’ A voice in Jesse’s mind asked. He shook his head.

She has to be here. Aiden was so scared when he slipped up. There was no way he could’ve been lying. Olivia has to be here.

He will find her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stella paced around the room.

“I locked the backdoor, I locked all the windows on the first floor,” Stella said to herself, “Maya told me she’d block her windows, and I made sure to lock the guest’s rooms windows, and--well, our windows can’t be open, but maybe we should board them up?” Stella’s steps quickened.

Their room had two windows. The one closest to Gill was covered by a bookshelf, but the other was unprotected. They had a desk, Stella’s dresser, chairs, and a beanbag. They could possibly stack furniture up to block the window, but what if a quake suddenly happened? What if someone slams the door too hard? Stella’s bed is closest to the door, what if the whole thing comes tumbling down on her? What if it crushes someone?

Gill watched Stella from his bed. She’s been pacing for nearly half an hour.

“I had to lock the windows in Aiden and Cassie’s room and the door to their balcony because Cassie’s gone and Aiden--!” She rushed over to the window and pulled the curtains away. She pressed her face against the glass, “For some reason he left with Olivia and Jess despite the fact that OUR Jesse is running loose through the streets! Does he WANT them to get killed?!”

“I’m sure he’s got a good reason.” Gill said, trying to reassure Stella.

“I heard the door opening, I heard their voices, why didn’t I do anything to stop them? I’m not making anything better--”

“It’ll be okay! I bet they’ll be comin’ home soon.”

“But what if they don’t? What if they get caught, or hurt, or wind up missing, or dead in a ditch?” Her heart was beating faster. If something happened to them, she’d never forgive herself. But they’re adults, they’ll be fine! They can handle themselves! But what if they’re caught off guard? What if something unexpected happens? It’s late, anything could happen. But--but Aiden’s a great fighter, he’s used to--he can--

Stella hurried to her dresser. She pulled open a drawer and took out the first clean top she saw.

“I’m going after them. We need to find them.” She grabbed a bundle of arrows.

“Hey, hey now hold on a moment!” Gill exclaimed, getting off his bed.

“I’m just afraid of--Eep!” Stella turned and immediately jumped back. Her arrows fell, scattering over the floor. She wasn’t expecting Gill to be behind her, she didn’t even hear him approach.

Stella started picking up the arrows.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean t’scare ya!” Gill knelt down and grabbed a couple of arrows.

“I know you’re real nervous ‘bout everythin’... ‘N I am too, but Aiden’ll be okay!” Gill wasn’t sure if he even believed himself. Who knows what Aiden’s doing right now. Aiden probably wanted to do something nice for Jess and Liv, but his train of thought was probably all over the place, especially with Jess around… But Gill didn’t want to make Stella panic more.

Gill handed Stella the arrows, “Maybe we just need to think ‘bout it. What’s the worst case scenario?”

“They could be killed.” Stella answered. “They could be taken and we’d never know where.”

“Right, and what’s th’best case scenario?” Gill asked. He got a bewildered look from Stella.

“The best…?” Stella’s mouth hung open, “I suppose they’d come back home in one piece. Unharmed.”

“Yeah, maybe they even picked up one of those scones ya like at that cafe.” Gill smiled.

“At 12 PM?” Stella looked back at him.

“I’m--Well, ya know,” Gill got a li’l red, “just thinkin’ of the very best case.”

Stella let out a chuckle.

“What ‘bout the realistic scenario? Ya know, what’ll probably happen.”

‘They’ll get hurt.’ Is what Stella wanted to blurt out, but she didn’t. She took a deep breath, holding it in before finally exhaling. The most likely scenario…

“Aiden, Jess, and Olivia will probably come home later,” Stella started, carefully placing the arrows on the dresser, “Aiden will go to bed, Jess and Olivia will be wide awake, and when we wake up we’ll figure out how to deal with this situation.”

“Right, that’s what I was thinkin’.” Gill nodded, “I know ya want ‘em to be safe, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, I just don’t wantcha worryin’ yourself sick. After what’s been goin’ on, we all need some good sleep.”

Stella kept staring at the top of her dresser as Gill made his way back to bed. He was right. They’ve been running around nonstop, she needs to take it slow.

Stella placed the top back into the drawer. If she wants to be prepared for what tomorrow brings, she needs to be well rested.

Stella went to her bed and laid down, sinking slightly into the mattress. She glanced at Gill, who was looking real cozy buried under his blanket. He peeked at her and gave her a smile.

“Sleep well!”

“You as well,” Stella said, getting under her blanket, “and thank you. I mean it.”

Gill hugged his pillow, “Course, anytime.”

Stella slowly closed her eyes, telling herself that everything will be okay. Aiden will come over, Jess and Olivia will be in one piece. They’ll be okay. They’ll come home, sleep, and things will be okay.

It’ll all be okay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stella woke up, but she kept her eyes shut.

She’s woken up midday when she was stressed before. This isn’t anything new.

She forgot to close her curtains too; she didn’t want to be blinded by the Sun.

She was sweating.

She felt disgusting.

Her whole body felt stiff and sore, and the longer she stayed awake, the worse it got.

Her stomach was hurting. It was getting hard to breathe.

She tried to take a lungful of air, but she couldn’t.

Stella tried to turn to her side. But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t move.

Something was on top of her.

Stella opened her eyes. She was about to scream until Jesse slapped his hands over her mouth.

Jesse sat atop of her, staring down with bloodshot eyes. He looked like he had just been crying.

“If you scream…” Jesse whispered, “I’ll kill you.”

His fingers dug into her face. His hands smelt like rust.

Stella’s eyes darted around the room. Her breaths quickened when she saw their bedroom door was wide open. Why? Why didn’t they lock it?

Stella shot her hands out and grabbed onto Jesse’s arms, trying to pull them away, but he wouldn’t budge.

Jesse’s nails dug into her face, “Stop it--Stop it! Don’t make this harder for both of us.”

Jesse looked to the side. Gill was still asleep. The last thing he needed was Gill making things more difficult.

“I just want you to answer some questions, can you do that for me?” Jesse asked, his thumb caressing the skin below Stella’s eye.

“You can answer, I can leave, and then we can pretend that this was all some bad dream. How does that sound?”

Stella wasn’t fighting.

Carefully, Jesse took his hands away from her mouth, expecting Stella to give quick, quiet replies, ready to get this terrible exchange over with…

But Stella tried to scream again.

Jesse grabbed her throat, silencing her. He shook and choked her until her mouth shut. Until he was certain she wouldn’t try that again.

“Don’t be stupid--don’t--I know you’re not this dumb!” He spoke through his teeth. He quickly looked at Gill again before looking back at her.

“Just listen and answer. That’s all I want you to do.” His grip loosened.

“I’d rather rot than--!” Stella was cut off when Jesse’s clutch tightened once more. She can’t let him do this. She needs to at least try.

Stella tried to thrash around under Jesse’s weight. She tried to throw off his balance, wriggle free, but she was getting weaker each second. The world was starting to blur; her vision spotting and ears ringing.

“They’ll all find you dead on this damn bed. All because you can’t listen.”

‘Lie to him.’ A voice in the back of Stella’s head said. She didn’t have time to argue with herself. She looked at Jesse and mouthed the word ‘Okay’.

Jesse stopped. He didn’t let go, but he stopped.

Stella’s heart was pounding. She wondered if Jesse could feel it.

“There we go. Now then...” Jesse said quietly, his fingers pattering the side of her neck. There was a strange, fixated look in his eyes.

Jesse brought his eyes back to her’s.

“Where’s Olivia?”

Stella froze.

She needs to speak slowly.

“Why in the world do you think we—“ Stella couldn’t get another word out before Jesse slammed her head down. He was treating her no better than a rag doll.

“Don’t you lie—don’t you DARE lie to me!” His voice shook, “You have her, I know you do. She wasn’t in her room. Where is she?”

“We don’t have her! You...” Stella swallowed and gave him a broken look. “Jesse, we both saw her in that ravine. She’s gone.”

Jesse was silent for a moment as he stared down on her.

“We looked down there for hours.” Jesse slowly spoke, “We wanted to find her hat. I wanted—I wanted every last part of her. I had to. I kept looking. Even after we found her, even after her funeral, even after all of you had given up. I did everything I could to find that last memory of her…”

“So why… Why did YOU find it? You don’t… You don’t deserve it. You didn’t—I was—I was the one who—” His voice was cracking.

Stella watched as Jesse barely kept himself together. He trembled, blinking back tears while his heavy breaths wavered. For the first time in so long, Stella felt sympathy for him.

“I know.” Stella whispered, “And I’m so sorry. We don’t have her, and I don’t have her hat. I wish I did, but—“

“That’s not what Aiden said.” Jesse said.

Stella’s eyes widened.

Seeing her reaction, a small, sick smile started to form on Jesse’s face.

“I knew it.” He grinned. He leaned down, getting close to Stella’s face.

“You can’t hide my own friends from me.” His breath was hitting her skin. “So I’m going to ask you one more time: Where. Is. She—”

A loud, low creek interrupted Jesse.

Stella and Jesse turned, and there stood Gill, frozen midstep. He glanced at Jesse, to his feet, then back at Jesse.

“Ah, ya weren’t… Ya weren't supposed t’look over.”

Before Jesse could react, Gill came charging at him and slugged him right in the gut. Jesse went flying off of Stella and hit the dresser, creating a large crack down the middle. Arrows and clothes flew.

“I got Jesse! Go get Maya!” Gill hollered.

Stella ran out of the room shouting Maya’s name.

Jesse got up and sprinted to the window, but stopped and cussed when he saw there was no way to open it. He could slip through door and leave the way he came—

Gill suddenly rammed Jesse into the window; Jesse’s head collided with and cracked the glass. He grabbed Jesse around the waist, fingers digging painfully into his skin.

Jesse faced Gill and started hitting and clawing at him.

“Let go, let go NOW!” He shouted. Despite being hit several times, Gill wasn’t budging. He was squeezing his eyes shut and taking whatever Jesse was giving.

“Ya can’t run this time! Ya got nowhere to go!”

“I was gonna leave but then YOU came and ruined everything! That’s all you do—that’s all you’re good for! Getting in the way!” Jesse’s words only made Gill’s grip stronger.

Jesse could hear Maya’s voice now—and the front door was opening. No, no, this is the last thing he needs. He managed to get a leg free and started kicking at Gill’s face, getting more desperate by the second.

Gill’s nose was crooked and bleeding, he could feel bruises form, and he knew he was gonna get a black eye, but that didn’t matter.

“Jesse, ya can go to prison, or ya can stay with us—“

“I’d rather DIE.” Jesse spat.

Through all the noise, Jesse could make out Aiden’s voice. He was coming closer. The others will be coming too. What if they manipulate Olivia? What if they make her hate him too? What if they take her away?

Tears were welling up in Jesse’s eyes, but then he saw it. In the corner of his eye. An arrow.

Jesse held Gill back with one arm and reached for the arrow. Once it was in his grasp, he raised it high into the air, rolling his eyes back till the whites remained, and prayed to the Hero to give him a fatal blow before bringing the arrow down to Gill’s face.

Gill gasped and moved. The arrow barely missed his face and was plunged deep into his shoulder. He let out a cry and tried to tear it out, giving Jesse enough time to escape Gill.

Footsteps were coming closer, Gill was shouting for his friends, and Jesse could hear Aiden calling his name. He won’t make it to the attic in time.

Jesse rammed his elbow against the cracked window. He kept hitting and hitting until it finally shattered. He took one last glance behind him--catching a glimpse of Aiden--before jumping out.

He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his head while midair. He hit the ground with a loud thud. His body was aching and there was glass in his arm, but he had to go. He needs to leave.

Jesse pushed himself up. The whole world was spinning.

He looked back at that vile house one last time, and as he started running, he saw the front door was still wide open.

He kept running, and that’s when he saw it.

Saw her.

Through the door, there she stood.

It was only a glance. A small, little glance, but that’s all he needed.

As Jesse ran further and further from the house, a smile returned to his face. It grew wider and wider until he was grinning ear to ear. His pain and worries disappeared as he hugged himself so, so tightly.

He could hardly contain himself. He can’t remember when he’s been this happy.

A few chuckles escaped his lips, then he let out a wonderful, joyous laughter as he pranced through the town.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

He laughed when he left that horrid town.

He laughed as he sprinted across the field.

And he kept laughing when he entered the shrine.

Yes, oh yes, it’s all so wonderful.

She’s alive.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm jesse #mcsm stella #mcsm gill #mcsm fic #fic #trying somethin a lil different and added a portion of the chapter at the beginning!#cause why not??#hope you all enjoy!!!#everyone is going to be super duper happy :)

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kalimagik · 4 years ago

Text

Not Truly Gone

Fred Weasley x reader

Word Count: ~3,500

A/N: soooo this was supposed to be a fluff piece for Lena’s ( @angelinathebook ) writing challenge and the prompts are under fluff, but it turned into angst...I am very very sorry. But, I hope you like it anyways? Feedback is always appreciated! Happy reading guys <3 (also, I’m taking a page out of @obsessedwithrandomthings ‘s book. the flashbacks are in italics)

Prompts: (bolded in the text)

6. “I never want to be without you”

7. “I just want you to hold me”

Not my GIF - credits to the owner

She was numb. The world seemed to move around her in blurs. It had been this way for 6 months now. No one existed around her at the funeral except for George and he was just as distant as she was. Nothing seemed to matter as she packed up their apartment. Work was the furthest thing from her mind when she was there. All senses had left her body.

Her family rarely left her alone and Molly made sure to keep Y/N as close to the family as possible, but she had dug herself in this hole that she didn’t know how to escape. Instead of building a ladder to get out, the hole seemed to be getting deeper.

Without Fred Weasley in the world anymore, without him being her whole world, life seemed pointless. Thunder crashed outside of her office window and the sound threw her back to those many nights in Hogwarts when everything seemed simpler.

Rain battered against the glass window panes. The noise had been so soothing that it was impossible for any Hogwarts student to avoid the relaxing sense that lulled them to sleep. Most students were under the rain’s spell the moment their heads hit their pillows. However, Fred Weasley wasn’t most students.

“Psssst! Love!” Fred whispered through the curtains of her four poster bed. “Move over. I can’t sleep?”

Y/N may have been half asleep, but she still moved over. “You couldn’t sleep so you decided to somehow sneak into my dorm?” She whispered with her eyes still closed. “I don’t even want to know how you got in here.”

“Nothing, not even magic could keep me from you, love.” Fred kissed the side of her head before snuggling up to her. “I’d like to love you forever if you would let me.”

“I’d like that very much,” Y/N breathed out after inhaling Fred’s scent – gunpowder and caramel, an odd combination, but one that Y/N melted into every time.

Y/N snapped out of the happy memory when someone walked up to her desk, door slamming behind them. She realized that she had pulled Fred’s sweater from her desk and was trying to get every last bit of the fading gunpowder and caramel that rested on the sleeve.

“Are you busy?” George’s soft voice asked. Y/N lifted her head immediately to take in the state of her fiancé’s twin. His eyes were sunken in and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I’m never too busy for you, Georgie.” Y/N put on the biggest smile she could muster and threw the sweater back into the drawer, hoping that George hadn’t seen her with it. She’d done a pretty good job of convincing everyone else that she was feeling better, even if she wasn’t.

“Want to go get some dinner? Your boss said that you’ve been holed up in here for hours. Yes, your boss sent me a message, so you can’t turn down my offer. I know you haven’t been eating well.” George explained with eyes that bore into her skull. She couldn’t avoid his gaze.

“You don’t have to worry about me George. I’m fine.”

“You’re as fine as our owl Errol after delivering a letter to Charlie in Romania. You’re not fine. Common, let’s go get some food. I could use the company too if that makes you feel any better.” George turned towards the door. “Oh, you should wear his sweater by the way. That was his favorite one to see one you,” he smirked before leaving her office.

Y/N smiled her first real smile in weeks.

“Y/N? Love? Have you seen my maroon sweater anywhere? The one I like to wear with my gray shirt?” Fred called out to her, searching every drawer that held his clothes. “Y/N? I’m going to be late to meet George!”

Fred could hear shuffling in the kitchen and digging through the utensil drawer. He left their bedroom to go search the sitting room where he found her sitting on the couch, pint of ice cream in hand and a maroon sweater hanging over her shoulders.

Fred chuckled as he leaned against the doorframe just watching her. “Oh, you meant this sweater?” she asked, mouth full of ice cream.

“Yes, that sweater.”

“And you want it now?” Her eyebrows raised in disappointment. She placed her ice cream on the arm of the couch, sliding the sweater off her arms.

“Actually, I think I can find something else to wear.” Fred made his way over to her, sliding the oversized sweater back into place.

“ORRRR…” Y/N elongated with a mischievous smile, “you could let George go do whatever by himself and wear less,” she finished with a wink before stuffing another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

“You do make a convincing argument,” Fred replied with a hungry look in his eye.

“I think it’s a good idea for George to learn how to get on by himself anyways,” Y/N giggled as Fred started towards her, jumping on top of her with the ice cream forgotten about.

“What have you been up to?” Y/N asked George once they finally ducked out of the rain.

“I’ve been in the shop a bit more recently. I’ve started picking up all of the products that Fred had started to design and have had the motivation to finish them. You know how he always would start something and just never finish.” George chuckled at the memory.

“He was like that with everything,” Y/N laughed. “Remember how he only painted half of our apartment. He claimed he wanted to do it without magic and then I found him asleep with paint all over him when I got home. I had to stay up all night finishing!”

“How’s this restaurant?” George asked, stepping in front of a café on Diagon Alley.

Y/N paused and looked up the sign. She’d barely walked this street since she lost him and had been avoiding this restaurant at all costs. George must’ve seen the look in her eyes before he looked up at the name of the restaurant again. “Oh merlin. Y/N, I am so sorry. We can go somewhere else. There are a lot of new restaurants opening up on Diagon Alley recently, we can try one of them!”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she shook her head. “No. This is one of my favorite cafés. Let’s go in. I have to at some point, right?” Y/N led the way through the doors and the soft delicate coloring was just as it was all those months ago.

The hostess led her and George to a table near the front window. She sat down timidly, taking in the ambiance of the restaurant that meant so much to her.

“Good evening!” the waiter smiled as he placed menus in front of the silent pair. “Can I offer you any drinks this evening?”

“I’ll just take a water,” Y/N told him quickly as she felt her brain open the floodgates to the memories.

“Same for me,” George said before turning to Y/N as the waiter walked away. “Are you okay?”

Her breaths quickened as she thought about what day it was. “George, did you know?” she could barely look out. “Did you know that today was the day that we came here…and- and he proposed to me?”

“I love this restaurant!” Y/N smiled as Fred opened the door for her. She was in her favorite little sundress and even Fred had dressed up for the occasion. “But, it sure is empty in here tonight. Don’t they usually have a long wait?”

“I may have rented out the whole place…” Fred admitted, taking Y/N’s hand and leading her to the backroom. “I need you to close your eyes though.”

Laughing and shaking her head, Y/N shut her eyes on command. Fred’s strong hands guided her. “Can I open them yet, Freddie?”

“Just give me a second.” His hands let go over hers and Y/N heard him moving around and a little bit of shuffling. Y/N felt her smile grow when she felt the tall boy standing in front of her again. “Okay,” he whispered, “Open your eyes.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t know where to look first. There were candles and roses and sunflowers all around the room. There was even a magical shimmer that seemed to make all of the lights glitter.

“Fred? What is this?” Y/N gasped, still trying to take everything in.

“Well, I wanted to do something special for you.” Fred had not stopped looking into her eyes the entire time, even though she was looking around the room.

“It’s so unexpected.” Her smile grew bigger and bigger every second they stood there. “Why did you do all of this?”

“Do I need a reason to do something for my beautiful girlfriend?”

Y/N shook her head as she looked towards the floor.

“There is a reason though,” Fred said, pulling her attention back to his face. “Y/N, love. I wanted to ask you something.” Fred slowly sunk to one knee, not taking his eyes off of the girl in front of her.

Y/N felt her breath hitch in her chest. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing, Freddie?” she whispered.

“Y/N? I could tell you all of the things about you that amaze me and make me fall in love with you every day, but I would rather show you for the rest of our lives. Love, would you marry me? Nothing would make me happier in the world!”

Y/N’s head just started nodding instinctively. She didn’t even need to think about it. Of course she wanted to marry Fred.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Freddie. Of course I want to marry you!” Y/N got out.

Fred pulled her close to him and kissed her like he never wanted to lose you. “I had a feeling that tonight would be the best night of my life. I never want to be without you and now I don’t have too.”

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you okay?” Y/N opened her eyes to see George standing over her.

“What? What happened?” she asked sitting up.

“I think you were having a panic attack and then passed out. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that happened today. I never would have brought you here if I did.” George tried to explain as he helped Y/N into a chair.

“It’s not your fault. I thought I was ready for this. Could we maybe just go home?” Y/N asked softly.

“You still haven’t eaten anything yet though.” George pointed out.

“I’m not hungry.”

“No! No, Y/N.” George put his foot down. “I’m trying to get better as much as you are. I’ve noticed each time at family dinners where you fade off to the background after making small talk for a quarter of the evening. I’ve noticed how you push the food around your plate. You never come around with Lee and I anymore. You’re holed up in your office even though I know you’re barely getting any work done. Fred would hate me if I didn’t worry about you right now. And I want to worry about you!” George raised his voice.

Y/N just looked at him, stunned. Everyone had been so careful around her for months, careful not to hit a nerve. But, perhaps they had been doing that with George too and she just hadn’t noticed.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N. But you were so full of life and just one of my best friends. I feel like I’ve lost you. I’m not asking you to forget him.” George’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But, I am asking you to keep living your life. He would have wanted you too.”

Y/N nodded, understanding how he felt and knowing that he was right about Fred.

“Will you just talk to me? Get some of what you’re feeling out? We don’t have to stay here. We can go to the apartment above the store and get some takeout. How does that sound?”

