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viperbarnes · 3 years

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Longer Than Forever – One of Four

[B. Barnes]

Medieval/Fantasy AU

Summary: You’d heard rumours of him. Terrible stories of horror and brutality, of merciless bloodshed. The Winter Knight was a demon in every way imaginable, and you expect your arranged marriage to him to be no different. However, the truth is far more complicated, and the man you anticipate fearing the most may just be your only solace.

Warnings: Major warnings for a scene with dubious consent, smut, talk of depression, attempted suicide, and attempted assault.

Note: This story was previously posted on another platform!

You keep your eyes down and your head lowered as you’re guided through the Imperial Palace. You’re led by a severe-looking man who tips his nose high as he moves, as if despite his role as a steward, he thought this task beneath him. At your side, your father’s hand is curled gently around your arm, and you’re thankful for the small amount of comfort it lends. In a castle as large and cold as Palais de la Hiver, you would need every comfort you could find.

You already know it would be a hard task, the stoney walls, large echoing rooms and passages, finely furnished, but not enough to hide the sheer level of discomfort the Palace was built to offer. It was entirely different from your family’s cozy manor. Entirely different from anything you’d ever known.

Your family was wealthy, your father owned great stretches of land near the border of the kingdom, but you’d earnt that wealth and land through generations of hard work. Your ancestor’s had been allies with the former ruling empire, they had worked the lands they’d been gifted to sell crops, and their children had made it into a business.

But the former royals had been deposed of many years ago, when you were still a child. Your kingdom had been conquered and now the lands your father owned were the reason you were in your current situation.

Lord Pierce may have extended the offer of an allying marriage between you and one of his loyal knights, but it was never really an offer at all. Lord Pierce was not a man known for his leniency or tolerance of discord. Outwardly, he may never lift a hand himself, but he had spies and agents everywhere and it would only take one misspoken word and entire families would disappear, their land ceased.

Any pretence of choice or power your father held in this situation was just that; pretence.

You’re led into a drawing room of sorts, though it lacked any real amount of recreation, discounting the small chess set in the corner and the bookshelves lining the walls. A fireplace crackles away on the far side, and in the centre of the room two chaise lounges sit opposite one another, a small table between them.

The servant waits for you to be seated before he bows low.

“Lord Pierce shall be with you soon.” He tells you, though you hardly listen. You sit numbly with your hands in your lap, staring across the room at the fire. Your father paces, occasionally stopping to stand behind you with his hand resting on your shoulder briefly, before nerves take him again and he paces once more.

Under any other circumstances you might’ve been at least a little excited to meet your future husband. You wouldn’t have picked him yourself, but you were hardly expected to anyway. Any excitement was quelled by rumour. Lord Pierce’s most loyal and trusted men, those knighted were all ruthless soldiers.

Although natives to your lands had lived with your conquerors for many years now, there was still an air of mystery, a divide between the two cultures. The Hydran’s kept to themselves in the castle, dishing out edicts and enforcing the law where necessary, but never fully integrating themselves into society.

It didn’t help that the knights were all universally feared. It didn’t matter that you were no longer at war, Pierce ruled with an iron fist and his men had total authority when they deigned to visit the towns or villages. They acted with complete impunity, and their known violence and unforgiving nature only served to further the peoples’ fear.

And you were to marry one of these men.

You had done your best over the past days to remain positive, but the reality of your situation was setting in. You could only hope now that your future husband’s reputation was reserved for the battlefield.

The door opens suddenly and both you and your father jump in your places, standing immediately as Lord Pierce comes sweeping into the room. Perhaps in his heyday he might’ve been a handsome man, but his features had since shrivelled, giving away his age, though he still looked spry, still moved with ease.

His warm smile is almost convincing as he approaches, holding his hand out for your father to shake in greeting.

“Sir, how good to see you well.” Pierce firmly shakes your father’s hand, before his eyes turn on you. You curtsy, just in time for his time-ripened fingers to take your hand, and he tuts at your formality. You pause, uncertain of what to do when he does a slight bow of his own, bringing your hand to his lips.

“As lovely as you described.” He compliments, standing straight once more and you duck your head in gratitude. He releases your hand and holds his arms wide for a moment.

“Well, let us not stand around, please, sit!”

You do as asked, eyes traveling to where Pierce now gestures to a man who had entered behind him, though you’d been far too involved with the feared ruler to pay him mind previously.

The man steps around the couches, not to sit, simply to stand at the end between both, his gloved hands clasped before him. It takes you a moment to see beyond the dark mass of clothing he wears and make out the individual parts of his pitch black armour, the cape that is swung around his neck and over his shoulders, billowing out behind him. Details of silver stand out to you as you look closer, spying several belt buckles and—

You swallow at the sight of the large sword hung on his hip, and your gaze flickers up to take in the man again, this time as a whole.

Tall, broad, and dark. Despite his pale skin, dark is the only word that comes to mind to describe him. His hair was long and hangs about his face, perhaps neat at some point prior to now, but had since been windswept. His eyes are directed to the floor, so you can’t see them, but dark shadows linger underneath, making his complexion rather sallow in the dim lighting of the sitting room.

His face is rather handsome, you can’t help but think, a thick but shortly trimmed beard covering the lower portion of it. It’s then however, your eyes catch upon something shiny at his shoulder, a pin that holds his cloak in place and you freeze, blood running cold.

A skull, six curling tentacles reaching out from underneath it.

You look away from the knight and lace your shaking fingers together in your lap. Your father and Lord Pierce had been speaking all this time about your marriage, and your dowry of at least half your family’s land. That was Lord Pierce’s ploy all along, there had been no denying it.

He could care less about forming alliances with local families, it was the border land he wanted most. You don’t doubt that your husband would only act as a proxy for Pierce’s control, carrying out whatever the warlord wished for it, no questions asked.

You swallow thickly as at last Lord Pierce and your father stand, stepping toward the Knight, but you find yourself frozen to the spot. They don’t immediately notice, Pierce holding a hand out to gesture at his knight.

“This is my Winter Knight, Sir James. I’m sure you’ll have heard of him,” He speaks to your father, still ignoring how you haven't moved yet. You had heard of him. You weren’t sure of anybody who hadn’t.

Among Lord Pierce’s Knights, The Winter Knight was perhaps one of the most storied. The man had never lost a fight, and was obedient to Lord Pierce as if he were a hound. When talk of Lord Pierce’s Knights came about, the whispered deeds of The Winter Knight were among the most feared.

All of them awful.

All of them horrific.

You feel your stomach drop to your knees, but you have no more time to dwell as suddenly all eyes are on you, and you blink up at the men, Lord Pierce giving you an unsettlingly encouraging look, and you follow to where his hand is still held out in gesture to his knight.

You stand, like you’re supposed to, and step closer to the knight, like you’re supposed to. Your shaky hands gather your skirts and you curtsy like you’re supposed to, offering out your hand, like you’re supposed to.

You nearly gasp when black-gloved fingers take your own, far lighter than you might have thought, his fingers certainly holding yours, however the touch feels as soft as a feather.

The knight bows deep, bringing your hand to his lips gently. You keep your eyes firmly on the floor, afraid you might begin shaking worse than you already were, afraid that your future husband may feel the tremble in your fingers. The brief glance you do steal does nothing to settle your growing anxiety or nerves, his features seemingly devoid of any emotion at all, and the dark, imposing man only becoming darker, more imposing in your mind with his complete lack of reaction.

His movements were swift and smooth enough to appear natural, but something tells you diplomacy was not his calling. No, in your mind's eye you conjure wicked images of the man in the midst of a heated battle, blood marring his still emotionless features.

You’re thankful when he drops your hand at last and you take an involuntary step backwards, toward your father. The knight’s eyes remain downturned. Lord Pierce claps his hands.

“A handsome couple I should say!”

Your father hums along feebly, agreeing.

“The wedding shall be tomorrow. A servant will escort the Lady to her temporary rooms for tonight, and I will act as her guardian at tomorrow's nuptials.” Lord Pierce informs you both, making your heart begin to thump wildly in your chest, and your head snaps to your father with wide eyes.

“B-but Sire, I—” Your father begins, stepping forward, but he’s swiftly cut off.

“—I understand your people have your wedding traditions, but we are in the midst of important siege planning, it would be unwise for me to allow you to stay. As it is, nobody enters the Palais and nobody leaves it until we are finished. Your arrival and departure are the only exceptions, of course.” Lord Pierce tells him with a wave of his hand. There was no room for argument, a sternness now to his words.

Your father sputters, but turns to look at you, eyes brimming with unshed tears and apologies. You silently beg him not to leave, but somewhat reluctantly, his gaze hardens, and he looks away, bowing to Lord Pierce.

“Very well, My Lord. I shall depart with haste…”

You force fight the urge to throw yourself at him, beg him to stay, but instead curl your fists tightly into your palms, remaining rooted to the spot as your father leans in to kiss your forehead.

“I… I love you. I’m so—” Before he can finish his apology, he shuts his mouth, lips forming into a thin line. He nods at you firmly, finally.

You watch as the same man who had escorted you inside the palace leads your father from the room, the door shutting loudly behind them. A few tears escape your eyes and trail down your cheeks.

You jump when a hand lands on your shoulder.

“I know it is unfortunate, but you will be just fine. Before you know it, Palais de la Hiver will be home.” Lord Pierce tells you, and if you hadn’t heard all the stories about his cruelty, his sympathetic smile and warm eyes might have fooled you.

You swallow and let your eyes fall to the stone floor.

Home?

This would never be your home.

—-

You feel numb.

