#sorry for the word-vomit but some of you really need to learn some manners
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Your Pain is My Pain
"This is a bad idea, Annabeth."
Despite his words, Malcolm didn't try to stop Annabeth as she packed one last item- a bottle of water- into her backpack. She hitched the bag over her shoulder, debating whether or not to knock some sense into him. In fact, she was gearing herself up for a rant.
"Annabeth." Malcolm's voice was weak. "We shouldn't."
He looked exhausted- his face was a pasty pale color, dark shadows circling below his eyes. His blond curls were tangled and messy- not in the attractive way that girls seemed to faun over, but in a genuinely horrifyingly filthy manner. He looked as if he had been resurrected from Tartarus itself.
Annabeth changed her mind on the rant. She softened her voice. "You need to see her, Mal." The use of his old childhood nickname seemed to startle him; he stared at her for a moment, then sighed heavily.
"Okay."
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Annabeth wasn't entirely sure when Malcolm's mother had fallen ill, exactly. She knew it had taken less than a few months of vomiting and nosebleeds for her husband- Malcolm's stepfather- to wheel her off to the hospital. But beyond that, Malcolm hadn't told her much. He'd kept her illness....not secret, exactly, but he'd withheld most details, even from his closest friends. Even from the rest of the Athena cabin. Even from Annabeth herself.
She wasn't an expert on family; her childhood had deprived her of that experience. But Malcolm was the relative she loved most dearly, surpassing even the other Athena kids. They had grown up together at Camp Half-Blood. He was younger than her by 2 years, but he'd always felt the same age, if not older. She had learned to fight monsters and wield weapons alongside him, to swim in the lake and play Capture the Flag with him. Most of her formative years had been spent in his presence; most of her formative memories were with him. They were each other's closest confidants; she had told him things she had told not even Percy.
So it had hurt when he refused to talk about his mother. It had stung bitterly.
Was this a sign they were growing apart? Ever since the Titan War had finished, things had been...different, between them. Not bad, exactly, but she didn't like it. They had stopped Iris-Messaging each other, had stopped sparring together in the arena. They had stopped talking altogether.
She had meant to make amends- she had arrived at Camp Half-Blood for winter break that year, determined to rekindle their old relationship. But then Percy had gone missing, and Jason, Piper, and Leo had arrived at camp, and then a quest on Argo ll had been issued- the whole fiasco. She hadn't seen him again until August, when she arrived at camp to stop Gaea from awakening. Then she'd been preoccupied with Leo's death (or alleged death, anyway) and rebuilding from the damage the battle had inflicted and playing diplomat for the Romans. Too many things to do, to worry about.
Excuses. That was what she was making, and she knew it. But Annabeth refused to blame herself- after all, Malcolm could've come to talk to her, if he really needed to. She'd always made it clear she was available for anything, should he need it. And he knew it...didn't he?
"Annabeth." Malcolm's voice drew her back to the present. The taxi had stopped; the driver was looking over his shoulder expectantly. Both of them seemed to be waiting for Annabeth, who was obviously zoned out.
"Sorry," she said hastily. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, then handed it to the driver, ignoring Malcolm's protests ("Annabeth, you don't have to pay!"). "Is this enough?"
The driver grunted in affirmation. Annabeth pasted a smile on her face. "Thank you, have a nice day!"
She climbed out of the car with Malcolm, who seemed annoyed and a little embarassed. "I could've paid," he said crossly, as the car sped off into the line of traffic.
"I'm your big sister," said Annabeth. She looked at him, frowning. 'I could've paid'- a sentence she would've used regarding an acquaintance. Had they really grown that far apart?
Like he knew what she was thinking, his eyes- stormy grey like hers, but rounder and wider- darted away to the ground. "Chiron'll be pissed if he finds out we snuck out of camp," he mumbled. "It'll be stable duty for a month."
Annabeth snorted. "I've snuck out of camp plenty of times and he's never caught me. Have some faith." His mouth twitched and she felt a surge of triumph. Even now she could still make him laugh- small victories. She turned to the building in front of them- New York City's hospital, Lenox Hill. "Ready to go in?"
His face hardened, any trace of amusement vanishing. The weary expression from before returned. "I...I don't think I can do this," he admitted.
She reached for his hand, entwining their fingers. "Sure you can," she said, mustering confidence into her voice. "You're Malcolm Pace, co-head counselor of Athena cabin and war veteran of Camp Half Blood's bloodiest wars. You can do this." To her relief, her words seemed to bring back some color into his face. He swallowed hard.
"Alright. Let's go in."
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Whoever Annabeth was expecting, the actual Mrs. Pace was not it.
She had thought someone so ill would look frail and pale and weak. But Mrs. Pace looked healthier than ever- she had no problem smiling or moving or...doing anything, really. Her voice wasn't hoarse or whispered; it was loud, strong. Full. Uncannily similar to Malcolm's.
She had greeted Annabeth with startling excitement. "Malcolm's told me all about you," she gushed, shaking Annabeth's hand far more enthusiastically than Annabeth had expected a chronically ill woman to. How was it that someone who looked so healthy was so sick?
Malcolm looked embarassed. "Has Claude come by today?" he said, referring to his stepfather. He loved to change the subject. It had always been his go-to tactic for uncomfortable topics.
"Oh yes- he was here only half an hour ago, I think. You just missed him." Mrs. Pace settled back into her covers upon her bed, still smiling. "Would you two like anything? I can ask for a nurse to bring you some snacks. Maybe some of those Thin Mints? I know those Girl Scouts cookies are in popular stock right now."
"We're fine, don't strain yourself, Mom," said Malcolm swiftly. Annabeth nodded along, strangely unable to speak. She found herself envying their easy dynamic; even after all these years, she had yet to come close to something even remotely close with her father.
She hated herself instantly. She didn't have the right to such thoughts- not while Mrs. Pace was dangerously ill. It wasn't fair. They obviously didn't have it easy.
"So, tell me, dear," said Mrs. Pace brightly, after a few moments of unsettling silence. She seemed untroubled, unfazed, as if this was an ordinary visit from her son. "How is camp? Have you talked to that boy you mentioned recently?"
Annabeth's brows shot up. A boy? She glanced at Malcolm, who flushed a deep red. "Mom," he said, in an exasperated voice. "He's not- we're not-" He caught Annabeth's eye, blushing. "It's not what you think."
"Sure," Annabeth said, grinning.
Mrs. Pace smiled knowingly. "How're things with the Romans?" she asked, switching topics. "Everything okay?"
Annabeth started- she hadn't realized Malcolm had confided so much in his mother. In fact, she'd forgotten altogether that Malcolm was one of the few demigods to be close to their parents.
"Fine- there was a situation, a few months ago, when they came to visit and played Capture-the-Flag. But we settled it," Malcolm spoke casually, and Mrs. Pace nodded along.
The horrible envy struck again. How did they have such an easy relationship? Annabeth struggled so much with her father, and her mother...after the Mark of Athena, she preferred to avoid the matter entirely.
"That's good. That's...." Mrs. Pace trailed off, face contorting strangely. She jerked, then burst into a daunting barrage of coughs.
"Mom?" Malcolm looked alarmed. "Mom!"
But Mrs. Pace waved him off. "Fine!" she gasped, slumping back into her pillows. "Don't- worry!"
Malcolm took her words in the opposite manner. He whipped around, face anxious. "I'm going to get a nurse," he said, and darted out of the room before anyone could stop him.
Mrs. Pace wheezed, then reached out and grabbed Annabeth's hand with a surprising (and painful) grip. Annabeth found herself not minding at all. "My dear- please take care- of Malcolm," she gasped. "He's- my only child. I love him."
Dread snaked into Annabeth's heart. She squeezed Mrs. Pace's hand, feeling helpless as she watched the woman struggle. "Mrs. Pace...you're not dying, are you?"
The only answer she received was a retch.
At that moment, Malcom hurried in, a nurse at his heels. "You two need to go," the man said, and Annabeth let go of Mrs. Pace's hand. She quickly pulled Malcolm out of the room with her and closed the door, her heart twisting at the hacking coughs from inside.
Malcolm's face was stark white. "Oh my gods," he said, his voice high and reedy. "I knew she was bad- but I didn't think-"
It was the look on his face that made Annabeth decide against voicing her suspicions about his mother's deteriorating health. She reached for his hand, threading their fingers together as she had outside of the hospital. "She'll make it," she promised. "She's strong."
Malcolm's shoulders were shaking. His eyes were suspiciously bright. "I can't...gods, Annabeth, I told you I couldn't do it." His voice broke. "I told you, damn it."
In that moment, she understood, just from his tone only, that there were no words in the world she could've said to console or soothe him. There were no words in the world to protect him from the deep, aching sorrow he was experiencing. She pulled him into a tight embrace, and he buried his head in her shoulder, sobbing, surrendering to her touch.
"I'm sorry, Mal," she whispered. She hoped he understood that this apology was not just for this but for their bond that had frayed for the last 2 years. That they were growing up and experiencing the bitter taste of life.
"I'm so sorry."
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very overdramatic ik but hey i'm a sucker for angst. and i'm very much whipped for annabeth/malcolm sibling relationship fics.
#percy jackson#pjo#pjo fandom#percy jackson fandom#annabeth chase#malcolm pace#annabeth and malcolm sibling fic#annabeth and malcolm#my two babies#i love them so much your honor#god im actually falling in love with annabeth chase povs someone help#i feel like annabeth's relationships with her siblings are criminally underrated#and malcolm in general is underrated
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Hiii it's morning and time for more postal 1 dude idea vomit <3
This one is much more headcanon territory, treading and elaborating on old ground, so forgive me if some of it sounds a bit like repetition. I'm mainly going over stuff like his thought process, morality, and some family stuff! Also, sorry for the awkward wording cause i wrote most of this while i was trying to sleep. |D
Dudes sense of morality is very strange because he esentially had to make it himself based off of learned experience. Growing up undiagnosed and gullible with a overly prideful mother and an apathetic father divided meant neither instilled particularly strong values in him.
Instead he had to learn from his peers, whatever bits and pieces of influence he could get from family, things he got punished for, and just pure lived experience with all the confirmation bias and incorrect conclusions that comes from it.
There is an Uncle Dave equivalent in my headcanon idea of Postal 1. However, with the tone difference, he's a little different. A relative from Dude's mother's side, he's part of a similarly extreme view of God in a similar tone to Postal 2 Dave (God is good, guns are good, god gives us guns, those who dont want us to have guns are bad and against god) though he hasn't gone full compound. He probably goes more by David, but lets Dude call him Uncle Dave.
He's probably one of the people who were the most kind to Dude, but due to his extremist views and awkwardness, truly speaking and relating to him, it led to some bad influence. I think he would have tried to write to or see Dude once before when he got the insanity verdict, but gave up and was unable to face him with the feeling of guilt for not "seeing it coming".
Dude's view of God in general as a figure is complicated, being given three contradictory accounts from his family.
To his mother, God was to be listened to, never to be questioned. His judgment was always what was right, even if it was cruel, as they must have deserved it in some way. He was the judge of all men, and whatever sentencing he gave was final, no matter how inconsequential the "crime" was.
To his father, God was a cruel bastard who threw you out to the wolves, made you figure things out on your own, and never was there for you when you needed him. He was no better than any man on earth and deserved to be questioned and derided for his poor judgments as well.
And to Uncle Dave, God was benevolent, kind, and always watching over his children. Always there to listen, there to answer your prayer, and always there to see when you were acting up. So Dude had better watch his back unless he wanted to have a lot to answer for at the pearly gates.
Dave had likely meant it in a more joking manner to get his nephew to stay out of trouble, but the image of God as a constant surveying force burrowed itself in pretty deep in Dude.
Along with conflicting ideas about God, he has his own strangely built idea of trust from life, mainly related to people. Having grown up different neurologically and physically from his peers, even on a smaller scale when he was young, wasn't easy. He was subject to teasing and bullying at a young age, beginning a lifelong alienation from his peers that lead to his unfortunate fate.
Because he never could trust those who looked nice to not be talking behind his back, it lead him to have an instilled distrust of anything conventionally "kind" or "pretty", associating those things with people trying to hide their true nasty nature. He wasn't mean to others because of it or even really hated them for it, it just made him very distrusting, as if he was bracing himself for a rug pull or being dropped. It caused his guard to rise more, feeling like they were trying to compensate for something and catch him off guard.
This instilled distrust of the "normal" in life also carried onto his life outside of school, from things like advertisements with happy smiling people on them (especially ones that looked at the camera), traditionally loved animals like golden retrievers or butterflies, others with almost condescending tones, and homes that felt a little too nice. When at the peak of his paranoid state, just seeing normal people walking around or talking made him start to worry.
In reverse, however, he's less scared of the uncanny, the "if X is true, then there's the opposite Y" mindset he built meant anything strange was just being honest. Plus while he doesn't think about it purposefully, he thinks of them as being similar to him, sort of underdogs and scary for the "normal" ones. To him, if they display their unsettling part on the outside, there can't be much of any on the inside, whether that be something simple like goth people (I like to imagine him adopting the look when he's more comfortable with himself, sort of a reverse where the more goth he is the happier he is and the more casual he is the opposite follows) to outright horror figures being slightly comforting.
P1 Dude's mindset is paradoxically very complex and incredibly simple.
He knows plenty of strategic ideas, writing techniques, big words, and bits and pieces of his past school life still stick with him. He tends to think very deeply about things he does, about life around him, stories, and even more philosophical ideas. Some of it he writes down, and some he lets go. He also enjoys learning new things and sharing those things he learns, even if he does so a little strongly.
Dude does at least try to keep himself somewhat grounded in his thinking, mostly to keep himself from getting trapped in any harmful thinking, hurting the innocent (as far as he can when he's not deep in a bad mindset), and giving too much time to more "out there" conspiracy stuff akin to faked moon landings, aliens, cryptids, or the typical "(insert group of people) caused everything bad ever" ideas, but he tends to get caught in a loop in his thoughts.
He worries about something, because he worries about it that something comes to fruition, that fruition leads to a reinforcement of the idea, and that reinforcing leads back into worrying. It's an awful cycle, and with no real learned way to cope, it only got worse and worse with age. When he's allowed to think, it rarely stops, and though he is self aware at moments, he has no way to correct the behavior.
He's also incredibly prone to a black-and-white idea of the basics of life. Good people and bad, there is no identity behind them, but they're incredibly concrete ideas to him. Some people protect and some people hurt, and he is meant to protect others, at any cost. He has problems handling the idea of a grey, the idea that most things in life aren't binary. It scares him, the idea he can't do good for everyone, and that even if he tried there will still be those who are hurt or unhappy.
A lot of his self-worth was built on the idea of what he did for others, getting good grades, being kind, never complaining, and doing what was expected of him, but when he wasn't able to keep that up his world crumbled below him and no matter what he did he only ended up falling further. Even during that horrific survival state, he had the base idea of keeping those outside safe, deciding he had to handle the infected police force and act as the one to take those suffering out of their misery. It's both selfish and selfless in a way. He wants to do good for others and save everyone but also decides he is the one who gets to decide the fate of those around him to do so.
Part of the simplicity is that "if X then Y" thinking, following almost a rudimentary idea of justification and reasoning. The biggest part of it is him in the moment of combat, focusing on trying to keep himself alive to continue the fight, and it still lingers in the moments in between when he hides in the woods or in abandoned buildings to patch himself up. If he keeps at it he'll have to find a conclusion, there has to be a reason for the wrong, and if there is a source he has to be able to end it, however even before he was still a victim to it, if I do what others want then I'm doing good, if I look normal people will like me, if people like me they won't hurt me anymore, if I become what they want then I'll truly be loved.
It's just not how the world works, no matter how much he wants it to be true.
#postal 1#postal dude#postal#postal headcanons#my relationship with P1 dude is omg i love you so much youre so cute omg anyways time to deeply analyze your flawed thinking <3<3<3<3#like yeah ill write up a whole post about how i think he has a very surface level view of morality. and then ill give him a little kiss 💋#thank you that one autocorrect thing my phone installed on an update for fixing it up a bit <3
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Just me rambling about my fanfic projects
(I didn't really proofread, I'm sorry.)
Listen, I know nobody's really gonna give a fuck, but screw it, I need to word vomit a bit.
I've posted on another platform about how I've been writing some Twisted Wonderland fics behind the scenes – three of them, to be exact. I haven't published them because I've been enjoying writing and indulging in this hobby in a stress-free manner, because I sometimes feel overwhelmed when having to cater to an audience, which incidentally takes the fun out of writing for me and causes me to block or burn out easily.
Doing this has really been making me happy, and I'm on the fence about publishing the fics. I probably will at some point; it would be a waste to not share the works. Plus, they're already written in a reader insert format, so it's not like I'd have to change much about the stories to cater them to my typical audience. I think I'd publish them only when I'm nearing their completion or when I have a lot – and I mean a lot – of chapters done. That way, I can set a consistent upload schedule.
But regardless of what I end up doing, I'd like to share the basics of the three books I've been working on! So continue reading if you're interested! ~
I'd like to give a preemptive warning that the second story I talk about is heavily NSFW-based. So, if you're uncomfortable with that, then skip over to #3.
Another thing: the reader is referred to with she/her pronouns throughout the explanations, though if published, they might be changed to GN, but I'm not really sure yet.
#1
So, the first book I want to talk about is called 'The Devil's Wonderland.'
This story is definitely inspired by some elements of Obey Me, though you don't need to have played Obey Me to understand what's going on because although it's inspired, it's not a crossover and the OM characters are never mentioned.
This book does follow Twisted Wonderland's main story, though, with some artistic liberty taken to make it more unique to me and my story-telling. The reader is the highly-respected and somewhat feared demon lord of the Nether Realm (hell) and runs an institution where demons of all ages learn various things about the Nether Realm and important skills to have as a demon. The idea of the institution was first brought forth by the previous demon lord, her father, but the reader is the one to have actually gone through with it. Much like the Twisted Wonderland side of things, the institution has seven dorms with one demon at the head of each of them, and each dorm is based on one of the seven deadly sins. The dorm heads are personally very close to the reader in one way or another, and all come from different social standings of demon hierarchy.
Her office has a mirror that allows her to look into different universes and realms, as well as travel to said universes, which is where the reader learns of Twisted Wonderland, a Realm she finds absolutely enchanting and fascinating and was contemplating taking a vacation there. However, when one of the freshmen, a mischievous cambion who has already earned himself the reputation of being troubled, gets called into the office, he goes into the mirror and Twisted Wonderland. So, with her trusty right-hand demon man at her side, they go into the mirror, where they are transported into Twisted Wonderland at NRC. They end up using humanoid disguises with magic to not draw much attention to themselves — they're unaware of what constitutes normal for the world — and originally have a mission to retrieve the troubled student and bring him back to the Nether, but they get dragged into the mess of the prologue of the main game. The thing is, the reader realizes that she likes being in Twisted Wonderland because of the way she's being treated. She's not being treated with fear and superiority. People aren't sucking up to her or blindly following and adoring her for her status because the NRC men don't know that this is the literal queen of hell.
She likes it. She likes being just another person. Hell, she gets excited when people outright disrespect her because nobody would ever dare say their true thoughts to her back in the Nether. So, she wants to stay in Twisted Wonderland to experience a semblance of normality, though she still has to flip-flop between realms because she has duties back in the Nether, so she's living this double life. Much to the chagrin of her right-hand man.
To make the story more unique to me, I've implemented a lot of elements of the original universe I've been building for myself and OCs, and there a few of OCs that will be added to add a little something!
I'd like to briefly introduce these OCs to you. Please note that all the artwork that I'm about to show you have not been made by me. They are all paid commissions of my characters, directly taken from my ToyHouse account. I'd also like to apologize for the poorly-done collages of the images. I tied to condense things as much as possible.
Obviously I won't be revealing too much info on them as I don't want to spoil things should the books come to the public, but I want to share a few tidbits!
Starting off with my personal favourite and one of the most relevant characters, meet Alastair:
Al is the right-hand man and butler to the reader. His loyalty to her knows no bounds, and he's almost always seen with her. They actually have a very close relationship and respect each other as way more than just business partners, instead seeing each other as very close friends. Alastair is an absolute badass in his own way and possibly my favourite character. I'd even go as far as to say that he's my favourite of ALL of my OCs. I've just grown super attached to this dude and can't wait to show him off in story.
Next, we have Luka:
Luka is the cambion that got Alastair and the reader in the mess in the first place. Being half demon and half human, he struggles with his identity as he's unsure of where he fits in best. He faces prejudice in the human community for being unpure (racism is actually a big thing in my universe regarding human views on non-humans) and the demon community often reject cambions for being 'not demon enough'. Luka gets a lot of character development throughout the story, and his relationship with Alastair is pretty comical, and the relationship he grows with the reader is so wholesome to the point where I'm debating not making Luka a love interest because I feel like they have a very familial bond.
So, Luka and Alastair are the main OCs and the ones that are seen the most. The other OCs get introduced slowly but surely and are less present — though they still hold weight — so I will rapid-fire them at you.
So, let's get into the seven dorm heads of the demon institution!
First, we have Melchom:
Melchom is the dorm head of the Superbia dorm, which is centred around the sin of pride. He is a noble who is very well-acquainted with the reader and her family, being a childhood friend of hers. They were brought up with the intent of wedded to one another, but that didn't happen for reasons I'm not spoiling. With striking good looks, great power, a high rank in demon society and the sheer confidence he exhibits, Mel is definitely one of the more popular and admired demons at the institution, seemingly being perfect in every sense of the word.
Next is Lucius:
Lucius runs Avaritia, the dorm based around the sin of greed. Although neither a noble nor anywhere near royalty, Lucius is a pretty successful business demon. He's incredibly skilled in business affairs and has made a name for himself in both the Nether and human realms, but is his money all from honest, hard work? Probably not. But he sure is good at convincing others that it is. He's a demon, give the shady man a break!
We move on over to Jinn!
Jinn is at the top of the Invidia dorm, which is based on envy. Out of all the dorm heads, Jinn is the most difficult with which to get along. Deep-rooted insecurities manifest as envy towards his comrades for one way or another, making it difficult to form a genuine bond.
Next is the duo of Gael and Aziel:
Leading the Ira dorm, based on wrath, are Gael and Aziel. Gael is the only human that currently inhabits the Nether Realm, and he shares his body with a demon named Aziel. The reasons as to why Aziel is possessing Gael are redacted for the time being as I don't want to spoil, but much like a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing, Gael and Aziel are completely different in terms of personality, and Aziel can take over Gael's body.