Not having any response, Y/N just stood up to follow the red head out of the restaurant.

Once in George and Fred’s old flat, George made Y/N get comfortable on the sofa. He handed her blankets, jumpers, really anything that Fred had touched. He couldn’t bring himself to clean the stuff out yet, so it was all where Fred had left it. He was only there on nights when he worked late because he and Y/N moved in together.

“You didn’t have to do all of this, George.”

“Yes I do. You were supposed to be my sister-in-law, meaning that you will always be my sister-in-law, so it’s now my job.”

Y/N couldn’t stop from chuckling at George’s attempts to cheer her up. “Thank you,” she whispered as she opened the take-out food George sat on her lap.

“Anytime, sis. Want to tell me where your head has been?”

“It’s so hard to think about,” Y/N stuttered. She could feel the tears swelling in her eyes at the thought.

“I know it is, but you’ve listened to me and it really does help. Y/N/N, I know that you were right there. You can’t hold it in.”

“I still have nightmares about it. It plagues my every thought. I’m trapped by the memory and every happy memory takes me right back to it, Georgie.” Her words were barely audible over the sounds coming from Diagon Alley.

“Tell me what happened…” George pushed.

Y/N breathed in deeply. The smell of Fred encased her. The scent made her feel a little stronger and more comfortable. “Fine…” she paused before telling her story.

Green flashes were going off left and right. Spells could be heard from every direction. More bodies hit the ground each moment, but Y/N couldn’t stop to tend to the fallen. She had to get to Fred.

“Fred? FREDDIE!” she called even though her yells could bring unwanted attention from Death Eaters.

“Over here, love!” he called, a smile still etched on his lips even though he was in the middle of a battle. “This is good fun, isn’t it? Mum would never let us dual properly when we were younger,” he laughed, turning his attention back to the Death Eater in front of him.

“Can we finish this up and get out of here?” Y/N asked as Fred blasted the Death Eater, rendering him unconscious.

“Once I get to blast a few more of You-know-who’s followers. We may never get this chance again!”

Y/N shook her head at how playful her fiancé could be in the midst of a war. Only he could be having fun right now.

“Please come with me now, Freddie?” she pleaded. “We could go elope or something. That would be more fun!” she bargained.

“That sounds bloody brilliant!” Fred responded, shooting a spell past Y/N’s head and hitting a snatcher behind her.

“Thanks for that,” she grinned.

“Anytime, love,” Fred bantered, now close enough to kiss her forehead. “Shall we?”

“Fred! Y/N! Look out!” Percy’s voice came from nowhere. Suddenly a blast so loud shook the whole corridor where the couple was standing. Y/N tried to hold Fred close to her, but he pushed her out of the way, out of the way of the wall that fell where they had been standing.

Y/N’s head shot up the moment she hit the ground. Smoke and rubble was all around her. “Fred? Fred?!” Each time she said his name, there was more and more urgency. Y/N scrambled to pull rocks off of where she had last seen Fred. “No, no, no, no!” she said with each breath.

That’s when she saw his body. She mustered every bit of strength she had to pull him out of the stone. His breaths were shallow and Y/N could see the pain spread across his face. “Don’t worry, Freddie,” she sighed. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay. HELP! OVER HERE! SOMEONE HELP ME!” Y/N called to whoever would listen.

“No, no, Y/N. It’s okay. It’s my time apparently.”

“No, Fred! I won’t allow it. We have the rest of our lives, remember?” Fred could see the tears push through the grime that covered her face. How could she still be so beautiful like this?

“I just want you to hold me. Can you just hold me, Y/N/N?” he asked as he shut his eyes. His hands had enough strength to stroke her cheek and hair one more time.

Her sobs took over. She couldn’t hear anything around her. She couldn’t see the protective shields being put up as Ron, Percy, Hermione, and Harry entered the scene. Her whole world was right in front of her. Her whole world shattered the moment Fred took his last breath.

“I won’t let go, I won’t let go of you,” Y/N spoke each word in between her sobs. Ron had to pull her away from Fred’s body as Harry and Percy moved him behind the suite of armor. All of this happened around her and she couldn’t feel any of it.

“That- that’s horrible. I didn’t know that all happened,” George broke the silence when she finished speaking.

She couldn’t sob, but the tears streaked down her face uncontrollably. She looked up from the cup of water that somehow wound up in her hands to meet George’s sad eyes. The eyes that looked so much like Fred’s.

“I haven’t told anyone else before,” Y/N sniffled. George moved from the chair to next to her on the couch, putting a protective arm around her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“As sad as it was and still is, it was my moment with him. My last moment. I wasn’t ready to share it with anyone. I could just remember him smiling up at me and asking me to hold him like I had asked him so many times before.”

George sat there in silence, just holding his twin’s fiancé. She didn’t know how much she hadn’t needed someone to know what she was going through until her story was heard by George. A weight seemed to be lifted off of her shoulders. She was still sad, but it didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

“I still love him so much, George,” she whispered.

“I know you do. I can still see it in your eyes whenever someone brings him up.”

“I just don’t know how to live without him…”

“Me either, but we will figure it out. He’s not truly gone. We’ll see him again. Mum says this all the time, but it never quite stuck until right now. She always says, ‘we see him in the things that he loved and the things that he used to do, you just have to be willing to look for him.’ That’s why I started working on his inventions again. It makes me closer to him.”

“But, I’m not a prankster like the two of you. Fred and I were always opposites. I don’t have anything like that.”

“Yes, you do,” George assured her. “He loved everything about you. He loved when you picked flowers and arranged them in the kitchen even though he complained about it. He loved when you got in baking moods and made him all sorts of sweets. He purposely half-finished things so that you would help him. I bet if you finished anything that isn’t done yet, you would feel him chuckling behind you.”

Y/N looked to George. “How do you know all of that?” she asked. “I didn’t even know that.”

“He would never shut up about you, but trust me, if you just go back to being you, you’ll feel him because he loved you so much.”

“Thank you, George.”

“Anytime. I’m always here to remind you, just like how you’ve been here for my family. Don’t forget that we all love you nearly as much as he did, so don’t let us lose you too.”

“I won’t.” Y/N actually returned his worried stare with a soft smile and she wasn’t faking it. “He’s still here…” she said more for herself than George. The sadness she felt over Fred’s loss would never go away, but now she could start healing and moving forward with all the happy memories beside her.

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creativenostalgiastuff · 4 years ago

Text

Fealty

Summary: Virgil wants to ask Roman to the prom. And sometimes things don’t quite go according to plan. HumanAU. Hurt/comfort. So much fluff with a dash of angst

Warnings: prom, anxiety, outting, homophobia, manipulation, self doubt, Janus as a villain, fighting, self deprecation

Word Count: 8k

AN: Oh my god. I love this story more than you can imagine. But it's also my longest one chapter thing ever . To help make it a little more digestible, it's broken into 3 parts. And you can read it along with the others in this… I guess AU or alone. Here is the link to the first in that sequence.

Before you ask, yes JD is Janus. To be fair, I started this before the last video came out. That being said, I will spoil it and let you know that Janus/JD is the bad guy in this. And I stand by that. I don’t think he always is (read my story Ally if you need an example where I don’t make him the bad guy). But he is here, so please just be mindful of that.

Shout Out to @today-only-happens-once for all of her help with this fic. Also to @meowthefluffy and the one anon for their help with some prom culture questions I had!

-1 month away-

“Patton, step to the left…. No, your other left,” Logan calls from the lighting platform to Patton who is standing on stage.

Virgil sits on the lighting platform, in the back of the high school theater next to Logan. He sits on his leg while holding his other knee, biting at a hangnail as he watches a few lights change colors corresponding to the commands Logan is typing. The backdrop, once white, is now a wash of deep purple, accented by the heavy red lights hitting further up on the stage. He analyzes it silently as he tilts his head to the side. The way the lights are hitting Patton looks a bit better now that the purple downstage has been lifted and the red isn’t quite as intense. The stage now looks dramatic, yet keeps the softness Virgil is looking for.

“There. Is that better?” Logan asks.

No, it looks dumb, thinks Virgil. I’ll look dumb. This whole thing is dumb!

Virgil leans back in his chair, nodding. “It’ll work.”

“Thank you, Patton,” calls Logan. “You can get down now.”

“Okay,” Patton says as he gives a little salute before walking to the stairs leading down from the stage.

Virgil runs his hands over his pants, trying to dry them off. This is such a dumb idea. Why would Roman ever want to go to prom with an anxious mess?

“Relax,” suggests Logan. “He’s going to love it.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “What do you mean? I am relaxed.”

“Virgil,” Patton says in a warning voice as he climbs the ladder, peering up on the lighting platform.

“I know, I know,” Virgil allows as he makes an effort to uncurl himself a bit from his chair, running a hand through his purple bangs. “It's just… what if I mess this up?”

Logan types a few more commands into the ancient computer before sliding his chair back a little from the desk. “You won’t.”

“But this is Roman we’re talking about,” Virgil argues, noticing how dry his mouth feels. “Roman Prince. You know he’s been dreaming about a ‘promposal’ since he could practically walk!”

“That’s a gross exaggeration. They didn’t really get popular until…”

“What if it's not what he wants?” Virgil asks, flipping his hood up and stuffing his hands in his hoodie’s pocket. “What if I say the wrong thing? This moment matters to him, ya know? He wants an over the top, profession of love shouted from rooftops.”

Logan sighs. “He wants you, Virgil.”

Is that what Roman wants? He would be happier with someone that was more comfortable with open flirting and expressions of romance. Why does he put up with me?

“Well… he deserves more than me,” Virgil mutters to himself as he stands, pushing in his chair.

Patton interrupts sternly, “Now, none of that. You two are great together. Just, breathe. Trust yourself. He’s going to love it.”

“You sure?” Virgil asks, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder. He walks over to Patton, who moves over, and climbs down the ladder and onto the floor.

“Completely,” Logan confirms as he climbs down too. “Would it help if we run through your checklist one more time?”

Virgil nods, not trusting his voice. Patton comes next to him, taking his hand and looking at him with big eyes full of hope and encouragement.

“Okay, Ms. Martin is here to supervise?” Logan asks, pulling out his phone and the checklist he had made with Virgil when they were planning this.

What if she thinks this is a dumb idea? Is she listening to us? What if I say something horrible? Will she laugh at me?

“Yeah,” Virgil mutters, shuffling his feet, “In the soundbooth.”

“Good,” nods Logan as he checks it off. “Are the lights set the way you want them?”

Oh god what if Roman thought the lights were dumb? Who decides to go for dramatic AND soft? Isn’t that an oxymoron?

“Yep.”

“Great. Notecards?”

What kind of dork needs notecards to ask their boyfriend to prom? Like, what a special kind of stupid, right?

Virgil reaches into his pocket and pulls out the five notecards he made earlier with Patton, and pulls them out. “Check.”

“Calculator that Roman conveniently left behind that I am texting him to return?”

“Uh…” Virgil stutters. He doesn’t have the calculator. Roman’s parents will murder him if he looses it again. It costs over a hundred dollars and he had lost three already this year. What if they ground him?

“Oh, I have that!” Patton jumps as he reaches into his backpack, pulling out the bright pink calculator and handing it to Virgil. “We got your back, Virgil.”

“All that’s left is for us to send the text,” Logan smiles as he slides his phone into his pocket. “Are you ready?”

Virgil swallows the lump in his throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good, because I already sent it,” Logan answers. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

“We’re rooting for you.” Patton smiles as he takes Logan’s hand.

Virgil can practically feel his heart in his throat as he watches Patton leading them out. “Thanks, guys.”

Logan looks back for just a second and Virgil gives what he hopes is a small smile of reassurance. Logan nods in acknowledgement before allowing Patton to pull him down the hall.

Virgil slings the backpack into a seat and goes to sit on the edge of the stage to wait for Roman. He could do this. It was just Roman, right?

He leans back, laying down on the stage spread eagle, looking up at the lights above. He feels like invisible strings are wrapped around him in a vice grip. Virgil takes three deep breaths, focusing from his stomach like the school counselor had taught him. He was going to ask Roman Prince out to their senior prom and it would all be okay. He would go through the little speech he had outlined with Logan’s help. Worst case, Roman would turn him down and he wouldn’t have to go to a dance he didn’t especially care about anyway. Best case, he would pull off a miracle and sweep Roman off of his feet. Either would be okay. Roman would be happy either going to prom with him, or he would go with someone else and have an even better time, right?

Virgil closes his eyes at the ache in his chest that thought causes, moving one hand over the pain. Of course he wants to be the one to take Roman. Of course the only acceptable option is success. He had observed Roman for so long, resigning himself to watching his Prince thrive in the spotlight while he waited in the wings. There was no way Virgil could stand someone else taking his place. This was a dumb idea.

He pulls out the notecards from his pocket and flips through them, reading them through for about the thousandth time that day. Logan had insisted that notecards would help alleviate the stress of remembering what to say. Patton had then added his own touches with stickers and doodles along the edges to get Virgil to relax. Neither the notecards nor the pictures were being very helpful at the moment, Virgil notes as he realizes his hands are shaking holding them.

The door to the theater opens, causing Vigril to jump up, the note cards falling as he sits upright. He blinks into the darkness of the theater and feels his breath catch as his eyes find Roman coming up the aisle, out of breath.

“Hey, Virge! Have you seen Logan? He sent me a text that he had the calculator I left in math. If I come home without it again my sister is going to gay-up murder me.”

Virgil reaches into his pocket and slides the calculator towards the edge of the stage where Roman now stands. “Yeah, here.”

“Awesome, thanks,” smiles Roman. He looks around the stage. “What were you guys setting lights for? Looks amazing.”

“Think so?” Virgil asks, suddenly very aware of how sweaty his hands are. He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, discreetly trying to dry them on his black denim pants.

“Uh, yeah,” Roman answers, flashing Virgil a smile that could light up the whole stage itself. “There’s a duality that exists in it I can really get behind.”

Virgil feels ones of the invisible strings around him loosen, relaxing that Roman likes the lighting. Now for the hard part: words.

Virgil swallows a couple of times, his tongue feeling thick. This was not a time to stop knowing how to speak. A new panic started to fill Virgil: what if I physically can’t do this?

“Hey,” Roman asks gently, “You okay?”

Virgil looks around himself and sees the cards scattered on the floor. He gets on his hands and knees, trying to scoop them up with his shaking hands, but they’re all out of order and sticking to the floor.

This is not how this was supposed to go. I have totally messed this all up. Roman will never forgive me for not doing this right.

Before he knows it Roman is kneeling on the stage next to him. “Whoah, hey,” he softly calls, slowly placing a hand on Virgil’s. “I’m here. What do you need?”

Great, now I’ve upset him.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil gets out, his voice tight as he keeps his eyes trained on the ground in front of him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Roman states calmly. “What do you need?”

To not be wasting your time in a relationship. To be so heavily sedated that I forget this is happening. To not be such a wimp when it comes to asking you on a date.

“I need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This,” Virgil answers as he gestures to the cards on the floor, still not looking at Roman.

“Oh, okay?” Roman hesitantly replies. “You’re being kind of vague.”

“Sorry,” Virgil sighs, hanging his head, trying to loosen the panic. “I’ve totally messed this up.”

There's a beat of silence before Roman picks up the nearest notecard, causing Virgil’s eyes to snap to him. He reaches for it, but Roman turns just slightly out of reach. He looks it over and reads it aloud, “I promise that I will always be there for you, never hurt you, and will defend your honor.”

Virgil freezes as he watches Roman’s reaction. There’s a moment of puzzlement behind his eyes as he mouths out the wording again before they seem to spark with realization. “I believe that is a pledge of fealty, my Dark and Stormy Knight.”

Virgil sits back at the positive response and recognition, his chest loosening at the positive reaction. “Seemed fitting for a Prince.”

“What are you trying to do, Virgil?”

“A-ask you to prom?” Virgil answers, looking away from Roman. “But it’s, it’s not going so well. I really messed up.”

“Oh Virgil.” Roman scoots closer and places a hand on Virgil’s. “Darling, you could never mess that up.”

“But you need a big promposal,” Virgil sighs. “And I can’t…”

“I don’t care about a big promposal,” Roman interrupts, gently placing his forehead against Virgil’s.

“What?”

“I… I mean, they’re very nice. But I don’t want a big moment if it means nothing. There’s something romantic in a certain level of intimacy, right?” asks Roman.

Virgil laughs a little in relief. “Just when I start to think I have you figured out, you do something completely unexpected.”

Roman tilts his head just enough to kiss Virgil, soft and gentle. Virgil feels his whole body relax at the moment, silencing the repeating worry that he was used to. Before he knows it, he grabs Roman’s shirt, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. There’s a cough from the sound booth, causing the two to pull away just a little.

“Sorry Ms. Martin,” Virgil calls with a laugh as Roman turns and waves at their chaperone.

Roman stands up and offers Virgil a hand, pulling him upright. “I would love to go to prom with you, Virgil,” Roman says, pushing Virgil’s bangs out of his eyes. “No big scary shows of adoration required.”

Virgil smiles as the relief settles and he looks at Roman. “Cool.”

“Come on.” Roman takes Virgil’s hand. “A little bird told me that Patton was going to ask Logan to prom today and I’m dying to know how it went. It's about time they acknowledge their mutual pining.”

“Okay,” agrees Virgil, allowing himself to be led down the stairs to the theater.

Less than 1 week-

It's the week of prom. Senior prom season always caused a little bit of an undercurrent of excitement that permeated the atmosphere. Virgil sits in his study hall, hood flipped up trying to focus on completing a study guide for economics. However, all of the students in the room are buzzing around, whispering to one another and on their phones, showing one another everything from prom dresses to campaigns for prom court. Virgil rolls his eyes again as another girl asks their friend “why isn’t Roman running?”

Roman had decided that he didn’t want to run for court. His grades weren’t great right now and he had many college music and theater auditions happening at the moment. The group of friends had debated the idea into the ground, ultimately with Roman agreeing that his priorities right now were not prom focused. Virgil, of course, had agreed to support Roman in whatever manner was necessary. But still, the student body was shocked.

“Did you hear what happened at the bell with Prince?” another girl asks. Virgil stops writing, suddenly interested in the conversation. Without moving his head, Virgil looks up in the direction of the girls who had pulled their desks into a circle.

“No, what happened?”

“Check Claire’s Snapstory,” the first girl says. “She got some of it on camera before a teacher got in her way.”

Virgil pauses for a moment before he feels his phone vibrate in his hoodie pocket. He pulls it out and sees the banner “Text: Patton” he opens it up and reads the text.

“Something happened with Logan, Roman, and JD. Don’t know what, they sent me out of the office, but security was with them.”

Virgil feels his stomach drop. JD, Virgil’s cousin, never meant anything good. And security only meant trouble.

He wasn’t aware of when he stood up, but he finds himself walking towards the sign out sheet, stuffing his belongings in his backpack. As a senior, he could technically go home now if he wanted to, so he marks the signout sheet as such.

Virgil walks deliberately as his brain swims at the information provided. There was a video, two friends, one enemy (if Virgil had one of those), and security. He needs answers. He needs to know that his friends are okay. And even if he were to text them, he wouldn’t believe it until he saw them with his own two eyes.

He turns the corner towards the office when he stops suddenly. He pulls back instinctively as his eyes follow JD and his aunt, JD’s mother. JD has his head down, holding his wrist with the opposite hand. His mother walks in front, her designer bag over her arm as she types a text on her phone, her heels clicking with each step. “Come along, Janus, darling. We have to go to the store to replace that phone before it hits rush hour.”

JD looks up, sweeping the area around him. His eyes land on Virgil, causing something to spark behind them that Virgil can’t place. The emo holds his gaze, refusing to back down and show unease at his cousin. He takes a step forward and JD speeds up, walking next to his mother now. Virgil inwardly takes pride in the reaction. JD wasn’t afraid of much, so he’ll take the victory where he can.

As soon as his aunt and cousin are out of the main door, Logan emerges from the office. Virgil runs over to him, noticing the glasses missing from Logan’s face.

“Hey,” Virgil greets as his eyes scan his friend over. Logan looks tired, his hair more tousled than usual. His shirt hangs partially untucked and his tie was just hanging loosely around his neck. Virgil can clearly see the dark circles from working overtime getting ready for exams that usually are hidden by his glasses.

“Hello, Virgil,” Logan says flatly, looking at his hand that was holding his clearly broken glasses.

“What happened?”

There’s a sigh before Logan responds, “Don’t worry about it.”

Virgil shakes his head. “You know I can’t.”

There’s another pause before Logan says quietly, “It's not my place, Virgil.”

Virgil doesn’t miss the pauses in Logan’s responses. He’s being overly cautious, the emo notices. “Are you okay, at least?” Virgil asks, matching Logan’s tone.

“I’m fine,” Logan says, his eyes still focused on the crushed glasses in his hand. “I cannot say the same for these, however. I’m sorry, Virgil, but I have to get going. My sister was just called from class to take me to get them repaired.”

“Yeah, totally.” Virgil nods.

The door to the office swings open again. Logan’s hand grabs Virgil’s shoulder and pulls him against the wall, out of the walkway. A husband and wife walk through the door, and Virgil’s stomach drops: it’s Roman’s parents. His mom’s lips are pressed firmly together, her eyes trained in front of her. While she was always a beautiful woman, there’s an almost fire behind her eyes that scream to watch out. Roman could get the same look when his friends were threatened. His father, a burly man, walks next to her, shaking his head with a defeated look etched in his features.

A security officer, Officer Ward, comes out and Virgil recognizes him from when the man helped with a couple of set builds for the theater. Virgil’s chest tightens as he sees Roman next to the man, looking small against the large frame of his father and even larger one of Officer Ward.

Roman is staring at the floor while he walks, not blinking. Virgil can see the start of a bruise on Roman’s jaw and his heart breaks. Roman doesn’t look up or even seem to realize two of his best friends are standing right next to him. Virgil starts to reach, but Logan digs his fingers into Virge’s shoulder while shaking his head ever so slightly. He drops his hand and watches as the officer leads them outside of the main glass doors. He says something to Roman, who nods, before shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Prince and heading down the sidewalk, probably to do a last check of the premises before the day is officially over.