Everything about your wedding was already planned and organised, and you float through the day like a fog in a valley. The ladies that were clearly assigned to help you prepare hardly speak to you, and while they aren’t outright unkind, the room is filled with tension. You can tell they wished to be elsewhere.

They don’t know you. They don’t trust you. You aren’t one of them.

You see nothing of Lord Pierce or the man you’re set to marry right up until the ruler appears and takes your arm to lead you to the altar. The whole ceremony plays out unfamiliar to you, Hydran traditions and weddings vastly different from your own native ones, but that hardly seemed to matter.

The ceremonial room isn’t large or particularly grand. A few other knights, ladies and officials seem to have gathered to pay witness, and in the few moments you lift your eyes from the floor as you’re led forward, it seems as though all watch on with fascinated boredom.

When you finally reach the officiant, Lord Pierce releases your arm, taking your hand and transferring it into the clutches of a dark glove. For a moment you peek up at your soon-to-be husband, only to find him once more with that blank expression. You cast your eyes back to the ground and try to keep your lip from wobbling.

You must disassociate, your mind travelling elsewhere, because the ceremony is over before you know it, the Hydran officiant untying your wrists from where you and Sir James’ hands had been symbolically bound together. There is a polite clapping as you both turn, presented to the bored audience as man and wife and Lord Pierce announces a feast.

The feast has far more guests than your wedding did, and although you and Sir James sit at a long table joined by other apparently important figures, you feel as though the celebration has more to do with the acquisition of your father’s lands than your union.

You sit quietly and watch the festivities, the whole room loud and laughing, music playing raucously as couples drink and dance. Nobody approaches either you or your new husband. Nobody seems to care at all. You can’t even bring yourself to cry, as numb as you are now.

Throughout the meal, you briefly steal glances at your husband, and part of you feels almost angry for his impassiveness, the way his eyes flick slowly around the room. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

You do think it odd that for a knight he seemed to have no colleagues willing to come congratulate him. In fact, it’s odd to you that nobody seems to address him at all. The only person who does is Lord Pierce, and even then he only ever seems to command him. Did the tales of your husband’s brutality isolate him from those within his own circles as well?

Were you truly now married to a man feared even by his own people?

You swallow, and smooth your hands over your lap for the hundredth time since the meal had begun. At any moment now you would retire to your new rooms, the chambers you will share with your new husband, and you will find out how much of a monster he really is. The thought should have made you scared, at the very least nervous, but you felt too numb for that, one small blessing.

It only takes another twenty minutes, and you notice Lord Pierce lean into Sir James, speaking quietly into the man’s ear. Predictably, the knight’s face doesn’t change, he only nods shortly. You feel your heartbeat jump when Sir James stands, and he doesn’t even speak, simply holds his hand out for you expectantly.

For the first time ever his eyes fall upon you and you realise with some amount of surprise, that they’re a stunning bright blue.

You take the hand offered, and keep your head low as you’re led from the table. You might’ve thought the feasting crowd would have noticed the bride and groom leaving, dreaded the whistles and cheering on from the men, but there’s nothing, not a soul seems moved by your exit from the evening.

The hallways are cold and empty as you move through them, doubly so with your company, and you attempt to distract yourself by keeping track of which hall led where and what staircases you climbed and which you didn’t, but the palace is a maze.

You do stop eventually, at a large wooden door Sir James pushes open with one hand. Unfortunately, your numbness takes leave of you then, your heart thumping and you feel as if you’ve been dropped in frozen water.

Your blood pumps loudly in your ears as you are guided inside, and you distract yourself once more by taking an inventory of the chambers before you.

They were large enough, though not particularly lavish, and the furnishings that were present seemed like they might have been put there by someone else. A fireplace with a seat and table by it, a tall bookcase nearby. On the other side of the room, opposite the fireplace was an armoured figure, and it takes you a moment to realise that it is only a mannequin, with your husband’s armour placed upon it.

The back of the room holds the bed, and directly to the left of it, curtained doors that you suppose lead to a balcony. On the right side of the bed is another door, a washroom you suppose.

There are few cupboards and trunks for things, and you wonder how suddenly this marriage was thrust upon Sir James if he had not yet found time to acquire more furniture for your own possessions. It matters not, you spy your own trunk by the wall, a maid clearly having collected it from the room you’d occupied last night.

Your husband closes the door and immediately moves to the fire, stoking it. You take several deep breaths before moving toward the table, where you spy a bottle of something and two glasses, clearly placed there in anticipation of your return to the chamber. You wonder by who, though. You hardly think your husband the sort.

You don’t speak or offer him a drink, you simply pour a good amount into each glass and take a hefty swig of your own before you look up again, nearly jumping when you find Sir James stood, just watching you. He doesn’t move, he just stares at you and for a moment you think perhaps you should have waited, but then he does something that catches you completely by surprise;

His head cocks the tiniest amount, and his eyes narrow in interest.

It’s the first sort-of expression you’ve ever seen cross his face, the first acknowledgement of you being in the same room as him at all, and you wonder what on earth it meant. You see his eyes flick down to your glass, and then back to your face.

You swallow thickly before taking a final drink, finishing the remaining wine and placing the glass back down on the table.

This was it, whether you liked it or not. You look down at yourself, not even really sure of what your gown looked like, or how it came undone. You knew what was required of you, you wouldn’t struggle or fight. Perhaps if he knew this, he’d be kinder. You decide to voice as much, but spare yourself the embarrassment by turning away, moving toward the bed.

“I know what is expected from me. I will yield.” Your hands shake almost violently when you begin pulling apart the fastenings of your dress, but you push down the fear and the worry, focusing instead on undressing. If you could be quick, perhaps he would be too, and you would be left to sleep sooner.

You don’t look back at your husband as you do this, but you know he watches, the prickle of skin on the back of your neck alerting you to his attention. It feels wrong, and yet, this man was your husband. This was the only right way for a man to see you like this.

By the time you’re fully nude, and you’ve gathered the courage to look back at him, you find him exactly where he was the last time you’d looked at him, but now, his eyes seem to be averted, cast downwards.

A moment of panic fills you. What if he did not like what he saw?! You had no desire to be married to this man, but you were now, and his approval of you was important!

You lie down quickly, unwilling to entertain the crazed, panicked thoughts rushing through your mind. No man could be truly displeased with a woman lying ready for them, yes? All you had to do was be a good wife and perhaps your life would not become completely miserable. You could take joy in that, at the very least.

Hours seem to pass in the time it takes his footsteps to near, and you steal a look to where your husband appears in the corner of your vision. You watch him pull his coat and doublet off, each being placed neatly back into a drawer, and the sight almost makes you laugh.

This strange, fearsome man would prioritise cleanliness on his wedding night?

You stay silent however, and turn your eyes away as he continues to undress. He nears at one point, and you tense up, readying yourself, only to stop when he bends low, takes your own clothes from the floor, and sets them tidily inside the same drawer. Your mind spins and whirs and you can’t decide if it's an act of kindness or of his own desire to have his chambers clean.

He approaches you for good then, to the side of the bed and you shift slightly to make more room if he needs it. A tiny peek at his body tells you the man had survived more injuries than you can count with the number of scars that cover his muscled body.

You hold your breath when he gracefully climbs atop you, and you stare up at the ceiling of the four-poster bed, begging your nerves to calm down. You jump when a warm hand grasps your ankle, you gaze snapping to the touch. Sir James seems to pause with your movement, his eyes locked onto yours and your heartbeat quadruples. He dips his chin just slightly, still looking at you, and then continues to move your leg, slowly, perhaps even gently.

You can’t help but watch him as he settles between your legs. You swallow, and with his eyes now moving elsewhere, you look back to the ceiling, your jaw beginning to shake some as you feel him shuffle forwards. He doesn’t lie atop you, instead he places his hands on your hips and carefully tugs you down the bed.

You talk yourself down through each movement he makes, staring upwards even when your vision becomes blurry and you’re forced to close your eyes. One of his hands keeps your body against his while you guess the other guides his length to your entrance. You force yourself to swallow the gasp that climbs up your throat when a hand, a finger prods there instead.

Confusion fills you, and you gasp when the finger pushes into you, dragging and a little painful, but it’s pulled away again in a few seconds, and you keep your eyes closed, too embarrassed now to open them, too scared to move as more fingers glide up your core, settling at the place just above. You wonder what he’s doing, but as he slowly moves his fingers in small circles, you feel the muscles in your core twitch.

It takes you a moment to realise that the ministrations aren’t unpleasant. It’s an odd sensation, warmth crawling over your skin like you were sinking into a hot bath. It doesn’t calm your nerves, but you do feel your body begin to relax.

After a few minutes, the movement stops, and you feel his fingers travel down again, back to your entrance where, just like before, one digit presses in. It doesn’t drag or hurt this time, aided by a wetness you had not realised had spread there. A second finger joins a moment later, and this time he pumps them slowly, sending a slight thrill though you involuntarily.

The fingers stop then, and the hand seems to be pulled away completely. For a moment you debate opening your eyes, but then you feel something warm and hard press against your entrance, and before you can even think a second more, you’re gasping sharply as he sinks inside.

He doesn’t stop or pause like he had with your ankle, but his press forward slows some, both his hands moving back to your hips. You take shallow, hurried breaths as you feel his cock stretch you out, your muscles screaming in discomfort, but you force yourself to be quiet, even when your eyes begin leaking again, and you shake uncontrollably as the tears drip down your cheeks and onto the bed below.

He’s sheathed all the way inside you when a hand leaves your hip. You yelp softly, not expecting the fingers that clutch gently at your chin, holding it still from your shaking. His hold is so soft and gentle, you can’t help but open your eyes, half expecting to find another man.