Next, we have Ezekiel, or just Zeke for short:
The Luxuria dorm is based on the sin of lust, and Zeke is the one who runs it. Zeke is a super open, chill and fun-loving guy who is all about self-expression and will absolutely shame kink and slut-shamers. He's allergic to wearing proper shirts, but if he must, he will. He also runs various clubs at the institution, including a dance club and a yoga club.
Next is Iblis:
At the top of the Gula dorm, home of gluttony, is Iblis. Iblis is an absolute sweetheart and cinnamon roll, whose tail and butt will do little waggles when food is involved. Despite constantly eating, he's rather fit due to gluttony demons essentially being bottomless voids, nearly immediately burning up anything they consume. And yes, his tail is as warm and squishy as it looks, and he's all for letting people use it as a weighted blanket. Once a human, reincarnated as a demon after death, one really wonders what the hell this guy has done to wind up in hell, he's such a sweetie... ~
For the last dorm head, we have Izzin:
The last dorm, representing sloth, is Acedia, which is run by Izzin. Much like, Iblis, Izzin was also once human and turned into a demon after death. Being a sloth demon, Izzin is forced into a perpetual state of sleepiness and because of that, he's the most uninvolved of all the dorm heads. Make no mistake, even in sleep, he's somehow perfectly aware of what's going on around him. He hears all, don't test him. Though when he's awake and aware, he's amongst the more mischievous and scheming of the dorm heads and often gets involved in Lucius' scams- I mean business.
There's one last character I want to show, and that's the reader. Now, in and of itself, the reader is not given a set appearance. The skin colour, body type, hair colour and style, eye colour, etc. remain ambiguous so that the reader can insert themself or their OC. Plus, this is made to be my sona as the MC of the story, but I still wanted to show! This is more to show what I have in mind with the outfit, crown, wings and horns when in demon form.
OKAY. Moving on to the next book!
#2
The next book is... something. It's called 'She's a Monster.'
Let me explain this book's existence with a simple conversation between my friend and I.
Friend: Hey, Britt! You know how everybody writes fics where the reader is a monster fucker?
Me: ... yeah?
Friend: Well, hear me out... what if the reader is the one who's a monster, and the guys are the ones who are monster fuckers??
Me: ...
Me: *Opens Google Docs.* Say no more.
So... this book is a collect-all-the-men reverse-harem-porn-with-plot... thing.
To make this simple, it's Twisted Wonderland, but the reader is a big, strong, naga woman that brings out the monster fucker in the NRC men. There's the plot that follows TW and my added plot lines, but there's a lot of sex and kink exploration.
My portrayal of nagas is not accurate to our real-world legends. My portrayal of nagas is purely driven by my original universe and narrative, so keep that in mind!
The gyst is that the reader is a naga — half human, half snake monster — a rare creature on the brink of extinction in Twisted Wonderland. The reader has been living completely isolated in the depths of a forest near the Dwarf Mines. She's rather lonely and craves having a clutch — what nagas use to refer to their group of mates — so when she sees Yuu, Ace, Deuce and Grim adventure into the mines, she's compelled to help them out a bit and interact.
Now, in this story, nagas are rare and almost extinct, so while it's not normal for her species, the reader is willing to get with humans and humanoids because she's a little desperate. Here's the thing: nagas have a weird male-to-female ratio, with females being much rarer than males, where there's only about a single female for every nine males, so it isn't uncommon for females to have multiple partners, and this instinct is still very present, and so that is why the reader is compelled to get with multiple guys. However, despite this, female nagas are very respectful and gentle with their partners and love them all equally.
The reader in this can shift between her proper, monstrous form and a more humanoid form where she has legs, though she's not fond of being in that form as she gets sore from containing her monster form. So, there are scenes where the men fuck the reader in her human form and some scenes where it's human on monster.
The reader is portrayed as a switch in the book, but there's a focus on her being dominant. I'm just tired of always writing submissive readers, so I'm trying something different. Plus, female nagas, in this interpretation, are typically larger, stronger and more dominant than the males.
Also... the reader has both female and male anatomy. I primarily work with female anatomy in the story, but when in her full monster form, the reader can sheathe and unsheathe two dicks, so there are some scenes where the dudes get dicked down.
There's some genuine fluff and emotional connections made, it's not all smut, and there are definitely some comedic moments, especially with the reader just... not understanding everyday slang, technology and human things in general.
So yeah, this one is definitely sexually charged and not for the sexually squeamish.
I'd like to give a visual reference of my OC that I've used to base the reader off. Again, keep in mind that my showing you these images is only to give you an idea of the physical traits the reader has in her monster form. Her skin/scale colour, hairstyle and hair colour, body type and shape, eye colour, etc, are all for you to pick. The basic appearance of the reader's insert is their choice, but this is a template for you to know what I have in mind when writing in terms of physical traits. The reader's 'colour palette' while in her monster form isn't mentioned, so feel free to think of her as the colour of your choice. Doesn't have to be purple and gold.
Her name's usually Lilith in my universe, but she's (Y/N) here, obviously! I have some more art of her, but the images are... very NSFW. So, I'm not showing.
Onto the last book!
#3
The last book is called 'Monsters & Magic.'
I don't have a cover for this one yet, but here's a commission that's in progress that I should get this week. There's gonna be a nice background of NRC's courtyard!
POKÉMON X TWISTED WONDERLAND CROSSOVER!!!
Okay, so this book is a little different... it's kind of a CYOA?
Also, you don't NEED to be a pokémon expert to read this, but it definitely helps.
Basically, the reader is a champion-level and gets yeeted into the world of Twisted Wonderland thanks to Arceus. Basic stuff. But here's where it gets a little different: the book has three prologue chapters, and in the third prologue chapter, the reader stands in front of the mirror, and the story branches. There are seven branches for the seven dorms, and the reader will be placed in one of the dorms, and you choose which paths you want to read. So there are basically seven stories in one.
I decided to do this because I wanted to follow the stories of Twisted Wonderland, but I wanted the reader to experience the events of every dorm from the perspective of someone who's in that dorm. I wanted to write a bit more of an inside view of the dorm dramas and characters, with added plot lines and scenes made by me, of course. This is also a good way to give more depth to some characters I feel got screwed over by the writers. Leona, my love, I'm looking at you.
The reader also changes depending on the dorm she's in. Her personality and backstory are different, her pokémon team is different, etc. This is for variety because I don't want to write the same character over and over again but in a different setting.
The reader is from a different region for every dorm and has experienced the events of the main games associated with that region, plus more. The thing is, there are nine main regions and only seven dorms, so I can't honor them all. Plus, if you count Hisui, Orre, Fiore, Almia and Oblivia, there are even more regions.
Since I wanted to involve as many of the regions as possible, I fused some of them together, so here's what I got:
Heartslabyul: Paldea + Galar
Savanaclaw: Sinnoh
Octavinelle: Hoenn + Alola
Scarabia: Orre
Pomefiore: Kalos
Ignihyde: Kanto + Johto
Diasomnia: Unova
Because Hisui is basically old Sinnoh, I decided to not include it at all, but there are some nods and references to Legends Arceus, notably in the prologue of the book where Arceus brings the reader to Twisted Wonderland, and how pokémon are portrayed to be, as they are, wild creatures that can be extremely dangerous when not tamed.
Fiore, Almia and Oblivia... as much as I love the ranger games, I decided to not include them. Mostly because I haven't plsyed the games in so long that I don't remember them that much, but also because I wabted the reader's history to be more trainer-oriented.
Orre is included becasue I'm a sucker for the GC games, but also because I think the story and atmosphere based on those regions is great, and I'd love to incorporate it!
----
All in all, I'm having so much fun writing these books, and if I ever release them to the public, I hope y'all will enjoy them as well!
Welp, thank you for coming to my TED talk! See ya!
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland fanfiction#fanfiction ideas#work in progress#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x pokémon#reader insert#female reader#monster reader
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Let it be Set in Stone
Summary: Devil Fausts AU. Julius gets a formal introduction to Nacht and Morgen. Details regarding their contract with Josele begin to be ironed out.
Genre: general
Word count: ~2300
Content warning: creepy devil behavior
..........
Josele nervously fiddled with her new shackles bracelets. She kept her gaze on the floor, unable to look at Captain Julius. A part of her was certain that the young men with her were in a similar pose. Yami, William, and Marx. They had been there, had seen what had happened. They had been helpless to do anything. They likely felt a similar shame to her, even without her magic she could tell.
"You did well to arrest so many individuals involved with that cult," Julius stated, his voice even and not giving away a thing. "It's a shame that the leader escaped. But at least he was alone. We'll have to be vigilant to track him down before he gathers new followers."
"Apologies, sir. And I promise to put myself to use interrogating the captured cultists," Marx stated stiffly. "To make up for the... unfortunate outcome of the mission."
"We're sorry, Captain," William replied for himself. "The leader, Lord Vincent Faust, ran off and when Miss Canty gave chase... we— she faced complications."
There was a chilling pause.
"Might it have to do with those new accessories? I never took Josele as a girl for such baubles."
"Look, Jo did what she could to prevent more shit from going down," Yami spoke up, coming to her defense. "I admit... The rest of us should've tried to help but—"
"Josele can explain for herself," Julius interjected. "If you could?"
After swallowing the lump in her throat, Josele answered, "I determined that the risk was too high to try anything else. While it was never my intention, I understand I've committed a grave sin and crime by partaking of Forbidden Magic. Whatever punishment you have, whether it be dismissal from the Knights or even death, I'll accept it knowing that I did what I felt was right." She wrapped her arms around herself. As a hug to comfort herself. As a brace against the urge to vomit. "Please understand Captain, I had no ill intent. I just—!"
"And where are the devils now?"
"Huh?"
So shocked, Josele raised her head. And she could see the concerned look on Julius' face, his mouth pressed in a thin line and his brow furrowed.
"The devils? They're uh..."
"Oh we're right here!"
Nacht's voice was heard before he appeared on Josele's left, resting an arm comfortably around her shoulders. Morgen stood at her right, smirking at her.
"A pleasure to meet you," Morgen greeted with a bow of his head. "We're Master Josele's new companions, as you can see."
"I can't exactly say the same." Julius' concerned expression tightened into a look of displeasure. "You two really are devils in the flesh..."
"Not like I care what you think!" Nacht cackled and threw his head back. "I'm just glad to have a change of scenery. The Underworld's an ugly place!" He squeezed Josele's shoulders. "And the views here are much better."
Josele tensed her muscles to resist being pulled in. She managed to keep from being pressed against Nacht's body but the cold touch of his arm sank into her shoulders.
"Get your filthy claws off Jo before I cut them off," Yami snarled, hand already on his sword.
"Hey scruffy, don't be telling me how I should be treating my Master," Nacht spat back. "Stay out of our business, got it?"
Josele gritted her teeth and finally slapped Nacht's hand down. "Yami is a friend of mine. He can say what he likes." She glared up at Nacht despite the way he made her tremble with that cold look his eyes. "And must you act so uncouth? Morgen's a devil too yet he has proper manners." She stepped away from Nacht as much as she could, and closer to Morgen.
"Yes, brother, you really need to learn some manners." Morgen grinned and tilted his head to the side, looking unusually innocent for a devil. "Especially for our sweet, little master."
Josele tried to appreciate Morgen's smile but looking around, no one else in the room seemed to like the gesture.
"Enough of that," Julius said, rising from his seat. "What I want to discuss is what plans you two intended to do once you got into the human world."
"Plans?" Morgen echoed. He and Nacht glanced to each other. "Hm, now that I think about it, we didn't have anything in mind. Nothing for the time being, I suppose."
Julius' face contorted and he looked ready to kill. "Like I'm believing that." He began to circle his desk.
"You'll have to," Morgen retorted. "I have nothing else to say."
"Can't a couple of devils just live in the human world because they want to?" Nacht asked, sticking his nose in the air.
"Certainly not. The presence of devils in this world is unacceptable, a threat to the peace." Julius stopped a few strides away from where Josele and the devils stood. "Well, regardless of your intentions or lack thereof, you won't be allowed to wreak havoc on innocent lives. Since Josele made a contract with you, all she has to do is end that deal and you'll go away."
Josele flushed, all the way to her ears from what she could feel of the warmth. Why didn't she think of that sooner? Having made the contract at all forever tainted her soul but at least she wouldn't be stuck with the devils.
"Alright..." Josele closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Here goes... I hereby terminate my contract with Nacht and Morgen."
However, the twins' presence did not leave. The chilling aura they gave off did not fade.
Rather, Morgen and Nacht began to cackle.
"Oh dear! That's adorable!" Morgen exclaimed, holding his sides. "She thought it would be that easy to just end the contracts!"
"Master Josele." The way Nacht purred in Josele's ear was... discomforting. "We're devils. You've gotten yourself involved in Forbidden Magic. There's not going to be an easy way out of this contract."
"What do you mean?" Josele asked, stepping away from them. "What did you do?"
"Well you see, when making an equal contract as we've done, both sides put forward what they want and what they're willing to offer. You didn't really put forth anything." Nacht grinned coldly tilted his head to his right, letting his hair spill over his shoulder. "But my brother and I did. We're asking for an eternal contract, only undone by death."
Josele felt all air leave her body. Felt her heart drop to her stomach and her head fill with fog.
"That's unfair!" William exclaimed. "You used Miss Canty's ignorance on the subject to get what you wanted without her getting anything in return."
"Oh but she does get something!" answered Morgen, touching a hand to his chest and smiling so sweetly it came off as nauseating. "She gets unlimited access to mine and Nacht's magic, as well as our undying loyalty. How generous of us, don't you agree?"
"She didn't ask for those though," Marx pointed out. He had noticeably stepped back from the rest of the group, his expression tense with fear and concern.
As the men in the room argued, Josele struggled to ground herself again. She had been stupid and incredibly reckless. She made the contract because she felt there was no other choice. She should've considered the logistics of what it entailed. And because she hadn't she had unwittingly trapped herself with the devils.
Josele wrapped her right arm around her stomach and covered her mouth with her left hand, feeling the urge to vomit. The world shook. Or maybe she was the one to shake.
Just as Josele felt ready to collapse however, a pair of pale hands touched her. One hand on her right shoulder. The other on her forehead, brushing aside her hair.
Something about those hands, that touch...
"You don't look well at all." A young boy's voice asked. His features were a blur but his pitch black hair couldn't be missed. "What's the matter?" He spoke with the gentlest of tones. "Josie?"
"Who—?"
"You, Master," Morgen whispered in Josele's ear. "I said that you look unwell." The very tips of his clawed hands carded through her hair. "What's the matter, Master?"
"I..." Josele shook her head. "The revelation... about the nature of our contract. It..." She peered past Morgen's shoulder to see her captain and squad mates ready to attack. Between them, Nacht stood wearing an inquisitive expression. "I'm shaken and..." She took deep breaths and stepped away from Morgen. "Quite sickened too." She glared between the devils. "You two tricked me."
Morgen gasped. "We did no such thing! We offered you a contract and you accepted!"
"Not once did we lie to you," Nacht added. He raised a brow and smirked. "Where in the initial contract formation did we mislead you?"
Josele felt her eye twitch and hissed, "Then it means you left some important details out!"
"That we did in fact do!" Morgen said all to cheerfully, almost sound like a bird chirping.
Josele glared up at Morgen who only grinned down at her. "If this is a contract, then we can change the terms, right? It'd be the generous thing to do. And you called yourselves that, didn't you?"
"I did. So kind of you to remember." Morgen patted Josele's crown and only pulled away when she moved to smack him.
"You bastards had better change the terms," Yami growled, keeping his sword pointed on Nacht.
The devils looked at each other, neither losing their grins.
"We'd be willing to negotiate the terms of the contract," Morgen started. "However!"
"It'll be between us and our Master," finished Nacht. He gave each human man in the room a pointed look. "Alone."
Julius charged a spell with each hand, pointed the magic at the devils, and said, "Given what you pulled with the contract in the first place, we're not taking that risk."
"Tch." Nacht's lips curled downward. "Don't get defensive. But if you're going to resort to threats..." He raised a hand, causing Josele's shadow to darken.
"Gah!" Josele let out a scream as she sank ankle deep into the shadows.
William, who happened to be the closest, reached for Josele. However, Morgen stepped between the two of them, taking hold of Josele's hand instead.
"I can take my Master to a place where we'll have all the privacy in the world and you worms will be unable to reach us."
"You're not making your case better, Nacht!" Josele snapped. She kept a vice grip on Morgen and focused on keeping her breaths even.
The room was at a standstill for an eternal moment. Neither the devils nor the Magic Knights seemed willing to give what the other wanted.
And Josele was there in the middle. The one that the devils had business with and the one her allies were trying to protect. So much trouble all for her one, foolish choice.
There was a tightness in her chest. Not so harsh that she could not breathe but one that left the rest of her body aching, wanting relief. The weight of taking on Forbidden Magic. Of Nacht and Morgen having just enough power over her to make demands. Of needing to find a solution.
Her mind had also found a strange clarity. She repeated Nacht and Morgen's words in her head, how they described the contract. And she also became aware of the way they touched her, Morgen especially. Though condescending, there was little force behind their gestures.
Josele couldn't be certain. She was only making assumptions of what might be. But it was far better than the fear and confusion she had been feeling earlier.
Regardless, she had to be the one to resolve this.
"Captain Julius. Everyone." Josele swallowed. It didn't make her feel any better but it gave her a second to breathe. "Let me talk to them."
"Jo, you can't be serious!" Yami yelled, only taking his eyes off Nacht for a second to shoot her a fearful look.
"We can always find another way to end the contract!" said William.
Marx spoke up too. "Miss Canty, please think this through!"
"They haven't acted out since forming the contract, despite having the freedom to," Josele pointed out by way of explanation. "If they wanted to harm me, or anyone, they would've done so already. They're holding back. So I'll hear them out."
Josele locked eyes with Julius. His eyes were stony, suspicious of the devils but also concerned for her. She held that gaze of his for a moment. She let him see her as she tried to show her determination through her fear. There was no silent plea, only a silent declaration.
Julius eased. He lowered his hands and stood upright.
"Alright then. If you’re willing to put your trust in them, Josele, I shall put my trust in you.
Josele finally allowed herself to smile, albeit tiredly. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll figure this out.”
“Yes, thank you for your cooperation, sir!” Morgen said while beaming.
“We’re finally getting somewhere.” Nacht flicked his wrist and released Josele from her own shadow. It was only by Morgen’s grasp on her that she didn’t completely fall over. “Now.” He dismissively waved his hand. “Give us some privacy or I’m taking her to the shadows.”
Morgen shot a look at Nacht. “Brother, enough.”
To that, Nacht shrugged.
Thankfully, there was no further argument. On Yami’s way out, though, he glared at Morgen and Nacht while pointing his sword dangerously close to their throats. Julius gave Josele a final look of concern before he closed the doors to his own office.
Alone in the room, Josele turned to Nacht and Morgen. They both wore devilish grins.
Those smiles, with a dark eagerness to them, were an omen. Of what, Josele couldn’t even be certain of.
The pair of devils were full of contradictions. Withholding information but not taking advantage of the power they had over her. Nacht embraced Josele. And Morgen held Josele when she could’ve fallen. Yet both took pleasure in seeing her tormented.
Can I really trust them? Josele wondered, looking between the twins. I have to try at least. I’m going to make something of this.
#black clover#black clover fanfic#black clover au#nacht faust#morgen faust#devil fausts au#josele canty#black clover oc#yami sukehiro#julius novachrono#william vangeance#marx francois
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aaah, and I thought the throbb/theon fandom couldn’t disappoint me more than it already had
and yet.
okay, so, whatever, I’ve been made aware of a situation on twitter and honestly I’m tired, so let’s just have it out.
apologies for the long-ass post but I honestly am tired of being the uber-correct person who addresses everyone directly and properly and so on and all I get is finding out people trash talk behind your back anyway and don’t engage with me if they have a problem.
so, yesterday I’m minding my damned business, I see that @fleurdulys is apparently in some discussions with anti sansan people calling her names, I send her a message like ‘oh god they found you I’m so sorry’ because I have seen anti sansan takes back in the day, two people including someone that had stalked her for months start tagging me too and accusing me of the usual condoning That Horrible Problematic Ship and of being a pedo apologist blah blah blah, I block both of them, the day after another two show up in my mentions uninvited, I block both of them.
then someone who was monitoring the situation warns me that some anon is trash talking me and fleur in the curiouscat asks of some other person that I had absolutely no knowledge of until then. I went to block them, found out I had blocked them already because they were anti thr/amsay and shipped a theon show only ship I really don’t like so I went and blocked them in JULY before they changed nickname because I’m an adult and I like to think I can cut out of my life people I don’t want to risk interacting with because I know I don’t have anything to say to them. said person accused me of ‘using as a tactic calling everything calvinist’ which... well, when the problem is that antis are basically being that it’s not a tactic but whatever, I addressed it on twitter and changed my screen name as a joke because y’know what let’s embrace it, I don’t like calvinists anyway.