Virgil moves Logan’s hand off of his shoulder and walks towards the door after it closes, separating them from the Prince family. Virgil can’t help but ask again, “What happened?”

Logan joins him, watching as Roman’s parents say something to their son, who seems to deflate even more. He takes Virgil’s hand and gives a gentle squeeze as a familiar car pulls up in front of the school, Logan’s sister sitting in the driver’s seat. “I have to go. But we’ll be okay, Virge.”

“What happened?” Virgil asks another time, desperate for answers as to why his boyfriend was standing outside with his parents looking smaller than Virgil had ever known him to be.

“He’ll tell you when he’s ready,” Logan says as he pushes open the door and starts walking towards the car. He gets to where the Prince family is standing, says something to Roman’s parents, his mom nodding and his father offering a handshake. Logan says something to Roman before getting in the car and driving off.

Virgil stands and watches as Roman and his parents continue to talk, his mother getting more agitated as she goes back and forth with her son. After a moment, Roman’s dad puts a hand on his wife’s shoulder and starts ushering her towards the guest parking lot. Roman hangs his head before turning in the opposite direction towards the student parking.

Virgil doesn’t remember when he started running. When he gets to the edge of the parking lot sees Roman fumbling with his keys next to his red Ford, “Roman!”

Roman stops with the keys, but doesnt turn around. “Not now, Virgil.”

“Are you okay?” Virgil asks, out of breath. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Roman sighs, starting to shuffle through his keys again. “None of it matters.”

“Why?” Virgil demands, clenching his fist at his side. “I don’t understand what’s going on! Logan wouldn’t tell me anything!”

Roman drops his keys on the ground as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, “I really messed up, Virge. I lost my cool and let him get the best of me.”

Virgil quickly bends down and picks up the keys from where they had bounced. “Who? JD? Whatever it was, I know he started it.”

“Not ac-cording to the school,” Roman says, his voice breaking. Virgil’s eyes grow at just how defeated he sounds.

“We all know how he is,” Virgil responds, shoving the keys in his pocket. “They can’t be serious.”

“It’s on camera.” Roman’s shoulders start shaking, as his voice takes on a harsher tone, tilting his head back looking towards the sky. “God, I played right into his hand.”

Virgil quickly moves himself around Roman so that he’s now facing him. “Hey, it’ll be okay, Ro.”

“I’m suspended, Virgil!” Roman shouts, finally lowering his gaze to meet Virgil’s, challenging him to argue. “Five days. And I have to replace his phone. And they took prom.”

“What?”

“I can’t go to prom. Our senior prom!” he looks away again, tears falling, unable to contain themselves. “God, you must hate me. First I make you feel like you have to do some big thing just to ask me, now I can’t even go.”

Virgil’s gut twists, “Listen…”

“And Logan gets roped into the no prom group for just trying to break up the fight!” Roman sobs, sinking to his knees as he clutches his car to slow his fall. “He must be crushed. And what about Patton? You all must despise me. And rightfully so.”

“Stop…”

“I should have just done what he wanted. What would one statement hurt? I could have avoided this whole mess. And now everyone that I care about hates me.”

“Shut up!” Virgil shouts, anger coming back in a flash. “Just shut up, for one minute. You are not allowed to put words in my mouth, Princey. Ever.”

The sudden outburst of anger stuns Roman for a moment. Virgil immediately feels guilty for his outburst. The last thing Roman needed right now was to be yelled at from someone he should be able to open up to. Virgil takes a deep breath before sinking down to eye level with Roman, “Listen to me, I don’t care about prom. Like, at all. If you’re not going, I’m not going. It’s that easy. And while I can’t speak for Patton and Logan, I am sure that whatever they’re feeling, it isn’t hatred. Not for you. Not ever.”

Virgil offers a hand to Roman, who takes it, tears still falling. The anxious teen pulls Roman in and lets Roman collapse in his lap as he strokes his hair. Roman had done this exact thing to him so many times, Virgil was almost glad to get to return the favor for once.

“Hey,” Virgil says softly after a moment, “I don’t know that the fight was about. At this point, it doesn’t matter. What I do know is that you, Roman Prince, are not one to fight without just cause. You are not the bad guy in this story. I won’t let you. That’s my job.”

That earns a small chuckle from Roman, calming the storm of worry inside Virgil just a little. They stay there for a minute, Virgil just holding Roman as he pulls himself together. Virgil focuses on keeping his breathing steady, smoothing circular motions on Roman’s back. He slowly stops crying, pulling himself together.

“What are we going to do?” Roman eventually asks.

“Are you able to drive home?” Virgil asks, his brain switching into recovery protocol. His therapist had practically drilled it into him when they talked about how to handle his anxiety attacks, and they seemed to work well for all different kinds of crisis recovery.

Roman sighs. “… I want to be.”

“But you aren’t. That’s okay. I’ll drive,” Virgil nods. “So here’s our three steps…”

Roman chuckles as he pulls away from Virgil, sitting up straight, “Are you like Picani’s star pupil or something?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Hush, you know you feel better knowing I’m talking to a therapist. Okay, step one is we’re going to get in the car.”

“You still have last period.”

Virgil waves his hand dismissively. “I signed myself out ages ago. If you thought I was going to sit still for a study hall when my boyfriend was in trouble, you clearly don’t know who you’re talking to. I made a pledge to always be there for you and I meant it.”

“I thought it was my job to protect you,” Roman quips with a raise of an eyebrow. Virgil’s unease settles more at the jest. If Roman was poking fun in a light hearted manner, it meant he was coming around.

“Last time I checked,” replies Virgil as he stands up and offers Roman a hand, “A knight is expected to stay by his Prince’s side. That’s part of the whole fealty thing, right? Or did I totally miss what Logan was trying to tell me?”

“Okay, okay,” Roman allows with a soft smile. “Step one, car. Step two?”

“Step two, I’ll drive you home.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yes. I got it. Step three-”

“I get to kiss you,” Roman says as he grabs Virgil’s hoodie and pulls him close, kissing him softly, gently, as if trying to say something Virgil can’t quite place. When they pull apart, Virgil can’t help but smile.

“I mean, sure,” Virgil laughs. “But you’re doing it out of order.”

“Let’s get out of here. I technically can’t be on property anyway.”

Virgil nods, “Okay,” and unlocks the car. As Roman walks to the other side of the vehicle, Virgil’s brain is already starting to figure out a way to make Roman feel better when it comes time for prom.

-1 hour-

Virgil stands holding the bottom of the ladder while Patton reaches to get the string of Christmas lights through the last hook to attach them to the house. Patton’s parents had graciously allowed the boys to use their backyard for their master plan to make Logan and Roman feel better about the loss of their prom.

When Virgil had gotten home after driving Roman home, he immediately called Patton and started planning this alternative prom. Patton was all over the idea before Virgil had even finished explaining his ideas. And over the past few hours, all of their hard work had finally come together.

“There, how does that look?” Patton asks, backing down the ladder.

Virgil looks around the brick patio in the dying light and squints, “Kind of hard to tell without the lights plugged in.”

“Right,” Patton smiles, walking over to the light switch by the door and flipping it. The whole yard is then awash in a warm glow. Lights outline the house features, windows and doors. They stretch across the ground along the flowerbeds under the windows to the fence, where they twist through the whole perimeter of the backyard. Twinkling lights are woven through the pergola, softly adding a shimmering effect to the whole yard.

“Whoah,” Virgil whispers as he takes it all in. The patio furniture sits in the yard, clearing the patio except for the large speakers synced up to Patton’s phone. The long picnic table sits off to the side of the yard with punch and snacks all spread out. “It looks great, Patton.”

“Are you sure it looks bright enough?“ asks Patton. “I could go get another strand.”

“What? No. Why do your Dads have so many Christmas lights in the first place?”

“You mean you don’t?”

Virgil shrugs. “We just don’t. Bought the house spotlights in green and red, calling that a day.”

“Oh those are cute,” Patton muses, walking over to the speakers. “Should we start these up?”

“Good idea,” Virgil agrees. “That playlist is like 10 hours long anyway.”

Patton presses a couple of things on his phone before soft music starts playing. It takes a moment before Virigl can place it: Suddenly Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors. Virgil smiles softly at the memories from that show come to him. It was the musical his and Roman’s freshman year. Patton and Virgil had spent hours both of them pulling music to put on their own personalized prom playlist: pop songs that drove them crazy from over use, songs from shows they had been in, songs they loved to sing in their cars, songs that just reminded them of Roman and Logan.

“And we are in business,” Patton puts the phone in his pocket, having set the volume loud enough to be heard, but soft enough that they could easily talk over top of it.

“Sweet,” Virgil comments, checking his watch. Any minute now.

Patton walks over to Virgil and smiles, “Can I fuss?”

Virgil rolls his eyes, “Okay, dad.”

Patton reaches up and starts straightening Virgil’s purple skinny tie. It matches his favorite purple Converse which he had insisting on wearing. Patton flattens it and tucks it into the black vest, adjusting the collar of the white button down to let it cooperate. “There. Much better. Where’s your jacket?”

Virgil pushes the cuffs up his arm to his elbow, having rolled them up while setting up, nodding to the black jacket that matches his pants on the chair just inside the door, “Inside. It's too hot out here for it.”

“Fair enough,” Patton nods. He’s wearing a light blue suit that really makes his eyes pop. Virgil can’t help but smile and return the favor of fixing his tie, a darker almost navy blue. Not many people could pull off the light blue, but it just makes sense for Patton, Virgil thinks.

“Hello?” Logan’s voice comes accompanied by the click of the gate opening. Logan and Roman walk into the yard, their eyes large as they take in the scene. Virigl’s breath catches as he takes Roman in. Roman has a dark maroon suit on with a white button up and a gold tie. It was the perfect outfit for Roman, demanding attention but for all of the right reasons. Virgil can’t help but notice that while Roman seemed put together, he was lacking in usual spark. Something wasn’t quite right about him, something in his eyes. Roman’s eyes find Virgil’s, and Virgil is suddenly very aware of his ears burning.

He breaks Roman’s gaze and looks over at Logan, and a smirk forms. Of course he and Patton would end up in complementary looks. Where Patton was in a lighter blue suit with a dark blue tie, Logan was in the opposite with a dark suit and lighter tie.

“Oh, you’re here!” squeals Patton as he runs over to greet them, Virgil following behind him.

“What is all of this?” asks Roman, his eyes sparkling. “Mom wouldn’t tell me anything, just pushed me into this and then into the car to pick up Logan.”

“It was all Virgil’s idea.” Patton beams as he takes Logan and Roman by the hand, pulling them further in so they can see the whole space. “If you can’t go to prom, we would bring prom to you. Or, as much as we can, anyway.”

Virgil looks at his shoes, feeling his face turn warm. “Patton came up with most of the plan, really. I just had a few suggestions.”

“You two--” Roman swings an arm around Virgil and the other around Patton, wrapping them in a hug-- “are the absolute sweetest. You didn’t have to do all of this.”

Patton returns the hug. “Of course we did. You two deserve this.”

Logan joins the group, taking Patton’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “It is very thoughtful of you. Both of you,” he adds, catching Virgil’s eye with a smile.

The song changes to Footloose, making Roman jump in recognition. “Oh my gosh I loved this show!”

Virgil smirks at the memories behind the spotlight for tech crew. It was their sophomore year, over the summer. “I made sure it got on the playlist.”

Roman starts pulling away from the group, keeping Patton’s hand. “Come on, Pat. You have to remember this dance!”

“Of course I do,” Patton giggles as he and Roman break into the show’s choreography.

Virgil smiles, watching them dance. He feels his chest settle a little at the light in Roman sparking. Virgil had been worried this week, noticing the dark circles under Roman’s eyes increasing with each night. He hadn’t been himself. Something was eating away at his Prince, but Roman kept pushing him away, denying the issue.

“Logan?” Virgil finally asks.

“Hm?”

“Can… can you tell me what happened.. Yet?” He hates asking again. But the worry is always present.

Logan sighs, turning his attention from Patton and Roman, making eye contact with Virgil. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I… I just want to know how to help,” holding the contact.

Logan looks back at the two dancing. “He was just trying to protect you, Virgil.”

“Protect me?” Virgil asks, almost offended. “From what?”

“Your cousin, JD.”

“I can handle JD,” insists Virgil. “Why would Roman get involved?”

“He wanted Roman to help Remus’ campaign for prom court.”

Virgil’s eyes widen at the absurdity of the idea. Remus Duke was a fellow senior classmate who was chaotic and dangerous. The guy has tried to set fire to theater sets when he wasn’t cast in shows, harrasses students, and has caused chaos at numerous football games.

“Why?”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “I don’t have to tell you how popular Prince is with his classmates. His decision to not run, while I fully support it, meant that students were lost with where to go. Roman throwing support may turn the tide, much like when presidential nominees may be supported by their enemies after they drop out.”

“Right.” Virgil’s brow furrows as he tries to think through his cousin’s actions, “So JD asked for support, Roman said no, probably because Remus is a hazard to society.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“So where does the fight come in?”

“JD made a threat to try and force Roman’s hand,” Logan slowly explains, fidgeting with his tie. Virgil knows Logan well enough to pick up on the nervous habit. “JD took it two steps too far and Roman went after him.”

“What threat?” Virgil demands, clenching a fist at his side. How dare his cousin threaten Roman.

There’s a heavy, weighted pause, before Logan answers softly, “He threatened to out you, Virgil.”

Everything stops for Virgil. It isn’t like he had never thought about coming out fully. At school he is kind of out. It isn’t like he hid his relationship with Roman to the theater kids. Most other kids pay no attention to him anyway and couldn’t believe the Roman Prince would be with someone so opposite of himself.

But at home? At home he wasn’t out. He couldn’t be. Not without significant risk of repercussion. He always thought he and JD understood one another though. They were never friends, Virgil would say. But JD seemed to not mind giving Virgil his space at school. Virgil had never thought about JD being a risk for Virgil, especially in such an underhanded way. Would JD manipulate Virgil if it meant getting what he wanted, yes. But this? Threatening to out him? JD couldn’t be that underhanded, could he? It must have been a bluff.

“Obviously Roman wouldn’t let your safety be at risk,” Logan continued, pulling Virgil back to Earth. “So when JD pulled out his phone, Roman went after it.”

“If JD pulled out the phone…” Virgil’s certainty of the bluff crashes to zero. He feels his temper rising. “Shit. Why?”

“I assure you, I don’t know,” Logan admits. “It seems oddly ‘Aaron Burr’ for your cousin.”

Virgil’s mind spins with anger. “Why didn’t he just tell someone? If he was bated into it, wouldn’t the school go easier on Roman?”

Logan shakes his head. “Roman’s only goal through this has been to protect you. He wouldn’t tell them what JD did, because to do so would out you anyway, allowing JD to win to an extent.”

Virgil swallows, his eyes stinging a little in frustration. He takes a few deep breaths, calming himself a little. This is why Roman wouldn’t tell him what happened: he was worried Virgil would get upset. Virgil could handle this.

Logan places a hand gently, reassuringly on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil looks at him. Logan smiles a little. “It's okay, Virgil. What's done is done.”

Virgil nods, feeling a little better with the reassurance from Logan. Logan was one of Virgil’s favorite people. He could count on Logan to be there to tell him the truth when he needed it, but he also didn’t sugar coat it. Logan was a good friend to have by your side in a hard time. Virgil smiles a little as he finally realizes, “You tried to pull Roman off of him, didn’t you?”

“After Roman got in a few good punches, yes.” Logan smirks, something flashing in his eyes too fast for Virgil to identify. “I had to try to stop Roman or he might have seriously injured your cousin. But the school has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to fights.”

“I’m sorry you got roped into it.”

“I’m not.”

The song ends, leading to Patton and Roman collapsing in giggles on the dance floor. Virgil takes a deep breath, noticing the tension releasing with the knowledge of what happened. Of knowing that Roman would be ok.

“Thank you, Logan. For telling me. And for having his back.”

“Any time,” nods Logan. “Come on, let’s get our stage kids off the floor before they ruin their outfits.”

“Hello!” a familiar voice shouts, causing the four boys to turn towards the gate.

“Leo! Terrance! You guys made it!” Patton squeals in excitement at the sight of their friends. He helps Roman to his feet before running to greet the newcomers. Behind them, Virgil can see lots of other theater kids walking up the path all dressed for prom, although slightly disheveled.

“Where are they?” Adri calls. “Ah, our favorite delinquents!”

“Logan and Roman! Long time no see!” Camden says, making a show of looking around.

“What’s going on?” asks Roman, his face lighting up as he sees his friends pouring in.

“We told you,” Virgil says, walking up next to him. “Since you guys couldn’t go to prom, we brought prom to you.”

Roman looks at Virgil, opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming out. Virgil smirks at that and continues, “Obviously we didn’t want to ask them to skip prom entirely. We’re hosting the after party.”

“And we left as soon as we could,” Valerie says, walking past them. “Wouldn’t be prom without you, Prince.”

“You guys,” Roman squeals in excitement. Virgil can’t help but feel the excitement too. Roman finally looks like himself again: the familiar glow, the magnetic force, the dazzling smile. He stands tall again, looking perfect in his suit.

Virgil nudges Roman with his shoulder. “Go socialize. You haven’t seen these guys all week.”

“But I haven’t spent any time with you,” Roman says softly.

Virgil laughs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Roman!” Kenny shouts, waving him over. “Get over here, I want a pic.”

Roman looks once again at Virgil, who smiles in reassurance, before running to the group. Virgil stays towards the gate, watching as the yard becomes more and more populated. He laughs a little when he notices a couple of freshmen from the theater in the mix. Seems as if everyone wanted to be a part of the celebration.

Virgil watches as Roman walks around, taking time to greet every person. Politicians wish they could be as popular as Roman, Virgil thinks. Always with the best intentions, making everyone feel special in their own way. It was no wonder Remus wanted Roman on his side for the election.

Virgil fidgets at the thought of the cause of the fight. He didn’t need Roman to protect him. He had dealt with his cousin long before Roman was a part of his life. JD wasn’t a bad guy, he just determined. He even had probably been calling Roman’s bluff with the phone… probably. When JD was determined there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get his way. Virgil solved this generally by staying out of the way. JD only became an issue if you were in the way. And apparently Roman had opted to get in the way, drawing a target on his head.

“Is this thing on?” Patton asks, tapping a mic that he had hooked into the speakers. “Oh great. Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

All of the teens settled down, pooling on the dance floor. Virgil is amazed to see how many people were there, at least two hundred. Theater kids, band kids, choir kids and a few other students all mixed together. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Virgil knew there was lots of overlap in these musically inclined groups. But to see them all in one place with their dates is impressive.

“Okay, great,” Patton chirps. “I just wanted to take a moment, on the behalf of myself and Virgil, to thank you all for coming to this little get together to celebrate Logan and Roman.”

There’s a cheer from the crowd which causes Virgil’s heart to swell. It is nice to see the group support their boys.

Patton passes the mic to Joan. They wave at the crowd to try and hush the sound that grew when they took the stage, “Alright, alright. You gotta let me tell them.”

After a moment the crowd quiets, although there is an almost electric current running under the surface, much like the one before a curtain is pulled for opening night. “Thank you,” Joan nods as they turn towards Roman and Logan, who have been pushed to the front of the crowd. “Logan and Roman, we the students would like to thank you for your service as part of our community this past year. Logan, for your awesome tech skills as well as study help. Roman, for always being a source of entertainment for us.”

Cheers erupt again. Thomas walks up and mutters something to Joan, who laughs, before taking the mic.

There are a few whoops before Thomas dramatically starts, “Story Time! The Prince decides not to run for King. The people are disappointed. They start talking. Then the Prince is removed from the kingdom, with his faithful Paladin, causing anger in the land.” Virgil snickers at the reference of Logan being a Paladin. The group had played a round of Dungeons and Dragons once that was centered around Roman’s last name. Clearly Thomas was borrowing the concept yet again.

“But the people are smart,” Thomas continues. “They hatch a plan, unknown to the Prince’s healer and knight, to get the Prince his throne.”

Now this was news to Virgil. He took a few steps towards the group, now curious where this was all headed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as most of you are aware, tonight we crowned a Prom King. We all agreed to vote for our candidate that would pass the crown on to the rightful ruler,” Thomas explains as someone in the crowd hands him a golden crown. “It is my pleasure to pass the title on to its rightful holder. Prince, I believe this is yours.”

Virgil fills with a mixture of shock, pride, and relief as he watches the crowd explode into cheers. While he stood by Roman’s choice not to run, he is so relieved to see Roman graciously accept the role from his friends. It just made sense.

Patton appears out of nowhere and takes Virgil’s hand, leading him through the crowd that seems to part for them. Virgil doesn’t even have time to process what is happening before he realizes his hand is now held by Roman, the golden crown on his head.

“May I have this dance,” Roman asks, bowing deeply, a twinkle in his eye that catches Virgil’s attention. Virgil nods and allows Roman to pull him in as a soft song starts playing. Oh right, Prom King normally dances with his date for a song, don’t they?

Roman smiles at him as they start swaying together. “There’s my Knight. Finally a moment together.”

Virgil can’t help but notice the people around them, the space they are occupying, the eyes following them. “How do you do this on a stage?” Virgil asks quietly. “Dance with everyone watching?”

“Oh easy,” Roman answers, flawlessly twisting the two of them around the floor. “You forget they exist. Merely part of the background. In my world, it's just us. I can’t even see Logan wrapping his arm around Patton’s waist right now, what are you talking about?”

Virgil chuckles as Roman expertly maneuvers Virgil so he can see what Roman is talking about. Sure enough, Logan is standing behind Patton, his arms wrapped around Patton’s waist as they watch, swaying slightly in place while Patton closes his eyes. It was a sweet moment between the two. If only it could have happened at the actual prom.