Sir James leans forward slightly, his expression almost entirely the same as it always is, except for a tiny furrow in his brow. Looking at him almost distracts you some, and you can only stare in mild surprise as he then lifts his hand from your chin, and uses the rough, calloused pad of his thumb to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks, one, and then the other.

Your breathing stutters at the tenderness of it, and even though he speaks no words, the message is clear: He did not intend on hurting you, on making this more painful than it had to be.

Shock only makes you shake more, but the pit of anxiety in your chest seems to dissipate.

He pulls his hand away, and back to your hip.

His first thrust hurts, and you wince. The second does too, but less so and soon he seems to have carved out a place in you that feels somewhat comfortable, and you manage to relax. You keep your eyes fixated on the ceiling, your tears drying.

At last his hips stutter and his breathing gets heavier, and finally with a deep exhale and juddering last thrust forward, you feel the fruits of his labour pool inside you, the feeling of which surprises you for. You swallow thick at the thought of bearing a child to this man, but decide to consider such subjects later.

He pulls out of you quickly, and in seconds is on his feet, moving away from the bed. You watch him as he goes for a new drawer, and he pulls several items from it. He dresses himself in breeches made for sleeping, but steps back toward the bed with a rag and a plain tunic held out.

You blink in surprise, and gingerly take the items from him, using the rag to wipe at the mess between your legs, and then slipping the shirt over your head, taking comfort in the warmth of no longer lying nude. Your husband takes back the rag, disappearing into the washroom before stalking out of it once more. You watch him as he moves about the room, putting out any candles until the chamber is cast in only the small light from the fireplace.

When he returns to the bed, he keeps to the opposite side, but pulls back the blankets and furs and allows you to climb beneath them before he himself follows. He does not touch you further, or bid you goodnight, and you are left with your own dizzying thoughts.

You were confused, and grateful, and in slight disbelief, but you fall asleep with more hope for your future than you had woken up with.

—-

Life in Palais de la Hiver is different in every way than what you knew.

You were a Lady now, and as such had no chores to do, no work, no schedule to keep you busy. In fact, as long as you stayed out of the way of any private business, nobody seemed to notice you at all. Every morning your husband was gone before you awoke, returning only near midday to wash and change from his training, before he left again to do who knows what.

In the evenings he would return and quietly eat whatever meal had been delivered to you by the servants, before climbing into bed and the cycle would repeat. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

You had begun imposing your own schedule. When you rose in the morning, you would dress and eat, before taking a stroll in the castle grounds. You’d given yourself the task of memorising the layout of the areas you were allowed, and in the process, you’d discovered the training ring where the knights would spar.

The ring was overlooked by a balcony that was often occupied by many ladies of the court, clearly vying for the attention of various men. Eventually you make a habit out of watching the knights too, though you keep to yourself, all too aware that you were unwelcome.

You observe your husband more than any of the others, seeing his skill and prowess for yourself. Unlike the other knights, who appeared to take pleasure in violence even within a training scenario, there was never any rage behind your husband’s movements. Much as he was outside of the ring, he always appeared to be indifferent, his actions almost effortless.

If any one thing had become clear to you over the past several months, however, it was the fact that your husband was… different. Aside from the fact he never spoke a word to you, and appeared to hold zero capacity for emotion, the other knights treated him as though he were a dog.

Snide comments and barked orders, your husband obeyed every one of them, even if they, the orders or the man, were below him. The other knights didn’t treat each other the same way, they seemed to have camaraderie, if not friendship.

It makes you confused, and almost angry, but it’s not your place to address.

So you continue on.

After you watch the training for a while, you return to your chambers. You had taken up embroidery and knitting, but you weren’t particularly good at either, so you usually end up reading. When your husband returns at noon to clean up, you always stand to greet him, though he never gives you more than a polite nod as he passes to the washroom, eyes downturned.

You’d begun a ritual of cleaning off his boots and armour when he hung it up. You’d seen him do it every so often, when it was well and truly caked on, and so once he’d left again to oversee his other duties, you’d take a cloth and water and wipe down each piece, before placing it back on it's mantle.

You don’t know if he’d noticed or not, as usual, he never said anything.

You observe one morning while watching the men train, the winter chill in the air requiring you to wrap yourself in a thick shawl, that your husband’s long hair appears to bother him. You’d seen him flick it out of his eyes on many occasions, but for some reason this morning with the wind whipping around the ring non-stop, he appears to be truly frustrated.

Well, as frustrated as he could manage. Nobody else would have noticed, and if you weren’t so used to him by now, you wouldn’t have either, but his hand clenches by his side before he tucks the hair behind his ear, his brow furrowing deeper, and slightly more telling, his nostrils flare. You briefly wonder about offering to cut his hair, before you realise that you had no talent for the art.

It isn’t until you’ve returned to the warmth of your chambers, your embroidery in your hands, that you get an idea.

You make him a ribbon.

It takes you two whole months, and even though your design was fairly simple, your talent was truly non-existent. You also had to contend with the cold that makes your fingers and hands ache after short periods of time, but eventually you sit with a completed ribbon.

It’s black, like the rest of the clothes he wore, but with a dark blue thread you’d created a row of flowers along it, connected by thin white diamonds. You aren’t quite sure what he might think, but you were rather proud.

You’re inspecting it one last time, sitting in the chair by the fireplace when the door swings swiftly open. You jump slightly, ribbon falling to your lap as your husband stalks inside, closing the door gently behind him.

You stand quickly, as you always do, clutching your gift tightly in your hand now as you step toward where he already moves toward the washroom.

“Wait! Please… if you might…?” You realise rather suddenly, that you have no idea how you should address him, but you see him stop anyway. He turns to look at you slowly, brow creased barely noticeably, and you quickly take several more steps toward him.

“I noticed that your hair keeps bothering you while you train… I made this for you, to keep it back…” You hold out the ribbon, trying to keep your hand from shaking too much. Your husband’s eyes drop from your face to your hand.

You see his brow furrow deeper, and hesitantly he takes the gift from you, holding it’s length with both hands as he inspects it closely. You think your heart might burst from your chest in anticipation. When his eyes meet yours once more, and he bows his head deep and low, you have to suppress the urge to jump up and down.

You let out your held air and watch as he stands straight again, turning on his heel and continuing on toward the washroom. It was more of a reaction than you had expected, and even with his silence, his mostly-blank expression, the acknowledgement makes you feel as though you float through clouds.

The next morning when you come to watch the knights train, you hardly recognise Sir James, his face on full display for perhaps the first time you’ve ever seen, his dark hair pulled back from his face, held together by a dark blue and black ribbon.

In a moment between spars, when he rights himself and rolls his shoulders, his eyes cast upwards toward the balcony. Your breath catches in your throat when his eyes lock with yours, staring for just a moment longer than necessary.

—-

Despite the steps forward you make in turning Palais de la Hiver into your home, you’re possessed continually by a pervasive loneliness and depression that refuses to leave you. Some days you were alright, you’d read and walk and find things to fill your time. On other days, you’d stand on your balcony and stare at the massive drop below, wondering if it would be enough to send you away for good, to release you.

As the winter joins you in full force you spend more time out there, standing, staring down below you.

If you were to die, nobody aside from your family would care. Your husband would likely hardly notice your absence, and anybody else at the castle would probably be unsure of your name, let alone if you disappeared or not. However, heights scare you, and any time you attempt to climb up onto the bannister, you scramble back again, afraid.

You would have to try something else.

Your husband has many weapons, he keeps them, his swords and daggers, on his person always, but there was one item he owned that he did not bring with him. A small knife that you’d seen him occasionally clean and place under his pillow. Perhaps once it might’ve scared you to know your husband slept with a weapon so near, but at some point you had either stopped caring or realised he wouldn’t use it on you.

So you take it, one cold and drizzly afternoon, after your husband has returned and left once more for the day, and you know you’ll be alone for hours. You think about perhaps leaving a note, but decide against it. Your life intersecting with his would be nothing more than a passing breeze, you imagine. He would find you, alert Lord Pierce, you would be buried, and life would go on.

Still, you don’t want to make a mess on the carpets, or on the chair you’d spend most of your days in. You think you’d like to be in the open air, so that perhaps your soul can fly freely, return home, and escape the castle walls.

You stand on the balcony once again, eyes dipping down briefly before you shakily lift the knife. It’s cold and heavy in your hands, but you weren’t scared of the pain. You’d thought about this for a long time, one whole year in fact, and it would be the easiest conclusion to your tale.

Despite this, your eyes leak warm tears against your cheeks as you finally place the sharp, gleaming tip of the knife against your chest, directly over your heart. You wouldn’t risk a wound you could survive. You swallow and just hold it there for a moment, calming yourself and evening out your breathing.

This is what you wanted.

You don’t hear the door to your chambers open, the wind and your heart too loud in your ears, but you do see the flicker of movement at the corner of your eyes. Your head snaps quickly to the left in fright, and you find your husband standing by the door to the balcony, his hand on the handle as if he were about to close it when he’d seen you.

For the first time in the whole year you’d been married, his expression is no longer blank, his eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise. For a split second you can only stare at one another, before his eyes drop to the knife held to your chest. A frenzy seems to overcome you both then and you cry out as he lunges for you.

You try to escape him, lifting the knife high and attempting to bring it to your chest before he can reach you, but your hands are grabbed tightly. You thrash against his hold, even manage to drive an elbow into his chest, forcing him back. As you try to clamber away from him, you’re grabbed roughly around the middle with one arm, another hand shooting out and wrapping around your wrist tightly, forcing it, and the knife, away from you.