I go and forget about it and then the same someone monitoring the situation informs me that these lovely people had this other exchange - I’m not mentioning who it is but they’ll know and at this point I’m honestly done:
now.
sorry but what the hell.
first of all, going in order:
I blocked receiver of the CC ages ago because she ships a thing that for me is an absolute no and I have very good reasons to not like it, and I have zero interest in talking to people who ship that AND are th/ramsay antis, which is a thing that I have zero patience for whichever side of the fence you’re on - saying it as someone who doesn’t like th/ramsay but ffs I don’t agree with anti-ing stuff, if you hate it blacklist and move on with your life;
also, I wasn't lurking on her anons because I didn’t even know she was involved but someone else monitoring the situation told me I was the subject of one of them and I went and checked for myself, so like... sorry I’m not unblocking because I never searched for her, I never talked to her, I never wanted contact with her and she and the anon are there trash talking me and fleur for shipping a fictional ship so what are we even talking here;
and that’s the premise, but: I had gotten my 'bitch ass away from throbb' in 2011, the amount of fics that fandom has would Not Exist At All because *I* was the sole steady contributor (ie the only person who kept on posting it) 2011-18 (and fandom drove out the only other steady contributor in 2015-8 lmao), *I* was the one organizing most theon-based fandom events (which were opened to all ships, including the ones I hated, and if I could handle posting th/ramsay fanart/reading th/ramsay prompts/assigning them when the exchange was anonymous and I had to post all the contributions when looking at th/ramsay art made me sick back in the day I think OP can tolerate people existing and shipping stuff she don't like), *I* was the one periodically coming up with ways to make the tag less filled with hate, *I* called out every single anti shaming anyone for their ships - from thramsay to theonsa because there were theonsa antis back in S5 but she wouldn't know I suppose -, so like she can pay me the favor to not even going there because if it wasn't for me she wouldn't have throbb fic to read *period* (not to brag but check, before I started spamming the tag and helped bringing in people along with someone else who's not in fandom anymore there were literally six), so how about she check what are her contributions to the fandom (less than mine probably) other than creating drama? thanks.
also ‘theon and robb would beat pedos up’ please check your facts, theon/jeynep is going to most likely be canon and she’s like thirteen and he’s twenty-two, which is a nine year age gap, which is not even that far from sansan. also your favorite theon ship has an eight years age gap in the books too so just stop. you ain’t coherent. at least be coherent. but you can’t, because every single asoiaf ship is problematic for some reason. ;)
and that was it for OP.
now, for the anon, who honestly... the entitlement, I swear to god, but in order: if you’re that pressed because I haven’t written throbb in months also thanks to people like you you could have like, come and talked to me on tumblr because regardless from what you assume I don’t bite. also I see that you’re a throbb shipper and you’re calling me THROBB CONTENT GENERATOR?
CONTENT GENERATOR?
ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF IT?
I’M A HUMAN BEING, I’M NOT YOUR DAMNED CONTENT GENERATOR.
I DON’T GENERATE CONTENT FOR YOUR SATISFACTION, I WRITE FIC FOR SHIPS I LIKE. throbb is my otp (still, even if y’all really are trying to drive me out lol) and I wrote novels of it for years for free because I love it, BUT NOT BECAUSE I’M YOUR DAMNED CONTENT GENERATOR.
content generator.
I’m just. actually you know what, if I write throbb again after this, you can be 100% sure there’s gonna be full-on blown canon sansan in it for a very long time and I’m absolutely not going to make it avoidable if you don’t scroll half of the fic. also ‘I could ask her to write it but she’d put sansan in it so I won’t’ who the hell do you think you are?
who the hell do you think you are?
I take prompts when I can because I want to and because once in a while I enjoy the idea of writing stuff for people because other than being something I love, I like the idea that I can make someone’s day nicer by filling them a prompt if they like my writing, I don’t do that just because you ask.
what the hell? so you’d ask and me, a poor idiot, not knowing it was you, would put it on a to-write list of prompts that’s like ten pages of notebook long because that’s how long my goddamned list is, while you’re here laughing that someone whose writing you like but whose personality you obviously despise has written you your favorite ship for free not knowing that it’s for someone that doesn’t like her all that much?
jesus christ.
like, I thought this fandom couldn’t get lower than the let’s plagiarize fics deal last july, but this is honestly rich.
and then you wonder why whenever I think about finishing sfbd or writing a ship that used to make me happy to write now I go like ‘f* this noise why should I bother I’m writing any other damned pairing instead’.
and I have to read this shit from someone who, when I blocked them the moment I got the fandom twitter account, who I never searched for, who I never talked to and who is friends with people who happily accuse others of being pedo apologists because they ship sansan which is, oh, wait, an almost-canon ship with canon text supporting it and that grrm himself certainly doesn’t hate and has admitted to have been leading up to, and now wants me to unblock her to talk??? when their friends showed up in my mentions absolutely uninvited because I sent support to someone who was arguing with them because we both ship sansan and I’ve done it for longer so I know how’s the deal?
and from some kind of anon who sure as hell reads my fics enough that they know I’m still the most prolific throbb contributor to the tag even if I haven’t written throbb in a year and some who calls me content generator and not even contributor as if I was some kind of juke box machine where you put in prompts and get out 5k minimum fics for free? and who still would like to read them enough to throw that shade but has no issues trashing me because I’m pointing out that antis think exactly like 17th century calvinists, which is a thing that can 100% be proved the moment you look up how the aforementioned calvinists thought?
like, I’d like to kindly tell the both of them to find a hobby that’s not trying to fele better harassing people they don’t know for fictional ships and remind everyone on here (because I’m sure anon is on tumblr as it’s where I hang out most of the time anyway) including the few anons who have asked me if I’d consider writing throbb again in the last months and who asked me if I’d run theonexchange again at some point that fic writers are human beings, not jukeboxes, and that being assholes has, as a usual consequence, driving the content creators out. I’m not a content generator, I’m not here to get laughed at because I fill prompts and I generally like to put content in the tags and not drama and because I think that being a fandom contributor should mean spreading positivity instead of shaming people for what they ship.
anyway: as a conclusion to this rant, I’m definitely not writing throbb that doesn’t have sansan in it anytime soon and if I run theonexchange again at some point (which I would like to but with these premises you’ll see that finding the force of will when I have a life is kind of a problem) if I find out that OP or any of her friends want to participate they’re kindly welcomed not to because I’m banning them on sight.
wow, get my bitch ass away from a fandom I kind of helped make and contributed 10% of the ao3 content to.
congrats, you just made sure I really won’t when I was taking a break but I was planning to come back at some point even if right now it’s quite tempting.
thanks for reading this if you got to this point and sorry for the rant but I’m tired.
I’m really tired.
also I’ve always said I shipped sansan from the moment I was in this fandom, I tag it also for blacklisting purposes and I don’t even put it as a side in fics that much because it doesn’t come up, so if anyone is so disgusted by it they’re welcome to learn to coexist with people who ship stuff they don’t like.
again: I’m really tired.
#throbb#theon greyjoy#oh wow that's always nice to find out from people who technically ship what I like!#also i mean you'd think i'm idk some kinda snobbish asshole who doesn't reply to every single ask she gets#and who hasn't filled prompts here since 2011 without expecting really anything but whatever#and who hasn't like talked to people if they had issues#except that i did all of that#and finding out this crap is like disheartening#like wow then you wonder why i don't feel it anymore#as if i didn't spend years trying to make sure the theon fandom wasn't a continuous hatred shitfest#as if i didn't call people out for anti-ing any ship bc it was already not many of us#i just wanted people to get along and create stuff instead of eating each other up#even ship i personally didn't like or that ACTUALLY MADE ME SICK#i'm tired#i'm really tired#sorry for the word-vomit but some of you really need to learn some manners#obviously your parents didn't teach you#and it shows#thank you i'm done
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The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss
Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.
This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.
Have fun!
Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.
After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).
OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.
Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.
Read on AO3
There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."
"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.
"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"
"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."
"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."
Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"
"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."
"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."
"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."
"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."
Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.
A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'
Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"
"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."
"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."
"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.
Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.
'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'
Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."
The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."
With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.
A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."
"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."
"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.
"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.
"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."
"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"
"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"
"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"
"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.
The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."
"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."
"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.
When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."
Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.
"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.
"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."
"Thank you," he repeated.
"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."
"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."
"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."
"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."
"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."
"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.
It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.
The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.
They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.
"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.
Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."
Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.
He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"
"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.
"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.
For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.
"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."
He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.
Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."
Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."
"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.
The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.
"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."
"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.
"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"
"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"
Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."
"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"
Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.
"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.
"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.
"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"
Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."
"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"
"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.
"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."
"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"
"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.
"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"
"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.
Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."
"Excuse me?"
"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."
Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"
"Hm?"
"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."
His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."
Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.
Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.
"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.
"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."
He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"
"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.
"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."
"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.
Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.
'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."
"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."
"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."
Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."
Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"
"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."
"More use than I will be, surely."
"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"
Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.
He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—
"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.
"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"
"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.
"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"
"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"
Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.
"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."
The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.
"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"
"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."
"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.
Beau caught it. Of course.
"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.
At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.
"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."
"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.
"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"
"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."
"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.
"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."
"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.
"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.
"It did," Clay confirmed.
"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"
Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.
"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'
Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.
"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.
"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."
Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.
The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.
A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"
"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."
Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."
"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."
There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."
The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."
Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.
"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"
"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.
"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."
"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."
"You died," he accused him.
"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.
Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."
"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."
Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."
"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."
He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.
"Obviously."
Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.
No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.
"You're alive," he said stupidly.
"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.
It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."
"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"
"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"
"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."
"He thought we were lying," Clay added.
"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"
"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.
His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"
Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.
It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?
"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.
Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"
"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"
"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."
"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."
"They are. They also are my friends, you know."
"How?" he asked agonised.
"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."
Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.
Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."
He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."
Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"
"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"
"It's... complicated," he said.
"You wizards say that a lot."
"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."
He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."
Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.
"Right?"
Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.
"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."
Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"
"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?
"Oh Essek...," he said softly.
"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”
"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.
"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.
“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."
“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”
There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.
An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”
Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”
“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.
#critical role#critical role fanfiction#my writing#verin thelyss#the mighty nein#jester lavorre#fjord stone#caduceus clay#beauregard lionett#yasha nydoorin#caleb widogast#veth brenatto#kingsley tealeaf#essek thelyss#shadowgast#beauyasha#fjorjester#only a hint of it#the main focus of this fic is verin#and how he deals with the mighty nein and the apparent death of his brother
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Sunrise (5)
summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU)
pairings: bucky x reader
chapter word count: 4.3k
warnings: really flippin sweet fluff, more book recs
a/n: to avoid confusion - the manner in which Bucky lost his arm is different in this series than in canon
🧡 series masterlist / series playlist
For the first time since Bucky was discharged from active duty, he had a routine again.
The curtains were open before he took a shower in the morning; sunlight streaming in through the windows and casting a gentle glow over the apartment. It touched over books piled high on the coffee table, pillows neatly lined on the sofa, and blankets folded over the arm rest. Steve had nearly done a double take the first time he made his usual beeline to whip open the curtains to expose a dusty and unkempt apartment, only to find Bucky making coffee in the kitchen, freshly showered, and the sun shining high in the sky.
It had been almost a month since his first attendance at book club and he’d gone through nearly a book a week just to have the excuse to visit you at the library again for another. You’d given him your number after his first trip to the library with a binding promise to text you if he was held up in his apartment in pain again. You’d sworn to bring books straight to him and read them aloud if you had to.
You had laughed as you said it, like it was only a joke. Bucky had nodded along, but if he were honest, he would have liked that very much.
He’d arrange for times to meet you at the library at the end of your shift where you’d always have a book waiting for him. There’d be a few sitting on the shelf you’d set aside, but without fail, he always opted for the first one you presented to him. You hadn’t led him wrong so far.
After, though neither of you directly proposed it, you’d often find yourselves back at Luciana’s. It was like your feet simply carried you there, a silent agreement to spend as much time together as you could, even if you were both too afraid to admit it out loud.
He came to understand why Sunday was your favorite day of the week. Bucky started to take it upon himself to meet you at the library to walk you to the VA where he fulfilled his word to help move the couches before the usual members arrived. The look of surprise on your face when you bounced down the library steps and caught sight of him leaning on the pillar a few steps away from the busy sidewalk had been enough to convince him to never leave your side again.
Your smile was one he’d learned to memorize. He conjured it when the strangers bumped into him on the sidewalk threatened to collapse his racing heart entirely and it pushed him further. It was enough to convince him to keep going beyond the safety of his apartment walls and it was worth it every time. Just to see you smile at him like that.
***
“Have you started it yet?”
Bucky blinked a few times, reminding himself of his surroundings. You stood on his right side in line at Luciana’s behind a couple of tourists who were having a hard time discerning the difference between a cappuccino and an americano. He raised an eyebrow, confused, and you gestured to the book in his bag.
“Oh, I just flipped through the pages so far,” Bucky said, pulling the book from his bag; thick black cover with a small white illustrated creature staring up at the stars. Everyone's a Aliebn When Ur a Aliebn Too written by an author that seemed to go by a name as misspelled as the title, Jomny Sun. “It looks like a children’s book?”
You grinned and your shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s somewhere in between. You have to trust me on this one. It may seem young on the surface but it’ll tug at your heart strings. Hold your judgement until you’ve actually read it, Barnes.”
Bucky chuckled, nodding. “Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you. Just curious where you’re leading me on this one.”
“Be blind, Bucky,” you sang, teasing him. “I won’t guide you into a creepy forest or the bottom of the ocean, I promise.”
“Oh good. I was starting to worry.”
It was strange to feel so light again, but there was something about your presence that allowed him to let go of all the weight he carried. He could set down his baggage at his feet for just a minute to give his back a break, to stretch out his muscles and find relief in the solace. You would have offered to carry some of it yourself if he’d asked— of that he was certain. But it was a heavy load, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for you to see what was inside just yet.
The bell to the café rang behind him and a mother and her young son walked inside. The little boy held the woman’s hand as he scrunched his nose at the smell of the coffee, pouting up at her. A bright red backpack hung off his shoulders, Velcro ties over his tiny sneakers. The soles lit up as he walked.
“Mommy, I want to go to the playground,” the kid whined and Bucky watched you laugh to yourself from the corner of his eye.
“We will, sweetness,” the mother replied calmly. She bent down to brush the hair from the boy’s eyes. “Mommy just needs a bit of caffeine before we—”
“Whoa! What happened to that guy’s arm?” the kid gasped, a mixture of shock and amazement in his tiny little voice.
Bucky tensed up immediately, every muscle in his body turning to stone. When strangers noticed his arm, he was usually met with unwanted stares and hushed whispered, but children were a whole different story. They had no filter, no sense of the unspoken rules garnered by society; they were driven by their own curiosity and something as trivial as politeness did not get in the way of that.
“Oh, honey,” the mother gripped tight to the boy’s arm, lowing her voice in hopes Bucky hadn’t heard him, “you can’t ask things like that.”
“Why not?” the boy replied innocently. “Where’d it go?”
Bucky could feel your eyes on him, studying for his reaction, but he couldn’t offer one. He was stone, after all. A frown tugged at your lips to see the sudden distress wash over him and he felt an aching puncture of embarrassment deep into his stomach. It only took the mere mention of his arm to wipe him to a blank slate, to throw him back to the battlefield where it was torn from his body. Any unexpected reminder of it usually did.
You nodded at him, offered a small smile, like you were trying to tell him it would be alright. Then slowly, you turned around and knelt in front of the boy.
“Hi,” you said sweetly, catching the mother off guard.
“Do you know what happened to his arm?” the boy asked, must to the dismay of his mother.
“Mason! Oh God, I am so very sorry,” the mother quickly apologized, flustered as she desperately tried to hush the boy. He pressed his face into his mother’s arm.
Bucky stole a glance over his shoulder to find you kneeling on the floor beside the boy, smiling at him as he clutched a plush triceratops to his chest. You tilted your head at him, trying to get a better look at the boy.
“You want to know what happened?” you asked softly. He nodded, arms wrapped tight around his stuffed toy. You glanced up at Bucky and his eyes narrowed on you, heart beating a little faster, stomach twisting, before you turned back to the boy. “He did something really brave.”
Fuck.
Did you know?
Did Sam tell you?
Bucky’s legs started to feel weak.
“You like superheroes, huh?” you continued, pointing at the image of a man in a red cape flying on the boy’s t-shirt. The boy nodded shyly. “They swoop in and save the day with their super strength or magic powers, right?”
The boy started laughing, he was smiling again, standing free from his mother’s hold. She was staring at you like you were akin to one of the characters on the boy’s shirt. Bucky felt the stones cracking around his body, freeing him from their grip.
“Is he Super Man?” Mason whispered, glancing up at Bucky with such wonder, it took him by surprise. The boy was so small, no older than four years old. Bucky didn’t know the last time he’d even talked to a kid that young and yet here you were, at the boy’s level, making him laugh and smile and easing the concerns of his mother.
“No, he’s not,” you laughed for a moment. Then, you softened, gathering the boy’s attention again. “My friend here doesn’t have super powers. So, when he saved someone, he got hurt. But I think that makes him very brave, don’t you?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically, grinning so wide Bucky wondered how it was possible your smile could be so infectious. The mother mouthed a soft ‘thank you’ in your direction as the boy quickly changed subjects to the sprinkled donut he was going to eat for snack. She caught Bucky’s eye for a minute and nodded at him, almost in appreciation. He pressed his lips to a thin line. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything back.
You ordered his usual coffee and one of the freshly baked muffins, then a drink and a pastry for yourself. In Bucky’s distraction with the kid, he hadn’t noticed you pay before he had a chance. He felt like he was in a bit of a trance as you led him back to a table in the far corner of the shop, away from the windows and the customers.
“You alright?” you asked as you slid into your chair opposite him.
“Did Sam tell you?” Bucky blurted out before he had a chance to bite his tongue. It was the last thing he wanted you to know about and he had half a mind to storm up to the VA just to rip Sam a new one before he shut himself off in his apartment for a few weeks.
It was the reason for the reoccurring nightmares that hadn’t let up in the last month, even when he’d started to have more good days than bad. They’d celebrated him for what he’d done, given him a medal, and thanked him for his service. The very thought of it made him want to vomit.
“Hey, hey, Bucky look at me,” you called gently, your voice at the end of a dark tunnel. He blinked, adjusting to the light. “Sam didn’t say a word about what happened. I had a theory and I made a guess. You’re clearly a good man. It didn’t feel like much of a stretch. That’s all.”
Bucky clenched his jaw, staring down at the muffin as he picked at the paper cup. He heard you sigh, surprised that he couldn’t find a single sliver of impatience in your voice. When he looked up again, you smiled sweetly at him and asked him about Alien – Aliebn? – book; quickly lost in tangent of your favorite pages and moments you were excited for him to read.
He was grateful for the change in subject, but more than that, it gave him a chance to just admire you. There was nothing strange about watching a woman, studying the intricacies on her face and the passion in her voice, when she was speaking right to him. He nodded along, doing his best to actually take in what you were saying, but he was so easily distracted by the brush of steam touching your nose, the press of your lips into your cheeks, the lines on your forehead, and the way your eyes seemed to light up the entire city block.
The kid, his arm, and nearly six years of combat were quickly forgotten when he had the chance to watch you like that. You hardly let him get a word on, too caught up in your own excitement for the novels you placed in his hand, but he didn’t mind. He preferred to listen to you anyway. Your voice had a calming presence about it; soothing and gentle, loving and joyous. If it weren’t for the clock hanging on the wall above your head, he might have sat there all night with you.
“We should probably head over,” he pointed out reluctantly, gesturing to the clock as it approached six.
You frowned, following his gaze to see the time had slipped by quicker than you realized. As you began to clear off the table, throwing the scraps in the garbage and setting the mugs on the counter for Luciana, Bucky began to wonder if maybe you would have sat there all night with him, too. If only he could find the courage to ask.
***
Bucky removed the clip from the book, closed the back binding, and slumped back into the cushions. The room was still pretty quiet, everyone’s noses still down in their books as the soft strum of Simon & Garfunkel played from the speaker by the coffee table. He glanced over at you as you sat beside him, a little closer than usual, though he didn’t mind. Your hip brushed his every so often when you adjusted position. It was a kind of closeness that left him wanting more.
You were only halfway through your own book, but you could clearly sense him watching you because you slowly looked up in his direction, a pointed smile on your face.
“You were right,” he admitted, his voice a hushed whisper in effort not to disturb the other members. “Surprisingly deep considering it’s a children’s book for adults.”
“Hey maybe we need pictures on our pages, too,” you whispered back, teasing him with a nudged to his right shoulder. He laughed, leaning back comfortably against the couch as Tony’s eyes glared over in his direction from the top of his book. He pressed his lips together to keep quiet.
You snickered into Bucky’s shoulder, lips pressing against the sleeve of his jacket and he had never wanted to remove that layer more in his life; to actually feel the imprint of your mouth instead of just the press of your face, to feel the heat in your breath breathe through the thin layer of his t-shirt. He shivered.
“Alright kids,” you said aloud, setting your book on the table. “Times up for today.”
“Oh, come on, Y/n! I’ve only got one chapter left!” Clint whined, stretching out dramatically along the table he was laying across.
“Glad to hear it, Clint,” you smirked, hands planted firm on your hips. “Finish on your own time.”
A couple of ‘ooo’s rang out and it reminded Bucky of his days sitting behind a desk in class in grade school and a kid would get called up to the principal's office. Clint took it in stride though and seemed to bask in it, throwing up a pose in face of the chorus.
The crowd quickly dispersed after that, though a few of the older members lingered behind to update you on how far they’d gotten in their books. Bucky watched you from a distance as he started to move the couches back into place, mesmerized by the glimmer in your eye as you spoke to them, a soft hand resting on the crook of their arm, nodding along with a smile on your face – always so genuine in every interaction, in every bone in your body.
Bucky had practically finished arranging the entire room by the time you walked back inside. Your jaw dropped, wide eyes meeting his.
“You didn’t have to do all that by yourself!”
Bucky shrugged. “How long were you doing it on your own before I came along? Take the help when it’s offered, Y/n.”
You smiled at that. “Still. I appreciate it.”
“It’s really nothing,” Bucky said simply.
He hadn’t felt a drive like this is years. Not even before his final tour and the destruction that came with it. He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to want to lift even the smallest of burdens for someone else just to see the weight slip from their shoulders, just to see them smile. He found himself wanting to carry everything you had, even if it started with arranging the heavy furniture of the empty VA library.
You chewed on the edge of your lip as you watched him approach the door, your jacket in his hand. He had wanted to hold it open for you, to let you turn your back and slip your arms through the sleeves, but it just wasn’t something he could do with one hand, and instead, he placed it to hang over your forearm.
A longing for a world in which you met him before his body had been put through the shredder ached deep into his gut. It started to push a frown onto his lips, but then your voice broke through and he shook it away.
“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the door and he nodded, following closely behind.
There was a sudden nervous energy in the air he didn’t expect, and for once, it wasn’t coming from him. He glanced over at you as you walked in line with him to find you fidgeting with the zipper of your jacket, hands wringing into the fabric, and hair falling out of place and down into your eyes. You exhaled a few tense breaths as Bucky opened the main door for you, following behind as you stepped out onto the side walk.
The two of you stood there for a minute, neither one making a move to leave. You kept glancing back at the VA, then to your watch, barely able to look in Bucky’s direction and he started to feel that familiar twist of anxiety in his stomach.
“Hey, are you oka—”
“Do you want to go for a walk?” you blurted out before he could finish, biting down quickly on your lip as if to stop yourself from saying more.