“Roman?” Virgil asks after a moment.

“Yes?” he answers, pulling away just far enough to see Virgil’s face.

Virgil meets his gaze. “You know you don’t have to protect me, right?”

Roman’s eyes give him away. “What are you talking about?”

“Logan told me what happened,” Virgil admits softly.

Roman pulls him closer so that Virgil can’t see his face, spinning slowly.

“I can handle myself, is all I’m saying,” Virgil tries again after a moment.

“Of course,” Roman nods before pulling back again, his brow pulled together. “I know that. I never meant to insinuate that you couldn’t. I just… hang on.”

The song ends as the crowd applauds before the next song kicks on. Its something upbeat, but Virgil isn’t paying attention. He’s too busy trying to read Roman’s expression as the Prom King pulls him from the middle of the crowd to a darker corner of the yard. Roman doesn’t drop his hand or his gaze, as if trying to hold the moment while getting out of a public setting. Once out of the way, Roman looks at their hands still together.

“Virgil, you know when you asked me to prom you had that whole pledge of fealty as part of it?”

“Right,” Virgil nods.

“Well,” Roman explains, his brow pulled together in thought. “It’s part of feudalism from the middle ages, right? I remember you said Logan helped you with it. He must’ve explained it. Anyway, a person swore to a lord that they would do them no harm, that they would be honorable and keep them safe and everything you wrote for me back then.”

“I remember.” Virgil smiles softly. “I still stand by that.”

“I know.” Roman returns the smile. “But there’s part of it that people seem to forget. The people would do this for their lord, but it wasn’t a one way street. The lord was bound by the same principles in return.”

“Okay,” responds Virgil slowly.

“All I did was uphold my end of the promise. And I would do it again,” says Roman, pushing Virgil’s bangs out of his eyes.

Virgil leans into the touch, “I… I just don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“I think you’ll find I can handle myself too,” Roman smiles.

Virgil rolls his eyes and reaches up to straighten Roman’s crown, “Okay. Fair enough.”

Virgil isn’t sure which of them pulls the other, but he finds himself kissing his Prince. Softly, melting into one another. Roman wraps an arm around Virgil and pulls him gently into it, deepening the moment just a little. Virgil embraces it for a moment before he pulls back, smiling.

“Come on,” Virgil whispers, breathless for a moment, pressing his forehead against Roman’s. “As much as I want to keep you to myself, you do have an adoring public that is waiting for you to lead them in some kind of line dance, I am sure.”

“Only if you come with me,” Roman answers, his smile radiating its normal light once again.

“Uh, I don’t dance,” Virgil scoffs.

“Just one, please? It's our senior prom,” Roman pleads, making puppy dog eyes. “What about the Cha-cha slide?”

“Only if you can convince Logan to do it too,” Virgil answers.

“Challenge accepted. He’ll hear his King out, I am sure,” Roman agrees, taking Virgil’s hand. “Are you coming with me?”

“Always.

207 notes · View notes

vintagedolan · 4 years ago

Text

Gone in the Night - Part 6

Schedule & Info || Masterlist

Summary: Panic has set in, and the little girl who terrified the trio may just be the key to everything

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: swearing, a lil spooky

In collaboration with: @babeygray @gothlydolan @dolansficsandpics @baby-grayson @333dolans @dolanissues @blackpinkdolan and @fangdolan

Tags: @brockdolan @livelaughlolobelle @grxysgxrl @guiltydols @graydolan12 @evergreendolan

“Go, go, Grayson, fucking go!” Ethan yelled, pushing his brother’s back through the doorway. Grayson grabbed onto Y/N, dragging her with him as the three of them hurtled into a new hallway and slammed the door shut behind them. The laughter faded behind them, but the eerie feeling remained as they caught their breath, holding onto each other.

“This is insane. Bro, we’ve gotta get out of here. We need to get downstairs, if we have any chance of finding an actual fucking door out of here before she comes back.”

When had they even gone upstairs? Y/N couldn’t remember, but she didn’t hesitate to head for the large staircase that seemed to appear before them, right on Grayson’s heels as they followed Ethan’s advice, scurrying down the stairs into a narrow hallway. It seemed to have withstood a bit less carnage than the other parts of the house, old portraits framing the walls, though there was still rotting carpet beneath their feet. She felt like the eyes of the painted figures were following her as she walked, and she had no shame in stepping a bit closer to Grayson as they moved. The boys tried each door handle they passed, unsurprised to find them locked.

“How long have we even been in here? I don’t even remember which way the front door is. I mean, we-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ethan cut him off.

“Bro, don’t-”

“No, shut the fuck up, listen. I think I hear something.”

Ethan held up his hand to his twin in an effort to keep him quiet, tilting his ear to the side. Y/N moved with him, trying to pick up on whatever he was hearing.

“Is that… wind?” She asked, looking back at them. Sure, there had been plenty of drafts running through the walls of the old house, the cold spots when they turned the corners, and even the wind before. But this was different, louder than before and much, much closer.

“If it’s that loud, there’s gotta be at least a window in there. Which means-”

“Outside!” Both the boys spoke at the same time, turning to her with wide eyes. It was the first real sign they’d seen of an escape in hours, and just the thought was enough to have everyone’s nerves buzzing.

Grayson reached for the handle first, and on instinct her hand shot out to grab his arm.

“Wait!”

His hand moved on top of her and he turned back to her, brows furrowed.

“It’s my turn to open a door. You all tried the last ones, it’s my turn.”

With the inner workings of the house that they’d discovered so far, there was no telling what was going to happen when, and if, the door even opened. The last few they’d tried down the dingy hallway had been locked, but she had a gut feeling about this one, and so too did the boys it seemed.

“No.” Grayson’s tone was stiff. “Too dangerous. That girl could be in there.”

“Oh but it’s not too dangerous for you to open it?”

He didn’t have a rebuttal, but he was still in front of her enough to effectively block her.

“Grayson, just let me do it. I’ll check it out and you guys can wait out here in case we need to go back out, or our phones start acting stupid again or something.”

“If you think I’m letting you go through there by yourself, you’re insane.” He shifted then, moving to block her path even more. The protective tenor in his voice was new, and if she wasn’t trying to convince him of something, it probably would have been flattering.

“Will somebody just open the damn door so we can get the fuck outta here?” Ethan huffed from behind both of them.

She capitalized on Grayson’s momentary distraction and slid past him to open the door, surprised when the handle actually turned. She looked around for anything dangerous, anything that could pop out at her or the boys. But it was eerily still, only the dingy decor left over from a decade passed there to greet her as she stepped inside.

“The wind stopped,” Ethan mumbled, peeking through the doorway. Grayson was one step behind her, hovering a bit as she made her way into the space, which was filled with an abundance of furniture; an old desk, a few dressers, two couches and a fireplace to the left with small figurines with beady eyes atop a wooden mantle.

“Maybe there's another clue in here. We should start looking in all these drawers.”

Ethan pulled a harmonica off the mantle with a sly grin.

“Yo Beethoven, can you play this too? Maybe it’s the secret,” he wiggled his fingers in the air and threw Grayson the small rectangle. He caught it with an eye roll.

“Can you be serious for two fucking seconds Ethan? Some of us are actually trying to get out of here.”

“Oh and I’m not? You don’t think I’m going fucking crazy too?”

In any other instance, she may have interfered, or at least thought about it. But the boy’s jeers didn’t meet her ears. Instead, she focused on what she had found, in the left corner of the room. Hidden in the shadows above was a loft of sorts, in decent shape it seemed apart from the short ladder that only had one wrung left.

“Hey.”

The bickering continued, somehow evolving to something involving her name.

“Hey!”

Both boys turned to her with wide eyes, looking more like twins than she’d ever realized.

“I think we need to get up there. Can you all boost me?”

Their eyes somehow got wider as they looked up at the loft and then back at her.

“Boost you? You think we’re just gonna send you up there by yourself?” Grayson’s voice was incredulous, amazed she’d even suggested it.

“You got a better idea?”

“Uh how about you, I don’t know, not getting attacked by a little demon girl while we’re down here being useless? Besides, we don’t even know if there’s a clue up there.” Ethan mused.

“Well there sure as hell isn’t one down here. Just let me see what’s up there, and if anything happens I’ll just come to the edge and… I dunno, jump?”

“Jump,” Ethan scoffed, at the same time that Grayson said “I’ll catch you.”

Still reluctant, but seeing no other option, the boys moved beside her, squatting down and moving to lift her with her standing in their cupped hands. She hoisted herself up, needing the help of them pushing her feet up to get a leg over and gain her bearings.

“You good?” Grayson called, breathing out a relief when she responded, standing up and dusting off her pants.

“See anything? Any clues?”

“Not yet,” she mumbled, but something caught her eye. To the right, pushed back against the wall stood something tall, covered by a white sheet. She reached for it on instinct, coughing in the dust that rained down around her as she pulled it down, revealing an antique mirror. The reflection was crystal clear, untouched by time or the elements, golden frame still shiny.

And in the reflection stood a girl.

She was young, 7 at the oldest, in a simple blue dress, a matching ribbon tied nicely at the end of her braided brown hair. Y/N didn’t have to think - she knew it was the same girl that they’d heard in the last room, but she didn’t feel threatened by her. If anything, her maternal instincts took over, and she wanted to help her in any way that she could.

“Do you want to go?” Her voice was small, tinkling like bells.

“Do I want to go where?

Below, Grayson stopped chewing his lip, perking an ear up towards the direction that Y/N had disappeared out of view.

“Y/N? You say something?”

“I want you to go with me. I need to show you something,” the girl spoke again, turning to look over her shoulder. It was only then that Y/N realized that the mirror was no longer showing any of the room around her, but instead, a new hallway. It was normal, a spitting image of what the house looked like 100 years ago, with its pristine walls and its colorful carpets.

“I can’t go with you, I can’t leave my friends here,” she said.

“Y/N? Hey, who are you talking to? Come over here where we can see you!” Grayson was truly beginning to panic now, and Ethan was just as worried, unsure of what to do but stand close to his brother.

“If you go with me, I’ll bring you back. And I’ll show you how to get out. I promise. But you have to go with me. You have to see.”

“Y/N! Talk to me dammit!” Grayson’s voice was dangerously loud now.

She wanted to run to the edge, to look down at her friends and tell them what she was doing, but it would be no use. They’d just try to stop her, and she knew deep down that the girl wouldn’t trust anyone but her.

“Okay. Show me.”

“You must stay quiet.”

The girl reached her hand out, and suddenly Y/N was falling.

It was split second of limbo, and then she was on her feet again, only this time the floor below her didn’t creak, and the carpet was soft beneath her sneakers. It didn’t smell putrid anymore, but instead the remnants of a meal cooked in the kitchen warmed her nose.

“Charlotte! Come quickly darling.” A voice called out, and to her disbelief Y/N realized she was in the mirror, in a different time, or dimension, or universe. She had no choice but to follow the young girl - Charlotte, it seemed - through the corridors until they made it to a living room of sorts, where a piano sat in the corner. It was vaguely familiar to her, but she didn’t have long to analyze it.

“That’s Papa.” Charlotte spoke out, pointing over to a chair on the other side of the room. Within it sat a tall man with a full face, a nicely groomed beard adorning his chin, and a warm smile.

If it wasn’t for the outfit, Y/N wouldn’t have been able to place him. But the ghost of it was there in his features, and her stomach tightened as she recognized the vest top, with the stripes and the white shirt beneath it.

She was staring right at the man who’d gotten them into this mess - the one with the tickets - only it was a version of him tucked away in time, however many years ago.

“You had to see that he means well. All he ever wanted was to be entertained. That’s why he brings people here. Why he always has.”

Y/N looked then, at the other people in the room. She’d hardly noticed them before, but as she scanned them over she caught up on details, snippets of conversation. A man with a large sword he was prepared to swallow, a pianist with sheet music tucked under his elbow. Another man who swore to be a vampire - the kind who could turn into a bat, in particular - and a woman who could tell you any line of any book without having to open the front cover. An artist with paint smudges on her hands, who swore her paintings could come to life.

The clues. She began to piece it together slowly, looking down at Charlotte.

“Papa is a good person. Please don’t think too harshly of him, it’s all he knows how to do.”

“Charlotte. I’d like to go back now.”

Suddenly, every set of eyes in the room were on her. She’d spoken, and that had been a terrible mistake. She knew she had to run, but she didn’t know where to go, how to get back to the mirror she’d come from. They were chasing her, no doubt, and she didn’t have the guts to look back.

“Grayson! Ethan!” She screamed their names, a faint hope that maybe, somewhere, they could hear her.

Little did she know that the boys back in her own time had managed to drag an old table into the room, giving Grayson just enough leverage to get up to the loft, where he tried to ignore the tears prickling in his eyes at the realization that she was no longer there with him.

She ran as fast as her feet would take her, trying to retrace her steps as best she could remember. Somehow, her ears registered the sound of an odd melody, a harsh tune played out by an unfamiliar instrument.

A harmonica.

Thank god for Ethan Dolan’s foolish nature.

She sprinted towards the sound, relieved to find a familiar enough door to barrel through. She didn’t care that someone was in there - all she cared about was getting back up to the loft and back to the mirror, the portal, whatever it was. To her relief the frame stood tall and still where she’d last seen it and she threw herself at it without a hesitation.

And then, she was in Grayson’s arms.

“Woah, woah, what the fuck? Hey, you’re okay, it’s okay, where the fuck did you just come from?” The string of disbeliefs continued to fall from his lips but all she could do was cling to his neck and bury her face in his chest.

“I was - and there was - and - oh god, Grayson, we’ve gotta get outta here. You’ve gotta get me out of here.”

“Okay, hey, you’re safe now, I’ve got you. Just breathe, I’m right here,” he said, holding her tighter to him, beyond relieved to have her back in his sights. In the back of her mind as she started to process that she was safe again, she ran through what she had seen, what she’d told herself to remember. The one person whose clue they hadn’t run into yet.

The woman with the paint on her hands.

“The portraits. We’ve gotta go to the portraits.”

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

check out part 7 tomorrow, posted by @dolanissues !

#dolan twins #dolan twins series #dolan twins fanfiction #halloween fanfiction #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE

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sa-gt-tarrius · 4 years ago

Text

Liars Ahead: Proceed with Caution

Warnings:

Foul language, needles, lots of injuries, character death. Tread carefully!

@cakercanart @secret-shifters

This fic is a bit gritty, moreso than what I usually write. If it’s too much for you to handle, or if it’s just not up your alley and you don’t really like the harsher elements, please feel free to let me know! I’d be happy to edit it down to make it less angsty.

***

No one knew exactly how many secrets MIRA Incorporated kept under wraps.

Their kind of work demanded secrecy, of course. When a company is involved in such groundbreaking fields, they are bound to draw prying eyes. MIRA specialized in relativistic aeronautics, atmospheric engineering, and long-term spacefaring. These terms were new-age babble that roughly translated to “living in outer space.” MIRA studied things that science fiction nerds could only dream of seeing.

However, MIRA understood that profits would tank if any old Joe Schmoe could walk into their headquarters and leak their data. It was no surprise, then, that the employees of MIRA knew so little about their own company. Most workers had to stay on their assigned floor for their entire careers. Three whole levels of clearance were required to use the fancy upstairs bathrooms!

But there was one thing that was no secret to anyone: MIRA was planning something big. Something amazing. And whatever it was, it was going to happen soon. Excited whispers swept through every office and laboratory—the company had something in store that would rock the world.

But to Henry Newground, this was all a bit underwhelming.

Henry had been tirelessly working at MIRA HQ for five years. He was an accountant for MIRA’s payroll, which meant he spent most of the day staring at lists of numbers and rummaging through file cabinets. When he was first hired, Henry naively believed that he could climb the corporate ladder and become an astronaut if he just worked hard enough. But alas, it was not to be—even after long years of no sick days and lots of overtime, Henry was still a simple accountant. He fought tooth and nail for a goddamn raise, so it was no wonder that his dream job was a mere fantasy.

At least, that’s what he thought. But then a letter appeared on his desk one morning.

Mr. Henry Newground,

We at MIRA have accepted your application to join our spacefaring and research apprenticeship program. Enclosed in this letter is a Level 10 Clearance Card. You will need it to access the upper office on the 50th floor, where more details will be provided. Please come to the office as soon as your shift ends.

Kind regards,

Elliot Rose

Chief Executive Officer of M.I.R.A. Incorporated

At first, Henry thought this was just a joke. His boss Kerri didn’t mention the letter all day, so she must’ve not known about it. (Either that or she had been in on it the whole time. She was a well-known jokester, after all.) And none of Henry’s coworkers spared him a second glance as he quietly left at five o’clock to head upstairs.

The security guard at the elevator tried to turn Henry away, which seemed to confirm his just-a-prank theory. But as Henry fumbled over a frantic apology, trying to explain that he must have been set up by his coworkers, the security guard spotted a shiny blue rectangle dangling from Henry’s neck: a Level 10 Clearance Card. The guard opened the elevator door without a word, ushering the confused man inside and pressing the button for the fiftieth floor.

“Ms. Rose doesn’t usually let people into her office,” the guard murmured as the elevator ascended ominously. “You must be helping with that big project they’re talking about. All the nerds upstairs won’t shut up about it.”

“Sh–she said she’d give me details when I got to her office.” Henry spun to face the guard, his face scrunched up anxiously. “Do I look okay? I didn’t have time to put on a suit…”

“You look fine. Stand up straight, we’re almost there.”

Given the air of mystery surrounding the upper floors of the building, Henry had no idea what to expect. But what he didn’t anticipate was to be met with a gust of wind. Henry shielded his eyes as a glare of sunlight began to burn his retinas. He was outdoors—on the roof of the building. It looked like a helicopter pad, only much, much larger.

The security officer cleared his throat, gently ushering Henry out of the elevator. He jutted his finger towards the other side of the launch pad, towards a hallway that led back inside the building. “Just follow the path for a bit, and then take the left path at the fork. If you make it to the greenhouse, you went too far.”

“Er, thanks…”

“And make sure you knock. Ms. Rose hates when people barge in.”

Henry nodded tentatively. He took a deep breath and marched towards the entryway, determined to get to the office before chickening out.

The upper floors weren’t that unusual, Henry thought as he trotted along. He passed by a smelly locker room, a tiny medical bay, and a grimy computer room. Nothing about this place seemed particularly flashy or elite. Henry was starting to think he was on the wrong floor.

Henry made the left turn, as the guard told him, and arrived in a small alcove with three rooms. One of the rooms was a lab of some sort, although it was barren and empty for the time being. The room ahead was filled with bushes and shrubs, with a large glass tube in the centre. And the last one was closed—a sign reading “please knock” hung nearly on the doorknob.

Henry knocked three times and yanked his hand away like the wood was searing hot.

Then the door creaked open.

No one knew much about Ms. Elliot Rose. Even the managers and supervisors scarcely spoke of her at all. Henry honestly had no idea what to anticipate from her, aside from the cutthroat ruthlessness most company owners tended to have. But instead of a snide, fierce woman who could tear him apart with a glance, the woman standing in the open doorway was hardly remarkable. She was just barely taller than Henry, no older than thirty, and her red hair bristled out in all directions like she hadn’t brushed it in days. Her eyes were bagged and sunken, almost sickly, and her gaze was panicked and wild for a moment before locking onto Henry.

She frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Rose?” Henry tried, unsure if he was truly talking to the CEO of the largest corporation on the planet. “My name is H–Henry Newground. I was told to come here at five, I–I have a clearance card if you need to see it—”

“Oh, right. Henry.” The woman suddenly straightened up, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Henry to enter. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for the delay.” Henry stepped inside, clearing his throat in a sorry attempt to appear composed. The room was nothing special—just a small office with four computer desks and a box-shaped radio. The woman took a seat at the messiest desk, leaning back into the chair. Henry claimed an empty chair from a desk nearby, bouncing his leg anxiously. “So, um… about this spacefaring program…”

Elliot Rose smiled, sinking into the chair cushion and leaning back. “I’ve looked over your application and was very happy with what I saw. I think you have potential, Henry.”

“Thank you,” Henry sputtered, baffled and giddy that the CEO was singing such high praises of him. “I’ve always loved learning about space, you know. That’s why I applied for this job. Even as a kid, I—”

“That’s great, Henry,” Elliot hummed, slipping out a gaping yawn before continuing. “Anyway, I just wanted to run a couple of things by you before we send you off. You got your master's degree in microbiology from Harvard, correct? I’ve also heard you’ve taken courses in astrophysics.”

Henry nodded eagerly. “That’s right. I’ve also taken extracurricular classes on geology, I was the leader of the chess club… a–and I sold drinks at the campus football games,” he finished lamely.

“You see, Henry,” Elliot drawled, twirling a pen with her fingers, “I have thirty-four other applicants with higher education than you do. Half of them have three or more doctorates. I don’t care much about your education.” She leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. Something glinted behind her eyes—it was impossible to read. “But you have special skills, ones that could greatly benefit my crew.” Elliot leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. “Our coordinators are getting ready to send supplies to Polus on a small dropship. The trip will last about two days. I want you on that ship before it takes off.”

“Y–you want—” Henry choked on his breath. “You want me to go to space?”

Elliot smirked. “Is that a problem?”

“I–I just— Y–you don’t— W–well—“

“Use your words, Henry.”

“I’m just…” Henry sputtered, struggling to find words to say. “Don’t I need training?”

“You don’t sound very excited… I thought you would be happy about this. Didn’t you apply to join our spacefaring program last year?”

“I mean, yeah.” Henry shuffled in his seat awkwardly. “But my application was turned down. I didn’t have enough education for it. Why do you want me now?”

“Things change,” Elliot laughed. “I’d like to personally ask you to join the Polus crew and help document alien life.”

The two fell silent.

Elliot smirked coyly. “Is that a yes?”

“I–I mean, absolutely,” Henry sputtered. “I’m just… a little confused. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

“I most certainly do,” Elliot replied.