“Let— Let me go! Let me go!” You gasp, struggling and squirming against him, but he doesn’t listen, only forcing your arm back even more, until it almost hurts, before his thumb suddenly presses down against the inside of your wrist, the force and pain of which shocks you. You cry out again, even as your hand is involuntarily forced open at the move, the knife tumbling from your grasp and over the edge of the balcony.

A sob is torn from your throat as you see it fall, and your husband’s hold on you slackens enough for you to shoot forward, hands clutching the ledge as you lean to watch. He doesn’t release you entirely, his arm around your middle still tight, as if he thinks you may try to jump. You don’t however, instead collapsing in a heap against him, allowing him to hold you up as you begin to sob.

Why did he have to try and stop you?! You want to scream and shout and strike him, but you can do nothing but weep pathetically. Your husband makes no move, not until the rain begins again. You’d have been happy to stay right where you are, but the arm around your middle shifts, and your legs are swept out from under you. You droop even more as he carries you out of the wet, deflating completely as you cry.

In the warmth of the room, you realise how cold you are, your body shaking involuntarily now. Your husband sets you on the chair by the fire and walks away, making you wipe at your eyes, sniffling softly. You jump when he steps in front of you again.

His serious and intent expression as he wraps the blanket from your bed around your shoulders might’ve been funny had the circumstances been different. He seems to fuss for several moments, pulling the blanket securely and tucking it up. When he stops, he pauses, before crouching down in front of you.

You blink tearfully at him, unsure of what to say or do. You watch him as he hesitantly raises a hand, and then lays it on your lap, palm up. You’re too upset and shaken to think clearly, and you react instinctively, unfurling your own hand and placing it in his. He’s warm, and even though his hands are rough and calloused, there’s a comfort in the simple touch that makes your cry again.

You realise that it has been a whole year since someone touched you.

Your mouth seems to work unbound then, and you find yourself sobbing once more as you begin to tell him of your unhappiness. His face remains still, though for once you’re thankful that he appears emotionless. You needed that, for just a moment as you bared all.

“And— and I—” You stutter, lip trembling as you finally stop to catch your breath, eyes falling to your lap as your shoulders lose all tension, and you feel yourself all but slump down in the chair.

“I miss my mother… I want to go home,” You whimper, quietly, lip trembling.

Your husband doesn’t speak, but he does squeeze your hand gently, making you look up at him. When you do, he releases his hold on you, and reaches out to wipe your eyes, like he’d done that very first night, first one, and then the other. He nods softly, frowning slightly.

He doesn’t leave again that afternoon, as you might’ve expected him too, like he probably had planned to when he’d first come back for whatever reason in the first place. Instead helps you into bed, and then sits himself in the chair by the fireplace. You drift in and out of sleep as the rain pours outside, exhausted from your outburst.

When you wake briefly after the night has fallen, you find that he has joined you in bed, though he does not sleep. His eyes open when you shift, and he watches you for several moments as you settle again. He moves slowly then, extending his arm to the vast space between you, his hand once again offered, palm up. You breath in shakily as you place your hand in his again, closing your eyes as he takes proper hold.

When you wake the next morning your hand is still outstretched, but your husband is gone.

A sudden knocking on your chamber door startles you, making you jump up in bed. When it continues, you stumble to your feet, wrapping yourself in a gown before meekly pulling the wooden door open. You almost never had visitors, and you always woke after your husband had taken his breakfast, your plates left for you on the table.

A young man in the armour of the castle guards greets you, his bow half-hearted at most.

“Sir James has asked for you to dress and meet him in the stables, my Lady.”

“My husband?” You ask, confused.

“Yes, my Lady. He urges you to hurry, due to the weather.” He bows again before you can reply, and you’re left standing there blinking into the corridor.

You really felt no desire to leave your rooms at all today, not after the stress of yesterday, and you’d rather been hoping to be alone, but you find yourself hurrying to dress anyway. When you’re ready, you step out of your rooms and find your way to the stables.

You arrive to find your husband standing by a large, stocky horse that was tacked up and even lightly armoured in traditional Hyrdan fashion. He appeared to be fiddling with part of a strap when he notices you.

“Good morning,” You greet nervously, his own head nodding slowly before he lifts his hand, holding it out towards you. It was strange how suddenly you had both taken to the touch.

You give your own nod, heart jumping to your throat when he releases your hand, and leans down, taking your waist in his hands and lifting you to the horse's back as though you weighed nothing.

You have to shuffle to sit properly, your skirts quite in the way, but you sit side saddle, holding tightly onto the saddlehorn when Sir James’ hands leave you, and he climbs up easily, situating himself behind you, much closer than you are expecting.

It isn’t that you’re embarrassed for your husband to be so close, but the fact that the two of you had hardly interacted before yesterday, let alone physically, makes you feel as though it’s something taboo. Moreso when his arms come around you on either side, taking the reins in his hands.

You briefly cast a look up at him as he gently nudges the horse into motion, your hand shooting out to grip his arm when you jerk a little off balance, and he glances down at you. Releasing the reins to hold them with only one hand, he wraps his arm around your middle, holding you more secure as he guides the horse from the stable.

You want to ask where exactly he’s taking you, but you keep quiet, knowing you won’t get a reply. Once you’ve ridden out of the Palais gates, you feel his hold on you tighten even more and quickly the horse is galloping fast down the road, mud and dirt flicking up behind you as you go.

You were never one for horseback riding, apparent as it is, and your nerves jitter anxiously at the edges of your vision, held back only by the strong arm around your middle, and the trust you’ve decided to place in the owner.

You ride for two hours, stopping briefly under a tree when the rain passes through, taking the chance to stretch your legs some, before you mount once more and go on your way. You begin to wonder what exactly you’re doing when the land starts becoming more familiar, and when you pass a signpost that leads you toward your hometown, your hand squeezes at your husband’s arm, just as your heart squeezes in your chest.

You’re swallowing thickly, and trying to blink the tears from welling up in your eyes when he slows his horse, bringing her into a light trot as you approach a large manor house. Servants and maids mill about, collecting water, and doing their chores, and when you’ve finally come to a stop, you all but slip from the staddle, your husband’s arm around your middle preventing you from outright falling, but he does lower you gently, only letting go once your feet have found the ground.

You don’t watch him dismount, too focused on running as fast as you can toward your mother, who must have seen you approaching from the window. She comes stumbling down the front steps, skirts held in her hands, her face pulled into a wide, desperate smile as you throw your arms around her.

“Mama!”

“My baby! My baby! You’re home!” She cries into your neck, and you feel the flow of warm tears down your own cheeks as well. You pull back a little, enough for her to kiss your face, and you coo, excitedly giving your father a hug too when he appears, almost dumbfounded behind her.

“You— You’re— You came home?!” he stutters, holding you tightly, a hand stroking down the back of your head and you nod, pulling away to wipe your face.

“F-for the day, I suspect…” You smile, and look over your shoulder, searching for your husband who stands rigid by his horse, face impassive as ever, but he watches you closely.

You look back to your parents, who have both followed your gaze, their faces suddenly nervous by the knight’s presence. They knew the rumours too, but at this point, you had no idea what to believe. Your husband had been kind to you, for the most part, it didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen him train, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t a seasoned warrior

Letting go of your mother to step back toward your husband, you hold out a hand for him. His shoulders seem to straighten, and you get the feeling he had intended to keep away while you reunited with your family. He steps toward you quickly, his eyes flicking to your parents, then back to you before he places his hand in yours.

“My husband, Sir James.” You introduce him properly.

“Well…!” You mother blinks in surprise as she takes him in fully, his height and size intimidating without all his armour, let alone with him currently in it.

“I… I will set the tea on…!” She announces, turning away and ushering you all inside.

For a moment before you step through the door, you turn back, unable to keep the grateful smile from your face. Your husband blinks down at you, perhaps startled by your sudden spin. Your sheer happiness spurs on your next movements, and you quickly lean forward and press a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

“Thank you,” You say softly, pulling back and watching his eyes dart around your features for a moment. You see his lips part, and he swallows before closing them again, and nodding.

With his hand still in yours, you lead him into your family home.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you

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capricorn-stark · 3 years

Text

Othello

pairing: jason todd x reader, reader is a psych major because i think the concept of psych majors in Gotham is funny lmao

warning: i wrote this at 1 am, kinda short, swearing

a/n: i got strong feelings towards Othello, The Catcher in the Rye, and Jason Todd, but this one’s for @tadpole-san smirk smirk smirk

part 2

You liked studying at Gotham University’s library for the ambience.

Whether or not you got any actual “studying” done depended wholly on your mood and whatever being that may or may not have been watching you from above, but even if you somehow managed to procrastinate the entire time you were there, at least you could walk back to your dorm with the comforting fact that you had gotten in your cardio for the day.

The place itself was gorgeous with its overarching ceilings, long hall lined with pillars supporting a seemingly endless array of books, the cozy golden glow of the lights, and the generally pleasant atmosphere provided by the myriads of students sitting around its tables and lounging on its couches. The entire campus was stunning - but it would only be surprising if it wasn’t thanks to the very generous grants from patrons of the Gotham elite, most notably people like Bruce Wayne.

You had a particular spot you liked near the edge of the library, in a little corner mostly surrounded by shelves with enough space for a few usually-unoccupied couches. Aside from you, the only regulars to sit there mainly just consisted of one other guy who recently had started to drop in every few days or so to listen to music and do his own work. You didn’t mind him - he never bothered you, and you both kept up your mutual solidarity towards maintaining a very comfortable silence.

That was, until one particular day.