Bucky froze, confused. He glanced down at his watch. It would be dark soon. “Now?”
A flash of embarrassment quickly passed over your features and Bucky’s stomach dropped.
Was it possible that you just wanted to spend more time with him? That maybe you could crave his presence the same way he did yours?
“N-No, no, you’re right. It’s late. I’m sorry,” you muttered quickly, arms folding protectively over your chest. You kicked at a stone on the sidewalk, watching as it rolled over on its side. “I should, uh, I should head home then. I’ll see you later, Bucky.”
“There’s a park nearby,” Bucky offered before you could turn away. You lifted your head.
“Yeah?” A cautious smile hung on your lips as you stepped closer to him.
Bucky nodded, trying to push away the shaking in his hand. “Yeah, come on.”
A couple minutes passed by in silence as you walked along his side. Every so often, your knuckles would brush up against his hand, a nervous laughter between you as you pulled away. It happened so quickly each time, he never had a chance to respond. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure he would have had the courage to twist his fingers into yours, hold your hand tight to his own, feel the warmth of your palm and guide you along the cobblestones to the small space of greenery amongst brick and steel and concrete.
“I hope you don’t mind me keeping you out late,” you said slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you waited at the intersection to cross the street.
“Not at all,” Bucky replied sincerely, offering you a small smile in hopes to ease your nervousness. Part of him wished he said more, maybe told you that spending time with you was the best part of his day or that you were the reason he was getting out of bed most mornings, but it was too big of an admission. It could scare you away and that was the last thing he wanted. Before he had a chance to decide, the light turned and you stepped out onto the street. Bucky followed closely behind.
The entrance to the park was bordered with a dark metal fence, an arch way carrying over the brick walkway decorated with flowers and vines. You crossed underneath, pausing to stare up the twisting of the leaved through the pattern in the arch, a delicate finger reaching out to touch the tip of a petal. You looked back at Bucky with a smile twice as wide on your face and he hung his head, a breath of a laugh in his chest.
The park was mostly empty for a Sunday evening. The last remaining streams of sunlight lit up the greenery, touching over the flowers and the reflecting into the pond at the center where a family of ducks were waddling along the edge. You seemed to like that, watching how the babies followed the mama along the rim of the water. Bucky turned to his right to find you imitating their walk, chasing after them until they stepped into the water.
Meanwhile, Bucky found a bench sitting under an old oak tree. Its branches hung draped over the bench enough to provide a shadow from the closing sun. It faced the west side of the park, where the sun was setting just over the tops of the buildings and illuminating the sky in brilliant shades of golden orange and vibrant reds.
“You want to sit for a bit?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the bench. His feet were a little tired from walking through Brooklyn all day with the library, the VA, and now this. It was more than he usually did these days – not that he minded. He’d happily allow his legs to be a little sore if it meant more time with you. He’d walk through busy streets for miles if it was you he was walking towards.
You plopped down on the bench on his right, sinking into the old wood. You glanced over at him, hiding behind a strand of hair that had fallen down into your face.
“Thanks for amusing me.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, chuckling to himself. “You act like I don’t want to be here.”
“I know, I know,” you laughed, swinging your feet off the side of the bench. “It’s just... and I hope this isn’t a strange thing to say but... I just like spending time with you. Wanted a little more of it today, I suppose.”
Bucky swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly very dry. His heart stammered a bit inside his chest, butterflies causing chaos in his stomach, but it didn’t make him want to run. He felt no drive to escape, to push those sensations so far out of reach he turned back to the numbed and empty version of himself he’d been occupied by for months before he met you. They were frightening feelings, yes, but they were pleasant ones, ones he welcomed and invited inside.
“You can have as much of my time as you want,” Bucky said as the words fell off his tongue. No filter, no second guessing. No chance to bite his tongue. You looked up at him with a kind of hope in your eyes that made his cheeks start to hurt from how much he was smiling.
You settled back in on the bench, gazing up at the sunset as it lowered behind the buildings. Brush strokes of softer tones blended into the fading blues in the sky, giving way to the moon and stars as they emerged beyond the clouds.
He glanced down at your hand as it rested on the bench by your thigh. There was hardly even a breath of air between his pinky to yours. You were so close; it would only take one instant of courage to bar the space between you.
Be brave, Barnes.
Testing the waters, Bucky allowed the very edge of his fingers to brush over your knuckles. Your skin was softer than he’d remembered from that first handshake in the VA nearly a month earlier. He felt your breath hitch like a jolt of electricity had rushed though you, though you didn’t tear your eyes away from the sunset. Your thumb ran a tender line along his hand as you turned your palm up. Bucky swallowed.
He slipped his hand into yours, curling his fingers to the space between your own, and for a moment he just let himself feel.
He felt for the slight give in your hand, the twitch in your movements as you settled in against him. He felt the gentle sway of your thumb as it painted a line along his, comforting sweeps like you were reminding him you were there. He felt the chill in your skin – cold hands, like he remembered from before – and the heat of his own.
Then, your head on his shoulder. Your legs crossed towards him as you leaned in closer and he made no efforts to move. A gesture like that would have thrown him in a tailspin before he met you; to be this close to someone, to anyone, to sit in the vulnerability of allowing someone to know and feel him.
He looked back up at the sunset. It had nearly dipped below the horizon now; only a few glimpses of color remaining in the sky and the shine of the lamppost just a few feet away.
You sighed in a contented hum, circling your free hand to rest on the inside of his bicep, hooked around his arm. You held him against you like a teddy bear, just wanting to feel more of him.
It was a strange sensation, he thought; this new urge to want to give you as much as his body could offer.
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Gilded: Chapter 1: To Bride or Not to Bride
Mob! Steve x Reader
Summary: Your life is a mess and you need a little help from time to time. But, when somebody proposes a plan to rid you of all your problems all the way to the far future, you’re suddenly not so sure it is worth it. Especially since the plan is proposed to you by the most notorious gangster America has seen since Al Capone: Steve fucking Rogers.
Warnings: mafia AU, swearing (like, a lot this time), angst, struggles with money, loan-shark, sleazy men, harassing
Word Count: 7969
A/N: It’s finally here! It only took me around 6 months to bring it, and I apologise for the delay, but I hope I will make up for it with introductory this chapter :) Share your thoughts, let me know what you thought and what do you think will happen next :) xx
Series Masterlist __ Masterlist
“Just, wait a second,” you said, your brows knitting together as you tried to piece together all the information the man in front of you had just given you. He was gorgeous, there was no question about that, but that wasn’t the issue here. There were many gorgeous people in New York, and you didn’t marry any of them. Yet, that was.
“You want to marry me. But you still haven’t told me why, so?” You asked for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, and the man just smirked again, playing with his cuffs, never answering to your satisfaction.
“I told you, honey, what I want, I get, and I decided that I wanted you, so, what is going to be? Are you gonna be a good girl for me or am I gonna have to force you, hm?” He smiled sweetly, but even you knew better. Behind that oh-very-sweet smile, there was venom and a ton of it. You rubbed your temples and plopped down on the nice-looking couch, thinking about what he was proposing.
2 weeks ago
“Coming!” You yelled through the loud music at the guests seated by the table number 5 where a group of guys was seated, hollering at you every two seconds as if you didn’t hear them the first time. You rolled your eyes at your colleague, who just laughed under her breath as you strode towards the clients. You put on your best fake smile as you approached them, and from the whistles, you assumed they appreciated it.
“Thank God you came, sweets. We thought you were getting tired of us,” the loudest of them laughed, and the group followed his suit, making your clench your jaw even more. Oh, how you hated this type of men, who had nothing better to do than calling a woman pet-names, making her feel uncomfortable just so his friends could have a laugh and a story to tell.
“What can I get you, gentleman? Another round of the same?” You asked as sweetly as you could, but it was getting harder by the second as they all eyed you like a piece of raw meat, ready to be devoured.
“I mean, that would be nice, and could you serve us a piece of that sweet ass of course as well? We’d really appreciate it, pretty face,” the loud guy smirked sleazily, and you fought the urge to vomit in your face. One of the guys made the mistake of actually making a move to swat you across your butt, but your reflexes were quicker.
You took a step back and breathed in, trying to calm your beating heart. This was, however, nothing new in your line of work, and you just learned to ignore it, or, at best, politely turn them down. Because, as you learned very early on, the manager didn’t appreciate if his “girls” were nasty to his customers. He almost made it sound like you were to provide your bodies with the beers, but you told him straightforwardly that that wouldn’t happen, and if his pub was one of these, you wanted to have nothing to do with it. All you were there to do was to work the evening and night shift to get some extra money on top of your regular job, and that was it. He even made a few remarks how he wanted you all to himself, but you politely declined every time and just tried to ignore it altogether.
“This ass is not for sale, I’m sorry, boys. But, the vodka shots are coming right up,” you tried to give them your best wink but didn’t wait long enough to see if they accepted their loss or not. You genuinely didn’t care.
The night continued in a similar manner, some people being inappropriate and you just ignoring their behaviour, and some people actually nice, even leaving you a few tips which always made you smile. You were beat when it was 11, and your shift ended, and you were thrilled today wasn’t one of those days when you had to stay there till 4 AM. It was then that people got really disgusting and you even had to resolve to hit a guy this one time because otherwise, you were pretty sure he’d manage to rape you. You sighed at the memory as you continued on your way home, just now remembering you left the tips meant for you in your locker.
Sighing you turned around and walked back towards the bar, and when you were in, you noticed three men in black suits talking to your coworker, who looked stunned and scared at the same time. You cocked a brow at her, and she discreetly shook her head, telling you that you shouldn’t come nearer.
This time, you really frowned and looked around, but the rest of the pub looked exactly the way you left it, even with the assholes by the fifth table. But you listened to her and took a step back to one of the dark corners, watching what was going on by the bar. It didn’t take long, definitely not longer than 5 minutes before the men turned around and left the building.
Your coworker looked positively alarmed by now, and you almost ran to her to ask what the fuck did just happen.
“I have no idea, Y/N. I noticed them by table 10 like an hour ago, but I didn’t pay them any attention because that was Christy’s sector tonight and I had the veranda. And when you left they just came here asking about you,” she breathed out, and it was your turn to look alarmed.
“The fuck? Why would they ask about me when it was Christy who took care of them?” You screeched, your brain not really comprehending the situation.
“I have no fucking idea, Y/N. But, like, they asked your name and stuff, and like, if you were a regular waitress here or what. I didn’t want to tell them anything, I swear, but they didn’t take no for an answer. So I just told them your first name, I wouldn’t budge on your last, I promise, and told them that you sometimes worked here but that I didn’t know when was your next shift,” she finished, a little scared of your reaction now, but from the look of those guys, you knew they were bad news and that Anja did the best she could.
“Nah, it’s ok, An. I would do the same. I’m really grateful that you didn’t give them my last name, though, that was really thoughtful of you,” you smiled at her, and it obviously put her at ease as she hugged and hurried back to the veranda, where you both saw a few guests waving that they needed a refill.
The hell did just happen, and why would three mysterious men ask about you?
It couldn’t be that they found out, right? No… you made sure all the traces were hidden, forever, so, that wasn’t an option.
No, you told yourself, there must be another reason for them to ask about you. But you didn’t want to find out. It was a one-time thing, these men were just confused, or one of them liked you or something like that, and you would never see them again. This actually calmed you down enough to start functioning again, and you remembered that you came for something specific, took the money and went straight home.
“This can’t be happening,” you muttered as you looked over your bills. There was so much to pay and so little money on your account that you actually started to sweat. You worked two jobs and still wasn’t able to afford to live a life where you didn’t have to worry about money. What was more, with the high taxes, your rent, subway card and food you went into red numbers, and that was something you definitely didn’t want. Nobody told you that as an Arts Major, you could still be struggling to stay alive in the city of New York.
You went over the bills again even though you knew your math was correct and that you didn’t have enough to pay your landlord this month.
Fuck, you muttered again and considered your options. You could ask your friends, but you didn’t want to bother them since you knew they were struggling as much as you were. You shared your apartment with two of your best friends who you considered a family by now, Caroline and Aidan. And while you knew they would do anything to help you, neither of their jobs paid enough to be able to help you as much as you needed this month.
Your other option was asking your landlord to give you some more time before more money arrived, but just imagining the conversation gave you goosebumps because you could picture the kind of service he’d want from you, and you’d literally rather go and beg on the street than to sleep with that middle-aged pig.
So, as you summarised it, the only option remained the loan shark. Tony was actually a nice guy, once you got to know him, and he was nice to you because you always paid precisely what he told you to when he told you to, and never asked too many questions or begged for more time. You were smarter than that, and, besides, you’ve seen too many movies with loan sharks to know what could happen to you.
The first time you went to him was probably 2 years ago, straight from university when you still thought you could make it big in New York. Well, safe to say that you didn’t make it, and while you remained hopeful, you had bigger problems than becoming a renown painter, like not starving to death and other fun stuff like that.
You were awfully scared to go to Tony, he had a reputation of being kind of an ass, but people also said that, compared to the other guys in the business, he actually had the fairest demands, and as you had no other choice, you just went to him. And because life was a bitch, you ended up going there on more occasions. Tony was kind enough always to lend even small amounts of money because you really didn’t need 100K. No, you always need like 1 or 2 thousand, and while the other loan sharks turned people like you down, Tony didn’t, and he never wanted more than like 400$ as a return, which seemed quite fair as the other guys always wanted 100% or more.
Well, Tony, it was, as you sighed looking around your room, thinking how you even got where you were. But there was no time to waste pitying yourself, and so you shot Tony a quick message, as you always did, and to no surprise, he was very quick to respond that you should come by later that afternoon.
You were just getting ready when Aidan burst through your door. He stopped mid-step, looking at you confusedly because you didn’t tell him you were going somewhere.
“Got a date or what? You never go out on Saturday afternoon, not if you can help it,” he said sceptically, looking around the room as his eyes landed on the fumbled papers on your table, and the look of realisation hit him.
“You going to Tony again? Y/N, we told you, we can help you, babe! Let us help just this once, please?” He pleaded with you even though he knew it was useless.
“C’mon, babe, you know you and Caroline are not making much either, and you’re both glad to get by another month. Tony is like an old friend by now, really. I don’t mind it that much, and it’s definitely a better option than burying you two with me under this pile of shit,” you huffed as you finished applying mascara, but you didn’t even check yourself in the mirror, really not caring that much how you looked. You went to Manhattan just to meet Tony and would go straight back, quick mission, in and out.
“You need to find a better job, Y/N,” Aidan smirked at you, and you just laughed because you both knew it was pretty much impossible, especially since you loved your day job with the only issue that it paid like shit.
“You know this is my chance to be close to art and I really want it. I mean, it could happen that they promote me from being a receptionist to like, I dunno, being a secretary to one of the curators of the gallery, right?”
He just huffed and kissed the top of your head, striding towards the door. It was only then that you noticed he was dressed to go out as well.
“And where are you going, mister?” You asked with a mother-like tone, and he just laughed, turning around as if he was caught in the act.
“So, you remember John?” He asked, sitting on your bed, and you actually laughed out loud at him.
“Which one? I mean, there has been so many Johns and Peters that I swear to God I’m starting to think there are only men called John and Peter in the whole fucking New York. So, more info, babe, please,” you scooted to him and listened to which John it actually was he was meeting and was pretty excited about this. This was John the Ballet dancer, and he looked really nice, so far.
John the Fake Mobster was a lying bastard, John the Hairdresser wanted Aidan for just that one thing but would never admit it, and then you didn’t even have John-the for the guys because they were all just idiots who didn’t see your best friend for what he was: an amazing, although a little extra person with a very good heart, great sense of humour and amazing hair.
“Alright, well, you know the drill. Keep your phone on data so we can use Find your Friend if needed, keep your eyes open for anything sketchy going on, but, most importantly, enjoy yourself, babe. I’ll see you tonight,” you hugged him tightly and walked out of the apartment and into the busy streets.
If it were all up to you, you’d live in a secluded place, somewhere in the north probably, like outside Seattle, where you’d have a lovely little house, maybe by a river or by the ocean or something, where you’d have enough inspiration for your art and where you wouldn’t be annoyed by the little things, like the car horns blaring all the way to the night, people shouting underneath your bedroom’s window, and little things like that.
But life was not a factory for fulfilled wishes, and you had to endure another day trying to make it in New York. You thought about all of this as you walked down the street to where you knew you could find Tony. You weren’t happy that you had to go to him, again, but you also knew that you didn’t need to worry anymore. You would have the money for your landlord by the end of the week, and when the gallery paid you, you would pay Tony back. Again.
“If it isn’t my favourite girl!” You heard a familiar voice hollering from the shop, and you laughed lightly as you walked into the pawnshop Tony had set up in the lower Manhattan.
“Hello to you too, Tony. Today a yellow day, or what?” You greeted him as you looked at his outfit, which was just a canary yellow tracksuit and a matching hat. He looked like a character from a bad movie, but you knew better than to say anything like that.
“Yellow is very classy and trendy, thank you very much! Yesterday I wore this really nice green velvet tracksuit, and you should have seen some ladies walking by, they almost ate me with their eyes! I swear!” He added as he saw you stifling a laugh, but you just nodded in fake understanding, and both of you shared a relaxed laugh.
“So, what can I do for you today, sweetheart?” He drawled, and you shuffled on the spot, always feeling slightly uncomfortable when it came to this part.
“I need a thousand this week. Ton. I’ve been working my ass off, but the bills keep building up, and every time I think I’m out of it and I can live normally, there is always something holding me back,” you sighed, scratching your arms which was a nervous habit of yours that Tony grew quite fond of.
He was almost sorry for saying the next thing, but this was way above his pay grade, and while he really did take some liking to you, and he would always give you enough time to pay him off, he knew who he couldn’t piss off.
“Listen, Y/N, I have a proposal for you,” Tony started, and you frowned, not really knowing where this was going, but from the look on Tony’s face, you could tell it was nothing good.
“There is somebody who would like to get to know you, and he has a proposal for you that he believes you can’t refuse. I don’t know any specifics, I just know he is willing to pay you a lot of money, and I’m talking thousands and thousands, Y/N. He said that nothing sexual would be involved because I told him that if he was looking for a one night stand, you weren’t his girl, but he assured me that this wasn’t it. He would like to meet with you and tell you all the details if you let him. And before you say no, Y/N, think about it. All you gotta do now is to meet him and listen to him, and he is one of those guys who don’t take no for an answer,” Tony finished, and while you saw it pained him to give you the message, you were too stunned to care.
“What the hell are you talking about, Tony? Is this some kind of a sick joke? Like, did this guy tell you he wanted to talk to me specifically or just a girl desperate enough to come here?” You blurted, still not getting what he was about.
“He asked for you, sweetie. I don’t know how, but he knew you’d come and told me when you did to give you the message and give you his address. Which is here,” he said, handing you a piece of paper with an address and a date with the time written on it, “and he told me that if you came and agreed to his plan, you wouldn’t have to worry about money this week or any other week. It could be your chance, Y/N. Look, the guy is extremely powerful, so, please, just go and meet him, and you’ll see, ok?” He was scared, and it made you scoff out loud.
Great, so a loan shark was giving you a message to meet some mysterious, powerful asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer and who probably stalked you as he knew you would be coming to Tony sooner or later. Just great, really.
“It seems I don’t really have a choice, do I? Sheesh, Tony, at least tell me who this guy is and like how scared I should be. You gotta give me something because I can’t just go to some random house and be totally ok with it. Nobody can’t expect me to do so,” you pointed out, and Tony nodded in understanding.
“Totally, yeah. I even asked if I should come with you, but I was told you should be alone. You should be alert, let’s put it that way. If I were you, I’d really think before I speak, because this guy doesn’t take anything lightly. And I think it would be best if you didn’t know his name, Y/N. Just… he doesn’t want to hurt you, all he wants to do is speak to you, so please, just do it,” Tony finished just as some customer came into the shop.
You waited patiently because the conversation was far from over, but you knew better than to start shit in front of some stranger. Tony was evidently scared shitless of the guy, and it only fuelled your already growing anxiety. Tony was determined not to share too much information with you, but you didn’t understand why. Why could you not at least know the guy’s name? Who could it be?
Your brain took a detour to a few nights ago back at the pub where you saw the men asking about you, and a cold sweat broke on your skin. It must have been connected, there was no doubt in your mind about that, and it filled you with so much dread you actually had to catch your right hand with your left to stop yourself from shaking violently.
The doorbell rang signalling the customer left, and your eyes gazed at Tony, who was already staring at you apologetically.
“And what about the money, Tony? It’s Saturday, and I need to pay my rent by Friday next week. Nice of the guy, whoever the fuck he is, that he wants to see me, but he won’t if I’m on a fucking street next weekend,” you seethed, and Tony was quick to walk around the counter behind which he was standing this whole time and walked closer to you.
“He wants to see you on Wednesday, Y/N, and he specifically told me not to lend you any money, that he would take care of it. Whatever the fuck it means.”
“The fuck? I don’t even know his fucking name, and he will stop me from getting money to survive? What the actual hell, Tony? You can’t be serious right now,” you cried out in utter desperation because none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to come, chat a little with the goatee man, get the money and walk back home, where you’d watch some stupid TV show and drink shitty wine.
But no, of all the people living in New York this shit must be happening to you. As you didn’t have enough on your fucking plate as was, some mysterious fucker had to be interested in you for whatever reason, and he wouldn’t let you live without talking to him first.
“Can’t you just call him and tell him that I want to have nothing to do with him?” You asked when you felt calm enough to talk again. You didn’t even know whether you were scared or desperate or angry, but at best, you were feeling a mix of all these and some more, that was for sure.
“No can do, sweetie, but I promise it will be alright, ok? You’re a strong one, I know that and whatever he wants from you, you can either give or can talk to him,” Tony smiled sweetly, and while you knew he was full of bullshit you let it slide because you just didn’t have it in you to fight with him when he was clearly just the messenger. Whoever wanted to speak to you, however, he would hear it from you because where were we that a guy just asks for a girl and the whole of New York delivers her to him on a silver platter?
Wednesday
“You gotta be kidding me, Y/N. Are you seriously considering going there? For all you know it might be some elaborate trap and somebody’s gonna jump you and kill you in some dark alley,” Caroline screeched at you as she saw you getting ready after you came home from work.