“Okay,” Henry muttered, unsure of how he managed to get into this strange situation with no warning. “So… what now?”

“Go home, get some sleep, and come back here tomorrow. Same time, of course. I’ll get you all the details by then.”

“Okay.”

“Have a good night, Henry.”

“Th–thanks.”

Henry’s head was still spinning as he made his way out of Elliot’s office.

“You alright, buddy?” the security guard piped as Henry entered the elevator, his eyebrow raised curiously. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine.” Henry gripped his forehead, fighting off another dizzy spell. Butterflies were forming in the pit of his stomach as the elevator descended. “I just need to go home.”

And that’s exactly what Henry did. As soon as he fetched his lunch kit from the office fridge, the young man hopped into his SUV and drove straight home. Not even bothering to change out of his work uniform, Henry collapsed on the bed. His head continued spinning.

Surely this was a big joke.

Elliot herself said that many people were far more qualified than he was. So why was she so adamant about having Henry on her crew? It made no sense.

Henry knew he wouldn’t have gotten any answers that night, not by muttering and mumbling into his pillow like a lunatic. He’d have to get the details tomorrow like Elliot told him to. So instead of uselessly mulling it over, Henry plucked his phone off the side table and quickly dialled a number. The phone barely had time to ring before someone on the other end picked up. “Hey, sweetie. How was work today?”

“Hi Henry, it was good! What about you?”

“Well, I–I was called into a meeting by the CEO. She said she wanted me in her spacefaring program.”

“Oh, that’s… hang on. Are you serious? They accepted you?!”

“Yeah. She asked me to help with some research. She said she was impressed by my application and—”

“You’re going to space!” A young woman’s voice bubbled ecstatically over the phone. She laughed and giggled, even belting out an excited shriek for good measure. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you’d get in, I just knew it!”

“You did, yeah.”

“God, I wish I could be there right now,” the woman chuckled. “I want to give you a big hug.”

Henry smiled faintly. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“I’m going to go buy a bunch of chocolates for you today. I don’t know if it’ll get delivered before you leave, but it can at least be a welcome-back present.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Sigrid,” Henry replied. “How would you even send it? The post office won’t accept packages that big. I don’t even know if a box of chocolates would fit in the mail truck.”

The woman, presumably named Sigrid, huffed indignantly. “Well, fine. I’ll just think of something else.”

Henry had never actively sought out a relationship. He was too focused on work to consider dating, and his social circle wasn’t large enough for him to start dating around. And yet, for three years now, Henry had been in a lovely relationship with a woman named Sigrid Brandson. She lived in northwestern Canada (according to her), far away from any large cities, and Henry wasn’t yet lucky enough to meet her face-to-face.

The reason? Sigrid was a giant.

There few places giants and humans could casually be together—and much fewer ways to travel to each other—so they usually spent their time on the phone or video calls. Henry didn’t mind much, although it was disheartening to have never kissed Sigrid even after years of being committed.

It was thanks to Sigrid that Henry learned to speak and write Riesian, the language of the giants. When the two first met on an online fan forum, Sigrid spoke very little English, and Henry didn’t even know the Riesian language existed. But with time and effort, the two were able to cross the language barrier, eventually teaching each other their native tongues.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah, she said I’m going to a planet called Polus. They have a research base set up there.”

“Polus?” Sigrid repeated. “Oh… that’s… that’s nice.”

It was then that Henry realized Sigrid’s voice had become a tad crestfallen. He frowned. “Everything good?”

“Just… be careful out there,” Sigrid murmured. “I know it’s probably fine and I’m worrying about nothing, but make sure you stay safe, okay? And call me if you can. I’m so proud of you, Henry.” She suddenly stopped speaking English and switched to Riesian.

“Bai tcho eim, honey.”

Be safe.

***

On the days leading up to takeoff, Elliot had been vigorously training Henry. He learned how to fix wiring issues, how to power up engines, how to use the weather nodes, and how to examine and sort specimens that were brought into the base. Henry was very quickly becoming a rather competent spacefarer.

But still, Henry was on edge. Despite the training and the reassurances from Elliot, something didn’t sit quite right. But none of that mattered—before he knew it, Henry was stuffed into a white spacesuit, complete with the MIRA logo and the American flag emblazoned on the shoulders. Dozens of people swarmed around him, talking to each other and furiously taking notes. A brisk wind punctuated the murmur of the crowd.

Elliot knelt before him, her hands running along the fabric to make sure the suit would fit Henry.

“You’ll be accompanying Aesir Vidstrom while you’re on Polus,” she said as she worked. “He’s the new chief of medical staff. He’ll meet you at the landing site and help you get settled in.” Elliot fiddled with the straps on Henry’s waist, tightening the suit until it fit. Henry was quite a few inches shorter than prior astronauts, so his spacesuit needed to be altered before he could use it. “You’re to stay with Aesir at all times unless he says otherwise. Is that clear?”

Henry nodded and glanced away, choosing to stare at the looming spaceship atop the crowded launchpad—a dropship, Elliot had called it. The ship was fairly large, about eight meters in height and width, and the nose stretched outwards almost twelve meters. The jet black paint glistened in the early morning sun, and Henry’s nose crinkled at the smell of something burning.

“And remember, my crew is always on standby. We’ll be ready to help you whenever you need it.”

“Th–thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it.” Elliot finally stepped away from Henry, admiring the finished spacesuit. “I think you’re ready. Let’s get you out of here.” She turned around, facing the crowd, and raised her voice. “Five minutes to takeoff!”

“Five minutes!” someone screamed over the din. “Fire up the reactors!”

“Starting reactors! Diverting power to the left and right engines! Standby…”

“All clear, ma’am! Someone get Newground on board!”

“Let’s go, Henry.” Elliot shoved Henry towards the dropship. The large metal plating began to slide up, similar to a garage door. A pair of men in uniform guided Henry up the steps and into the cabin of the ship. Ten plush seats lined the walls—Henry took a tentative seat in the closest one, the farthest to the left, and began to buckle himself in. The men in uniform quickly left as the engine roar increased in volume. The other staff members gathered along the edges of the launch pad in anticipation.

“Good luck, Henry!” Elliot hollered, waving her arm up over the crowd. “You'll do great, I know it!”

Before Henry could reply, the door began to slide shut. The ship shivered and groaned, and within seconds, the whole thing began to rise and sway. Henry barely had time to squeeze his eyes shut before the ship suddenly lurched forward at unimaginable speeds.

The poor man clenched his seatbelt like a lifeline. He knew takeoff would only last a minute or two, and yet the ordeal seemed to last a lifetime. Henry felt his body being squished against the chair, constructing his lungs and preventing him from breathing. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t even scream.

And then, as quickly as it began, everything started to slow down again. The roar of the engine faded somewhat, and the whole cabin gradually stopped shaking. Henry wasn’t quite confident enough to get out of the seat, so he remained strapped in, gasping heavily as he tried to soothe his racing heart.

Finally, when everything was calm, Henry shakily unbuckled himself and rose to stand. As he shuffled through the cabin, he took the time to properly examine the interior of the dropship he would be riding in. There were various steel crates scattered about, each containing canned rations and various tools. A small laptop was placed on the smallest crate, detailing the dropship’s velocity, fuel levels, turbulence, and current distance from Polus. He made a mental note to check on it later to make sure everything was normal.

And then, on the starboard side of the ship, a solitary window glimmered.

Henry dared himself to peer outside.

He paused, then gasped.

Even after seeing outer space countless times in photographs and videotapes, Henry was still gobsmacked by the vast starry void before him. To his right, the planet Earth was rapidly shrinking as he blasted further away, and the sun was a mere speck of light in the distance. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore—Henry was hurtling through the solar system in a spaceship, making his way towards an alien planet.

A childish grin crept onto his face.

This was it. After years of daydreaming, Henry was a real-life astronaut—his younger self would be so proud. Henry was so ecstatic that his earlier anxieties and frustrations were completely forgotten, left behind on his home planet.

In less than two days, Henry would arrive on Polus to begin his spacefaring apprenticeship. He kept thinking about Sigrid, imagining all the stories he’d get to tell her when he got back to Earth.

This was going to be amazing.

He just hoped nothing would go wrong.

***

The trip to Polus was progressing faster than Henry ever expected. He wondered how MIRA’s ships could move so quickly and yet use so little fuel—it was a blessing of science, to be sure.

But by the twentieth hour of the trip came and went, Henry felt anything but blessed.

There wasn’t much for entertainment in the dropship. Henry could only fumble around on the laptop, gaze out of the window, or pace the cabin a few times. The boredom was excruciating, but the anticipation was even worse. Luckily, Elliot had reached out to him a few times via video calls, answering questions and keeping him company during the arduous journey to Polus.

“Any turbulence today?” she asked.

“None,” Henry replied. “No asteroids, either. Everything is fine so far.”

Elliot smiled. “Good. The dropship has a bit of a reputation for rough rides, so I was worried about engine damage. Seems like I was worried about nothing.”

The two made idle conversation every four hours or so, which was a welcome distraction. As much as Henry adored being in space for the first time, he couldn’t deny how lonely and boring it was. And having someone like Elliot to guide him was another welcome addition, even if her presence unnerved Henry somewhat.

Two more days passed. Henry was munching on his lunch ration. He’d opened the package to find sliced canned meat—bland and oily and smelly. But with the addition of some crackers and canned oranges, the meal made for a decent lunch. However, before he was even halfway finished eating, a rumbling began to overtake the cabin. His lunch contained tumbled onto its side, spilling cracker crumbs all over the floor. Henry instinctively latched onto a nearby crate, trying his best not to fall over as the entire ship swayed.

A synthetic voice rose over the fray. “Entering the Polus mesosphere,” it announced in a polite, monotonous tone. “Current velocity: 326 miles per hour. Engine temperature: nominal. Distance from indicated landing site: estimate of 833 miles. Please fasten your seatbelt and prepare for landing.”

Henry was knocked to the ground as the shaking intensified. The ship was approaching Polus, and fast. He crawled to the nearest seat, restraining himself a bit too tightly in his haste. The voice continued droning on as the ship entered the planet’s atmosphere.

“786 miles… 721 miles… 678 miles…”

And then a deafening screech sounded from above. Henry winced and tightened his grip on the seatbelt as the ship suddenly did a nosedive.

“504 miles… 452 miles…”

A siren overhead wailed loudly. Bright red lights flashed in the corners of his eyes.

“310 miles… 259 miles…”

Something was very, very wrong.

“199 miles… 97 miles…”

He braced himself.

“12 miles… 2 miles…”

Everything went white.

***

“Come on, don’t die on me.”

Black dots continued to bounce in Henry’s vision as his mind stirred. The young man let out a miserable groan, clutching his forehead painfully.

“That’s it… Wake up, little guy…”

Henry paused. It took him a moment to realize that the voice overhead wasn’t speaking English. It took two more seconds to realize that the voice was extremely loud, almost like it was coming from a speaker.

Both these mysteries were solved as soon as he opened his eyes.

A monstrously large figure loomed above, blocking out the light of the bulb dangling overhead. Ginormous eyes, hazel and bright, were locked onto Henry’s trembling body. And it—he—was smiling gently.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the giant man murmured in Riesian. “I’m not gonna hurt you, little guy.”

Henry swallowed hard. He took a moment to gather himself so he wouldn’t have a panic attack, then turned his attention back to the giant face hanging above him. The huge, strange man cocked his head curiously. “Ah geez, I hope you’re not broken or anything… That would suck.” The voice boomed and shook Henry’s core, even though the giant was trying to speak softly. Henry couldn’t even keep eye contact without his heart dropping, so he kept his gaze locked onto the giant’s chest. He only barely noticed the white MIRA spacesuit the giant wore, identical to Henry’s suit in every way aside from its massive size. “Oh yeah, you can’t understand me, huh? Maybe we have a translator lying around here…”

“I–I am fine,” Henry fumbled in awkward Riesian, forcing his voice not to waver. He wasn’t even sure if he was even speaking correctly—but he was too nervous to care about his grammar. Fluency was the least of his problems. “I am okay.”

“Sweet.” The giant nodded, froze, then gasped. “...Wait, you can understand me?”

“I d–d–do.”

“But you’re human.” The giant’s face descended further—huge strands of curly brown hair brushed along Henry’s stomach. “Humans don’t speak Riesian.”

“Y–you’re right,” Henry murmured, flinching away from the enormous eyes drilling into him. “It’s a long story.”

The giant suddenly scoffed, his sheepish half-smile giving way to a full grin. “Cheeky bugger, huh? The name’s Aesir. What’s yours?”

“You are Aesir?” Henry perked up. “Aesir Vidstrom?”

Aesir’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, yeah. You’ve heard of me?”

Henry licked his lips, trying to remember some difficult Riesian words. “You are a… scientist. A space e–explorer. B–b–but Ms. Rose… never said you are a… giant.”

“How about that,” Aesir laughed, stroking his chin. “Never thought I’d meet a human like you.”

Thinking for a moment, Aesir snapped his fingers in a sudden realization.

“Oh, wait—then that would make you what’s-his-name, right? HQ said some random new guy was on his way. But they never said you’d be a human. That’s MIRA for you, I guess… If they were stupid enough to wreck your ship, then they’d forget to mention that.”

“Wreck my ship?” Henry repeated slowly. Memories began flooding back into his mind. The alarms, the flashing lights, the sudden nosedive…

The dropship crashed.

“Wait, then I—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, buddy.” The giant winced when Henry scrambled to sit up. “Take it easy, yeah?” Aesir paused for a moment, tapping his foot a few times. “Actually… Wait here for a sec, alright? I need to grab something.”

With that, Aesir moved away to shuffle out of sight.

With the enormous face out of his vision, Henry was able to sit up and finally assess the surrounding area, hissing a bit as he aggravated his injury. He was sitting on a mattress that stretched several meters in every direction. The blue sheets and white pillow were reminiscent of a gurney, like ones you might find in a hospital. And sure enough, upon closer inspection, the room appeared to be a small medical bay, white walls and smell of disinfectant included. There were three other identical beds lined between curtain barriers, just like the bed he was sitting on. Henry peered to the right. He could see the silhouette of Aesir leaned over a countertop through the wall of curtains.

What was he doing over there?

Henry forced himself to speak. “This is Polus?”

“Sure is,” Aesir replied from beyond the curtain wall. “You were lucky you made it this far on that hunk of junk—if your ship malfunctioned any sooner, you might’ve crashed into an asteroid or something.” Aesir came back into view, sidestepping the curtain to approach Henry. “Now stay still.”

“I… uh…” Henry held up his hands, carefully scooting back a few inches. Aesir hadn’t come back to Henry empty-handed; in his left palm, the giant cradled a glass syringe filled with a bluish liquid. The needle was almost six feet tall, taller than Henry was. “I–I do not need that.”

“Yes, you do. Come over here.”

“It is t–too big,” Henry wavered, curling in on himself as Aesir continued to approach. “Nothing hurts. I am… un–uninjured. Do not need that. Do not need it.”

Listening to Henry’s trembling voice and weak attempts to dissuade him, Aesir’s face fell. “Look,” he whispered, getting onto his knees to kneel by the bed, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be. When we’re in medbay, I’m the boss.” The giant slowly reached out his free hand, grasping Henry’s shoulder with his enormous finger and thumb. His other hand, the one bearing the syringe, began to drift closer to Henry. “Now stay still, or this will hurt more than it needs to.”

In a fright, Henry leapt away from Aesir’s hand in a frantic escape attempt. He scrambled across the sheet, making a beeline for the white pillow at the head of the bed.

“Shit—” Aesir cursed under his breath, tossing the needle to the side. He made a lunge forward, both hands outstretched, reaching for Henry’s tiny form. Before Henry could reach the pillows, the terrified human being suddenly found himself encased in musty, cramped darkness. His stomach sank when he realized what just happened—Aesir had trapped him in his hands.

A feeling of intense vertigo overcame him as Aesir stood up straight; he felt himself being slammed against the giant palm beside him. Despite being very obviously trapped, Henry continued to squirm, searching in vain for an opening to crawl through. He pawed at the skin surrounding him, growing ever more desperate.

And then a light shone through the fingers above him. “Stop being a brat,” Aesir muttered. Henry opened his mouth to retort, but his breath hitched in his throat when a sharp pain pierced his lower back. He let out a strangled sob, trying not to thrash around and hurt himself more.

Aesir hummed contentedly. “There we go… nice and easy.” The needle retracted as quickly as it was injected. Henry took the moment of reprieve to dry his eyes and ease his pounding heart. “Told you it wasn’t that bad,” he chuckled. “Just be thankful it wasn’t worse.”

Henry refused to reply—he focused on keeping his eyes locked downward. Aesir’s lack of empathy was beginning to unsettle him; although the giant paid lip service to Henry’s discomfort, he ultimately seemed to care very little about the pain and terror he was causing.

Aesir, oblivious to Henry’s plight, lifted his hands to his face, staring down the sniffling, petrified human with unbridled excitement. “Well, now that you’re all drugged up, I figure we’re good to get your suit back on. Don’t want you freezing out here, you know.”

“Suit?” Ah, yes. They were in space, after all. It made sense that he should have to wear a spacesuit, even if they were indoors. “O–okay.”

Aesir pulled his left hand away from Henry, reaching for the nearby countertop. His hand returned quickly, dangling the white spacesuit with his index and thumb. “Legs up, bud. Let’s get you dressed.”

“I can do it,” Henry said quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

“Yeah, nah,” Aesir chuckled. “Doctor’s orders. Now hold still this time, you brat.”

Henry huffed pointedly, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting out of this. With heavy reluctance, Henry slowly raised his legs into the air, allowing Aesir to slip the pant legs on, followed by the sleeves and the helmet. Unfortunately, the visor was cracked along the upper edge, but Aesir urged him not to worry. “The glass is three layers thick,” he explained. “You’ll be fine until we can get a replacement.” Surprisingly, Henry didn’t quite believe him.

Henry had only just gotten the suit fitted (or rather, Aesir did the fitting for him) when someone suddenly spoke up. “Aesir.”

At the sound of the firm, strange voice, Henry flinched. His eyes landed on a figure standing in the corner of the room, dressed in a bulky green spacesuit. Henry couldn’t see her face—the light of the room reflected off the visor, obscuring whatever was behind the glass. Henry briefly imagined that she looked like a war veteran, stoic and hardened, probably with lots of scars decorating their skin.

“Oh, Svikari!” Aesir whirled around at the voice, clearing his throat and donning a lopsided grin. “What brings you here?”

“I came to see the human.” The woman, presumably named Svikari, barely budged as she spoke. It was like she was a statue with a voice of its own. “But I see you’ve taken care of things. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Aesir choked on something. “W–wait! Hang on a tic, alright? Why the hurry?”

Svikari cocked her head, acting as though Aesir’s question was incredibly stupid. “I have work to do. I came to see how the human was doing, and now I have to go.”

“Well, hang on,” Aesir stammered, fumbling over his words. “How about you come with me to storage today? I have to do some refuelling there.”

“I don’t have any tasks in storage today,” Svikari replied curtly.

“Come on, boss,” Aesir urged, lowering his voice. “It’s safer in groups. You know that.” He perked up a bit, raising his cupped hands. Not expecting to be jerked upward, Henry was almost launched off his palms. “A–and I know you wanna meet the human! He’s kind of bratty, but I think you’ll like him.”

Svikari paused. “Hello, human,” she said softly. “I trust you’ve been treated well?”

Henry hesitated. What was he supposed to say? He was tempted to start ratting off all the bruises he was getting thanks to Aesir, but he bit his tongue. Would he get in trouble if he told the truth? This Svikari character seemed far less sympathetic than Aesir, so perhaps there would be no point in complaining. They might even hurt him even more for speaking up. So he swallowed his pride and nodded slowly. “Y–yes, I am fine.”

Svikari paused, glancing between Henry, who shuddered under her scrutinizing gaze, and Aesir, who smiled hopefully.

“If you’re that afraid to go alone, I suppose I can come,” Svikari sighed.

“I’m not scared!” Aesir retorted, tightening his painful grip on Henry. “I just don’t wanna get jumped in there.” Shrugging, Aesir once again prodded Henry in the stomach, chuckling as he did so. “I guess if an imposter shows up, I can use Henry as bait. You wouldn’t mind, right bud?”

Svikari laughed in reply, although something about her tone seemed… off. Henry wasn’t able to tell if the laughter was genuine or sarcastic. Henry said nothing at first, focusing on clutching his stomach to keep himself from throwing up.

“I–imposters?” Henry finally coughed. “What are imposters?”

“Oops.” Aesir winced painfully. “Uh, well… we weren’t supposed to tell you.”

“I see no harm in explaining,” Svikari interjected. “If he’s going to stay here, he should know.”

“But Ms. Rose said—”

“I’ll handle Rose. Just keep your mouth shut.”

Aesir groaned, scrunching up his face in discomfort. “I mean… you’re the boss, dude. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s scary when she gets mad.”

“Thank you, Aesir.” Svikari nodded, finally turning her attention back to Henry. “I assume Elliot never told you about the strange happenings on this base?”

“N–no.”

“I thought not. It’s in her best interest to keep this all a secret, after all.” Svikari folded her arms, exuding that terrifying, ominous energy that only giants were capable of. “Elliot probably told you that we found life on this planet. The life forms we discovered are what we’ve been calling imposters—carnivorous, man-eating shapeshifters that we’ve been trying to get rid of for the last few months.”

Henry felt his stomach drop. Carnivores? Man-eating? Shapeshifters? Someone had to be pulling his leg at this point. “Ms. Rose said you found plant life,” he countered quickly, not willing to believe Svikari’s wild claims. “She said nothing about aliens.”

“That’s because she was lying.”

“B–but why would she lie?”

“Telling people would be bad for business, I guess. Who knows what goes on in her head.” Svikari shrugged weakly. “Imposters have been wreaking lots of havoc lately. They kill the lights, mess with the reactors, cut off the oxygen supply… and I’m willing to bet they caused your ship to crash.”