“Is that Othello?” You glanced over the book in your hand and saw the guy’s startlingly green eyes gazing right at you over his dark-rimmed reading glasses. He wasn’t wearing his earbuds as per usual, so you figured your agonized sigh of boredom must’ve come out a little too loudly.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slowly lowering the book a little. “Unfortunately.” He cracked a slight grin at that.

“What, you’re not a fan of Shakespeare?”

“I don’t hate him,” you started with a fairly nonchalant shrug, “I just think this book in particular is just kinda-”

“Boring as fuck?” he finished very eloquently, causing you to grin back despite yourself.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“I can agree with that,” he said with a nod towards the book. “Definitely not one of my favorites, that’s for sure. Good premise, dynamics were pretty interesting, but I couldn’t really get into it either.” The fact that he was discussing Shakespeare’s works in a way that suggested he had fully read the book (without wholly relying on CliffNotes) and that he did perhaps genuinely enjoy some of them suggested to you that he was probably an English major. “And Iago was a bitch-”

“I know!” you nearly exclaimed, throwing your hands up in very evident frustration. “Iago was shady as hell, and I don’t get how Othello never saw it coming from him. Like, no one can be that oblivious, come on. I wouldn’t have listened to him.” RIP to Othello, but you were different.

He was actually laughing at that point, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You and me both. You an English major?” You shook your head, holding up your Psychology Twelfth Edition textbook that had been resting on the table beside you.

“Psych.” He raised a brow and you inwardly sighed.

“Jeez - at GU? I’m impressed.”

Being a psych student at your particular Gotham-based university was both a blessing and somewhat of a curse. The classes were phenomenal and your professors consisted of some of the best and most experienced in the nation - but that also came with the downside that the city you lived in had some of the biggest psychopaths and the largest insane asylum in the nation as well.

Well, you win some, you lose some.

“It’s not that bad,” you tried to say, but the smirk playing at his lips proved that you weren’t convincing anyone. “Let me guess, you’re an English major.”

“What gave it away?” he deadpanned, chuckling regardless as he closed up his own book and extended a hand out. “Name’s Jason Todd. I’ve seen you around a lot, but we never really talked, huh?” You smiled as you reached out to shake his hand, introducing yourself as well.

“I guess not. You usually look like you’re pretty busy.”

“Something like that,” Jason grinned, leaning back against his chair and sliding off his glasses. Without them, the lights somehow gave them an almost glowing effect. “I figured you wouldn’t want me to bother you.”

Bantering over Shakespeare with a cute boy wasn’t exactly your definition of being bothered, so you shook your head.

“Believe me, that was a lot better than Othello was.”

You saw Jason at your spot again the next day, then the day after and the next, lounging across from your couch and always seeming rather out-of-place with his black leather jackets and ripped jeans, but a welcome sight to you nonetheless. And just like that, suddenly, your visits to the library weren’t just for the sake of cardio and the ambience anymore.

He was surprisingly amusing to talk to, whether it was complaining about more books for your respective English courses or just ranting to each other about the struggles of being a student at GU. It was easy to bond over things like getting your midterms interrupted by random threats from the likes of the Riddler, or arguing over whether or not the city’s latest vigilante, some guy named Red Hood, was actually cooler than Batman himself.

He had been particularly passionate about that last debate.

Aside from being easy-going and annoyingly attractive, you also figured out that he was ridiculously smart, especially when it came to helping you with your English course. Whether it was explaining the deeper societal message behind a particular reading or helping you research topics for your thesis, Jason had a knack towards figuring out exactly the things you yourself seemed to struggle with.

“How do you figure all of this out?” You asked one day out of sheer disbelief after he connected The Catcher in the Rye to themes of disillusionment about innocence and one’s childhood, and not just towards the protagonist, Holden, being an ass. “Seriously, I thought I was pretty decent with this stuff, but you blow me out of the water.”

He shrugged it off like it was no big deal, sliding off his reading glasses and setting it on top of the wooden table you were at. You had grown fond of the way they looked on him.

“It’s nothing special,” he dismissed in response, lifting his gaze from the book to fixate it back on you. “You do great by yourself, I just kinda give you a little push with my interpretations.”

He did that a lot - downplaying the fact that he was actually smart as hell like it really was no big deal. The way your grades had started rising after he started helping you out proved otherwise, though.

“Still, thanks for helping me out,” you insisted, eliciting another slight smile from him. “It means a lot.”

“Oh yeah?” His tone had gotten cheekier as he leaned closer to you. “How much is a lot?”

“That’s up for you to decide,” you smirked, moving back and closing up your laptop. “Not me.”

“You know, if you really wanted to thank me, you should get a coffee with me sometime.”

“We get coffee together like every week,” you deadpanned and he sighed.

“Not like that. Like a date.”

It hit you like a truck.

“A date,” you repeated, like you hadn’t heard him the first time.

“Only if you were into that,” he added, trying to play it cool as he moved to pack his things into his bag. “I’m not working tonight, so I thought you might wanna give it a shot.” That was even more surprising, because he always happened to have a mysterious night shift going on. He never told you what exactly that was, aside from off-handedly mentioning something about motorcycles and Crime Alley every once in a while.

You were still letting it process.

“...if you don’t want to-”

“No, no - that sounds great,” you interjected, already starting to smile. At the sight of it, he managed another grin himself, an evident hint of relief flashing across his face.

“Right. Yeah. Cool.” He cleared his throat and shot you another grin as he tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s head out. And I’m telling you right now, I’m not letting your broke ass pay for it.”

“Jason!” you protested as he laughed and nudged your shoulder with his, making you join in despite yourself.

At least Othello had managed to lead you to one good thing.

#pandemonium scrawl #I kinda want to see a fic where he works at like a bookstore or something #will i write it?#lmao who knows #jason is an english major #I like that headcanon surprisingly #jason todd is in college #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #dc comics #dc #reader imagine #dc imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #fluff #college au #kinda cute i guess

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atlafan · 4 years

Text

Office Neighbors - Part One

a/n: OKAY! this is my new love, professor!Harry x professor!Y/N. This is a slow burn, so buckle up because it’s going to be a longgggg ride. enjoy! (also reblogs/feedback is super helpful) not proofread

warnings:none yet...I suppose some fluff? slight angst??

words: 20K

masterpost

You were all cozied up in bed, in a cocoon of blankets. Even though it was August, your apartment had central air, and it was glorious. You loved nothing more than practically sleeping in a burrito of blankets year round. It was a new place to go along with your new job.

Y/F/N Y/L/N, Adjunct Professor, Communication Department: that was your new title. You had your master’s degree, and now you could finally move on to get your PhD. Your specialization was social media and the like, but you also had background in rhetoric and film. The few faculty that served on your search committee were quite impressed with the research you had already started conducting. Your main research was about the pros and cons of anonymity online. The school was a perfect fit. You would be teaching a couple of the intro courses for the major, and some special topics courses.

Today was faculty orientation. You would be given yet another tour of the university, go through some technology workshops, and be shown to your office. You were excited because you hadn’t been able to meet all of your faculty yet, and you’d be going to your first faculty meeting towards the end of the day.

You check your phone and see that it’s going to be in the mid 80’s today. You sigh and get up to start your morning routine. Once your face is washed and your teeth are brushed, you rummage through your closet to see what would be the most appropriate thing to wear. A flowy dress, in theory, would be a good idea, but the idea of sweating between your legs didn’t sound all that great. You settle on a pair of emerald green shorts that fall just above your knee, perfectly appropriate length for school. Plus, they were just a cute pair of shorts in general. You pair it with a white short-sleeve blouse, and tuck it into the shorts to show the shape of your body. Next, you needed to tackle your hair. You could leave it down, but sweat and humidity were not your friends. You had gotten into the habit of parting your hair down the middle more, you were twenty-six now it was okay to go with your natural part. You thought it made you look more adult, whatever that meant. So, you part it, and pull up each side to make pig tails, then you create a bun on each side. You looked professional, but fun. Just the vibe you were going for. You only apply a little makeup, in fear of it melting off of you. You slip on a pair of white tennis shoes for comfort, gather your laptop and other things, and head out.

Rolling through Dunkin Donuts, you treat yourself with a vanilla late instead of your usual, it was your first day after all. You’re not feeling too hungry yet, so you don’t get anything to eat. A college habit that just hasn’t died yet: barely eating anything until the late afternoon. You park at the building where your last meeting of the day will be, always thinking ahead. You sip on your coffee and enjoy your stroll across the beautiful campus to your first meeting of the day. There were a few people in the classroom, and you shyly smile and wave as you take a seat.

Policies and procedures are talked about after everyone in the cohort introduces themselves. You notice that you’re the only CM hire, there were three math hires, two for history, one for CS, two for art, and two for CJ. Some seemed to be around your age, and other seemed older. Everyone was friendly enough. You observed everyone’s posture and body language. You couldn’t help it, you were practically trained to read rooms and people.

The campus tour isn’t anything new. This was about the fifth time you had been walked around by some students to show you where things were, but it was nice to get outside for a good walk. You’re given a break for lunch, and you opt to eat outside at one of the open picnic benches. You notice that most people wanted to eat alone. It was a lot of social time, you yourself didn’t mind the break from talking and sharing.

After lunch are the technology workshops, making sure your account was set up and that you knew how to edit your courses in moodle. It wasn’t terribly difficult, but it was something everyone had to do. Luckily, as a first year professor, you wouldn’t be given any advisees. That you were thankful for. You had taught before, of course, and you loved helping students, but you wanted to make sure you had a good handle on the curriculum before telling students what they should be taking for courses.