You had to ask for a night off from the pub since mister nobody wanted to meet you on your night of work. But you knew you couldn’t say no. Whoever it was, Tony was afraid of him, and Tony was a tough guy. And not that you wouldn’t be brave, but your bravery was mostly concentrated on being able to throw a spider out of the apartment or walk the corridor with the lights out, not really crossing some powerful guy who could do God-knows-what to you if you didn’t come.
“C’mon, guys. You know I gotta do it. And I honestly think if they wanted to kill me, they would have already done it,” you muttered, trying to pick something to wear, that wasn’t too revealing, but you also didn’t want to go wherever you were going in a pair of baggy sweatpants you were currently rocking.
“But like, what if they want to make a personal slave out of you, huh? Like, cuff you to a ceiling and serve them with your body, like a personal kind of slave, you know what I mean? You were not made to be strapped to a ceiling, babe,” Aidan panicked, and you actually had to laugh.
“Your imagination never ceases to astonish me, Aid. Or are you speaking from personal experience?” You smirked as both you and Caroline laughed out loud at Aidan’s expression of utter disgust.
“You two are disgusting, and I hate you, but that doesn’t change the fact you still don’t know where the fuck you’re going,” Aidan countered and you rolled your eyes at him.
“I’ll keep my data on so you can see me this whole time, and if I don’t call you by 9 PM you can send the cops there, deal?”
They both nodded in agreement, knowing this was the best they were getting. You were glad you had them in your life and that you had people caring enough to try and stop you from doing something stupid, but something in your told you that your life would be even worse if you didn’t go. At least this way you’d know the whole story, and you would be able to make an educated decision based on all the variables.
“A’ight, but if anything sketchy happens, you run, ok? We can figure out the money, but we can’t figure out shit if you’re not here with us,” Caroline reminded you, and you nodded solemnly.
God, you just hoped you weren’t making a mistake by listening to Tony. He even shot you a message in the afternoon, reminding you to go there because if you didn’t, it could end up badly for both of you. And it was actually one of the decisive arguments in the whole thing, surprisingly. You didn’t want anything happening to Tony, especially not because of you and your decisions, and so you just told yourself to suck it and prepared for the evening.
You really couldn’t afford the cab, so you had to leave super early to be at the given address at precisely 7 PM. You also grabbed the book you were currently reading, Kim Stanley Robinson’s New York 2140, so that the ride to Manhattan wouldn’t be as dull and dreadful. You could think of the utopian future he depicts rather than thinking of your journey to the lion’s den, and that was the most promising image you created in your head about the place where you were headed.
Not that you didn’t try to find the place on Google maps, but all the buildings on the address looked the same, and, actually, quite nice, so you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.
Meanwhile, Tony texted you again since you didn’t reply to his previous text, and this time you took the time to craft a message telling him that yes, you were indeed headed to the manor and he didn’t need to worry about his own neck because you wouldn’t let others be hurt because of your incompetence or your cowardice.
You knew you were getting off on Chambers St station and you actually took the time to think how many people living in Tribeca had to take the subway. The answer was, very obviously, zero, as the majority of the people in the subway were either passing or were clothed in a way you knew they worked in either one of the restaurants there or as a help. And you felt like one of them, because you too didn’t live in the wealthiest village in New York, and you too were going there mainly for business. Well, at least you hope you did.
Checking every house number when you got to the street you were supposed to meet the mysterious guy at, you tried to find where exactly was the bat cave, and when you saw the number 112, you knew you found it.
Your breath came in ragged huffs as you tried to gather the last remnants of your bravery as you walked up the stairs and buzzed on the door. Your head was spinning lightly, and you actually had to lean against the wall beside you to regain your composure.
The door soon revealed a massive man dressed in a black turtleneck and a pair of black jeans, and you were actually quite surprised not to see him with sunglasses and an earpiece. If the situation weren’t so tense, you’d probably joke about it, but as it was, you just followed his lead as he beckoned you inside.
“Miss Y/L/N, I presume? I need to see your phone and your belongings, ma’am,” he stated, and you raised a brow at him.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a standard procedure, ma’am. Everybody here to see the boss needs to be checked, just in case,” he stated, leaving no room for discussion, and while you sighed exasperatedly, you still handed him your bag and made a point by fishing out the phone and shoving it in his outstretched hand. He took a quick look through your belongings, pushing it against what you assumed was some kind of a metal detector before he pulled out another device. This looked like a big phone, and he scanned your bag once again.
“What is that?” You asked, unable to stop your curiosity.
“Checking if you’re not bugged,” he answered matter-of-factly as he continued before he put the device down, clearly not finding anything. Where would you even get a bug, and why would you do it? You rolled your eyes inwardly but kept a straight face in front of the man, just in case he was watching. Which he was, as you found out by him waving in front of your face and showing you to follow him.
You braced yourself for whatever was awaiting upstairs and obediently walked behind him.
As you walked through the house, you got the impression that whoever lived there was wealthy, but that kind that didn’t really put on a flashy show. There were no chandeliers, no heavy curtains and stuff you pretty much imagined this place would look like and that image had nothing to do with the Beast and the Beauty dance room, nothing at all.
But this was… modest. Everything was very contemporary, some prominent brick here and there with mostly grey floors and the furniture was most definitely customary but, again, it was plain yet luxurious. You assumed that’s how the really rich people lived. They knew they had the money, and the people around them knew it as well, so there was no need for diamond stairs and a golden toilet.
A few names surged from memory as you heard your coworkers discuss the wealthy New Yorkers, but you didn’t want to assume anything before you actually saw the person, so you just walked by the halls before the man stopped in front one of the rooms and quietly knocked.
It was not surprising when another man dressed exactly like the guy leading you appeared from the room and took a quick look at you before he said something to whoever was behind him. When the affirmative came that you could indeed go in there, they shoved the door open and what you assumed was a living room appeared in front of you. It corresponded with the whole house, but your attention was caught by one specific thing. Your brain had its own world, and when you saw one of Tunji Adeniyi-Jones’s paintings from his last year’s exhibit, you almost fainted. He was your favourite contemporary artist. And seeing his work outside of the gallery was practically an otherworldly feeling. You gaped at the beautiful play of colours, and your heart swooned at the perfection of the brush strokes.
“Ehm,” you heard somebody cough beside you, and it startled you so much you actually jumped to the side, your hand flying to your chest in a feeble attempt to will your heart to stay calm.
You took the intruder in and found out that unlike every other man in the room (and there were a few, as you noticed) this guy wasn’t wearing all-black attire. He was in a comfortable-looking creme sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans, everything fitting him as if the clothes were sawn to his body.
Which, as far as you could tell, was the body of a Greek God.
“See something you like, honey?” The man interrupted thoughts, and it just crossed your mind that he was really rude, not letting you breathe even for a second before he had to make his presence known.
“Yes, actually. I’m quite a big fan of the artist whose painting you have there, so I admired that. And you are?” You trailed at the end, signalling that while he was very handsome, you had no idea who he was and why it was that you needed to come to him this evening.
“Straight to business, huh? I like that. I’m quite surprised Tony didn’t tell you who I was. Was he scared you wouldn’t have come if you knew?” He didn’t wait for your answer, however. “Well, honey, I’m Steve Rogers, and I am very pleased to meet you,” he smirked at your stomach dropped.
Steve Rogers? That Steve Rogers? It wasn’t possible.
“You gotta be kidding me,” you muttered as you scratched your arms nervously.
“Oh no, on the contrary. I’m all too real, Miss Y/L/N, and from the looks of it, I’m glad Tony didn’t tell you, you look like you might faint. Are you feeling alright?” He asked like the smug asshole he was, and you just turned away from him, taking a deep breath before you finally turned back around to face him with a pokerface.
“I’m alright, thank you. So now, can I know what it is you want from me so much you stalked me and made me come here, pretty much by force?”
He scoffed but showed you to follow him to the sofa. When you didn’t budge, he simply took you by your elbow and pretty much shoved you down to the plump sofa.
“Force, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply asked you to come visit me, is it so wrong? But yes, you are right, we should talk about why I invited you here. You see, Y/N, I’m in need of a wife, and after long calculations, I came to the conclusion you would be perfect for the job,” he said straightforwardly, and it was now that you felt like you’d faint.
“Marry me? Are you fucking insane?” You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Form the pissed off expression on his face, you could see it was not the right move, but he couldn’t expect any other reaction, really.
“Easy, honey or I might have to use the said force to shut that smart mouth of yours,” Steve mumbled dangerously, and you swallowed harshly.
“Right, you’re a notorious mobster, and I’m literally nobody, and if you killed me, nobody would miss me. Good, now that’s out of the table, why do you want to marry me? And what does it mean you are in need of a wife? I mean… you are notorious for dating a different girl every week, can’t you just marry one of them if you’re in such a great hurry?”
“No, honey, I can’t. All you need to know right now is my proposal. So, here it is. You will marry me, we will stay married for a year and then get a divorce. You will have everything every girl ever wanted: loads of clothes, all the time in the world to do whatever the fuck you want, you won’t have to work, and I will pay for everything and more. You will live here so you won’t have to worry about your rent money, and I will also pay your student loan, on top of which you will be paid 20.000$ every month for playing your role. And when the year is over, you will walk away rich, without any debts slowing you down and you will be able to do anything you want. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like it’s not a proposal but a directive,” you smiled sweetly and stood up, pacing the room and scratching your hands like crazy. This was not happening, no, no, no!
You needed the money, you really did, and getting rid of the debt from your student loan that would have been sweet too, but at what price? On the other hand, you thought, how bad could it be to just be somebody’s wife for a year? He did make it sound pretty easy.
“What would be expected of me?”
“Well, you would go with me to every event and pretty much listen to everything I say,” he shrugged as if it was the most natural thing to say to another human being.
“Like, you’d ask me to spread my legs for you here, and I would do it?” You asked, suddenly very angry that the man just assumed what kind of a person you were. You were desperate, but not that desperate.
“Oh, no, honey. That is one of the reasons why I chose you: I’m not attracted to you, so no, I wouldn’t ask you for any sexual favours. We could even put that to our contract if you’d feel better, but, really, you have nothing to worry from me,” he again said with ease, and you didn’t know if you were glad he just told you this or really pissed and ashamed.
Not that you thought you were some kind of a beauty, far from it, but he also didn’t have to be so upfront about it. And now you understood it even less why the hell he chose you.
“Just, wait a second,” you said, your brows knitting together as you tried to piece together all the information the man in front of you had just given you. He was gorgeous, there was no question about that, but that wasn’t the issue here. There were many gorgeous people in New York, and you didn’t marry any of them. Yet, that was.
“You want to marry me. But you still haven’t told me why, so?” You asked for like the hundredth time that evening, and the man just smirked again, playing with his cuffs, never answering to your satisfaction.
“Honey, what I want, I get, and I decided that I wanted you, so, what is going to be? Are you gonna be a good girl for me or am I gonna have to force you, hm?” He smiled sweetly, but even you knew better. Behind that oh-very-sweet smile, there was venom and a ton of it. You rubbed your temples and plopped down on the nice-looking couch, thinking about what he was proposing.
“Then why choosing me if you don’t find me attractive? Not that it’s an issue, I’m just really trying to understand the situation here,” you said, totally ignoring the threat in his voice as you needed some much valuable answers.
“Right, well, first of all, as I already mentioned, what I want, I get, honey, and you should always remember that. Secondly, it was your ability to keep a straight face, even though I can see the ability is not endless. I need somebody who will be sickly sweet to both my friends and enemies alike, who won’t mind a few sleazy comments from the old fuckers, and who will look like an obedient wife. I need somebody who will blend in and who will look trustworthy, and not like she was to stay only for a week. And when I saw you in that pub where you used to work, I could see you had what it took to be in this life, even if only for a year,” he finished, and you were glad you were right at least about the guy, Steve, also sending the people to sniff around your workplace. But then it hit you.
“Where I used to work? I still work there,” you said dumbfounded, and Steve chuckled humorously.
“Oh no, you don’t. You see, I need my wife free all the time and I need her here with me. Look, Y/N, this is getting tiring, and I really need an answer now. What is it gonna be, huh?”
“Like I even have a choice. You just said you would use force if I said no, so, what am I supposed to say, huh? I don’t want to get married, but I don’t have any money and your snoopy ass is getting in the way of my life, and you ended one of my jobs, and before you say you terminated my contract in the gallery, please think about it again. That job is very important to me, it has always been my dream to be in a gallery surrounded by beautiful art, and, by chance, having my art there as well.
I don’t know Steve, your offer is very generous, it really is, but I don’t think I’m the right one,” you sighed finally and looked around the room, ignoring the boring looks from Steve. Then you saw the clock and you almost panicked, it was two minutes before 9.
“Oh my God, I need to call my friends, or they’re gonna call the cops,” you said quickly already dialling Caroline’s number. You told her you were fine and that no, you weren’t a personal slave yet, but that you’d tell them everything when you got home. When the call ended, the venom was back in Steve’s eyes.
“If you think you can talk to people about anything I have just said, you are terribly wrong, doll,” he seethed, and you were taken aback, but you didn’t want him to think he intimidated you.
“Well, if you think I’m not gonna tell my family about this, then it’s you who is terribly wrong, Steve. We tell each other everything, and if I considered this proposal of yours, it would mean Aidan and Caroline would know about this, at least that I’m marrying you for more than my undying love for you,” you spat back, and Steve saw the determination in your eyes. He knew he had to compromise with you, even if only a little bit.
He already found out everything about you, he knew your whole life, your past, everything his people could find on the internet. And what he got from the search was that you and the people you lived with were extremely close. He considered getting rid of them but realised it would only push you away from what he needed from you. And he needed a wife ASAP.
The mafia was still very conservative, and as he was the only boss without a constant woman by his side, he was sometimes excluded from important meetings that happened on “family retreats.” And he needed all the info there was if he wanted to be the best of the best. Or, the worst of the worst, if we were being literal.
“Fine, but they will need to sign a contract saying that they will keep their mouths shut,” Steve smiled back, and you nodded, your head already spinning.
Were you really considering it? But was there any other option? You needed the money, and it would’ve be great if you didn’t have to care about your student loan for the rest of your life. You would see the world, just like you wanted, you would have time for your art, and you would be free after only a year. That didn’t sound that bad. Sure, you’d be affiliated with a known mafia boss, but that was nothing you couldn’t handle. But there was still a question Steve didn’t answer.
“What about my job at the gallery? If you made them fire me and I’m gonna find out tomorrow, I can’t even begin to consider this. I want that job, I want to work at that gallery, Steve.”
“Fucking hell, I could buy you the gallery if you agreed!” He shouted, exasperated that it was taking so long. He really didn’t get it. He was proposing a life in luxury, and he knew that the majority of women in New York would be more than happy to be seen by his side. But you? You had to be difficult and even demand stuff. Fucking hell…
“But whatever, you wanna work there, fine. Whatever, I don’t give a fuck. Do we have a deal or not? I have better things to do with my evening than just bargain with you, honey,” he accentuated the pet name that you already hated.
Well, this wasn’t how you imagined your proposal to go. Not that you were too keen on the whole idea of a marriage, but still, a girl could dream. Yet, here you were, actually considering getting tied up with a mobster for a year just because he offered you enough money and a life that you felt like could be interesting, if only for a year and with a man who blatantly told you he wasn’t interested in you in that way. This was the only reason you didn’t feel as dirty as you expected because you knew he would never touch you and never want you to do something sexual against your will.
You were used to lying through your teeth ever since you were little, your parents made sure you knew how important it was to keep your secret, and dangerous life wasn’t something you only heard of on TV. All this made the decision slightly easier, as you finally made up your mind.
“Fine, but we still have a lot to talk about, Mr Rogers,” you set your jaw and outstretched your hand to shake on it with him.
“Whatever, Mrs Rogers. Consider your rent paid and I’ll see you on Friday when we discuss our matter in greater detail. Now, if you excuse me,” he kissed the top of your hand and walked away.
Well, this would be fun, you told yourself as you watched the man you would soon call your husband walk away from you, and contemplated whether you made the right choice. But your life wasn’t great as was, as much as you tried to fill it with laughter and happiness, and, in a sense, Steve offered you an out, even if only for a little bit.
Here was to nothing, you hollered at yourself in your mind and followed one of the turtleneck-guys out of the manor and into the chilly air of evening New York.
/ Next Chapter >
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Prima Vista Part VII
[ previous ]
Rating: E (explicit; mdni)
Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)
It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.
It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk.
“Erwin here?”
The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”
Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”
Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead.
He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”
“What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy.
You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different.
“I needed to talk to you about something.”
Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”
You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”
He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?”
“Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”
“You can shut it then.”
Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you.
“Why haven’t you been talking to him?”
Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!”
Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”
“And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”
Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”
You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping.
“That motherfucker,” he grunts.
“What?”
“You blocked his number.”
“What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”
He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”
Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”
“My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.
You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.
If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.
Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list.
“Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal.
“Have what?”
“Tinder.”
“What are you talking about?”
Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”
That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced.
Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself.
“Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”
Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”
“Probably.”
“Might be a little difficult now, though.”
Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”
Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”
You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”
Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”
You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.
But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process.
“It, uh… It gets worse.”
Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”
Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry.
“I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”
Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling.
Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her.
“Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”
Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”
You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest.
There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him.
“Come on.”
“W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”
“I��m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."
You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person.
“Fine, but put a shirt on.”
“Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”
You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.
You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand.
“We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze.
It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.
*
Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous.
He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy.
"Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand.
"Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."
You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."
"I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable.
"Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."
"I'll be there, Nile."
"Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."
Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth.
"So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back.
"Don't fucking tell me."
Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."
"She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good.
"Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."
"How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"
"Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."
"Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."
"Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."
"I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."
"Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?"
"Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever."
It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it.
"Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."
"I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"
"As a distraction?"
Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?"
The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party."
It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house.
Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight.
Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on.
When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party.
Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him.
So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this?
And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink.
Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit.
She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?"
No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight.
They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism.
They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin.
Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you.
Oh, you don't like her.
"Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?"
Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."
"Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"
"Kind of?" You try.
Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?"
Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible.
Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"
Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe.
"Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"
"Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."
"I don't think that's really—"
"Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits.
"You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes.
"Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out.
For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands.
He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you.
"The fuck do you want, Jaeger?"
"Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?"
Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt.
"Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back.
"He's not worth it, Mike."
Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.
He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights.
He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead.
It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him.
He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger.
You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now.
So he drinks.
He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—
Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch.
"What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him.
"I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"
"I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!"
Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in.
"What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?"
"No!"
"Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.
He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms.
"Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head.
Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?"
Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."
"Are you serious?"
Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile.
"I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!"
Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again.
"Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks.
"Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"
"Including you."
Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him.
"Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?"
"Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests.
Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty).
Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak.
"What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"
Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice.
"It's just Adderall, I swear!"
Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren.
"Get the fuck out before I call the cops."
He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up.
Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen.
"They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile.
"Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"
"Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."
Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time.
Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way.
"Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back.
It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause.
"Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink.
He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind.
It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets.
He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts.
Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.
*
"God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in.
Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels.
A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again.
"Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."
"No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"
You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction.
"Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again.
"The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?"
"Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—
"Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic.
"I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him.
Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."
"He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker.
You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).
"Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."
"Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss.
He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand.
Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."
You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."
"What? No."
"There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out."
Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea.
"Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."
"So?"
"Erwin."
He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?"
"Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.
"Text me if you need help, alright?"
"You got it, boss."
He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.
His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning.
How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass.
It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh.
People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place.
Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way.
More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of.
Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three.
Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep.
Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest.
After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it.
You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex.
��You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).
It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long.
Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."
"Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."
"Nooo. No Miche."
"Yes, Miche," you laugh.
He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again.
When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."
You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again.
"Okay. Just Mike then."
He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again.
"You're a needy drunk, you know that?"
Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again.
"Sleep now," he mumbles.
"No, no sleep now."
"Sleep now."
"Oh my fucking god."
His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water.
He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday.
Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self.
So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid.
He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much.
"President… dumb boyyy."
"Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"
"Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr."
There's really no pleasing him.
"Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."
"Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."
You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you.
"You're fucking ridiculous."
Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub.
"Jesus Christ, Mike."
He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower.
"Water, pleeeease."
He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them.
"No, dude. I am not letting you drown."
Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle.
"Yeah, okay, I guess that works."
The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.
So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist.
He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."
Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright.
"ευχαριστώ."
"Come again?"
"Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward.
You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways.
Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze.
"You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time.
"Dunno."
"Can you tell who I am?"
Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"
"Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.
"That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun.
He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress.
Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel.
Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands.
"Can I help you?"
He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you.
"Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh.
Switching tactics, he pats his chest.
"Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."
Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…
Not like this.
"Please. No more vom. Promise."
"I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."
He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants.
A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth.
This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin.
Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks.
"'m mad at you."
Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting.
"I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."
Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep.
"Still love you."
You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason.
"I love you too, Miche."
Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake.
You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?"
"Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub.
Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."
"What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?"
He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!"
"You're disgusting."
"Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"
God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint.
"Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep.
"Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off.
"We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.
Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."
You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."
It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day.
"Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub.
"He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts.
"Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add.
Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing.
"We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile.
"Probably."
Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious.
It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look.
You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy.
There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him.
"'m still wet."
"You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."
"Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"
"Know how it works, dumb… butt."
"Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."
"Don't panotrize me!"
You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."
"That's what I said!"
It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard.
He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."
"All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?"
"Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."
"Why?"
"I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."
"Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair.
It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot.
He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours.
A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest.
Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed.
Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it.
You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.
The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.
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LXC is the legal guardian and adopter for LSZ or LJY, and NMJ has questions.
part 2 of the LJY-adopted-by-LQR fic (now also on ao3)
-
“So, did I knock you up before I went to war or something?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Because I feel like you should’ve mentioned it if that was the case. Possibly in a letter.”
Lan Xichen was so tired that it took him a solid minute to parse what was wrong with that sentence and how to respond, and it was not by following his first instinct to apologize that he should’ve written better letters.
“Stop making fun of me,” he said instead, groping towards some measure of dignity.
Sadly, dignity was in very short supply when you were taking care of babies. Multiple babies. Well, one baby and one toddler, which was somehow worse?
Lan Xichen was pretty sure they’d figured out how to time their crying off each other.
“I would never,” Nie Mingjue said, like a liar, and then he picked up little Jingyi and – Lan Xichen simply cannot find another way to put it – shook him, in a manner not unlike testing a melon for freshness.
For some reason, this made Lan Jingyi stop crying and start making snuffling little giggles instead.