“You’re right,” Aesir gasped. “I didn’t even think about that. They probably messed with the radio signals or something.”

“We’re pretty sure we got rid of them for now, at least.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Aesir corrected. “Remember what happened to Tor?”

“Of course I do,” Svikari huffed. “It took Bastion weeks to get the blood out of the carpet.”

Oh, dear god.

There was no room for doubt, then. Henry began to tremble, tears causing his eyes to glimmer. What sort of cruel joke was the universe playing on him? After so long, he manages to achieve his dream of becoming an astronaut, only to find himself stranded on a faraway planet with malicious giants and man-eating aliens. Some malicious deity had to be laughing their ass off right about now.

“Aww, don’t worry, little guy!” Aesir cooed behind his visor, bouncing the human seated in his hand. “Big bad imposter people can’t hurt you out here.”

While Aesir continued to coo condescending reassurances, bouncing his hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, Svikari stared thoughtfully at the minuscule human. Henry had no idea what was going on in that strange head of hers. Henry simply gripped the coarse fabric of Aesir’s glove, trying his best not to descend into a full-blown breakdown.

“We should be going,” Svikari said suddenly. “Let’s take care of refuelling so I can finish my tasks.”

Aesir hummed in agreement. “Okay. Let’s go.”

***

If Henry was being frank, which he usually wasn’t, he’d say that Polus was a bit… underwhelming. If he wasn’t looking at the dank, snowy, barren landscape, or the abnormally large scale of everything around him, Henry would truly believe he was still on earth. Still, Aesir seemed determined to remind Henry just how small he was at any given opportunity. He’d croon, poke, and tease him incessantly, despite Henry’s continual whimpers of disapproval.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Aesir to fill up the fuel tank in the storage room, which was a cramped little building in the centre of the base. Svikari decided to just follow Aesir around until all his tasks were done, with the promise that Aesir would return the favour afterward.

Svikari offered to carry Henry while Aesir worked. The giant was visibly hesitant about this proposition, refusing the offer the first few times Svikari asked. But eventually, Aesir relented, and Henry had been relegated to riding in Svikari’s hands. Henry sat in silence, rubbing his newfound bruises absently. He briefly wondered if someone would give him painkillers if he asked, but he pushed the thought away. There’s no chance they’d even consider the idea.

“Almost done,” Aesir announced after a while, leading the group down a long hallway. Small patches of snow crunched beneath their boots as they trudged along. “I just gotta check the oxygen supply. Svikari, what tasks do you have left?”

A beat of silence passed before an answer came out. “O–oh, I need to fill the air canisters,” Svikari said quickly, stumbling over her words a bit. “And then I have to upload some data to HQ.”

“Cool.” Aesir glanced behind him, eyeing Henry with a cheeky grin. “You good back there, pipsqueak? Need anything?”

“No,” Henry mumbled.

Aesir laughed, unfazed by Henry’s sneering tone. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a knot.”

After his initial wave of terror had passed, Henry found himself becoming increasingly agitated. He was upset with Aesir for terrorizing him in the lab. He was angry at Elliot for sending him to Polus. And he was mad at Svikari, too. He didn’t have a reason to be, but darn it, he was mad anyway.

Henry was broken out of his thoughts when something brushed against his shoulder—a thumb. “Hey.” Svikari tapped him gently, her head tilted to the side. “You look upset. Is everything ok?”

With her intimidating presence, Henry could barely keep his eyes on Svikari. His eyes drifted to the ground, locked into his feet as he replied quietly. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” the giant prodded. “Did he... Did Aesir hurt you? You don’t look too good.”

Henry bit his lip nervously. “N–no, he didn’t.”

Svikari sighed. “You’re lying. I can tell.” She adjusted her hands, swiveling Henry around so he had to face her completely. “Tell me what happened.”

“I–I...” Henry backpedalled, scooting as far away from Svikari’s looming face. He found his back pressing against Svikari’s curled fingers, and through the shimmering glass, he could almost see two pleading eyes locked into him. “H–he didn’t mean to. I just... wh–when he tried to give me those medications, I tried to run away—”

“What?” Svikari frowned. “Hang on, back up. What medications? What are you talking about?”

“U–um, he didn’t say what it was. Maybe it was a painkiller.”

“...Did he use a needle? Was it a blue liquid?”

“H–how did you know that?”

Svikari fell silent. She glanced towards Aesir, who was walking a ways ahead, and her muscles tensed. “That wasn’t a painkiller,” she said lowly. “It’s an experimental drug that our old medical chief was working on. We aren’t allowed to use it until we test it, since it killed our test subjects a few days ago. Aesir seriously could have killed you.”

Henry’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“I knew something was fishy,” Svikari growled, her grip on Henry tightening slightly. “Aesir was just an intern until our old medical chief got killed by impostors. No one thinks he’s cut out for the position, but we don’t have anyone else who’s even remotely qualified.”

Silence overcame them for a few minutes.

“Aesir,” Svikari finally called, a hard edge lining her voice. “Can we talk?”

Aesir stopped in his tracks. He turned to Svikari questioningly. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”

“About that drug you were working on... Have you tested it lately?”

Aesir paused, tapping his foot as he descended into thought. “Hmm... No, I don’t think so. Not since the rats died on me.”

“I see.” Svikari huffed indignantly. If she weren’t holding Henry, she most certainly would be crossing her arms. “So you haven’t used it at all since then?”

“Nope.”

“That’s funny,” she laughed. “Because I’m pretty sure you used it on the human this morning.”

Aesir’s arms and shoulders locked up.

“Am I right?”

“...Did he tell you that?”

“No, I figured it out.”

“Oh.” Aesir looked down at Henry, a faint scowl crossing his face before he turned his attention back to Svikari. “Don’t tell anyone,” he breathed. “Please. I could get fired.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Svikari snapped. “You weren’t worried about killing him? God, it’s just like you to pull a stunt like that. You only care about yourself.”

“I–it’s not like that, boss. I promise.”

Svikari groaned, rubbing her face with her free hand. “I won’t tell anyone. But you have to get your act together or I’m bringing this issue to the captain.” Her fingers curled inward, shielding Henry from Aesir’s view. “And until then, I’m revoking your jurisdiction over the human. He’ll be accompanying me from now on.”

“But I—”

“Is that a problem?”

“N–no, ma’am,” Aesir replied shakily. “You’re the boss.”

“Good.” Svikari nodded firmly. “Now, then... let’s finish our tasks before I change my mind.”

Aesir nodded, ducked his head, and continued walking in silence. His footsteps clomped much faster than before, but Svikari continued at her usual slower pace.

“I’ll take care of this, Henry,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”

Way to make an impossible request. Henry wasn’t just worried—he was terrified. Not only did Aesir try to make him a test subject for his weird new drug, but now he had to face the wrath of the very giant that could have killed him. The only thing standing between himself and Aesir was Svikari, who Henry wasn’t even sure he could trust.

Svikari probably meant well. At least, Henry wanted to believe that. But something was off about her that Henry couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way she carried herself, her odd way of speaking, her constant bouts of silence… She was weird. No one would deny that.

But there was something else. Svikari wasn’t just strange—she was downright creepy. She obviously knew much more than she was letting on, and Henry couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met her somewhere before.

And then a thought struck him.

Henry craned his neck up to look at Svikari’s visor, and through the glass, he could almost spot the outline of two large eyes. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

“You told me earlier, remember?”

“No, I didn’t. I never told you my name. Neither did Aesir.”

“Oh.” Svikari slowed to a stop. She glanced at Aesir, who was too far ahead to hear them conversing. The giant huffed and lowered her voice, a frantic tinge lining her words. “I’ll… I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.” Henry wasn’t sure why he felt so brave all of a sudden; maybe he was fed up with being constantly treated like a child, or maybe he was just experiencing an adrenaline rush. But he felt he had nothing else to lose at this point—Henry wouldn’t be giving up until he got an answer. “What’s your deal?”

“Deal?” Svikari laughed nervously. “I… I don’t have a deal. I’m just Svikari.”

Henry found it a bit strange that Svikari was caving so easily to his interrogation. She had no problem shutting down Aesir, so why was she losing face in front of a human? It made no sense. But Henry was beginning to put puzzle pieces together. Svikari knew Henry’s name. She was invested in keeping him safe. She was able to tell when he was lying. And here she was, her tail tucked between her legs, being verbally grilled by a human being.

This Svikari person… seemed awfully familiar.

“Are you?” Henry glared daggers at Svikari’s visor. “Because I don’t think you’re telling the truth. Is that even your real name?”

“It’s—!”

“Tell me the truth!” Henry hollered, throwing his arms to the air in frustration. “I’m tired of being babied! I’m tired of you two hiding things from me! Tell me the truth right now!”

“Okay, okay!” Svikari hissed. “Keep your voice down, alright? I don’t want Aesir listening.”

At that, Henry sobered a bit, tossing a cautious glance at Aesir walking ahead. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have heard anything. “So out with it,” Henry snapped, facing Svikari with a scowl. “What’s going on?”

“...You were onto something when you mentioned my name,” Svikari said slowly, every word hushed and deliberate. “Just so we’re clear—my real name is Svikari. But you wouldn’t know me by that name.”

“You used another name,” Henry finished, the dots finally connecting in his mind. “When you talked to me.”

The giant’s empty hand falling limp at her side. “I… I was hoping we’d get to see each other on peaceful terms, and… I wanted it to be on Earth, to be honest.”

Henry swallowed hard. “You… You’re Sigrid.”

Svikari smiled, trying her best not to look intimidating. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

“This is impossible. I–it can’t be you. You’re a—”

“You fellas good back there?” Aesir called, swivelling his head around to peek at the pair. “Sounds like a real bout you’re having.”

Svikari cleared her throat. Her hands lowered, taking Henry out of her field of vision. “We’re fine. Just keep going.”

Aesir simply shrugged. “Alright.”

The group hooked right when the hallway abruptly ended. They found themselves standing before a small room secluded in the corner of the building. Something akin to grass lined the ground, and a large, towering tree stood proudly in the centre of the room. Embedded in the trunk of the tree was a small monitor, complete with wires looping in and out of the bark. While he couldn’t be certain, Henry wagered that this was the oxygen supply Aesir mentioned, although he didn’t expect the oxygen supply to be a plant of all things.

“This won’t take long, ma’am,” Aesir stammered as he stepped into the threshold of the room, bending over to peer at the monitor. His face contorted into an expression of disgust. “Yeesh. Who messed with the RAD settings?”

“Beats me,” Svikari hummed.

“Whatever... Hang on, I just gotta fix this mess real quick.” With that, Aesir fell silent, sliding his fingers rapidly along the screen. Svikari simply stood nearby and waited, while Henry fidgeted anxiously. He couldn’t get their earlier conversation out of his head. Svikari’s words—or rather, Sigrid’s words—echoed in his brain, rattling his thoughts around.

Svikari, meanwhile, was extremely quiet. Henry gazed at her, opening his mouth to ask a question, only to have a giant finger press against his mouth. Shh.

Henry blinked, a little unnerved by how Svikari was acting, but nodded slowly. Svikari lifted her head and peered at Aesir, who was still focused on the monitor screen. Then, moving as slowly as possible, Svikari knelt down and tilted her hands, sending Henry sliding onto the grass below.

It took Henry a moment to orient himself. He diligently wiped off the grass that clung to his suit and looked skyward just in time to see Svikari approaching Aesir from behind. The human watched intently as Svikari snuck up on Aesir, a kitchen knife clutched tightly behind her back, wondering what she was up to.

…

...A kitchen knife?

Before Henry could even think to look again, he was subjected to the sound of a hideous squelch. There was a flash of red, a pained grunt, and suddenly Aesir collapsed to the ground, motionless.

Svikari loomed ominously over the limp body, her hand still latched onto the knife that she’d plunged into Aesir’s back. Murky blood was beginning to pool at her feet, staining the grass a horrid shade of crimson. And then Svikari’s head pivoted like an owl, boring her gaze into Henry.

“Don’t scream,” she heaved.

“Y–you—” Henry’s hands flew to his mouth. “You killed him.”

Svikari faced Henry fully. She extended her hands slowly and carefully, taking cautious steps forward as she spoke. “I know. Just… please stay quiet,” she whispered as she drew closer.

“G–get away from me,” Henry choked, stumbling backwards and throwing his hands up to protect himself. “Please, don’t— d–don’t kill me.”

“Henry!” Svikari suddenly exclaimed, speeding up and making a beeline for Henry. “Be careful, you’re going to—”

Seeing Svikari quickly approaching, Henry made the split-second decision to spin around and bolt. But by the time he noticed the gaping crater in the floor below, it was too late. His foot whizzed through thin air, and with no further fanfare, he tumbled down into the pitch-black abyss. Time froze—a shout echoed from above.

Then he hit the ground. Hard.

Something snapped. Henry yowled in agony. He found himself unable to budge without pain coursing through his battered limbs. Tears began welling in his eyes, but he fought the urge to sob—crying would make it hurt even more. Thankfully, his visor was still intact, although the same could not be said for his bones. He simply laid motionless on his stomach, his arms and legs spread out, praying he would just pass out already.

“Oh no.” Svikari’s voice echoed off the crater walls, but Henry couldn’t see where she was standing. Even if the human was able to move his head and look around, the darkness cloaked everything in the vicinity. There was no telling where the giant was, but she was close. “Henry… It’s alright. I’m going to help you.”

“N–no,” Henry hissed, weakly hacking out the taste of copper from his mouth. “Not like this. Please.”

“Stop that. You’re hurting yourself. Please… let me help.”

“But you killed—” Henry couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He began to cry softly, despite how much it hurt him to do so. Every sniffle was excruciating, wracking his body from the inside-out. “You’re an i–imposter, aren’t you? And you’re going to kill me next.”

“No no no, honey… I would never hurt you.” Svikari’s voice was right next to his ear at this point. A huff of hot breath washed over Henry, rustling his hair. Wasn’t Svikari wearing a helmet, though? How could he feel her breath? “Listen… you’ve gotta trust me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Henry cast a bitter glance to the side, unsure if Svikari was even standing in that direction. “You’re a liar.”

Svikari didn’t grace Henry with a reply. Instead, two long fingers slowly and deliberately dug beneath his stomach and hoisted him into the air. Henry squeezed his eyes shut as he was pressed against Svikari’s chest. Maybe this would be quick and painless. He could only pray at this point.

“Let me think…” Svikari inched her way forward, snaking through the dark underground pathway so as to not jostle Henry too much. In his daze, Henry failed to realize that there was no way Svikari could fit into the crater, let alone move around freely. But the only thing he was focused on was making peace with his life, knowing that he was about to die at the hands of the one he loved more than anyone else.

Suddenly, Henry was blinded by sunlight. Svikari had begun crawling out of another crater located outside of the building. The holes in the ground seemed to be interconnected. But how did Svikari know that? And where was she planning on taking him?

Before Henry could voice any of these questions, a deafening alarm sounded from above. He looked up just in time to see a flashing red light next to a speakerphone attached to the roof nearby. “BODY REPORTED,” a voice blared. “ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE. REPEAT, ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE.”

Svikari swore under her breath. She lifted Henry out of the crook of her elbow, quickly swooping him towards a pocket located on her chest. “I’m gonna need you to stay quiet for now, alright?”

Henry’s breath hitched, eyeing the pocket warily as his legs were swallowed by it. “Why do I—”

“Shh.” Svikari cut him off. “Just trust me. I’ll explain everything once I take care of this.” With those ominous words echoing in his head, Henry was once again plunged into darkness, trapped in the front pocket of her spacesuit.

There was no way this would end well.

***

#among us #gt #g/t #giant tiny #giant/tiny #mywriting #i really hope you liked it!!! its not really my usual content so i hope it was enjoyable #and again if its too gritty id be happy to go back and edit those parts out #you didnt list any warnings aside from vore but i wasnt really sure if you were ok with this stuff #hopefully its all ok and you liked it aaaaasdfghjkl #secret shifters 2020

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xxxsoukokuxxx · 4 years ago

Text

Despite rivalry...we’ll always be friends...even if neither of us know it

Characters: Dazai Osamu (main character); Chuya Nakahara (main character); Mori Ougai; OC-Asahi Ruki; Port Mafia

Warnings: slight mentions of torture (just mentions of how dazai was a torturer in his PM days); dark themes; tsundereness; cursing (of course it’s Chuya)

Notes: Hi everyone! I apologize for not posting in a while. I just needed to rest my tired brain after the exams for a few days. So here, have some platonic soukoku content i’ve written. This can also be found on AO3 on my account name: xXxNoLongerHumanXxX. Also, sorry about not doing an event for my 100 followers milestone yet. I’ll get that done as soon as I have time for it.

_______________________________________________________

The city lights of Yokohama shine brightly like stars. It looks beautiful against the back-drop of the midnight sky. The snow white moon illuminates the much darker parts of Yokohama. But the darkest place of all, was none other than the Port Mafia. Even though you can see lights on from the outside decorating the jet black buildings, it's sinister and might I say bloody secrets is what made it much more darker than any other place in the city.

But there was something, no someone much more sinister than everyone else who worked in the mafia. He was feared immensely not only by civilians and enemies, but by his very own colleagues as well. Torture was his specialty. Whether it's for interrogation or punishment, he'll do it with a sadistic smile and enjoy the pained expressions that his victims make.

His pitch black suit and coat as well as the white bandage over his right eye made him all the more intimidating, His wavy, somewhat unruly hair was a dark chocolate brown. The eyes belonging to this man were a mocha brown but ever so darkened to match his cold expression when giving commands or in the presence of an enemy. This Port Mafia Executive's name was Dazai Osamu, also known as the 'Demonic Prodigy'. There's a saying in the Port Mafia, "The biggest misfortune for Dazai's enemies, is that they're Dazai's enemies."

But as much as he might seem cold, he acts like a little child as well. This can be seen when he's with two of his 'friends' that he goes drinking with to Bar Lupin. He'll even joke about his suicidal tendencies and experiment with little things such as cooking, much like a kid does. Only to have his friends try his dish and end up with twisting stomachs in the morning.

His childish antics can also be seen with another mafia executive, his name being Chuya Nakahara. A rather bit shorter than average height for his age. He had graceful ginger locks in his hair with a longer section falling over his left shoulder. His formal attire was red and black, his signature colors. And of course his beloved fedora topped his head much like a sundae that's topped off with a red cherry.

Dazai and Chuya, despite being partners often bickered, regardless their age of eighteen, they never seemed to stop fighting like children who can't stand each other. But maybe for just one night, they might actually stop bickering for once. ________________________________________

One of the members of the Port Mafia thought of an idea but started regretting it when he thought of the boss. A party? At the Port Mafia? There's no way Mori would ever agree to such a thing. But the thought had good intentions. The Port Mafia had just finished off a rival gang and it surely was a tedious job. But they succeeded in executing them. This one member wanted to celebrate the fact they're all still alive and their victory.

He decides to take the chance one morning and head to Mori Ougai's office. Once reaching the doors of the office after getting through security, he hesitantly places his hands on the door knobs and pauses. He takes a deep breath and opens the doors, closing them behind him. He turns back around to find Mori playing dress up with Elise, she didn't seem happy to try anything on though. He clears his throat and makes his appearance known, "Boss, it's Asahi Ruki I have come to propose an idea that I hope you approve of." he says trying to sound confident.

Mori shifts himself in the chair towards his left to see who has entered and then gives his signature sickeningly sweet smile, "Ah yes Asahi-kun. What is this idea you have in mind?" Asahi stands with his hands behind his back and holds a professional upright posture, "Yes, my idea is..." "Go on, spill it out, I'm listening." Mori teases when Asahi pauses mid sentence. "My idea is...that we...throw a party, not necessarily extravagant, to celebrate our victory against the vile rival gang that we have just gotten rid off. And the fact that everyone's still alive. I've discussed this with a few fellow colleagues and they seem to be excited for such an event." he continues, cursing himself for stuttering the first few words. "...very well then, it would be a good idea, after all, why not some fun after such a tedious and stressful job?" Mori chuckles as he nods. "A party! Finally something exciting around this crappy place!" exclaims Elise.

A bead of sweat rolls down the side of Asahi's temple as he gulps when he hears Elise's words. "Thank you Boss, should I make the arrangements?" "No, leave that to me and the executives, thank you, you may be excused now if there's nothing else." replies Mori yet again with that sick smile. Asahi bows and turns around to leave, silently cheering that his idea was approved of and most of all, his head didn't get chopped off. Back in the office, Elise starts putting on her normal attire and starts contemplating all the possible party ideas. Mori just looks on with a pout on his lips.

"...do you really think this place is "crappy" my dear Elise-chan?" ___________________________________________

A week later or so, the demonic prodigy walks through the red velvet halls of the Port Mafia to get to his rather "boring" office as he calls it. He notices people a tad bit busier than usual today. It seemed as if he was oblivious to the fact that that day was the day of the party approved by the Boss and proposed by a mafioso named Asahi. But he wasn't. He just didn't like the idea of parties. Too noisy, too rowdy, too many people for his liking.

Mori had called him numerous times on his cellphone to get him to come to his office to plan this event, but before he would even bother about picking up the call, he knew what is was about already. He finally makes it to his "boring" office and shuts the door behind him with the heel of his shoe. He takes his hands out of his pockets and settles down at his desk. Tons of paperwork lay on his desk and there were at least four more piles of paperwork to be done on the floor. He groans at the sight of them, all that is unnecessary and too much of a tedious job to do.

He spins around in his chair in endless circles and finally stops when he hears a knock at his door. 'Great, which fool is here to bother me now.' he grumbles internally. "Come in" he says hiding his annoyance behind an expressionless voice. The door opens and the last person he wants to see steps in. "Hey suicidal maniac. There's a party this evening at about 9 til' late. You weren't in Mori's office to plan the damn thing, where the heck where you!? Goofing off?" says Chuya with annoyance lacing his voice. "I don't care for such things. It's so useless to waste time on such a stupid event." Dazai replies nonchalantly. "And yes, I wasn't exactly goofing off...I was trying out this new method of suicide! You see this is how you do it, first you..." "Shut up Mackerel I don't want to hear your stupid attempts of ending your life, are coming to the party or what?"