Around 3PM a student comes to show you to your academic building, and escort you to your new office before your faculty meeting. There’s a bit of chit chat between the two of you before they open the door to the overly hot building. You cough when you first enter from the humidity.

“Don’t worry, it’s only like this for the first couple of weeks.” She says and you nod.

She guides you straight in where the communication lounge was. Wow, an entire lounge, you think to yourself. There were a few couches and three offices on the main level. A flat screen TV projecting student projects across from one of the couches. She takes you down a spiral staircase where there were four other offices, one vacant for you. There were two computer clusters, a projects and screen, and more couches. You already liked that it seemed to be an interactive space for students.

“Looks like you got the one with the window.” She smiles. “Have a nice day.”

“Thank you so much.” You beam at the student that you’ll probably never see again.

The door was open for you, and two sets of keys were sitting on your desk. The office was bare just waiting for your interior design ideas to be splashed all over it. Your desk was L-shaped with two monitors and a laptop plugged into a docking station. At least you didn’t have to wait to be given your school sanctioned computer. You smile when you see that you were given a Mac as requested. You look at your one window and take a picture so you could find curtains for it. You open and close all of drawers just to make sure there was nothing left behind inside the desk. There were two seats on the other side of the desk for what you would assume would be for student meetings. You could get better ones. You also definitely had room for a small couch, a love seat perhaps.

“Well, look at that, I finally got a new neighbor.”

You jump slightly and turn around. There were a couple of reasons that you were slightly started. Whoever it was that was speaking to you had a deep, gravel-like voice, and they had a British accent. Not totally uncommon at a university, but still something you weren’t expecting. You were also started because no one else was downstairs with you. As you turn around, your cheeks flush when you take in the man with the toothy smile before you.

He was wearing a loose pair of jeans with a couple of rips in them, beaten up white sneakers with different color laces, and a light blue t-shirt. You barely have time to take in his tattoos, or the thick rim of his glasses before he speaks again.

“I’m so sorry, did I startle you?”

“Only slightly.” You give him a half smile. “I’m Y/N.” She extends her hand out to him and he takes it, shaking it gently.

“I’m Harry.”

“Ah! Dr. Styles, yeah. You were away when all of my interviews were happening.”

“Yes, I was away at a conference, but I heard great things. And please, just call me Harry. We’re not a very formal group.” He smirks.

“So, your office is the one next to mine?”

“That’s right.” He nods towards it, and you step out to look at his door.

Dr. Harry Styles, PhD was on his door along with a paper with his office hours printed on it.

“You’re lucky you got one with a window right away, I’m surprised no one wanted to snatch it up. The two across from us don’t have windows, but maybe some people don’t really care about that. I happen to enjoy looking out the window to see what’s happening when my eyes need a rest from the screen.”

You nod your head and peep inside his office. He had put his desk in the back corner of the room. So if students were to come see him, his back would be to them and they could easily see whatever he was doing on the computer, but you notice he also has a corner set up with a few chairs and around coffee table. Perhaps he’s able to discuss things easier this way. Many ideas pop into your head about how you might like to set things up.

“There’s a really great consignment shop downtown with quality furniture for cheap. That’s where I got those that table and chairs.”

“Thanks.” You squint at the three diplomas framed one the wall, and a couple of certifications as well. He had a small shelf with a couple of awards too. “What’s your PhD in?”

“At the base level, Media Studies, but my master’s was in Literary Dynamics. I’m a bit of a book worm as you can see.” He points to the bookshelf full of worn books and you smile. “Got my doctorate here, same as you’re doing, and they offered me a tenure position. Been here about six years total now, I love it.”

You think for a moment to try to put together how old he might be. There was a boyishness to his features, but he also had crinkles around his eyes and a few specs of grey in his hair. Then again, so did you. You greyed early, not that anyone would know since you get highlights in your hair.

“I turn thirty-two in February, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“Oh…I wasn’t, um, I-“

“It’s okay.” He chuckles. “Shall we head up to the faculty meeting? They sent me down here to get you.”

“Yeah, let’s get to it.” You quickly grab your laptop and follow him up the spiral staircase, trying not to look at his butt too much.

He leads you down a hall to a room used for meetings. A large table with people sitting around it casually, a few you recognize from your search committee.

“Y/N!” Lisa, the department chair, exclaims. “Glad Harry found you, come in.” Everyone turns their attention towards you and you smile. You sit down, and Harry goes to sit at the other end of the table. “Right, so let’s go round the table to introduce ourselves to Y/N. Let’s tell her what courses we all teach as well. I’m Lisa, obviously, I teach Game Design and Senior Seminar. I used to teach more, but so it goes when you’re the department chair.”

“Hi, Y/N, I’m Andre, I teach Communication Theory, Digital Media in the New Age, and Journalism.”

“I’m Mateo, good to see you again.” He smiles and you nod. “I teach Tech Comm, Intercultural Communication, and Strategic Communication.”

“I’m Sandra, I teach Global Perspectives in the Media, Film and Video Production Techniques, and basically any other film production courses.” She laughs.

“I’m Harry.” He gives you that same toothy smile. “I teach Communication, Media, and Wellness, Media Effects, Analyzing Screen Media, Literature into Film, and The Craft of Screenwriting.”

“I’m Janette, I teach Philosophy of Communication, Advanced Composition, and Interactive Web Communication.”

“Wonderful, thank you everyone. Don’t worry, Y/N, our admin Lucas will email you all of this info if he hasn’t already.”

“That’s alright, thank you.” She smiles.

“Why don’t you tell everyone what courses you’ll be teaching this fall and spring?”

“Well, this fall I’ll be teaching Communication and Media Studies, Media and Cultural Studies, and Social Media: Technology and Culture. Then in the spring I’ll teach the two intro courses, along with Professional Social Media, and Rhetoric and Semiotics.”

“We’re so happy to have you aboard.” Lisa smiles.

Lisa goes on to explain any policy or curriculum changes. Y/N notices how casual the group is, and also how diverse the group is. It was nice to see.

“Now, I know it’s your first day, and you just moved to the area…feel free to say no, but we’re all headed downtown to the pub for dinner if you’d like to join us.” Lisa says at the end of the meeting.

“That would be great! I haven’t gotten the chance to eat downtown much.”

“Oh, you’ll love the pub.” Sandra says. “Best nachos I’ve ever had.”

You smile and stand with everyone. You notice that everyone just simply walks downtown. You run to your car quickly to drop her bag off, and continues the walk. You all go in and grab a table for seven. You slide into the booth and Harry slides in next to you, followed by Janette and Sandra. Lisa, Mateo, and Andre all sit in the chairs across from you. You weren’t sure if you felt comfortable drinking in front of your colleagues just yet, but you order a vodka-tonic anyways just to be social.

“Sandra’s right, they do have the best nachos here.” Lisa says. “Should we just get a couple of orders of that? We could do one with chicken and one without.”

“I can just pick it off, don’t be silly.” Harry says.

“I, uh , don’t eat meat either, and I can also just pick it off.” You speak up.

“Oh, please.” Lisa scoffs. “We can get one with and one without, no problem.”

“You don’t eat meat?” Harry turns to you slightly.

“Um, no.” He was very close to you, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. You just met him. You take a sip of your drink so your mouth doesn’t feel so dry. “My doctor told me to cut out red meat, and then I got sick of chicken and stuff, so I just cut it all out.” You shrug.

“Things were sort of the same with me, I just didn’t like how it made me feel after eating it. There’s other ways to get protein. I eat a lot of beans and nuts.”

“Right.” You were curious as to why he was being so open with you.

“Course, I feel like I’m starved half the time, don’t know if that happens to you, but I always keep granola bars in my office if you ever need one.”

“Oh! Um, thank you. Are we allowed to bring mini fridges? I’m really into overnight oats right now, so if I could just leave that stuff in there…”

“We are! It can’t be one of those huge ones though, it’s gotta be one of those ones that looks like a cube.” Harry makes a fake outlines of a box with his fingers. The waitress comes over and takes the orders for the nachos. “Excuse me, love, could I also get a separate order of chicken fingers and fries to go?”

The waitress nods and Harry smiles at her. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Got someone at home who requested it.” He says before turning his attention to the other conversations at the table.

You wondered whom might me home waiting for him. A wife, a girlfriend…boyfriend? Harry wore a lot of rings, and his nails were painted, but a lot of men were doing that these days so you didn’t want to make any assumptions.

“So, Y/N, where’s home for you?” Andre asks.

“Oh, I’m from Boston originally.”

“Wow! And you moved up here to the mountains. Do you miss the hustle and bustle yet?”

“Not yet, I sort of don’t mind the quiet, although, when I first moved I had trouble falling asleep at night. It was almost too quiet.” You laugh. “But I’ve gotten more used to it. I’m in a great little apartment building, nice neighborhood. I think there are some grad students that I’m neighbors with.”

“Do you going hiking at all?” Mateo asks. “There are some great trails around here.”

“I haven’t gone yet, but I’d certainly be willing to give it a go.”

“We usually all go together before the semester starts.” Lisa says. It surprised you at how close everyone seemed. All different people of different ages. “There’s this really easy mountain about twenty minutes from campus with a beautiful view of the lakes region.”

“Well, I’ll certainly give it a go. Just let me know when.” You smile.

Sandra was absolutely right, the nachos were incredible. Lots of layers of chips and cheese, fresh veggies and guacamole, not to mention the sour cream and salsa. Everyone squares up their checks and heads out. Harry grabs his to go order from the bar. The sun was just barely setting, god, you loved August.

“I parked in the same lot as you, mind if I walk back up with you?” Harry asks after you all say goodnight.

“Not at all.” You smile.