“How did you do that?” Lan Xichen asked, eyes wide.
“Do what?” Nie Mingjue tucked the baby into the crook of his arm and scooped up some food off the table, offering it to him, and Lan Jingy actually ate it. “Xichen, are you feeling all right?”
“Shhh!” Lan Xichen hissed, eyes fixed on the baby, which was neither spitting up everything nor wailing as if his heart was broken. “No unnecessary noise during meals.”
Nie Mingjue snorted in amusement. “Sure,” he said amiably, in the tone Lan Xichen had long ago learned meant ‘nice rules you’ve got there, it’d be an awful shame if someone found a loophole in them’. “This isn’t a meal, though; it’s just a snack.”
Lan Xichen eyed the still-not-crying Lan Jingyi and decided that now was not the time for a spirited debate on the virtues of discipline and fulfilling the merits rather than the word of a rule.
“Where’s monster number one gone?” Nie Mingjue asked abruptly. “He must be very good at hiding, because I looked away for a blink of an eye and he was gone.”
Lan Xichen’s eyes slowly dropped down to where a cloth-covered lump was not-so-sneakily edging towards Nie Mingjue’s foot.
Nie Mingjue was one of the foremost front line fighters of their generation, and possibly the previous one as well. His physical ability was matched only by his incredibly keen senses.
There was no way he was not aware of the lump.
“It’s a real shame, too,” Nie Mingjue continued. “I was planning on doing a test of how far you can throw children, but I think monster two here’s a bit too small to make the test worthwhile. But I guess it just wasn’t meant to be –”
You can’t throw children, Lan Xichen was about to say, except Lan Sizhui was tearing off the tablecloth and jumping up in excitement, shouting, “Here! Here! I’m here! I’m big enough! You can throw me!”
“Why does he want to be thrown,” Lan Xichen murmured, bewildered. He’d never wanted to be thrown around as a child. Had he?
In fairness, he wasn’t sure. No one had ever offered.
Apparently, though, Lan Sizhui did very much want to be thrown around, and Lan Jingyi even condescended to allow Lan Xichen to hold him while he watched.
“Higher! Higher!” Lan Sizhui shouted.
“Really? Is this high enough?” Nie Mingjue held him up at eye level.
“Higher!”
“Like this?” Above his head.
“Higher!”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“All right. How about –” Baxia slithered out from her place by the door, zipping over until she was right in front of Nie Mingjue, allowing him to step onto her like a stair, and then zipping upwards to about hip-height, lifting Nie Mingjue and Lan Sizhui with her. They very nearly hit a tree branch with their heads. “– this?”
Lan Sizhui shrieked with laughter.
“It’s too early to introduce them to flying,” Lan Xichen objected, because it was. “Mingjue-xiong…”
Nie Mingjue hopped down with a laugh. “All right, one last toss,” he told Lan Sizhui. “Then you nap. Okay?”
“Okay!” Lan Sizhui, who had never once willingly succumbed to naptime in the entirety of the time that Lan Xichen had known him, promised earnestly.
Back into the pile of soft grass he went, giggling the entire time, and amazingly enough he really did fall asleep afterwards. Lan Jingyi, too, had fallen asleep at some point.
“I’ve decided that your brother needs more experience running a sect,” Lan Xichen told Nie Mingjue, who raised his eyebrows. “Starting immediately. I promise to allow you to leave when Jingyi is, oh, shall we say five years old..?”
You could reason with a five year old.
Nie Mingjue laughed.
It was a type of laugh that suggested that he thought Lan Xichen was making a joke. This was incorrect.
“You’d be amazed at how serious I am,” Lan Xichen told him threateningly, “I’m sect leader here, this is my territory, I can have you arrested any time –” but by that point Nie Mingjue was already bundling him off to bed, too, combing out his hair and plying him with snacks and –
This was not helping his argument that Lan Xichen should be allowing him to leave rather than keep him trapped in the Cloud Recesses as a babysitter-slash-love-slave.
Well, he wouldn’t really do that, of course. He’d let him go. Eventually.
It’d probably be good for Nie Mingjue’s stress levels, honestly.
“Seriously, though, how did you do that?” he asked, his head on Nie Mingjue’s lap. “They didn’t cry once.”
“I’m good with kids,” Nie Mingjue said, his fingers digging into Lan Xichen’s scalp in just the right way. “Now can you explain to me how exactly you ended up with them? Two, no less?”
Lan Xichen groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. “Sizhui’s Wangji’s,” he explained. “Not biologically, but he’s put his name down in the family register under his own. But, you know…”
“I know.”
Lan Xichen appreciated that he didn’t need to go into it. The doctors had estimated that Lan Wangji would regain full mobility within three years, so that was the period the elders had mandated for his so-called ‘seclusion’, but with Lan Wangji being locked away like that – even with visitors, even though he was trying his hardest to care for the child from where he was – meant that someone had to care for the child’s day-to-day life until his brother was ready to resume the role.
“Jingyi is a cousin, I think,” he continued. “His parents are dead, and uncle accepted guardianship for him…I think he’s going to adopt him, actually.”
“Then why is he with you?”
“I volunteered.”
“Xichen, I say this with a full heart of affection and tremendous respect for your capabilities,” Nie Mingjue said. “But why in the world would you go and do a stupid thing like that?”
Lan Xichen sighed. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue that it wasn’t stupid – he was, quite obviously, terrible with children.
“Uncle’s still injured from the war,” he admitted. In fact, his injury was probably even older than the war, dating as far back as the burning of the Cloud Recesses – his uncle had never been much of a fighter, his impressive cultivation strength stemming almost entirely from gentler arts like music and learning and meditation, but when his home and his family and his students were at risk, he’d fought, while Lan Xichen ran. Not just fought; he’d kept fighting long past the point that his body allowed. It only made sense for the bill to need to be paid. “He had a recurrence of an old complaint, not long ago; he started coughing up blood. The doctors insisted that he try to avoid anything that might cause him stress.”
“Stress. Like, say, a rowdy infant?”
“Exactly like a rowdy infant,” Lan Xichen agreed, glad that Nie Mingjue did not mention that what had happened with Lan Wangji was also likely a source of stress. At least the two of them had slowly started to repair their relationship recently – the heartbreak would kill their uncle sooner than anything else, and Lan Xichen might be weak, but he really couldn’t tolerate the idea of suffering any more loss.
And also, if Lan Wangji could see his way to forgiving their uncle, he might one day agree to forgive Lan Xichen, too.
“I see. So you ended up with the little one, too.”
“Yes. And they hate me.” Nie Mingjue coughed a little. “No, don’t deny it. They clearly hate me. They always cry and spit and yell -”
“They’re children, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said. “Traumatized children. They do that.”
Lan Xichen didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Nie Mingjue was frowning in memory of pain long past. Lan Xichen remembered, with painful clarity, how young Nie Huaisang had been when Lao Nie had died, how badly he had taken it.
There’d been a lot of crying and vomiting and yelling there as well.
“You’re good with kids,” Lan Xichen said instead of commenting, trading delicacy for delicacy; he would not touch Nie Mingjue’s still-bleeding wounds just as Nie Mingjue avoided his own. “Very good.”
“Well, I like to think so, anyway.”
They remained in blissful, comfortable silence for a while.
“How would it have even worked?” Lan Xichen finally asked. His eyes were still closed, Nie Mingjue’s fingers running through his hair; he never wanted to move again.
“Hmm?”
“If you knocked me up before you went to war. I mean, they’re not even the same age.”
“Well, one of them’s from the affair, obviously.”
“I’m sorry, am I cheating on you now?” Lan Xichen opened an eye and pinned Nie Mingjue with a fierce look that instructed his lover to reconsider.
“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue said, mock-solemnly. His eyes were dancing. “You were so distraught after receiving incorrect news of my untimely demise that you conducted a ghost marriage with my spirit, and then went and had a child to continue my name.”
“…they’re both surnamed Lan.”
“So what? Are you saying I’m not good enough to marry into your sect, is that it?”
Lan Xichen’s cheeks were hurting from trying not to laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of implying such a thing.”
“There you go, then.”
“Can I ask why I felt the need to have a child to continue your name if I had one already?”
“…well, fuck,” Nie Mingjue said. “I’ve got nothing.”
Lan Xichen burst out laughing.
#mdzs#lan xichen#nie mingjue#nielan#lan sizhui#lan jingyi#my fic#my fics#whistling brook#I know this doesn't quite match the prompt#but it ended up fitting in perfectly with the previous ficlet#walburgablack
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Period Pains (Iwa, Suna, Bokuto)
Periods still stuck. Nothing has changed since part one. But these boys continue to comfort me when I feel like my heart, head, and stomach are going to explode :D. I hope they comfort you too!
A/N: It’s been rough homies. It really do be your own body that tries to attack you -_-.
Warnings: EMETOPHOBIA (in Suna’s there’s a semi detailed description of vomiting); swearing; foot massage in Bokuto’s (Ik that makes some people uncomfy); gym bros.
Iwaizumi Hajime
It was common knowledge that you and Iwaizumi were two halves of one insane power couple.
No questions asked, you both were generally independent when it came to taking care of your own matters, and you were both were pretty independent.
But there were exceptions- moments where you would both lean on each other, using the other as an anchor and a crutch to get back up and stay on your feet.
Your period was one of those times when times you needed your beloved boyfriend to play that role.
Today was one of those days.
You and Iwaizumi head over to the gym at around 6 am to get your early morning workout in before you go through with the rest of your day.
You had told Iwaizumi the night before, and he asked if you still wanted to “go gym” the next morning.
You said yes, hoping that a solid workout would help with some of the cramps.
And once you had got there, you had your hopes up.
The first half of your workout was going really well, and you hadn’t thought of your cramps at all.
But then it hit you while you were walking over to get your water bottle.
You didn’t know why, but the cramps hit you hard. Instantly you went to the bathroom to try and compose yourself, but that wasn’t really helping either.
You didn’t wanna bother Iwaizumi mid workout, so you tried to carry on.
Unfortunately, that didn’t work out too well.
As you tried to keep going, the cramps in your stomach got worse and worse, until you were pressing your stomach with your hands, curled over yourself on your yoga mat.
Taking deep breaths, you tried to relieve the only worsening cramps.
It wasn’t until a warm, firm hand caressed your back did you look up from your curled up form.
“1 to 10.” Iwaizumi asks you with a soft voice.
“4.” You say as you curl into yourself once more.
It was the pain ranking system that you’d both been using since early on in your relationship. You knew exactly what he meant, and you were honestly thankful that he understood you were in pain by just looking at you.
“Lying to me doesn’t do any good, ya know.” His words are harsh, yet the concern in his voice kills any intimidation that was supposed to come across.
“7.”
“Sounds right.” Iwa’s one arm wraps around you, digging into your side, his thumb massaging circles into the spot right above your left hip, while the other hand rubbed softer circles onto your lower belly.
You felt your muscles untense as his hands worked away at your cramping stomach with deep pressure only he had the strength to apply.
“What’s wrong with her?''
Both of you look up to see some guy (he seemed like a newbie, neither of you had seen him before) talking to your boyfriend.
“What.” Iwa’s voice is dry, in shock at the fact that this dude was in your business.
“Did she injure herself working out or something?” He asks, as if you were incapable of speaking for yourself. “Not being careful in the gym can be really dangerous, especially if you’re not trained.” He speaks in your direction this time.
Iwaizumi Hajime (27) ATHLETIC TRAINER, now looked like he was ready to commit murder.
Some of the regulars had now turned to watch, most giving the guy dirty looks.
A couple of you and Iwa’s closer gym bros step towards you both, making some preparations for Iwaizumi to swing.
But before anyone can really say anything, your voice cuts through.
“That’s real rich coming from you. The only thing that’s gonna cause an injury is your horrendous deadlift form.”
Your boyfriend goes from a state of shock into a fit of snickers, the guys on the side also amused. The guy in front of you goes completely red.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about you bi-”
“I actually think she’s right. I was a bit worried, too.” One of Iwa’s (very buff) friends stepped forward, smiling at you two before putting a hand a on the newbie’s shoulder. “Let’s go check it out.”
As you sigh out, your boyfriend stares at you with pride and amusement both bright in his eyes. “All that pain and you’re still able to come up with snarky comments.”
As his hand returns to soothing circular motions, you dig your face into his chest.
The soft touches from Iwa were enough to ease your pains, and allowed you to embrace your moment of vulnerability with your sweet boyfriend.
“Let’s dip and get food, okay? And you can just rest at home. You deserve a break.”
“Weren’t you saying something about how the grind doesn’t stop-”
“It stops when your health is on the line. Let’s go.”
Suna Rintarou
When it comes to you being on your period, Suna is by far the most hands off while simultaneously being the most attentive.
Suna wasn’t necessarily the biggest on PDA. But when it was just you two? He had no problem being all up against you.
The only situation Suna does not know how to navigate is when he can’t read someone’s moods or behaviors. Luckily for him, you were overly clear with his emotions and needs when you were on your period, even if those moods and needs were all over the place.
Early on, when you got together, he was a bit surprised to see how bad your period could get.
He’d walked in to your room one day to see you in a fetal position, rolling around on the floor.
He’d seen you go a full day of eating only junk food, upset and trying to satiate all your cravings.
He’d also seen you go without sleep because of how bad your cramps were.
Essentially, he’d learned you’d go through really bad health habits, and he’d assigned himself the roll of trying to make sure you maintained some regularity while on your period.
He was ready for anything, so ready that he made it look effortless.
When Suna came back from practice one day, he couldn't find you anywhere in your shared home. Which isn’t a problem, but he doesn’t recall you saying you were going anywhere....
It’s not till he lazily stalks over to the hallway and hears a horrible retching sound that he realizes you are still home.
Swinging the door open, he finds you perched over the toilet, vomiting in what looks to be a super painful manner.
“Rin...ta...r-oh fuck” you can barely get his name out before you start throwing up again.
Your boyfriend takes a step into the bathroom, but you toss an intense ‘no’ his way with your hand.
“It smells disgusting… and… I don’t want to be smothered right now…” you sigh as you breathe between your bouts of vomiting.
He takes a deep breath, recomposing himself. He knows your period can get pretty bad, but he hasn’t seen it get this bad in a while. He obliges, but he doesn’t move from the doorway.
As you start your next fit, Suna’s face remains blank, but his heart twists.
He slowly approaches you, kneeling beside you.
“I said to not.. To smother me....” your protest is weakened by your body inhibiting your ability to speak.
Suna keeps a bit of space between you two, but he gently grabs your hair, pulling strand by strand, until its completely out of your face
(alternatively, if you have short hair), Suna keeps a bit of space between you two, but he lets his hand gently rest on your back, rubbing in soothing circles .
Your hand goes up to push him away, but he grabs your fist with his larger hand, weaving his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb into the back of your hand.
“I won’t smother, don’t worry. But I’m gonna be here.” He’s soft in his tone, unfazed despite the relative unpleasantness of the situation.
As you finally stop, you fall back, your hands covering your eyes.
As you lean back, your body giving out, your head finds its way onto the plush chest of your green eyed boyfriend. He doesn’t touch you, but just acts as a makeshift couch for you to lean on.
“Rintarou.” “
Yeah?”
“I need your touch.”
Your words are blunt but effortlessly received as your boyfriend instinctively wraps his arms around you, languidly stroking your thigh with one hand and holding your stomach with the other. He adjusts you so that you’re pressed up against him.
“Better, babe?” he asks as he backs up into the wall, loosening up as you relax against him.
“Mmm.” You croon, sinking down against him. “I should brush my teeth, I’m sorry you came back to this.”
“It’s fine. Get cleaned up. Wanna watch movies? I got Chinese takeout.”
“I don’t want Chinese,” you comment.
“What do you want?”
“Pizza.”
“...”
“...”
He sighs. “I’ll be back in 20.”
“I love you.” you smile at him as you tell him what he already knows.
He presses his nose into your hair, letting your conditioner’s scent fill his nose. “Mmm… and I love you.”
“How much?” You ask.
“How much do I what?”
“How much do you love me?”
“Enough to get you pizza at 10 pm in the pouring rain.”
“It’s raining??”
“Yeah.”
“...Nevermind I don’t want pizza anymore.”
“Well I want pizza now so I’m going.” He pulls himself up and out of the bathroom despite the way you tried to cling to his leg to keep him from leaving.
“Rin!”
Bokuto Koutarou
Bokuto is honestly the ideal boyfriend, especially when you are on your period.
Early in your relationship, when you got on your period, you didn’t tell Bo. But he ended up learning the hard way.
He’d come back from practice a bit later than usual and didn’t text you. Usually he didn’t, especially if he knew he’d only be a little late. But when he walked through the doors, instead of finding his usually happy, bubbly girlfriend who usually showered him with love, he was greeted with you crying.
“W-why didn’t-t you text me, Kou? Do you-u not care about me?”
He had nooo idea what was going on, and he was very panicked and sad.
He felt like the rug was pulled out from under him when you proceeded to snuggle into his chest 2 minutes later, cries completely stopped. His little owl eyes were wide open and very confused.
2 days later, he asked about the situation again, scared to bring it up.
But you were really embarrassed as you explained how you were on your period and could get extreme mood swings. You apologized and promised that you’d never do something wild like that again.
But Bo wasn’t content with your answer.
He went and asked Akaashi if he knew anything about what periods were like (he was shy to ask you).
Akaashi found the lovely statistic of “period pain being of equal pain levels of a heart attack” and Bokuto lost his shit. “
I’ve never had a heart attack, but they kill people! And they go for the hospital for those! And she apologized for being a little emotional… that doesn’t seem right, right Kaashi?”
Akaashi agrees, of course. And sends Bokuto off with the advice of “she’s always there for you. All you have to do is be there for her.”
When the next time you had your period rolled around, and you found yourself a little emotional, you did your best to control it. But Bokuto was having none of it.
“Baby, you don’t have to hide it! You can be emotional!! I don’t mind. You always help me when I’m emotional! I can do the same for you. I’ll take the best care of you, I promise!”
You would honestly call it a turning point in your relationship, cause this was when you learned to start really depending on Bo. And you realized just how dependable he could really be.
When Bokuto comes back from practice today, he finds you splayed out on the couch, koala-hugging a pillow, whimpering a “welcome home” between grunts of pain.
Bokuto stays quiet as he walks up to the couch, dipping down to place a kiss on your cheek before stripping his sweaty t-shirt off as he walks off to take a shower.
Once he comes out, fresh and clean, he throws on a comfortable t-shirt and shorts before coming back to find you on the couch.
He grabs your legs, pulls them up, sits down, and then places them in his lap. “Baby, do you want a massage? I can press your legs.”
“You don’t have to, Kou, it’s okay.”
“I want to!” He cheers back as he starts to knead at your calves, moving down to your feet and slowly pressing over your socks.
You sigh and huff, slowly relaxing as the soothing feeling of the pressure applied to your feet counteracts the pain you felt in your lower abdomen.
While Bokuto concentrates intensely on massaging your calves again, he perks up at the sound of a sniffle.
Swinging his head, he sees you slowly dissolving into sobs.
Panicked, he slides your legs onto the couch and comes by your face.
“Baby, did I press too hard? Did I hurt you? Please tell me.”
“No, no, Kou, you’re fine. I’m just- I’m so lucky and blessed to have such a loving amazing boyfriend~” you get the words out as tears stream down your face, turning to look him in his big, gorgeous, gold eyes. “I don’t deserve you, my love.”
Now, for reasons unknown, Bokuto finds himself crying as well.
“Why are you crying!” You cry and laugh out at the same time.
“Because I have such a sweet girlfriend who always showers me in love! Don’t say I don’t deserve you. You’re perfect for me.”
Cheesy as the exchange was, it was really soft for you. Because you knew Bokuto, and you knew he meant every word exactly as is from the bottom of his heart.
Crying while your laughs got lighter, you pull him in and kiss him all over his face.
He laughs too, and holds your face as he pulls away, swiping the tears from under your eyes. “Your turn!!”
After smothering you with kisses, he picks you up and carries you to your shared bedroom, so he can love on you more, with enough space for both of you to lay next each other and peacefully drift off to sleep.
A/N: Gym guys who don’t mind their business seriously bother me. I hope you all enjoyed! Requests and commentary are greatly appreciated :D
#tw: emetophobia#haikyu#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyu headcanons#haikyu fluff#haikyu imagines#iwaizumi hajime#suna rintaro#bokuto koutarou#iwaizumi#suna#bokuto#iwaizumi headcanons#suna headcanons#bokuto headcanons#iwaizumi imagines#suna imagines#bokuto imagines#iwaizumi fluff#suna fluff#bokuto fluff#iwaizumi x reader#suna x reader#bokuto x reader#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu!! headcanons#haikyuu!! imagines
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Double edged scalpel ch.9
Ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.6 ch.7 ch.8
Summary: Nicole needs a painkiller.
---
"Mother, please!"
God that was loud. Or far. It was a confusing mix of both. The sound reached her ears muffled, but even that was enough to make the fuzz in her brain even worse.
It took an enormous amount of effort to finally figure out who that voice belonged to, the desperate tone so uncharacteristic. Cassandra of course.
Her eyelids felt too heavy to open, so Nicole just tried to shift towards the voice. That plan turned out to be a huge mistake as with the smallest movement, her body seemed to short circuit. Her side felt like it was on fire, sending waves of pain that made her let out a choked pained moan.
Then, she realized, there were other voices surrounding her. She couldn't make out whether or not it was addressed to her let alone what was being said.
She did try though.
Consciousness was starting to slowly make its way into her mind. With great strain she even managed to open her eyes, harsh light making her groan.
"Oh she's awake."
"Hey, try not to move."
Nicole frowned, trying to focus on the two blurry figures by her side. When her brain finally managed to decipher familiar blonde and ginger hair she let out a sigh.
Bela was in a chair by her side, holding her in place by a shoulder while Daniela was lower down, pressing a white cloth to her abdomen.
Her bloody abdomen.
Panic started to course through her veins when she noticed the crimson mess on her skin and the sheets underneath her. What had happened? Where was she and where was Cassandra?
Sensing her intention to stir again, Bela pushed down on her shoulders to keep her still.
"I said don't move."
"Yeahh, I feel like blood loss may be an issue for you. Don't worry though, Mother will be here soon… I think," Daniela said, hands still keeping the cloth pressed to her wound. It made her wince.