"Hmmm, how about no. Parties are so annoying." Dazai whines while slumping his upper body over his desk. "Fine by me, finally I can be free of you and actually have a good time and..." "Blah-blah-blah, I don't wanna hear how much you're going to enjoy your time acting like the fool you are, Slug." Dazai smirks. "Bastard!" Chuya grimaces and leaves shutting the door with a bang behind him. Dazai doesn't even wince at the annoyingly loud noise and goes back to spinning in his chair. He stops again but not because there's someone at the door, but at his own thoughts intruding his mind.

He sighs heavily and displays an empty and solemn look on his face, which he'll never show anyone. ___________________________________________

It was currently 9:00 pm and most of the Port Mafia members like Higuchi, Tachihara, Gin and others helped with the decorations earlier that day. And they got it done fast too, without hassles, except for Tachihara who slipped off a ladder while hanging decorations and fell. Akutagawa of course wasn't going to be at such a 'hideous' event as he called such unnecessary gatherings.

Dazai was at Bar Lupin, tonight however he was alone, no Odasaku, no Ango. He takes a sip of the amber whiskey in front of him and sighs out of relief as well as boredom. He ran out of suicide methods to try. A man wearing a fedora and crimson red button up shirt with coal black formal pants makes his way to the bar and enters. Dazai doesn't seem to notice at all. At this point he's too lost in his fog of thoughts to bother about anyone else. "Hey suicidal maniac!" calls Chuya as he comes down the steps in the bar with a fine bottle of one of the most expensive wines he's ever bought in his gloved hand.

Dazai turns his attention towards the ginger and for once in his life he's genuinely surprised not expecting Chuya to be here. "What are you doing here Chuya? I thought you'd be drunk out of your mind by now." Dazai snickers. "So early? The party only started half an hour ago!" "Knowing you, you'd go there half drunk." Dazai laughs. "Hey shut that mouth of yours you stupid Mackerel, I was bored and decided to come here instead!" "Since when do you come to Bar Lupin? And did you decide to come here because you were bored, or did you come here knowing I'd be here?" Dazai smirks.

"Shut up already will you!" Chuya yells angrily at Dazai's teasing and takes a seat next to him and places down his wine. "So answer which is it!" Dazai exclaims. "Bastard, I came here because I was bored of course! And besides you weren't at the party either. Perhaps it got boring because I wasn't constantly running around after you trying to stop you from causing havoc!"

Dazai chuckles, "Are my antics that entertaining?" "Hey, don't act all smug! All I'm saying is that I've gotten so used to your annoying and bizarre antics that other things seem somewhat boring." "Ah, I see." Dazai says and leans forward to take a sip of his drink. Chuya was lying though, the party wasn't boring at all, he felt bad that Dazai wasn't there, and decided not to go because of the suicidal maniac. As much as Chuya hates him, he still enjoys his company nonetheless, even if he doesn't know it.

"Ugh, it's getting boring here too!" exclaims Chuya out of frustration. "Yeah, it got boring since you arrived." Dazai remarks. "Why you!..." Chuya aims to kick at Dazai's calf but fails miserably as Dazai casually got up before Chuya could even graze him. "Since it's boring here, let's get outta here then hmm?" Dazai suggests. "...idiot, fine." he gets up makes his way out of the bar with Dazai, of course taking his precious wine with him. "How come you don't like parties? You're already an animal, I'm sure you wouldn't have trouble fitting in with a bunch of party animals." Chuya smirks.

"I already told you earlier you stupid Slug, it's useless and a waste of time!" Dazai replies. "But why is what I'm asking you!!!" "I just don't." "...don't be vague Mackerel." "...fine, they're too noisy and rowdy for my liking, besides there's too many annoying people like you there."

"Do you seriously have to insult me in everything you say!?" exclaims a frustrated Chuya. "Yes, yes I do." Dazai says nonchalantly not evening glancing at the short ginger walking beside him. "...stupid Mackerel." grumbles the ginger. "Hey why don't we go on the rooftop of that building and just chill there for a while hmm?" suggests the demonic prodigy. "...fine." The two mafia executives make their way to the very top of a building, Chuya silently curses Dazai because he doesn't have an ability that will take him to the rooftop in a just a few seconds. Chuya thought he could have just used his ability but Dazai's would only nullify it.

"Finally!" Chuya exclaims in excitement after climbing stairs after stairs to reach the rooftop. "We survived! Great job petite mafioso." Dazai snickers and walks passed him to go to the very edge of the rooftop. "Don't you dare even think about jumping you bastard!" Chuya yells from where he is. "Already thought about it!" Dazai replies and sits down letting his legs dangle off the building. He pats the place next to him motioning for Chuya to sit. The ginger makes his way over and reluctantly sits next to the person he supposedly despises the most. "That's some expensive wine you've got there." Dazai remarks. "Yeah, it is to you." the ginger says as he takes it in his hands and pops open the bottle with his ability. "I thought you only open such expensive wines on special occasions?" "If I'm hanging out with you, it must be a special occasion." "Chuya! You're such a wonderful human being!" "Go to hell, I'll probably regret it in the morning." "You're such a tsundere." "I SAID GO TO HELL!" shouts Chuya before taking a big gulp of the wine straight from the bottle.

"How am I supposed to go to hell, if I'm already there?" Dazai smiles sickeningly sweet. "Tsk, what kind of philosophy is that!?" "Ugh, nevermind I'm surprised you use such a big word as 'philosophy'." "For the last time today, SHUT UP!" "Aww, is the petite mafioso getting all upset?" Dazai teases. Chuya swings a fist at him but of course Dazai dodges it with ease. "Bastard." The ginger then offers the wine bottle to the brunette begrudgingly. "Uh, I don't drink wine but since there's nothing else..." Dazai takes the bottle and drinks almost half the bottle one time. "Hey easy! I want some too!" Chuya say trying to stop his partner in crime.

"Mmm, this is some sweet wine." says Dazai giving back the half empty wine bottle to Chuya. "Geez, how greedy." "Hey hatrack." "What do you want!?" "What's the real reason you didn't go to the party?" asks Dazai as he looks at the midnight black sky. "...ugh, the real reason...I didn't want you to feel alone or left out and besides it would have been much more boring there anyway." "Not so much of a tsundere now huh?" Chuya says teasing Dazai. "Oh keep quiet will you!? Be grateful that I chose to hang out with the person I despise the most in the world!" "Yeah yeah sure." Dazai leans back and lays down on the rooftop with his hands behind his neck. Chuya glances at him and then does the same. "Why do you constantly annoy me all the time?" asks Chuya and this time, he doesn't sound annoyed or angry but rather calm.

"I dunno, it's entertaining I guess?" "You seriously use me for your entertainment? Tsk, you always use people for your personal needs anyway." and he takes another swig of the wine again. "...I don't use you...not all the time" "Idiot" and he yet again takes another swig of the wine. "No wonder why you don't have friends Mackerel." "Who says I need friends?" "I say you need friends." "...why?" "So that you're not lonely all the time and trying to constantly kill yourself."

"...why would you care about such a thing?" Dazai figures Chuya's almost drunk by now. "Oh see. now who's being a tsundere!?" "...whatever..." he still gazes up at the sky as if searching for something. Chuya realizes what Dazai's doing and does the same, "Here have some more before I finish the bottle." Dazai glances at the bottle in Chuya's hand and takes it drinking all of it. "Hey! I was supposed to finish it! Stupid Mackerel!" but he doesn't sound all too disappointed this time when he shouts at Dazai.

"Hey Chuya?" “Finally you call me by my name...what do you want Dazai?" "Thanks for hanging out with me tonight, didn't know you cared that much about me." he tries to tease towards the end of his sentence. "It's nothing, just thought you might need a friend to keep you company." Chuya says, eyes droopy hinting he was tired and drunk. Dazai's eyes widen when he heard Chuya say that, he glanced over at the ginger and sees him trying to fight his sleep. Dazai gets up and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Let's go home now Chuya, I knew you'd get drunk out of your mind." "Tsk" Chuya gets up slowly and leaves with Dazai, leaving behind the empty wine bottle they shared. Despite their rivalry, they're friends...even if neither of them know it.

#bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #chuya nakahara #oneshot #scenario #bittersweet #slight angst #fluff #comedy #soukoku #double black #mori ougai #OC #oc-asahi ruki #port mafia #port mafia members

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ibelongtonegan · 5 years ago

Text

Triple Play (Negan/Reader/Simon one-shot)

This fic was originally intended to be my entry for @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash’s birthday challenge ages ago, but then life and a moody muse turned it into a forever WIP. And yet I just could not get story idea out of my head and did not stop until it was completed.

My prompt was “Technology – Walkie Talkies”.

Summary: some secrets are better left untold…or are they?

Characters: Negan x Reader x Simon

Word count: 5,616

Warnings: angst, dirty talk, smut, swearing

Tags (tagging my forevers and those who expressed interest in this fic at some point): @negans-network, @i-am-negan-trash, @emoryhemsworth, @ridingmoxley, @ladysyn, @sleepylunarwolf, @letsby, @tatertotandcassie, @annablack1102, @genevievedarcygranger, @daisysouthmoore, @hughxjackman, @ofxallxwexlost, @negans-wife

I appreciate feedback and most days don’t bite. So don’t be shy to comment, message or ask me anything!

“Okay, Y/N, your turn. Dwight, Negan, Simon,” Laura chirped, her voice hissing with static.

Your lips curled up into a wide grin as you raised the radio to your mouth.

“Fuck Negan, marry Simon, kill Dwight.”

“Damn, girl. That was quick!” Arat’s laugh echoed through the speaker. “You could have at least pretended to think about it for a minute.”

The Virginia sun was beating down with all its might as you made your way through the field in the knee-high grass. You retrieved the water bottle from your backpack, but the few gulps of lukewarm water did little to wet your parched throat.

Negan had sent out a search party for two workers who were stupid enough to break into the storage room and steal various supplies, but not smart enough to take a car to make their escape. It was just a question of time before they were captured, but you hoped it was going to happen before dinner. It was Friday, and tonight’s menu was going to be mac ‘n cheese. A hot meal and a cold shower, you craved nothing more.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand while scanning the tree line for movement, but everything looked peaceful. Despite a badly decomposed walker that stumbled out of the forest about an hour ago, the search was uneventful. To kill time, Arat proposed to play ‘Fuck, marry, kill’ on the back-up channel, which she swore was safe from prying ears since nobody ever used it.

“Poor D, why would you hurt him?”

Laura could not hide the reproach in her tone. She had had a crush on Dwight since forever but didn’t dare to make a move on him, not even months after Sherry had married Negan.

“He’s a good dude, but not my type, sorry, not sorry.”

“Okay, what about Simon?” Arat chimed in. “I didn’t think you were the marrying type.”

The chorus of cicadas fell silent in the background as the transmission ended.

“I’m not, but I can’t fuck him too if I marry Negan.”

“Wait...what?”

An amused smile spread on your lips at the frantic reaction.

“Well, you know the rules. If you marry Negan, you can’t be with anybody else but him, right? But what if I want to fuck both him and Simon? The only way is to marry Simon and cheat on him with Negan. Or better yet, to coax them into a threesome.”

“Okay, I get Simon. He’s funny, has a killer swagger and that moustache must feel like heaven on your pussy,” Laura pondered. “But Negan…I mean, he’s hot, but also volatile, dangerous, and rough. He must be an animal in bed. I bet even his cum-face is scary.”

“I choose to accept the mission and find out for your peace of mind. I think he made Sherry come at least three times last night. Lucky bitch,” you sighed with envy recalling the sinful noises you overheard from Negan’s room.

“Then why don’t you volunteer to become a wife?”

“I worked my ass off to become a Savior, and will not give it up to sit around in the wives’ lounge, eat candy and paint my nails all day. I’d rather keep my job and fantasize about Negan and Simon while rubbing one out at night.”

The conversation was interrupted by your radio emitting a long beep, pulling you back to reality and the task at hand. You stopped in your tracks and switched to the primary channel.

“The search is over, we have the sorry shits in custody,” you heard Negan’s gravelly voice announce, his patience evidently worn thin. “Everybody get the fuck back to base now!”

You felt a pang of sorrow for the escapees. They were no doubt going to receive a painfully thorough ironing after dinner.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

An hour and a shower later you were on your way to the canteen with Arat and Laura in tow. The scent of melted cheese and spices filling the corridors made saliva pool in your mouth.

You devoured the plate of pasta within minutes and chugged two glasses of water to quench your thirst after the savoury meal. Feeling full and sleepy, you rested your chin in your palm, while Arat and Laura engaged in a heated debate over which of the newbie Saviors they wanted to fuck, marry and kill respectively.

“Evening, ladies,” Simon stopped by your table, his hands resting on his hips. After giving the two girls a quick nod, his eyes settled on you. “He wants to see you, Y/N, in his room.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. Negan didn’t summon anyone but his wives at such a late hour and he had never asked to see you in his room before.

“Something wrong?”

“Everything’s A-Okay. The boss man just wants to have a word with you in private. Let’s not keep him waiting,” Simon gestured towards the door, his usual smirk never faltering.

You stood up from the table and gave Arat and Laura a wink before following Simon out of the canteen.

“I thought he was going to punish the escapees after dinner,” you stated rather than asked while trying to keep up with Simon’s long strides.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered under his breath. “There’s another matter he wants to deal with tonight.”

His curt response caught you off-guard, but you attributed it to him being hungry, since you had not seen him at dinner earlier.

Simon led you to the top floor and stopped before a large mahogany double door. Knocking twice, he turned the knob without waiting for an answer, and motioned for you to step inside.

Negan’s quarters looked nothing like other parts of the Sanctuary. It felt like entering the suite of a five-star hotel and you couldn’t stop looking around in amazement. The room was lavishly furnished with furniture and accessories from an expensive interior design store the Saviors had looted on your first run. There was a giant four poster bed to your left, decorated with grey, satin bedsheets and neatly arranged pillows, and to your right a comfortable black leather couch with two matching armchairs surrounding a coffee table. A bar area was set up in the corner complete with leather stools and a selection of spirits. The private bathroom was hidden behind a black door on the opposite wall, but you imagined it to be just as extravagant. Negan had a taste for the finer things in life, like beautiful women, good food and his luxurious apartment was no exception. Your room looked like a mouse hole in comparison.

Negan was sitting behind his desk, several papers splayed out before him next to a tumbler filled with amber liquid. His leather jacket was draped over the back of his seat, but his signature red scarf was still draped around his neck. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast an eerie light on his face. He looked up from the ledger in his hand and beckoned you closer, pointing at the chair in front of him.

Simon strode over to the couch behind you and plopped down, the leather squeaking under his weight. You were surprised to see him stay, but Negan didn’t seem to mind his number two’s presence in the room. He took a small sip of his drink and leaned back in the armchair, studying you with an unreadable expression.

Negan had always treated you fairly, appreciating your scavenging skills and rewarding your hard work. You climbed the imaginary career ladder at the community from common worker to lieutenant thanks to your tenacity, courage and ability to handle Negan’s short temper and crude humour. Along with Arat and Simon you were one of his most trusted soldiers, carrying out his orders and accompanying him on runs. You had been infatuated with him from the start and often found your eyes lingering on your formidable leader, but seemingly he had never expressed an interest in you.

With Simon your attraction began on your first run to Alexandria, when you were assigned to ride in the same truck and hit it off right away during the long journey. Simon was funny, smart and cute in a rugged way, and soon the two men occupied your dreams, with the three of you ending up having hot, messy sex on every vertical and horizontal surface imaginable. Yet, you did your best to act professionally around them, not letting your secret obsession interfere with your work.

“Something you wanna tell me?” Negan jolted you from your thoughts. “Anything you’d like to confess?”

“I’m not a religious person, sorry,” you pursed your lips to suppress a smile.

Simon snickered behind you, but Negan seemed unfazed by your cheekiness. He swirled his whisky a few times, his touch leaving random marks on the foggy surface of the glass.

“Okay, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I took an extra serving of the apple pie at dinner last night. It was too delicious to resist.”

Negan narrowed his eyes at you and stroked his chin, his gloved fingers scraping his salt-and-pepper stubble.

“Or if this is about the crime novel I haven’t returned to the library, I know it’s almost a month overdue, but I still have two chapters left and want to know who the killer is.”

You heard the sound before your eyes could register the motion as Negan slammed down his glass on the desk. You expected it to shatter into a million pieces, but the tumbler miraculously survived the impact, the ice cubes clinking against each other in protest.

“Careful, Y/N. You don’t wanna test my patience.”

You gulped hard, feeling an uneasy chill go down your spine. Negan was usually up for jokes, but he was evidently not in the mood for them now, and you could not shake off the thought that you were the reason for it.

He stood up and keeping his gaze fixed on you rounded the desk before leaning against it, resting his hands on the edge. His crotch was level with your eyes, and you straightened up in your seat to avoid having to look at the impressive package in his pants.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you opted for honesty.

Negan pushed himself away from the desk and started circling you. His looming presence behind you made the hair stand up on your back, but you fought the urge to turn around.

“I don’t take lightly to my Saviors keeping secrets from me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you asserted but regretted it immediately when Negan’s face appeared in your peripheral vision.

“Bullshit!” he snarled against your ear. “What about that little girl talk over the radio this afternoon?”

His words made the blood drain from your face. Closing your eyes, you wished the ground would miraculously open and swallow you up.

“Imagine my surprise when during today’s run, I heard one of my top gals confess over the back-up channel that she was fantasizing about me and my right-hand man while rubbing one out at night.”

If the blood had gone from your face before, it now rushed right back up as you felt your cheeks grow hot.

“That shit made me very, very disappointed.”

Negan stepped back in front of you, and crossing his ankles leaned against the desk. The intensity of his stare made your heart sink. You tried to guess how much of your radio conversation with Arat and Laura he could have heard. If luck was on your side, he only caught the last part. If not...

…you didn’t even want to go there.

“We were just…joking. A silly chat between us girls to pass the time,” you shrugged, feeling perspiration bead on your forehead.

Negan studied your face intently weighing your words.

“What do you make of this, Simon?”

“She’s lying, boss,” came the merry retort from the couch.

You head snapped around in protest but Negan grabbed your chin with his gloved hand, forcing you to look at him.

“I think you’re right,” he mused in a sing-song voice, his face so close that you could smell his body wash and the faint trace of whiskey on his breath. ”Get over here and give me a hand, will you?”

You heard Simon’s heavy boots cross the room and stop behind you. Negan gave him a knowing look and before you knew it, your arms were yanked back, and held firmly behind the chair.

“Where were we, doll?” Negan let go of your chin and crouched down in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. “Oh, yes. You fantasizing about me and Simon nailing you.”

He licked his lips slowly and your eyes followed the motion instinctively.

“What’s the matter, Y/N? Cat got your tongue? You were very talkative over the radio earlier,” Negan taunted sardonically.

You closed your legs to put some distance between your bodies, but Negan squeezed your thighs in warning and forced them further apart.

“Tell me what you thought about last night.”

You squirmed in your seat, Negan’s command ringing in your ears in the deafening silence that followed.

“You said that you were listening to me fucking Sherry. What did you think about to get off?”

Your eyes went wide like saucers and you desperately tried to come up with a plausible excuse, but your mind went completely blank. Sharing a kinky fantasy over the radio with your best friends was one thing. But confessing it face to face to the very subjects of it?

“Careful, Y/N,” Negan warned sensing your stalling, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “I want the truth on this one.”

You went limp in Simon’s grip with an exasperated sigh. As much as you hated to admit defeat, they cornered you. You held your head up high and gave Negan a defiant look. If he wanted to hear the truth, you were going to tell him just that, consequences be damned.

“We were in the meeting room, at the usual Monday briefing for the lieutenants. I disagreed with your order, and we got into an argument over it. I knew that I was pushing your buttons but the more riled up you got, the more it turned me on.”

Negan looked at you with a faint smirk, as if the same idea had crossed his mind before.

“You decided that if I was bold enough to backtalk in front of your men, then I would also be punished in front of them. Simon pinned me down on the meeting table, and the two of you took turns having your way with me.”

Negan’s pupils dilated, the primal reaction urging you to continue.

“All the lieutenants were watching us with hunger and envy that they could only look, but not touch or taste me. I was completely exposed and at your mercy, and yet felt safe and in control of the situation, because that was exactly what I wanted. To be taken, dominated, marked and used for your pleasure. You kept teasing me, edging me, until I was a begging mess. And in the end, you came inside me, breeding me.”

Negan tsked with a shake of his head.

“And you were hiding all of this from me? Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But don’t worry, we will rectify the situation right now.”

Your heart dropped as the meaning of his words sank in. This was it. You were going to be demoted, lose your friends, the respect of the Saviors and could never go near Negan and Simon again. Or they would kick you out of the Sanctuary even. And all of this because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Now you knew why the ironing of the escapees had been postponed. Negan had deemed your punishment more urgent.

“You wanna pay close attention to this, because I’m only going to say it once. Hearing your dirty little confession over the radio made me and Simon hard as steel. So we decided to make your wish come true.”

You blinked twice, expecting to wake up from what seemed to be the weirdest dream you had ever had. You were never going to stuff yourself full of food before bed again.

“But I have two conditions. Are you with me, doll?”

You nodded weakly as Negan’s fingers drew a zigzag pattern on your jeans.

“One: as much as the thought of fucking you in front of my men is tickling my balls, I am not letting those fuckers lay their eyes on you. It’s going to be just you, me and Simon.”

The offer sounded more than fair to you.

"Two: you know well I don’t share my gals with anyone, except for when I have a moresome with my wives, and I only allow them to fuck each other because I get to watch. What’s mine is mine.”

Your breath hitched as he moved his hands further up, the tip of his fingers skimming the apex of your thighs.