“So, how was the first day? Is your brain ready to explode?”

“Only a little. I think if I take in anymore new information today I’ll pop.” Harry chuckles at that.

“I remember my faculty orientation.” He smirks and shakes his head. “I think I wore a suit, if you can believe it.”

“I’m sure you clean up really well.” You say playfully and he rolls his eyes.

“Well, you’re right about that, but it was super embarrassing at the time. No one told me how casual it was.”

“A little initiation ritual perhaps.”

“Maybe.” He looks at her. “I like your little, um, what do you call those.”

“Oh! My buns?”

“Yeah! Didn’t know if you’d still call them that, or poofs, or something.”

“Poof works.” You chuckle. “I wasn’t sure how humid it was going to be so I just did it up like that. They’re nice for keeping pens or pencils in.”

“Brilliant.” He smiles and reaches his car. “Well, I hope you enjoyed your first day. Feel free to email me if you have any questions. I know being new the area and campus can be overwhelming.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” You nod and get into your own car. You take a deep breath as you drive away. “I can do this.” You tell yourself. You enjoyed how friendly everyone was, you could definitely see yourself fitting in with everyone.

Harry gets home soon after he leaves campus, only living about fifteen minutes away. He owned a quaint ranch-style home.

“Andy, I’m home, bud!” He yells out. “Got your dinner.” He walks into the living room and sees his son playing video games. “Please don’t tell me you played all day…”

“Hey, dad.” He pauses the game and takes the to go box from Harry. “No, I didn’t play all day.” He rolls his eyes. “I went to the skate park at with Brandon, and then we swam in his pool, remember?”

“Right, I’ll have to say thanks to his parents.” Harry sits down on the couch and sighs.

“Tired?” Andy asks with his mouth full.

“Yeah, it was just a day full of meetings, then we all had dinner. Being social is draining.” He laughs. “How’s the chicken, good?”

“Mhm.”

“Let me get you some napkins…water?”

“Yes, please.”

Harry nods to his son. Harry usually got to be with his son all summer, but this year Andy asked to stay for the school year. It was a rather large discussion that Harry had to have with him and Andy’s mother, who Harry wasn’t on bad terms with, but he certainly didn’t live the one on one chat.

“I just feel like he didn’t get this idea on his own.” She whispered to him in the kitchen.

“I swear I didn’t put the idea in his head. He just asked me out of the blue if he could be enrolled at the middle school. He’s going into fifth grade, maybe he wants a fresh start. He has good friends here, Paige.”

“He has good friends at home too…” She sighs. “I just…so what, now I only get to see him on weekends? I’m his mother, Harry.”

“And I’m his father.”

“You get him for the entire summer.”

“You know it’s not enough time with him. I miss him a lot during the school year.” He drums his fingers on the kitchen counter. “Do you think…I mean…your boyfriend moved in with you, right? Do you think he feels uncomfortable with the change?”

“I don’t know, when Noah and I spoke with him about it he said he was fine with it. He was used to him sleeping over anyways. He’s knowing him for two years now, it’s not that weird.”

“I didn’t say it was weird, I’m talking about comfort. Maybe he just doesn’t want to share his space. It’s not just Noah that moved in, he has a daughter too…”

“Andy and Rachel get along really well. She’s only a year younger than he is.” She sighs again. “I don’t want him thinking he’s being replaced, Harry. What if he doesn’t want to come back into my life once he’s with you all the time?”

“I don’t think that could happen, I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

“And you’d be able to handle him all year long?”

“Sure, I’d have to change when I’m offering my classes so I’m home at a reasonable time, but I can make it work.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I could always send him home to you if I can’t be around anyways, like how you do with me.”

“Right.” She looks into the living room where Andy had his headphones in, and then back to Harry. “That’s my little baby in there. How can I let him go?”

“You’re not letting him go, you’re letting him grow up a bit. Why don’t we tell him we’ll see how this year goes, and then we can talk more seriously about custody and all that?”

“Alright, yeah, that seems fair.”

“You only live thirty minutes away, I could always drop him off for dinner sometimes, or-“

“Yeah.” She nods. “Well, um, let’s go talk with him then.”

That conversation happened after the July 4th holiday. Andy went home every other weekend to his mother’s, and Harry always talked with him about how his time with her was. Andy would always say that had a great time. He really did just like his friends better where Harry lived, and he was getting older. Maybe he just wanted to live with his dad.

“Alright.” Harry hands him the napkins and water. “Shall we watch a movie and then get you ready for bed?”

“I’m not a baby.” He scoffs.

“You are though, you’ll always be my baby.”

“Dad.” Andy groans. “Don’t be gross.”

“Can’t help it, you’re too stinkin’ cute.”

“Please stop before I barf up my chicken.”

Harry laughs and switches the TV to Netflix. Andy looked a lot like Harry in that he had curly hair and green eyes. He had his mother’s button nose and freckles. Andy liked dressing in basketball shorts and t-shirts, but he also like using a scrunchie or bandana to keep his hair off his face the way Harry did. It was cute.

“Am I going to mum’s this weekend?”

“You are, my darling.” Harry sips on a beer while lounging on the couch during the movie. “That alright?”

“Course.” He shrugs. “I actually have a new skate trick to show Rachel.”

“Do you to go boarding together?”

“Sometimes. She’s better on her skates, though.” He munches on some popcorn. “I kinda like going there on Friday nights because her and Noah go to temple on Saturday mornings, so mum and I get up late and make breakfast together.”

“Good, I’m glad you get that quality time together. I hope you’re paying attention to the culture that Rachel and Noah are bringing into your life, though. She’ll probably have a Bat Mitzvah someday and you’ll have this big party to go to.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever…I mean…it’s sort of weird that you like Noah…”

“Is it?” Harry sits up. “I’ve got no problem with him. He’s a nice guy, takes care of your mum.”

“That’s just it, I have friends with divorced parents and they-“

“Well, mum and I aren’t divorced, Andy, you know that. We never got married.”

“Even still…”

“We wanted to do right by you can be good co-parents. I’d be a real brat if I was rude to him.”

“How come you and mum never got married?”

Harry nearly chokes on his drink. He clears his throat and pauses the movie. Andy never really asked questions like this. He never even saw Harry and Paige as a couple, he never knew them together.

“Um…well…we were really young when you were born. I was twenty when we found out about you, and I was twenty-one when you born, I was just barely finishing school when you came along. Your mum was a year ahead of me, so luckily she got her degree before you were born.”

“Were you together then?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Mum and I dated for about two years in undergrad, and then…well…we found out about you, and we were nervous, but excited.”

“But you didn’t want to get married?”

“I asked her, but she said no.”

“Why?”

“She thought I only wanted to marry her because she was pregnant.” He sighs. “Things like that sort of get complicated when you’re older. I also had a lot going on for school, and she didn’t want me to put my career on hold, she already had a full time job and all that. We tried to make things work, but we both realized a relationship shouldn’t be made to work because of…a baby. We both love you very much, Andy, make no mistake about that, but mum and I make better friends than a couple, I can assure you.”

“Oh.”

“Do you wish we were together sometimes?”

“Sometimes.” He nods. “But only because I hate going back and forth.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighs. “We live as close to each other as we can.”

“I know.” He furrows his brows. “I just don’t like when Noah acts like he’s my dad because he’s not, you are.”

“True, but you should still be respectful. Rachel lives there full time too, so-“

“I can’t stand that either, honestly.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…ugh, she was on the phone with one of her friends and she referred to me as her brother. Not even step-brother, brother! I’m not her brother.” He huffs.

“Andy…come here.” His son gets up and sits next to him. Harry puts an arm around him and holds him close. “You’re going through a lot of change right now, huh?”

“I guess.” He looks up at Harry. “I think Noah’s gonna ask mum to marry her…which I guess is nice for her, but I’d rather just be with you.”

“You are with me.”

“Permanently, though. I’ve felt better just going over on the weekends, it’s plenty.”

“Mum and I said we’d see how this year at school goes, and then we could decide. I want you here, but I have to respect what she wants too.” He smiles down at him. “Poor you, having two parents who just love you so much.” He kisses his forehead.

“Blegh!” He wipes the spit from his forehead away. “What is wrong with you?” He gets up and goes back to his own seat.

“What? A father can’t love on his son anymore just because he’s in the double digits?”

“Exactly, press play.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head as he starts the movie back up.

Your semester was off to a great start. You got your office decorated nicely, and you were able to make it a cozy and homey space, which was good because you spent a lot of late nights there. Balancing teaching multiple sections of three different classes while also making time for research was proving to be a little difficult. Sometimes students were hanging out in the lounge while you were working, so you didn’t feel truly alone.

You were on an incredible team. You met bi-weekly with Lisa just for wellness check ins. She knew how overwhelming the first year could be, and she recommended chatting with Harry. He was the last one to go through all of it, so he would have the best tips. Harry was often out of the building by 3PM most days. He held virtual office hours from his home office. You weren’t entirely sure why he always needed to get home so early. Well, you weren’t sure until the answer slapped you in the face.

“And this is my new neighbor, Y/N.” You hear him say as he knocks on your door. “Got a second?”

“Um…sure.” You stand up and see a young boy with Harry.

“Y/N, this is my son, Andy. He had a half day from school today, so he’s hanging out until it’s time to go home.”

“Oh! Hi, Andy. It’s nice to meet you.” You had foolishly assumed the picture of Harry holding a baby on his desk was a nephew or something since he himself looked so young in the photo.

“Nice to meet you too.” He mumbles.

“What grade are you in?”

“Fifth.”

“Oh, so you just started middle school? How’s that going?”