On any normal day, that phrase would've probably shot a wave of terror through her. But in that moment the pain and fog in her mind didn't leave room for much more than confusion. "Mothe-... what?"
Daniela shrugged. "Sorry we uh- don't exactly have the tools to pull out bullets. Mother usually takes care of that."
"Now pray dear Cassie can convince her that your life is worth the trouble."
Nicole really didn't know what was worse. Bleeding out or having Lady Dimitrescu prod around at her wound. She tried not to shudder at the thought. Not that she really had time to finish that train of thought as the door opened and none other than the lady of the castle entered.
The only thing that kept her from whimpering was the sight of Cassandra entering right after, hurried steps taking her to Nicole. She gingerly sat on the bed and pushed a couple auburn strands of hair out of her face. When she spoke, her voice was dripping with worry that she tried to morph into something soft.
“It’s okay, Mother will take care of the bullet and then we can patch it up and you’ll be alright.”
Was she trying to convince her or herself? It mattered little, as the words did a good enough job at keeping Nicole’s focus on something not horrible.
She nodded weakly, trying to keep her eyes on Cassandra and not on Lady Dimitrescu wiping her hands somewhere near the bed. She gulped when she felt the bed dip and with her peripheral she could see claws elongating. No more than a few inches but it was enough to make Nicole consider the option of digging around for the bullet herself.
“Here, wouldn’t want you to chip a tooth.” Bela caught her off guard when she pressed a piece of cloth to her lips.
Nicole bit down and let out a muffled yelp when Daniela moved away to make space for her mother, who only sighed at the bloody mess. The talons were brought right above the wound.
“Keep her still darlings.”
All the warning Nicole got was hands clamping around her arms and legs, before razor sharp talons plunged into raw flesh.
She didn’t even realize that she was screaming, until the damp fabric in her mouth almost made her gag. Eyesight also proved itself a traitorous thing, as it was rapidly turning into fuzzy black splotches so Nicole squeezed her eyes shut.
The sensation of the Lady’s talons digging around inside the muscle was indescribably gut wrenching. Every single movement, no matter how small, sent jolts of pain through her body, drawing out pathetic sobs. When claws finally grabbed the bullet, the metal scraping almost made Nicole throw up, but she made the effort to swallow down the bile, as being shot was already bad enough without choking on her own vomit.
The bullet was ripped out unceremoniously and that’s when her body finally decided that it had had enough and shut down. Her muscles went limp and consciousness finally slipped away from her one again.
Lady Dimitrescu simply stood up and wiped her now bloody hand with a tissue. Her golden gaze softened once it landed on her middle daughter, her shaky hands caressing a damp cheek and mumbling words of encouragement to an unconscious Nicole. She gingerly put a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder.
“We can talk more once she wakes up.”
“Thank you Mother.” Cassandra’s voice was uncharacteristically small and she refused to meet her eyes. Lady Dimitrescu simply let her be, shifting her focus to the youngest daughter instead.
“Daniela dear, can you wrap it up?”
“Of course!” She sprung up, grabbing a few medical tools and bandages and starting to close up the wound.
---
The first thing Nicole was aware of was the utterly uncomfortable dampness of her skin. She felt as if she had run a marathon and then immediately jumped into bed, sheets sticking to her skin. The second sensation that came barreling in together with consciousness was the pain radiating from her abdomen. Of course.
She winced as she tried unsuccessfully to shift just a little in a more comfortable spot. Alright, laying in her own sweat. Wonderful. Next best thing?
Opening her eyes. Right, right.
She tentatively cracked one eye open, getting some semblance of relief from the dim light inside the room. It was probably close to sundown and her surroundings were illuminated by beautiful orange hues.
Nicole looked around the room. It wasn’t one that she was familiar with so she assumed it was one of the many guest bedrooms in the castle. Trying to piece together her hazy memories, she deduced that Cassandra probably just brought her to the closest room that had a surface to lay on.
Next thing her eyes landed on was the bandage around her waist. She gingerly traced a finger over the wound and winced when they brushed over stitches. She really ought to teach Daniela proper stitching. Not that I’m complaining.
The door swung open startling Nicole, who put all her effort into not flinching. Cassandra came in with hasty steps, reading the labels of one of the boxes she had in her hands. Golden eyes snapped to the bed when she heard Nicole stirring.
“Nicole you're awake- How do you feel?”
The redhead just took a deep breath, that was apparently too big of an offense to her wound. “Like shit.”
Cassandra just chucked and came to sit by her side. "I sent one of the maids to buy some painkillers. Not sure which one's better though." She once again brought one of the boxes to her face with a huff.
"Pass me the papers inside."
Cassandra did so, taking out the folded papers from each box and handing it over to Nicole. After scanning over the text, she picked one that she assumed would do its thing the quickest. The pain was starting to make her seriously consider knocking herself out for some sweet sweet unconsciousness.
After swallowing the pill with nothing but saliva and sheer exhaustion, she let her hand fall on the bed. There, Cassandra grabbed it, fingers playing with hers in a manner that Nicole has learned was the brunette's way of fidgeting when nervous. What on earth could she be nervous about?
"Hey, I'm okay. Just need some rest and wait for these bad boys to kick in." She started to rub small circles on top of the wrist with her thumb.
"My moms want to talk with you," Cassandra blurted.
#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden#bela dimitrescu#daniela dinitrescu#fanfic#double edged scalpel#lady dimitrescu
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Another Dance (Duel Pt. 2) | Seulgi x F!Reader
Genre: fluff, knight!au
Summary: Seulgi has taught you how to dance, but now she needs to teach you what this new feeling brewing in your chest means.
Word Count: 3k
A/N: Sorry this took a while to get out. Thank you again to my editor I always love your suggestions. I hope everything in this follow up makes sense.
Date: 5/9/21
Click here to read part one
Perhaps these last few months of your life have been the best. Despite the fact that training has been more brutal due to your nearing graduation into knighthood, every moment has felt brighter than the past several years of your life. Maybe all? You can’t remember ever waking up to a feeling like this all the time.
Yes, this feeling right here in your chest. The feeling you get when you wake up startled and in a frenzy from a dream of spending a day with Seulgi. A life with Seulgi. It’s the feeling that you get when she asks for your hand so that the two of you can make a fool of yourselves dancing. The strange way your chest seems to contract and hurt when Seulgi sneaks a smile while the commandment screams orders at you.
Since when did you feel like this? You’re not sure. Maybe it was that one night the two of you spent together weeks ago, where you finally felt confident enough to lead the dance for once. You had pulled her close with a bold move you didn’t even plan to make, making Seulgi give you a shocked look before glancing away, barely catching her soft smile. Maybe she was proud of you in that moment, you don’t know. You don’t know anything anymore besides Seulgi, besides the fact that you were hyper aware of her breath that night. Of the way her garments clung so close to skin, the rise and fall of her chest, the length of her eyelashes, the slope of her nose.
Every day you’re greeted by the sunrise, only to be anticipating its set.
Before you can spend your cherished time with Seulgi though, you had to go through the motions of your day. Time seemed to pass slowly as you sparred and trained. Nowadays though there was a lightness in your body that wasn’t there before, and your eyes had become better at reading the flowing movements of your opponents. You were ecstatic to see your improvement, likewise were the commanding officers and fellow apprentices, it seemed. Some officers urged you to continue to carry out whatever it was that you were doing to improve and to finally displace Seulgi. Meanwhile the knights-in-training were muttering among themselves about your progress and how it was done.
To say that you were happy that morning training ended would be an understatement. The second highlight of your day would be the precious half hour you spent with Seulgi during your afternoon meal. As you impatiently wait in line to be served whatever was deemed nutritious for prospecting knights, you think about how you were just a couple months ago. After spending some time with Seulgi you wanted to somehow be even closer to her, to spend time beyond the midnight dances you two shared.
When you had first decided to sit next to Seulgi instead of by your lonesome, you were uncharacteristically nervous. You were sure that if people looked carefully enough they could have noticed how your steady sword-arm shook as you held onto your tray of food. People didn’t hide their raised eyebrows at your approach, some people left the area, terrified at the thought of you possibly coming over to terrorize them.
It was a surprise when you had quietly asked if it was okay for you to seat yourself next to Seulgi. She didn’t hesitate to say yes, flashing you her crescent eyes you had unknowingly grown accustomed to. The surrounding witnesses to the sight were confused. When would you have willingly associated with anyone? Especially Seulgi, and in such a shy manner?
When you finally get your meal you walk towards the familiar table and remember your present day situation. Now that time has passed people are less wary around you and how you seemingly lack the intention to verbally abuse and berate people. In fact, when you began to take Seulgi’s advice of smiling more people seemed to… like you? It helped that you lost most of your competitive streak, instead favoring to focus on yourself and what you can do. Mostly your dancing, though, as you yearned to impress Seulgi more each and every night.
The clank of your tray against the wooden aging table alerts Seulgi of your presence. Quickly turning her head away from the person she was talking to, she opens her mouth to greet you. That was until Markus, a man who came from a noble family with notable enough skills, called out for you. You move to face the source of his voice, only to notice him uncomfortably close to your side. It was odd for him to suddenly appear when you swore you didn’t notice him on your way over.
“Hey, I was just wondering if you’d like to duel me in the afternoon? You know, since we haven’t gotten an opportunity to do so for the past couple weeks. Maybe go on a walk afterwards?” He throws you a shy, maybe even a cheeky smile. If there was one thing you knew about him it was that you’ve had much more encounters with him than you’d like recently, and that smile of his was one he’d thrown at other female trainees in the past. If anything, he was merely a passing thought.
“Sure, I don’t care.” You say in your signature neutral tone. Hoping that he’d leave you alone now, you began to turn back to Seulgi. Your movement is stopped when Markus puts his hand on your shoulder and swipes a finger across your cheek.
“You had some dirt there from practice. Just wanted to get it off.” He grins tortuously wide before excusing himself from the table. You sigh, and when you finally get to look at Seulgi she has a raised brow, her mouth forming a tight line. Not sure what to do at her sudden change of mood, you pick at your food a bit. You feel like you can’t eat anything under her intense stare.
You’re starting to feel nervous until Seulgi decides to tap on your shoulder. Glancing up from your plate you see her with a handkerchief in hand.
“I think," she pauses, "Markus made it worse, actually.” She adds before gently rubbing the dirt that became spread across your face. You scrunch your nose and eyes but a small smirk forms in affection.
“Does it really matter, though? I don’t care about how I look.”
“I think you look cuter without it. And more hygienic.”
**
After your meal came your academic and strategical studies. Your brain dulls into mush after countless hours of toiling over geography and the endless ways a person can kill someone. Although you still do well in a more scholar-like learning environment, your body greatly preferred the battlefield. You let out a sigh of happiness when you were allowed to stretch and start another round of sparring.
Keeping to your promise, you await as you lean into your training sword until Markus shows up in your vision again. He walks towards you with such unnerving confidence and a grin you think is permanently scribbled on his face.
“Are you ready, my lady?”
“Don’t patronize me.” You mumble. The two of you back away from each other to an appropriate distance before getting into your stances. Some people gather around the scene, which wasn’t uncommon for your battles. They want to make a spectacle of your fight.
When you rush forward towards Markus you get a good stab straight in his stomach. His reflexes seemed almost slow, or at least much slower than yours or Seulgi’s. He lets out a grunt, but the training armor and his natural durability keeps him on his feet. In an attempt to make you fall, he swings his sword arm directly downwards towards your back. You easily sidestep and continue a relentless sequence of parries and hard smacks against his arms and legs.
This continues on for minutes on minutes, much longer than the vast majority of your fights. Markus has proven himself to be a bad fighter, and the only reason you haven’t won yet is the fact that your sword wasn’t made to kill and the fact that Markus has stupidly good endurance. It’s hard for you to keep fighting. Not because you were lacking stamina but on account of the monotony of his moves started to bore you greatly.
Your mind wanders as you automatically parry Markus’ pathetic slashes without much thought. You recall how you have to go on a walk with Markus when he slips a slight grin, but after that you can go about your day and eventually spend the night with Seulgi. You think about how her smile looks in the moonlight, how her hair bounces as you move to a make-believe rhythm. You unconsciously put on a broad grin as you hope she teaches you something new tonight.
You’ve let your attention slip for too long though. When you get a grip on reality again, you realize that you’re now on the ground and Markus’ blade is descending on your body. Your reaction allows you to bring up your sword to his, a loud clang traveling through the air. With all your might you push back, trying to angle your sword so his would slide off and break free from contact. It seems like you may be able to fend off his weapon for a second, but he yells as he delivers all of his strength into pushing down on you.
The force is more than enough to make your sword lose contact with his. With the blade right on your throat he throws on a victorious expression and screams in happiness. The crowd around you softly murmur as they look at each other. Markus drinks in his win and he looks at everyone and then at you.
“You’ve gone soft on me, haven’t you?”
“What? What do you mean?” You try to brush the dirt off your back as you get up.
“I mean, why would you all of a sudden smile and let me win like that otherwise?” He chuckles with his words as he approaches you and places a hand on your back.
“I was just distracted.” You try to get away from him, but he gets closer and whispers in your ear.
“By me, right?” You hear a certain kind of joy and conceitedness in his voice that makes you want to vomit while simultaneously punching him.
“No. Now let's just get this walk done with so I can go shower or shoot my bow, or something.” At your words he shuffles away and uncomfortably leaves some space between the two of you as you go for a quick walk in the woods. Everybody watches as you two leave the area, and as you pass by you hear their whispers.
“…like him?”
“ …usually ruthless…why’d she let him win?”
“…was right…gone soft.”
You aren’t sure what to do about their theorizing or their mindless gossip, nor what to do with the man who was now clinging onto your side. What was usually a peaceful and quiet trail for you became loud and annoying as Markus kept trying to flirt despite your silence and lack of response to his remarks. It was hard to appreciate the beauty in the trees and forest life over the talkativeness of the man next to you. If you could, you wouldn’t have gone on a walk with him, but you felt like it was dishonorable of you to break an appointment or promise.
You think that next time you should bring Seulgi with you instead, it would be a pleasant experience then.
After what felt like a century of walking, you had finally looped around the trail and made it back to the beginning of the forest. You continue to trek forward and almost leave Markus behind, but he grips onto your waist and looks at you for a moment. The tinge of expectancy that gleamed in his eyes, and that's when you knew. You watch in a panic as he flutters his eyes and brings his lips to yours.
There’s a ringing in your ears from how hard you slap him.
“Don’t.” You say while walking away from him.
You decide that you should go to the shower to wash off his filth, then go to the archery range to practice shooting his face in your head.
**
It would be a lie to say you weren’t sore from the amount of work you forced upon your body today. As you hunker towards the barracks though, a sudden burst of energy renews the feelings in your limbs when you find Seulgi patiently awaiting you like always. The area clears out of people until it’s just you and Seulgi. She comes by your side to walk with you towards the field.
Your dance begins and you drink in the comfortable silence until Seulgi decided to speak.
“So, Markus, how do you feel about him?” There’s a sense of inquisitiveness that you haven’t heard from her before.
“Hm? He’s just a person.” She makes a face at your answer, scrunching her eyebrows as she pushes further,
“Really? You know, when I finished my practice match and walked around everybody was talking about the two of you… you know. How you’re a thing or something.”
“Just a misunderstanding.” You assert, but Seulgi seems to want to hear more.
“Do you not like him? What about anybody else? I feel like everybody is dying for your attention these days.” With the last sentence there’s a subtle shift to a sadder, even disgruntled tone in her voice. You watch as she bites her lip waiting for an answer, entranced enough to almost forget to reply. The insecurity was hard to ignore.
“I don’t really talk to anyone besides you, Seulgi, and I don’t know why people bother. Maybe they just respect my abilities and think now that I’m friendlier I’d be interested in a conversation. Also, you aren’t one to talk. You’ve had people following you around and worshipping you since day one.” Thinking about it, you can‘t ever remember a time where Seulgi didn’t have someone by her side.
Another wave of silence envelopes you as Seulgi finally nods, maybe settling with this answer. Or at least is mulling over your words. As she takes the time to think, you remember the events that happened earlier in the day and the question that had been bothering you.
“By the way, are you making me soft?”
You interrupt the dance you shared by taking a step back. You cock your head in examination. Recently it’s been hard to tell if Seulgi’s influence over you had been helpful or harmful. Especially since there were instances where you almost completely lost your focus like you did today.
“Where is this coming from?” She asks while putting on a confused smile, as if to say ‘excuse me?’.
“Well, obviously I’m more approachable now because of your advice, but now you’re getting in the way of my fighting.”
“Huh?” Seulgi is taken aback by your words and how you state them so matter-of-factly.
“Sometimes I lose focus in the middle of fights now. They accused me of becoming soft.”
“How can I possibly be at fault for that?”
“Well, it’s you that I think about. All the time.” You reach out for her hand, gently tugging it towards you and then onto your chest. “And you make my heart beat real fast. Faster than any running commandment has made us done. It kind of hurts my chest, really. Have you casted a spell on me too?”
You feel Seulgi’s hand tremble in a quake.
“Y/N, are you joking right now?”
“No, I just want to know, why do I feel like this all the time around you?” Looking at Seulgi’s face you spot how the tips of her ears turned a bright red, despite the darkness of the night. Your other hand pulls back her hair so you can examine it further. With a worried look you ask, “Oh, are you cold? Should we go back inside?” You panic a little as you see the pink had spread onto the rest of her face.
“You…” Seulgi’s breath has quickened, and she rescinds her hand from yours. You’re worried you’ve done something wrong as Seulgi refused to even look at you, instead she's staring at her feet. “You like me, stupid.” The dramatic atmosphere turns lighthearted as she laughs boisterously.
“Huh? Is that what this means?”
“Are you being serious with me?” Seulgi keeps laughing at you, much to your frustration.
“Yes! I am! I don’t understand! I’ve never felt this way before, that’s why I have to ask.” Your face lapses to a pout and that seems to encourage her to keep laughing at you.
“Hey, stop pouting!” Her laughing reduced to giggles as she walked closer to you. She brings her hands forward as they cup your face. Your knees feel weak, buckling at the warmth in her hands and the care they seemed to radiate. She finally calms down when she asks you, “Now, if you really like me then tell me," she sucks in a quick breath," would you like to kiss me right now?”
For a second you’re frozen, but soon enough you bashfully nod your head a little too hard.
Her lips reach yours and you instantly smile. The lips that you’ve stared at for hours, the ones that say the words that have moved you the most, the ones that curve adorably and ignites the dormant happiness within you. You stay that way for a moment that both felt like forever and like no time at all. Seulgi breaks away before kissing each of your cheeks.
“Oh,” she sighs while staring at you, “you’ve made me the happiest person in the world.”
#seulgi x reader#red velvet x reader#red velvet scenarios#red velvet imagines#rv seulgi#gg imagines#gg scenarios#kpop writing#kang seulgi#x reader#kpop au
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"Black Magic" *Part 6*
Part 5
Part 7
Okay so this one's a bit shorter, but like I said I want to try and keep it a "day" a chapter. Also, I don't think you want this day to be ANY longer.
....I'm so sorry.
Also also---- I'm going out now. I'M SO SORRY.
I'll post another chapter tonight....be strong my babies!
Side note how perfect is the gif with the angry barba and the smirking Olivia....I mean.... what?
Tag List:
@bookishfanfic
@stars-in-the-skies-world
@omgsuperstarg
@chasingeverybreakingwave
@gibbs274
@milkshqke
@wanniiieeee
@word-scribbless
@objection-argumentative
@aprildecker-blog
@lolliepopsicle
@madamsnape921
@stars-trash-18
-------
You arrived at the door of Rafael's office early once again, knocking this time. You looked like a million bucks. You had taken at least an hour to get ready, your outfit, your hair, your makeup. You were ready to make a move. You knocked again. There was no answer. He should be there, maybe he didn’t hear you. You knocked a little louder. Where could he be? You decided to take a peek and peer open his door to see the most horrifying sight:
Rafael and Olivia, making out on his desk. They both snapped back when they heard the door open.
“Y/N!!” He yelled angrily. “Don't you knock?”
“Oh.. oh my God I'm so sorry sir I'm really sorry. I just brought your morning coffee sir,” You were upset, embarrassed , confused , distraught unable to speak, unable to think.
“Well you should learn not to peep on other people Y/N,” Olivia gave you an evil smirk. “I should get going anyway baby,” she rubbed the lipstick off Rafael's lips. “I have a long day.”
“Oh but I'll miss you carino,” Rafael whined while rubbing his nose against hers in a disgusting fashion.
“I know baby, but maybe we'll have lunch?” She messed with his collar.
“You can count on it,” Rafael growled seductively, smacking her butt as she walked towards the door. “Two can play at your game,” she whispered at you as she walked out
Oh my god. Oh my God oh my god!! How did she know? How was it possible? So many things went through your head at that moment.
“I um, I left something at my desk,” You lied quickly as you headed out the door.
“Olivia!” You called after her angrily suddenly overwhelmed with courage. She stopped and turned and stared at you
“Really? Got some balls on you now do you?”
“What did you do?” You demanded.
“I didn't do anything to him.” She acted innocent. “He just realized that his feelings for me were there all along,” she batted her eyes mockingly. “Isn't that what you did?”
“It's not real!” You barked. “You know it's not real. It'll wear off by tomorrow,”
“Oh I really don't think it will” She held up a water bottle in her purse and it was filled with a….purple liquid? Yep it was purple. Why was it purple? Did she make it stronger? Oh God how strong did she make it?
“Olivia you can't do this to him. I stopped and realized if it wasn't real, I didn't want it.”
“Oh that's bullshit.” She rolled her eyes. “You just brought him his morning coffee. You and I both know that it has that stuff in it. You just needed to refill him but I got there first.”
“No that's not true! You yelled, tears stinging your eyes now. “And he loves me. I know he does.”
“Oh my God you are delusional,” she laughed.” Look I'm happy you had a fun day yesterday but you’re out of your league here, sweetie. He's mine and he always will be? Got it?” She smirked again, then turned and stomped away in her heels leaving you there speechless.
----
You were furious, you were confused, you were upset and then you realized that you had to still continue this day as if nothing was different. Nothing was wrong. You wondered how strong Olivia's stuff was. You wondered what the rules were. Did it block out his feelings for you completely and only focus on her? Did it wipe any memory of you and him at all? Could you break it? You had so many questions you needed to call Chloe but you know you couldn't until your break so you sucked it up and walked back into Rafael's office.