“But since your fantasy involved my right-hand man as well, I’m willing to bend the rules just this once.”

Heat pooled in your belly as you watched him, mesmerized by his usually hazel eyes darkening to dark chocolate.

“So, tonight I get exclusive membership at your pussy bar, no exceptions. You will be my little breeding bitch only,” he stroked your clothed centre, eliciting a pathetic whine from you. “As for other parts of your body, sharing is caring.” Negan looked up at Simon flashing his pearly whites, before his eyes settled back on you.

You stared at him at a loss for words. One part of you was cheering you on to seize the opportunity and accept the indecent proposal, while the other was adamant that you were going to wake up any minute. Negan lifted his gloved hand to your cheek and traced your lower lip, expecting an answer. You let your body do the talking and opened your mouth to run your tongue over his thumb, tracing a shiny path on the black leather. If this was indeed just a dream, you were going to make sure it would be a wet one.

“Damn, Simon, I knew she was going to be trouble from the moment we met her,” Negan drawled, his eyes heavy with desire.

Grabbing the back of your head he pulled you up and claimed your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth possessively. Simon pushed the chair out of the way and pressed himself into your back trapping your body between him and Negan. Even through two layers of clothing you could feel the outline of his hard-on, earning a low moan from you.

“Easy, Simon,” Negan grinned wickedly, sucking and nibbling on your neck. “We don’t want her to cum just yet.”

Closing your eyes, you rested your head on Simon’s shoulder to offer Negan easier access to your skin. Lost in the pleasure the two men were showering you with your right hand went to cup Negan’s bulge, while you grabbed the back of Simon’s head with the other and arched your back against him.

“Looks like someone’s eager,” Simon murmured grinding into your ass.

“She’s not the only one,” Negan hissed. “Let’s get her out of these fucking clothes, before I blow my load in my pants.”

He lifted your shirt over your head, and Simon unbuttoned your pants and pulled them off your legs along with your boots. You felt self-conscious standing before the two men in nothing but your underwear but Negan’s lustful gaze and the appreciative rumble in Simon’s chest chased all your insecurities away. Simon unclasped your bra and you dropped your hands to your sides, letting it slide down onto the floor. He went for your panties next, but Negan stopped him with a grunt, reminding him of the exclusive territorial rights he had established earlier.

Simon seemed unfazed by the setback and put his plan B in motion peppering your neck with sloppy kisses. He placed his right hand on top of yours, and guided it from his crotch to your front, tracing your belly button with the tip of your fingers, before slipping them inside your panties and brushing your slit.

His ingenuity impressed you, but Negan didn’t share the sentiment.

“Hands off, Simon, her pussy is mine,“ he bared his teeth at him.

The primal gesture combined with the possessiveness in his voice made your insides coil with anticipation. Simon held his hands up with a smug look and licked his fingertips, his eyes closing in delight as he savoured the taste of your arousal.

Negan yanked your panties down, the disapproval over your complicity in Simon’s crime evident on his face. Simon kneeled on the ground and lifted the garment to his nose to take a whiff, before letting it fall on top of your discarded clothes.

“I think we should catch up with her, Simon” Negan suggested, his eyes drinking in your nakedness.

He took off his shirt revealing tufts of dark chest hair and various tattoos, some faded, some more recent looking. You heard Simon unbuckle his belt behind you and looked back over your shoulder to steal a glance. He was bulkier than Negan, his muscles defined, and chest fully shaved. You watched the piles of clothes grow by their feet until they stood before you completely naked, their cocks standing proud against their bellies. Simon’s was thick and veiny, Negan’s long and smooth, but both impressive in its own right. You bit down on your lip, yearning to taste them.

“Like what you see, doll?” Negan flicked his tongue suggestively at you. “Get on your knees and show Simon what that smart mouth is capable of,” he instructed pointing down on the ground. “But don’t make him cum yet.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” you purred.

“We shall see when you choke on his dick,” Negan replied darkly before turning to his right-hand man. “Show her who’s the fucking boss here.”

Simon didn’t need to be told twice and placing his hand on your shoulder pushed you down on the carpet. You grabbed his cock and gave it a few pumps before licking off the drops of pre-cum oozing from the tip. He sighed out loud, as you closed your mouth over the head and sucked gently, enjoying the salty taste. You swallowed him inch by inch, tracing every vein with your tongue, until he was buried deep in your throat. His hands tightened in your hair to keep you still, eliciting a muffled whine from you, your lips vibrating around his length. When you could no longer fight the need to gag, you began to move, bobbing your head up and down.

Opening your eyes, you searched for Negan and found him getting comfortable in the chair you had been sitting in before. He was watching your every move, legs wide open, stroking himself lazily. You mirrored his pace instinctively and sucked on Simon in sync with his palm fisting his dick. Negan sucked on his teeth as he watched your cheeks bulge rhythmically.

You pulled back and swirled your tongue around the crown like catching drips from a melting ice cream cone. Simon lowered his hand to the back of your head, spreading his fingers wide for a solid hold, and started fucking your mouth with abandon. Your throat was contracting and burning with every thrust but you didn’t mind the discomfort, feeling a rush of blood go to your core from him using you just like you had imagined.

“That’s enough,” Negan barked, but Simon was too far gone in pleasure to listen, his eyes closed, and head thrown back. You kept your eyes on Negan to show him that you had heard him and doubled your efforts, forming a ring with your thumb and index finger around the root of Simon’s shaft, and cupping his balls in your free hand. You knew that you were playing with fire, but the thrill was too tempting to resist.

Negan’s mouth twisted into a snarl and he jumped up from the chair to advance on you, his manhood swinging with every step like a metronome. You felt a sharp tug on your hair and let Simon slip from your mouth, a string of saliva hanging off your chin.

“I said, enough!” Negan repeated and pulled you up into a standing position. “Simon, take a time-out before you bust a nut.”

You felt him swat your ass hard and yelped in surprise.

“This may be your fantasy, doll, but I call the fucking shots here and will not hesitate to dole out some hard punishment, if you don’t follow my orders,” he seethed.

Still holding you by the make-shift ponytail he pushed you towards the bed and showed you down on the mattress.

“On your back, arms above your head.”

You laid back down against the pillows as you were told. Negan knelt between your legs and spread them apart by your knees.

“Well, would you look at this creamy little mess in here!” his eyes gleamed with unadulterated joy.

Getting on his elbows, he traced your mound with his lips, his mouth barely touching you, the combination of the scruff of his beard and his warm breath tickling deliciously. Your hands fisted the sheets as he licked your pussy from bottom to top, before dripping the tip into your opening, and lapping up your juices with relish. He peeked up at you through his long lashes, watching your reactions. His lips were sticky with your arousal as he ate you out shamelessly as if you had been his last meal on Earth.

You looked to your right to find Simon sitting on the couch, watching the two of you with drowsy eyes. He was trying hard to comply with Negan’s orders, but it was evident how much he wanted to touch himself as he fidgeted in his seat, his cock begging for attention.

Negan moved his tongue to your clit and sucked it between his teeth, the sensation exquisite and overwhelming at the same time. You cried out and digging your heels into the mattress lifted your body to move away from him, but he wrapped his fingers around your thighs holding you in place. His tongue continued its sensual assault alternating between slow, soft flicks, and fast, greedy slurps. The variation of the tempo and intensity combined with the thrill of not knowing what his next move would be was driving you crazy with want.

You bucked your hips to maximize the contact between your bodies, he, however, had other plans and sat back on his heels. Pulling you down by the waist until he was kneeling between your thighs, he lined himself up at your entrance and began grinding against your heat, coating his length with your wetness.

“Negan...” you whimpered and raised your pelvis to make him slide inside you, but he restrained you by putting his hand on your stomach.

“Not yet.”

Getting impatient you reached for his dick, but he slapped your hand away.

“I said, not yet! Simon, come here!”

You felt the bed dip and calloused hands pinning your wrists down on the mattress. Tilting your head to the side you continued to suck on Simon, eager to finish what Negan’s intervention had interrupted earlier.

You arched your back off the mattress as Negan pinched your right nipple and rolled it between his fingers. He grazed your left nipple with his teeth, before sucking it into his mouth and blowing on the stiff peak, his saliva feeling like a cool ointment against your overheated skin.

“Please...” you gasped, not sure if you were asking him to stop or to go on.

“I think she’s learned her lesson,” Simon gritted his words, the sensory overload of your lips on him, and the sight of Negan toying with you pushing him dangerously close to the edge.

“I don’t think so, Simon. But it looks like she will milk you dry any minute, and I want to fuck this pretty pussy raw finally.”

Negan positioned himself at your dripping cunt and slid inside, inch by inch. You cried out in ecstasy from the sweet pressure of him stretching you wide. When he was buried to the hilt, he remained still, and taking hold of your ankles, spread your legs wide.

“Look at that, Simon, how she is taking my big, fat dick like a champ?”

He finally began to move in a painfully slow rhythm, enjoying as your warmth enveloped him. Crossing your legs for a closer fit he placed your feet on his shoulder, the penetration so deep that you let out a cry with every thrust. Your entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat and your damp strands of hair stuck to your forehead. You were exposed and at the mercy of the two men, but had never felt this free and complete. Tension was building in your stomach and you closed your eyes to absorb yourself in the moment.

Negan, however, pulled out abruptly, earning him a frustrated mewl from you that he rewarded with a slap delivered on your swollen clit.

“On all fours, doll. I want to fill this fertile pussy full of my cum.”

Simon let go of your arms and sat back against the headboard. You rolled over lifting yourself up on your elbows, barely able to support your own weight. Negan lifted your ass up and placing his palm between your shoulder blades pushed you down in Simon’s lap. When he was satisfied with the angle, he rammed into you again, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, like a good girl?” he growled and spanked your ass hard.

You cried out an affirmative and continued to pleasure Simon while chasing your own release. A few seconds later you felt every nerve ending in your body tingle and warmth spread to your core. Your toes curled inward as your body surrendered to the inevitable and waves of ecstasy washed over you, dulling your senses for what felt like several minutes. The vibrations of your moans around him made Simon succumb to his own climax. He started twitching and throbbing, before spurting his seed down your throat. You swallowed every drop hungrily before releasing his softening member from your mouth.

Negan let you ride out your high, and then picked up the speed again. Fisting your hair, he pulled your head back twisting your body in an unnatural shape as he continued to pound you. His hand curled around your neck, his fingers squeezing hard enough to make black spots appear in your vision and blood drum in your ears. Drops of sweat fell from his chest to your ass tickling down to your sides and onto the sheet as he rode you, not losing his rhythm for a second.

His moves became more urgent, until he buried himself inside you one last time. He groaned a series of expletives under his breath before biting down on your shoulder as he came inside you, coating your inner walls with his cum. His fingers released their grip around your throat, allowing much-needed oxygen to fill your lungs and a second orgasm, even more intense than the first, consume you. You collapsed on the bed all strength leaving your limbs, as the room came back into focus, your heightened senses perceiving everything all at once.

Negan rolled off of you onto his back, his arm resting over his eyes, as Simon laid down against the pillows, a sly grin plastered over his face.

“Damn, boss,“ he wiped his brow with his thumb. “If only all dreams came true.”

Your reply was a tired but satisfied hum of agreement. A girl could dream, but making it come true was so much better.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

You stirred awake at the break of dawn. Taking in your surroundings you realized that you were still in Negan’s bed. It was dark outside, but the first rays of the sun peeked through the heavy curtains. You felt spent and sore, your skin sticky with the remnants of sweat and dried cum. The bitemark on your neck was still tender, but you wore it with pride as proof of Negan’s claim over you. Turning your head, you found him lying sprawled out on his stomach, his breathing deep and even, but Simon’s side of the bed was empty, the wrinkled sheets cold already.

You sat up carefully, searching for your clothes in the dim light, when you felt a strong arm circle around your waist.

“Where do you think you’re going, doll?” Negan’s raspy drawl made you shiver.

“Back to my room?” you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Nuh-uh,” he pulled you back against his chest. “You are staying. I want you all to myself for round two in the morning. And after that I may even change my mind about fucking you at the Monday briefing.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” you tried to untangle yourself from his hold but were easily overpowered after a playful struggle and his expert fingers finding your tickle spot.

“Just sass me, doll, and you shall see, along with all the filthy ideas I have on my mind.”

The alluring promise made you relax against him, dark words whispered in the twilight lulling you back to sleep, and another fantasy taking shape in your imagination already.

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penaltybox14 · 4 years ago

Text

DecoFiremen: No happy choice

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals @its-skadi Silky is sick in the city, and Josiah has to make some choices, and have some conversations. Emotions are hard, yo.

It's never good, to see that look on Eddy's face. His fighter's jaw is set, but his eyes are soft like ships on a dark harbor. This is the face that bodes bad news, something Eddy can't fix with his hands, a hot cup of coffee or a knock about the ears. When Josiah sees that look, after breakfast one late winter's day, the first thing he thinks is the state has come to call on Davey again. He'd taken them in his teeth that day at the gate, and thought if not rid of them altogether, he'd bought them enough time to think of how to put them off for good. It did wake him, though, to watch the high moon paint his quarters and fear the state might come back, with papers, with authority, with some force he could not bluff.

(If they were to take Cleary now, he thinks, the boy would be lost forever. He would be some shadow growing thinner and paler on the back ward of the state hospital, he would settle sure as smoke in that long dark hall of his or drown in the lake below the lawn. For sure, he would.)

"No," Eddy says, his raw knuckles flexing, catching the rattle of Josiah's thoughts, "no, it ain't the young fella."

"So what is it, then? You hear from town there's none left of those hot peppers the grocer pickles, that you eat whole from the stem?"

Josiah's humor falls as flat and pale as vellum in the typewriter, gnawed down by keystrokes.

"Got a telegram from the city, Birchy." Eddy grips the butcher-block of the back kitchen's table, leans, uprights, and leans again. "Silky's gone down sick."

"Sick." Josiah has to steady himself. His bad leg throbs like a bad dream that upends the day. "Gone down sick? Who sent it?"

"Hastings at 27. He's at casualty down at Bellevue, thinking it's pneumonia."

He cannot go. He cannot go: he is responsible here, the Captain of this house, their grounds. He cannot go: to leave his post, to leave the lads, to leave the boy. Worst of all, that: to leave the boy. What kind of captain would he be then, to leave the newest and the rawest of recruits, who still trembles under the blunt wind of the sear and some days even falls to it? Some damn bastard, he would be, but his heart and his bent leg howl as the breath of horses, carrying him surely to the city. He was a coward once who left a hundred thousand words unanswered, the great sulk of an overgrown child. It was not Silky's fault, was it, after all, that the roof had caved, that his body had broken under the greedy teeth of the timbers?

But he had never told Silks that, had he. And he could, now. He could have the chance to say it again.

"It's an awful long way, to the city."

"I haven't seen him since the promotion."

"You'd be leaving the boy."

"I know it."

"Do you?"

"I do know it, Eddy."

"Took you how long to answer a simple letter? How long would you plan on staying? Til he was well? Til the dark took him?"

What a bitter kick in the chest, the fury rising up inside him so hard it makes his eyes water. "Silks isn't going to die. He didn't die in that damn fire and he won't now."

"If'n you go, Birch, I'll drive you to the station. But you'll tell Lufty and Monroe and the lads, and most of all, young Cleary, where you're off to."

Lufty, he knows, will understand. Lufty and Monroe both, are men who have swallowed smoke and coughed out grief in spatters on the sidewalk, ribs heaving under the weight of it. Josiah was not the first fireman to be ground hard in the blaze's splintering teeth, he will not be the last.

Though some days he feels as if he is the only fool to lose a brother by his own carelessness and greedy fury. Fool, to lie shattered, dry and cracked and thirsty for the safe embrace of brick walls and floorboards that creak with midnight steps and men who roll over in starched sheets and roll over again. Fool that Silks had sat for, holding the hand without the needle, speaking to him from far away through the ether and the lazy dream-fields of poppies and long sunshine.

But the boy, god, the boy.

Whatever he does, he can't spare the boy. Would that he could. For his sear to have broke before his voice, the boy ought to be allowed to live a life of perfect grace, running the field with the lads and catching perch down in the pond, every line charged, every ladder strong, every jake out clear.

Silks or Davey, he thinks, what'll it be, what choice do I have?

The sun sprawling across the yard has taken on the keener brass of springtime - the snow is still deep, the ice still thick enough to drive a double hitch onto, but the turn of the earth is winning out as she always does. The lads sweat at their work - Lufty and Monroe have let ladders and ropes ice overnight, and each exercise begins with a clamor of ideas on how to handle the frozen gear. Bertram and Jules are keen to lead, while Kitson, Jacob, and Lee, the newest lot, scamper about and skitter like fawns. How funny, to see from the broad steps, that Davey knows nearly as much as a half-year, though he has not the strength yet. He will, though. There is an awkward, coltish grace about him. Something he has not grown into. Josiah woke one night when the sky was half-silver with stars and Davey was standing in his quarters like a ghost-child, the sear singing in their bones. A long way to grow, that one. A long, fine way.

Lufty catches him after lunch. Lufty is harder at the edges, often, than Eddy has ever been. Even when Josiah was still stiff about the collar in his new kit, Eddy was all bluff, and quick to mild. Eddy would brawl for any jake among them. Lufty was tougher to read, even after he was on the boards. Lufty Parker was burned once, and badly, in a fire at the piers in Chelsea. His scars creep up the side of his neck, and cup the back of his head like a brief and tender lover. They invite no dormitory tales, only an edgy kind of sorrow. Josiah had heard, in his rook year, that three men had plunged into the East River, but just one had come up. The oakbellies, he had been told, had tried to make Lufty a captain, and he'd refused to show up for the ceremony. They'd tried to make him a battalion chief, and he'd hopped the first train to Troy.

So he had been told.

But Lufty knows the white rooms and white coats at Bellevue and the casualty ward.

"There's not no happy choice to make, Birchy," Lufty says to him in his office.

"It's just not gonna be so. That said, it's not about if you goes, I think, it's about if you're coming back."

"You think I won't?"

"I know you will. But it's not me what needs convincing."

Josiah sighs. His leg is tight, aching, and he ought to stretch it out. But he's afraid if he ventures out now, he'll run into Davey, breathless with some discovery. "What am I supposed to say to him, Luft?"

"To Silks or the boy?"

"Either one."

"I couldn't say. When I went into the river, I thought we'd all come out. We had a fire at our heels and the river below us, and the last thing I remember before spitting up black water on the cobbles was Matty taking my elbow and Tom saying it'd be alright."

He's never heard this story, not from Lufty's taut lips and clenched teeth, so he stills like a boy in church and lets the old memory - the smell of creosote, and the greasy river, the snapping pilings and the blinding smoke - shiver on the air and fall as motes of golden dust. The worst was not the plunge, was it, but the waking.

Alone.

It's going to hurt them both, but crueler for the boy.

After Lufty leaves him to his battered thoughts, he sits at his desk until the dusk unravels into night. The dinner mess bell clangs. The lads thunder about downstairs like wild horses, shouting, stampeding.

He ought to get up now, go to the kitchens, get a bite. Eddy is always after him to put something more than gristle and spite on his bones. He plants his hands on his desk, ready to make the effort to stand, when of a sudden Davey's there, in the door.

Josiah has a good look at him, now, under the humming electrics. Still too thin, for his widening shoulders. Hair in need of a trim or at least a comb. (He tries to do it like Bertram Cochrane, slicking the sides down, but the loose black curls are springing free by midday). A tear in the shoulder of his shirt fixed by clunky, deliberate stitches. A boy exuberantly ragged at the end of a long day.

"Capper. You weren't at mess."

Josiah pins a smile to the corner of his mouth like he means it. "Eddy send you up?"

"No sir."

"I'll be down soon."

The boy hesitates. "Capper? Are you angry?"

"No. Why would you say?"

"You been up here all day, Capper, that's all. Eddy said - well I think he said, maybe I just thought of something he did say, you know, the sear said he - well you know. Eddy's sear is so bright sometimes. I forget. Eddy said you used to get your hackles up and hide out in your quarters all day."

Josiah chuckles softly. "He's right. I did. I'm not angry, m'son."

"What's wrong, then?"

"Come sit." There is not gonna be no happy choice, said Lufty. And there won't be, but he'd be crueler not to tell the boy.

Davey comes round to his desk and pulls up a chair, as he does when they read and talk, about things Josiah knows - like radio manuals and floorplans and exit strategies - and things that Davey knows, like checkers and poems and music. "I told you 'bout my pal, Silky. You remember, his letters."

"Yes sir."

"He saved my life. Before I was a captain."

"I dream that sometimes. Like you know about the lake. And Liddy."

Josiah picks up a pen and twirls it over the blotter. His chest is tight, like breathing through a wet kerchief. "Davey, Silky's very sick. We got a telegram from his captain." He takes a deep breath, pushing through it, like crawling under thick smoke, palming every door. "He's in the hospital in the city."

Davey watches him through a child's lashes with eyes that pierce him like a brother. Josiah longs for a horse between them, the calming stroke of the soft brush on the soot-dappled back. He longs for the darkness between bunks, staring at the ceiling. In the low, fragile light, Josiah sees the dampness welling up in Davey's eyes. It is too hard to hide.

Davey knows already. He is biting his lip, as if he is already a young man. While he lay in a Bellevue bed, a needle in one arm, Silky had bent over the other, murmuring. Josiah, from his awkward seat with his bad leg locked in its brace, leans forward in one great surge and takes the boy in his arms and holds him tight. As close as his nightmares, as tight as his memories. "I will come back. I will, Davey, I promise you. I'll come back."

The child's stumbling sear is a raw mess of questions, frantic as birds beating their wings against a low-slung slate-clouded sky. He is crying. Good, Josiah thinks. Good that grief be open.

"You promise," Davey whispers at last, hoarse with a sob and muffled deep into his chest. "You got to promise, Capper."

"Promise. I promise, I promise. As sure as I can't run, m'son, I promise I will come home."

#decofire #decofiremen #found family

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