“I'm really sorry about that so earlier,” You did your best to keep from crying. He looked at you with an almost look of disdain.
“Yeah well you really need to be more professional, Y/N.” He scoffed.
"Now you really need to get me copies of these prepositions by noon so that I can go to lunch with my beloved and then go to court.”
“Your beloved?” You spat unintentionally, wanting to gag.
“Excuse you?” He gave you an angry look.
"Look I know that you have some kind of crazy crush on me, but you need to learn that what me and my girlfriend have is something you can't get between so you really need to either control yourself or I will relieve you of your services.” He glared at you.
You couldn't breathe, you felt your heart beating in your chest and your ears. Your palms were sweating, you were having a panic attack. What the hell did she put in her concoction? How did she make him turn so harshly against you?
“I... Yes sir, sorry sir, right away sir,” You whispered grabbing the papers from him running out of the office.
Finally after you got Rafael his copies and he stormed out of his office to go meet his “beloved”, you took the break to call Chloe in tears.
-----
“Oh My God, what happened honey?” She asked, immediately hearing your sobs over the phone.
“She did it,” You sobbed.
“Who did what now?”
“She found the spell! Or some spell. I don't know what she did. I don't know how she could have-- I don't know what she did!!!” You kept sobbing uncontrollably not being able to form coherent thoughts.
“Okay, I'm going to need you to slow down,” Chloe said in a calming manner. “Breathe honey. Use your words. Now explain to me exactly what happened,”
You took several deep breaths trying to compose yourself so that you could explain what was happening to her.
“I went into Rafael's office this morning, and he was making out with that vile woman,” You sniffled.
“What vile woman?”
“Olivia, his ‘beloved’,” you rolled your eyes through your tears.
“His beloved?”
“It's some woman that he works with, and apparently has been in love with him forever. She somehow, I don't know how, figured out what we did to him and she somehow found her own spell. Which I'm pretty sure is not the same one, because it was a purple liquid. AND she not only created feelings for her, she made him hate me!!” You continued to sob.
“...Oh,” Was all Chloe could say.
“OH…?!” You scoffed. “I thought you said that magic laws frowned upon spells like that, controlling people's free will!”
“It does! Good magic anyway,” She sighed.
“What the hell does that mean?” You yelled angrily.
“Well I mean you know there's good witches and bad witches,”
“Oh my God, what in the Wizard Of Oz fuckery--”
“I don't know what to tell you honey. That's how it is. There's good magic and there's black magic. Black magic is all selfish and self-indulgent and instant gratification. She must have gone to somebody who deals in that,”
“Who could it be?”
“I don't know! It's not like they're listed in the yellow pages! WAIT-- Oh my God I think I might have an idea,” Chloe suddenly paused. “...But you're not going to believe me,”
“Oh my God what does that mean?” you asked wearily.
“Well.. you've seen all the movies right? You know like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White,”
“Oh God. Are you seriously going to tell me that true love's kiss can break the spell?”
“Well.. you really don't have any other options right now, do you?”
“CHLOE those are Disney movies for fuck’s sake!!”
“Hey, remember Once Upon A Time? THAT was the ‘real world’, and true love’s kiss brought magic to our world!” Chloe pointed out.
“THAT’S A TV SHOW!!!!!”
“I don't know what else you want me to say here babe. But you should do it. Unless you want to lose him forever to this “Olivia” person. You said that she had a lot of it, right? She could keep this up for as long as she wants. AND the more she gives him the stronger it's going to be and the harder it is going to be to break. I mean he might end up really hating you and firing you, and then your whole life will be ruined. You not only need to break this spell for you to be happy, but before it impacts your entire life,” Chloe warned.
“Oh my God, oh my god…” You whimpered. “I should have never done this.”
“Hey chin up this will work out I'm sure of it!” She said in a chipper tone.
“Okay Jiminy,” You rolled your eyes as you hung up and went back to your office. You did your best to continue with the rest of the day, trying to stay out of Rafael’s way. Which wasn't hard, considering that he was in court most of the day. Around four he texted you and told you that he was no longer in need of your services for the day so you could go home early. Oh also he just HAD to add that he was going to go out with Liv. You wanted to vomit. You headed home and went to brainstorm with Chloe.
-----
“Okay so I've been researching black magic. Chloe had papers sprawled out all over her bed when you came home. “She must have used a combination of love and hate spells.”
“Wait, so you mean actual love spells? Like actually creating fictitious love? Not just magnifying what he felt for her?”
“Correct” she nodded. “I don't think he ever had real feelings for her.”
“Well he said that she and him had a thing, and that he thought about her like that when they first met. So maybe it was going off of that,” You shrugged sadly.
“Another thing we need to figure out is how to get the rest of the potion from her somehow,”
“And just HOW do you expect me to do that?!”
“I don’t...I don’t know,” She shrugged, sifting through her research.
“Chloe, give me something you DO know,” You rubbed your temples; this was giving you a migraine.
“Okay… well, maybe if I talk to my other friends they can figure out a way to counteract the effects even just a little, if you're not willing to or unable to get true love's kiss,”
“Oh God--”
“Hey, I'm just saying”
“Whatever.” You sighed. “My head hurts, my heart hurts, everywhere hurts Chloe,” You whined. “I just want this to be over,”
“Okay honey just-- just go get some sleep, I’ll figure out a game plan for you to use tomorrow,”
“Okay...thank you,” You gave her a small hug and went to your room.
You went to bed with a deep feeling of dread.
#rafael barba#rafael barba imagine#rafael barba x you#rafael barba x reader#rafael barba fanficton#law and order svu#law and order svu fanfiction#black magic
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Find Your Way Back Home, Ch 5
Riyo Chuchi x Commander Wolffe, Riyo Chuchi x Commander Fox
Rating: T |||| Word Count: 2.1k |||| Set Post Order 66
AO3 Link
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Riyo’s heart was in her throat as she slipped out of Wolffe’s room that morning, hair slightly disheveled from her pillow’s thickly woven fabric. She hadn’t meant to sleep in so late, but tried to crush her lingering guilt by reminding herself that she hadn’t slept that well in months now.
She came to an abrupt stop when she spotted Rex standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at the fields of javun with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He looked back over his shoulder at her with a soft smile.
“How is he?” Nothing could get by the captain, especially in such small quarters with two of the people he held dear to him.
Riyo offered a tired smile. “Healing. Able to hold a conversation, and be sarcastic,” she added as an afterthought, feeling pleased when Rex chuckled. “I think he’ll be alright.”
The blond’s smile turned bittersweet. “As alright as the rest of us,” he sighed.
Her shoulders drooped. “I suppose so.”
He grimaced apologetically and turned away, back to the window and the world outside. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”
“But not untrue.” Riyo made her way around the kitchen, snatching her favorite mug from the drying rack and a reusable tea bag from her cabinet before preparing a drink with the hot water pot and tea leaves Rex had left out on the counter.
He spoke up as she poured water into the ceramic mug. “I’m glad it was you.”
She nearly spilled the pot all over herself with how much she jolted in surprise. “Pardon?”
Rex was looking at her again, eyes a deep gold in the morning light. “I’m glad it was you here.” He lifted his drink to his mouth, but not in time to hide his sly smile. “I don’t think there’s anyone else that could really help him now. And I know Ahsoka’s been glad to see a friendly face.”
Riyo blinked at him vacantly for several long seconds. “And you?” She asked, choosing to side-step dealing with the confused swirl of emotions that now filled her.
Rex smirked, clearly knowing she was avoiding it. “I found it nice to see that someone held true to their oaths.”
Her mind flashed back to when she’d first met Rex and his men, the renowned 501st Battalion. Orto Plutonia had been an unhappy experience, but one that she had grown much from. Seeing the lives of so many men cut short over miscommunication and greed, learning that her people were in the wrong, treating with a proud nation despite being uncertain of her place.
“‘To die for one’s people is a great sacrifice. To live for them, a greater sacrifice. I choose to live,’” she recited, those words seared into her soul until the day she died. She met his gaze with a steady look and a raised eyebrow. “What do you choose, Rex?”
He met her stare with an equally quirked brow, as if to say I’m here, aren’t I? “I live for my brothers that haven’t been freed. I live for the ones that already breathed their last.” He paused. “I live for her.”
Ahsoka.
“She chose you,” Riyo said slowly, parsing out his hidden message. “She saved you.”
“Yes.”
“She saved you… but at the cost of your brothers.”
He sucked in a breath. “Yes.”
Riyo closed her eyes, feeling the pain that rolled off him in waves. “And you blame her for it, yet you owe her everything.” She opened her eyes, and the devastated look on Rex’s face showed she’d guessed correctly.
“Sometimes, I wish she’d let me die with them,” he whispered into his mug, watching several stray tea leaves swirl in a gentle pattern. “To see them living, but not really alive– ” He trailed off, searching for something, anything to keep him afloat. Riyo rushed forward, gently taking the mug from his hands and setting it aside before wrapping her arms around his waist. She hoped he wouldn’t take offense– they’d never been close– but he readily clung to her, breaths coming in ragged pants as everything finally overwhelmed him.
She wondered if he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now, in this safe haven on a forgotten planet.
“It’s a fate worse than death,” he finished, fingers clutching at her knitted sweater.
Riyo stroked his back, trying to help soothe him. “It is for you and them,” she murmured. “You can grieve for what you lost. You’re safe here.” She felt him tremble against her and tried to hold him tighter. “Would… would you like to come help me in the fields today? Ahsoka can stay here; she’ll be able to monitor Wolffe and come get us if needed.”
Rex exhaled shakily, but she could feel some of the tension leave him at the temporary escape she was giving him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
It seemed that Wolffe wasn’t the only trooper under her roof that she’d be helping to heal.
————————
Riyo woke Ahsoka after she’d gone to get dressed for the day. She wasn’t about to leave the house without alerting her friend, seeing that her and Rex disappearing with no notice could trigger a traumatic response. As it was, Ahsoka opened one eye to listen to Riyo’s explanation of where they’d be before mumbling her thanks and burrowing back under her blankets.
And so Riyo and Rex went out into the juvan fields.
They talked while they worked. Rex spoke of the brothers he’d lost, Riyo of the friends among the Corries. Color returned to his face and light to his eyes as the day went on and the memories piled up. By the time the afternoon light began to fade, he was able to laugh over some of the shenanigans his Torrent squad had got up to.
Ahsoka watched them both with curious eyes when they returned, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she told them that while Wolffe had been muttering on and off in his sleep, he hadn’t yet woken up again. Riyo made sure to set aside some of their soup that evening for him, thinking that he might finally be stable enough to eat. When dinner was finished, Riyo left Ahsoka and Rex to their low conversation as they spoke over washing dishes in the kitchen to check on Wolffe. To her surprise, he seemed to just then be waking.
The savory smell of the soup in her hands caught his attention first, and by the way his stomach rumbles, food was definitely what he needed. After a quick check to his bandages, Riyo held the bowl and helped him sip directly from it, finding that to be easier than trying to use a spoon. It was a slow and steady process, but she wanted to make sure Wolffe didn’t eat too fast and consequently vomit it up because his body couldn’t handle so much after so long asleep.
He seemed to be keeping it down well, to her relief, but then Wolffe mentioned needing to use the fresher, and a whole new set of obstacles arose. The first they barely managed to overcome as Riyo helped Wolffe stand by letting him lean heavily on her, and together they shuffled out of the room and to the fresher.
The second wasn’t as difficult physically, but still proved to be problematic on its own.
Riyo glares at him, unimpressed. “Can you even get your pants off by yourself?”
Wolffe’s indignant expression makes her fight back laughter. “Of course I can–” he starts, curling downwards slightly to try and pull them down far enough, but the crunch flares up his chest wound and he hisses. “Fine.”
Riyo sighed. “Wolffe, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I had to change you into these when you got here. Besides, I often walked through the Corrie barracks on my own, and one time I made a wrong turn and ended up in the Flash squadron locker room, and–”
“Alright, alright. Your point has been made,” he groaned with a roll of his eyes, and she finally caved in and laughed.
“Come on, then.” He held still as she carefully pulled down the sweatpants and underclothes, being sure not to aggravate his thigh injury. She’d been honest about seeing him bare not bothering her; anatomy was anatomy, and it was nothing to be ashamed of or shy away from, especially when acting as an impromptu medic. “There, is that good?”
“Yeah, I can–” Wolffe shifted slightly and accidentally put weight on his bad leg, nearly falling if he hadn’t tightened his hold around Riyo’s shoulders. Her hands shot out to brace his waist and keep him from toppling over.
“You’ll be able to do this alone soon, but not yet,” she reaffirmed. Closing her eyes, she jerked her chin towards the toilet. “Get busy, soldier.”
“Hilarious,” Wolffe deadpanned, but Riyo could feel him relax under her fingertips. She’d hoped her nonchalant manner would be similar enough to any medical care he’d had before, and it looks like her bet had paid off. She was a statue, solid and silent next to Wolffe as he relieved himself for the first time since waking. He was trembling from standing for so long by the time he finished, and didn’t say a word as Riyo helped him redress, wash off, and return to the bedroom. She knew how hard it was to accept help after spending so long being someone others relied on, and to be in a situation where he had no other option than to accept her generosity was bound to be even more difficult.
The unwitting sigh of relief that slipped through his lips as she guided him to lay back down on the bed was evidence of how taxing the short trip was. It worried Riyo. If he was to try and go anywhere further than the fresher, he’d need someone much stronger than her to steady him, and she didn’t know how long Rex or Ahsoka were planning to stay. She was already surprised they’d remained for this long, but she figured Rex wanted to make sure his brother was definitely alright before leaving him again.
“Thank you.”
She looked up from maneuvering the blankets back over his legs at Wolffe’s raspy voice. He was watching her again, appearing just as defeated as he had in the low light the night before. His eyes were flat, his face shadowed and paler than it normally was, which only served to heighten his haunted form.
“You’re welcome,” she finally replied after several moments of silence. “How do you feel now?”
He closed his eyes and let his head sink back into the pillows. “Tired.”
Riyo smiled lightly. “You need to rest. Can you drink some water before you go back to sleep?”
Wolffe hummed, which she took to be affirmative. When she returned with a mug of cool water, it was to find Wolffe had already propped himself up and was looking somewhat expectantly towards her. She held the mug to his lips again so he could drink and distracted herself by watching the way his eyes fluttered shut as he emptied the mug. With that done, she set it aside on the bedside table and hovered in case Wolffe couldn’t arrange himself comfortably on his back. To her delight, he was able to do it himself, albeit with shaking arms. Some progress was better than none at all.
Dusk was truly settling in and the room was beginning to grow darker with each passing second, so Riyo murmured a polite excuse and moved to leave. She was stopped by Wolffe’s hesitant call of her name.
“Yes?” Hopefully he wasn’t in too much pain…
“Can you…” His words died off as he gestured weakly towards the floor next to his bed.
Oh. “Of course I’ll stay,” Riyo agreed. “Let me wash up and change, and then I’ll be back.”
————————
His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in a steady, slow rhythm by the time she slipped back into the room. His arm dangled awkwardly off the side of the bed so his knuckles brushed the chilled floor. This time Riyo was the one to take his hand in hers and rest them on her pillow, next to her head. He was warm and solid, something real that grounded her as she drifted off to sleep.
It was too dark for her to see the weary smile on Wolffe’s face as his thumb rubbed gentle circles against her palm before he too was out like a light.
#commander wolffe x riyo chuchi#commander wolffe#riyo chuchi#find your way back home#star wars#the clone wars#may the 4th#snowwolf#captain rex#ahsoka tano#swtcw fanfic
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What do you think Elsas first day/week with the northuldra was like?
Oh boy. Ooooohhhhh boy.
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“Are you okay?” Asked a gentle voice behind Elsa’s back.
The blonde shuddered, trying to compose herself, and she wiped her mouth with the cloth Honeymaren held out to her.
“I’m... I’m fine”, muttered Elsa, retrieving a normal breathing, and focusing as much as possible to prevent the world from spinning around her.
The brunette softly approached and bent next to her to watch her pale face as the Snow Queen had been holding herself to a tree - cleverly chosen to be far from the working Northuldra, to not be noticed. Honeymaren inspected her features as she rubbed her back to help her ease out of her horrible feeling.
Elsa shivered at the touch, and the woman instantly retracted her hand. “Sorry! I just... I’m so sorry, I should have asked before touching you. I...”
“It’s okay.” Assured Elsa, clearing her throat to chase the last remnants of vomit she felt. The brunette’s palm on her bare skin had taken her out of her sickness for a whole new and different sensation, but she preferred to ignore it for now. She didn’t realize that having a bare back on her Fifth Spirit outfit would lead her to such a moment, and had settled to simply vanishing her double train for easier movements during their task. She stood up properly, adopting a better attitude.
She wiped her mouth one last time. “Thank you.”
Honeymaren blinked. “For the cloth? It’s normal, I’d have guessed that it’s a difficult thing to do on one’s first time...”
“No, thank you for teaching me how to skin a rabbit.”
“Oh.”
A silence passed, and the brunette smiled tenderly. “You’re welcome. I mean, I feel very bad when I see your state, but... Hey, you know what?”
Elsa turned to her, her face now recovering her normal colors and stretching in an interrogative manner. Honeymaren smiled.
“Think of it as a... How you call that again... Pajamas?”
The blonde couldn’t help but chuckle. The Northuldra’s accent wasn’t right, but she didn’t take note of it. “You want me to see it as if I’m stripping the rabbit out of its clothes?”
“Yes.” Laughed Honeymaren. “That’s the kind of technique Ryder and I used to think of when we were kids to not be repulsed.”
Elsa blinked, intense relief filling her soul. “So you were repulsed too on your first time...”
The brunette gave another one of those smiles that seemed to radiate good energy through the whole forest, and the Snow Queen felt her heart flutter. “Of course. You know, you shouldn’t be ashamed. I’m actually admirative of how curious you are and how many things you want to learn at once. You’ve been here for like... A week, isn’t it?”
Elsa nodded.
“And I feel like I only have a few things remaining that I haven’t taught you.” Giggled Honeymaren. “You’re a fast learner.”
“Not a fast skinner, though...” Winced Elsa, only half joking.
“It will come with experience.” Assured Honeymaren, not giving up on her. “And some Northuldra don’t like to do that at all. Everyone is polyvalent in the tribe, but we still have some assigned tasks, don’t worry.”
Elsa smiled. “You learn Arendellian words quite fast too.”
Honeymaren simply shrugged at the compliment. “I teach you hunt, you teach me Arendellian vocabulary. It’s fair.”
They laughed for a moment, and it joined the chirping of birds in this quiet area of the forest. The Fifth Spirit didn’t only teach Honeymaren Arendellian vocabulary, but also helpful ways. While, on every day that passed since Anna went back to the kingdom, the Northuldra had showed her how they spear fish, how they tie their clothes, how they herd reindeer, and so on to make the newcomer adapt to their rhythm of life, Elsa had done her best to show them how to improve those activities, however being genuinely careful to stay appropriate and respectful of their culture.
The very barrels they were currently stocking the dried meat in were a good example of this collaboration; Elsa could create as much ice as she wanted, and when she had showed them the properties of cold to preserve the meat, they all had thanked her deeply, for they were using salt before she dropped ice cubes in there.
A few Northuldra wanted to tell her that she actually hadn’t invented anything at all, because when Winter came, they traveled North and harvested ice themselves to put it in their stock. But the other Northuldra, led by Yelena, forbid them to tell Elsa for she had helped in a really nice way, completely clueless.
On the other hand, Elsa’s ingenious mind brought new perspectives to the tribe, and many learned from her too; she told them about some technology they could built based on what they have, or how to gain time on certain things. What Honeymaren admired at every occasion was how bashful and modest she was when making those suggestions; she never insisted if the Northuldra found her ways weird. But once, several lavvo builders had came back to her a few hours after her intervention to know more about her architectural point of view. Honeymaren had seen a particular light sparkle in Elsa’s eyes in that moment, and she had smiled at how passionate the Snow Queen was when she pointed at structures, or crafted ice models to make herself explicit.
“Honeymaren.”
The brunette blinked as the call of her name took her out of her reverie. She felt a bit ashamed. How long had Elsa tried to get her attention?
“Yeah, sorry, what were you saying?”
She saw that they had walked back to the part of the camp where the Sami people were stretching pelts on wooden frames to make clothes later.
“What’s next for us?” Asked Elsa.
The Northuldra blinked, her cheeks heating up for some reason. “Uh... I’m... What?”
“What do we do next? Is there another workshop I can attend? Does someone need our help somewhere?”
Honeymaren sighed internally, then was stunned by how enthusiastic Elsa was. “What, already? But you should take a break.”
“No, it’s okay.”
The brunette pointedly stared at her. “Elsa, you just threw up. You should rest. Or eat. Yeah, it’s pair of toxic all, but you should, because your stomach must be empty now and you’ll feel weak in a moment.”
Elsa grinned.
“What?” Frowned the Northuldra.
“It’s ‘paradoxical’.” Corrected the Snow Queen, biting her lip in a cute way to try her best not to burst of laughter.
Honeymaren didn’t feel embarrassed, rather confused. “It’s not a pair of toxic all?”
Elsa giggled, really struggling to not laugh out loud. “What would that even mean?”
The Northuldra put her hands on her hips exaggeratedly. “I don’t know, you tell me. Most of your words don’t mean anything.”
Now Elsa laughed openly. “I’m sorry. It’s just... Par-a-do-xical. But I’m happy to see you remember this word. I can’t even remember when I used it.”
“You keep using weird words.” Smiled Honeymaren, now teasing.
“Oh, do I?” Replied the blonde, her jaw dropping a bit at her sass.
A Northuldra approached as they were grinning at looking at each other in the eyes, and he sighed at the particular tension. “Say, when you two will be done, maybe you can go pick up wood.”
#asks#honeygaymaren#(whispers) they were flirtinnnng#on the first week you ask? dear they had their love blossoming slowly but surely#elsamaren#yes i couldn't let that opportunity go away lol#frozen#frozen 2#post frozen 2#it's obvious that it took some time for elsa to adapt#so at least let's have some fun with it#frozen prompts#frozen 2 prompts#post frozen 2 prompts#frozen drabbles#frozen 2 drabbles#post frozen 2 drabbles#writing
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