“Okay, I guess.” He shrugs. “Dad, can I go get a snack at the grille?”

“Sure.” Harry fishes for his wallet and hands Andy a ten dollar bill. “Don’t pig out though, I want you to be hungry for dinner.”

“Okay.” He walks away from them and Harry shakes his head with a smile.

“He’s a human disposal right now.”

“I…didn’t know you had a son.” You say awkwardly.

“Yeah! Yikes, have I not mentioned him before now?” You shake your head no. “Guess that means we haven’t spent enough time together then.” You blush slightly and Harry clears his throat, then pushes his glasses up his nose. “He, um, just turned ten in May…sort of had him young.”

“I see.”

“This is his first time being with me during the school year. He wanted to give this school system a try, couldn’t say no to that.”

“Oh…um…so his mom…?” You didn’t want to pry too much. Harry wore a lot of rings so you weren’t sure if he was married or not.

“She lives about thirty minutes away, closer to the lakes. She’s a para at a law office, does well for herself. We were college sweethearts, but it didn’t work out.” He shrugs and you nod. “She’s got a serious boyfriend and he has a daughter a year younger than Andy. I think he felt like his personal space was closing in on him, so he asked to live with me. I usually just get him for the summer when I’m not teaching, it’s been great having him around more.”

“He has your eyes.” You wanted smack your forehead for making such a weird comment.

“He does! One of the first things I noticed about him when they stopped being that weird, dark color babies have when they’re first born.” You simply nod your head. “Well, I’ve taken up a lot of your time…um…let’s plan a lunch or something sometime soon. I’d love to know how your classes are going. I know it can’t be easy teaching the intro courses.”

“I’m doing well with it, actually. I taught a lot of the first-year courses at my previous institution. I’ve just been more bogged down with my research than anything else.”

“I’d like to hear more about that too, if that’s alright. Didn’t get to hear about like everyone else since I was gone during your interviews.”

“Sure, we could do lunch sometime then.” Harry smiles at that.

“Great. You know, we get together to do a monthly game night with the faculty from the English department. It’s in a couple of weeks, I hope you’ll come. A lot of their classes double count within our major, so it would be good for you to meet them.”

“Yeah, just let me know when it is. I enjoyed the hike a couple weeks ago.”

“I was pissed I missed that.” Harry groans. “I had to take Andy-“

“Dad.” Andy comes back, handing Harry his change. He was biting into a BLT.

“Thank you, let’s go into my office, yeah? You’ve got some homework that needs to get done.”

“Fine.” He goes into Harry’s office with a huff.

“Anyways, I’ll let you know when the game night is.”

“Okay, thanks.” You smile at each other and go back to sit down in your office.

He had a kid, a ten-year-old…holy shit. You couldn’t imagine going through your master’s and doctoral program while also raising a child. Good for him, you think. Andy was a pretty cute kid, a mop of curls, just like his dad.

You gave yourself Saturdays off. Saturdays were for sleeping in, doing a quick pilates workout, grocery shopping, laundry and whatever other chores you may have. Saturdays were for curling up on the sofa with a cup of tea and good movie. Saturday nights were for you and Janette, who you have become pretty close with, to go have drinks.

“You need to find someone to bring home with you tonight.” Janette says, as you both begin your second drinks of the evening.

“Oh stop.” You laugh. “I don’t think I have the energy to pretend to be into someone enough to fuck them.” She rolls her eyes at you. “So…what’s this I hear about a game night with the English department?”

“Oh! It’s so much fun. Once a month someone different hosts it. Sometimes we play board games, sometimes it’s card games, one time we even played Heads Up, that was a hoot.” She giggles. “You should definitely come, Lisa’s hosting the next one. Her house is huge and has a beautiful view of the lakes and mountains.”

“I think I might, yeah.”

“Who told you about it? I think Lucas was planning to add you to the email about it.”

“Oh, Harry mentioned it the other day. He said it would be good for me to get to know the other faculty.”

“He’s certainly right about that.”

“I met his son…”

“Andy was in the office! Damn, I try to keep candy in my office for him. He’s so sweet. He was just a little guy when Harry started, can’t believe he’s in middle school.”

“Yeah, he was really polite. Sort of closed off at the same time.”

“Harry seems to think he’s become more self-aware. It’s a big deal for him to want to live with Harry year round.” She sips her drink. “Shouldn’t gossip too much about it though.”

“Right.” You sip your own drink.

“The students seem to like you so far, we’ve all heard good things from our advisees.”

“Really?! That means a lot.”

“Your teaching must speak for itself.”

“Students are always in the downstairs lounge, it’s nice to chat with them sometimes. They always seem to be visiting Harry. Andre and Sandra are down with us too, and they don’t have as many frequent flyers.”

“I know you’re new and all, but I didn’t think you were naïve.” She chuckles.

“What do you mean?”

“Harry perfectly fits the hot teacher trope, Y/N. He’s slightly mysterious with his tattoos and his nail polish, but still totally approachable. He’s dorky, but funny. He’s got a little muscle on him, but he’s not terribly intimidating, plus he’s fucking brilliant. You should sit in on his Literature and Film class.”

“One might think you have a crush on him from the way you speak about him.” You tease her.

“One would have to be straight, my dear.” She winks at you, and you laugh a little too loud. “However, I know an attractive man when I see one. Girls swoon over him all the time. It was really bad when he first started because he was a little closer in age with students, things have calmed down considerably though.”

“He dresses nicely too, I like his style.”

“It’s a little out there, but it works for him.”

“Sometimes I can smell the nail polish remover from my office.” You giggle. “He really hates when they’re chipped, huh?”

“God, you have no idea. Sometimes in the faculty meetings I’ll catch him chipping away at, next time I see him they’re freshly painted again.”

You take an uber home after having four drinks with your friend. You gossiped about some other people, Harry didn’t remain the topic of conversation for long. You get home and strip yourself of your clothes, and wash up before getting into your blanket burrito.

Sundays were for getting a head start on the week. Sometimes you worked from your office at home, but today you forgot something at your office at work, so you decide to just grab all your things and work from your office for the day. You were making some progress on your research and you wanted to keep riding the wave you were on.

You had a tie-dye t-shirt on under your coat that had a picture of Goofy on it, and a pair of jeans on. You didn’t need to be super dressed up for some weekend work. No one was usually in the building anyways. You get some up and put some music on while you do some reading and highlighting.

“Hey! Look who it is.”

“Jesus!” You flinch and look up. “Scared the shit out of me, Harry.”

“Sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re a tad jumpy.”

“Hard not to be when you’re always coming out of nowhere.” You turn your music down and stand up to walk over to him, crossing your arms over your stupid shirt. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Andy’s with his mum this weekend, and I needed a change of scenery from the home office, so I thought I’d come here.”

“Oh.”

He looks you up and down and smiles.

“Is Goofy your favorite?”

“Huh?”

“Your shirt.” He points to it. “Personally, I’m partial to Mickey Mouse, but Goofy’s fun.”

“This is a really old shirt, I did laundry yesterday so this is what I was left with.”

“Ah…and I suppose you weren’t expecting to bump into your colleague.”

“Correct.”

“Well, I think it’s proper cute, so no worries, I won’t make fun.” He winks and goes into his own office.

You feel your cheek and it’s considerably warmer than it was from before he got there. You shake your head and return to your seat, opting to put your headphones in to not disturb him. Just as you’re getting going in the zone again, he comes into your office and plops down on one of the reupholstered chairs you had on the other side of your desk.

“Yes?” You ask, taking your headphones out.

“I want you to come observe my wellness class this week.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you could use some time to distress. You don’t teach any 8AM’s, right?”

“No…um…what makes you think I need to distress?”

“You just look like you’re carrying a lot of tension. It’s a great class. We chat, we meditate. Sometimes students fall asleep, but I’ve told them it’s okay. If their bodies are telling them they need sleep, then they should sleep. We do a bit of yoga as well. Plus, I just think it would be good for you to observe me.”

“I was told your literature class would be fun to observe, couldn’t I do that instead?”

“And let you get out of a bit of meditation?” He scoffs. “I don’t think so, sister.” You laugh at that.

“Alright, which day should I come?”

“It’s my Tuesday/Thursday course. You can pick which morning you’d prefer.”

“Anything else?”

“Tell me about your research.”

“Are you just using me to procrastinate?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, what happens between me and the stack of papers I need to grade is none of your business.” You laugh at him again. Harry was funny, no doubt about that. “Come on, just a few minutes, tell me what you’re working on.”

“I am researching anonymity online, the pros and cons, how social media is mixed into it, stuff like that. People carry themselves different on the various social media platforms, trying to show specific versions of themselves, but when you’re able to remain anonymous, you somehow are truly able to be yourself without fear of judgement.”

“So, what are the cons then?”

“Oh, there are tons. There’s the fear of someone finding this anonymous version of yourself and being exposed. Then there are the people that forget there’s someone else behind the screen and send nasty messages to other anonymously.”

“That’s my biggest fear with Andy. He’s been begging me for a smart phone, but I just don’t feel comfortable with that yet.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I told him when he was thirteen we could talk about it.”

“It’s funny, I didn’t get my first phone until I was fifteen, and it was one of those ones that slid open and had a keyboard. Literally had to use the family desktop if I wanted to go on Facebook.”

“Do people even use Facebook anymore? Feel like it’s just forty-year-old wine moms and Home Depot dads.” Harry snorts.

“No one uses it anymore because it’s not fun. It may as well be LinkedIn.” You scoff.

“Well, I’ll certainly be looking forward to reading what you whip up when the time comes.” He smiles.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you get back to it…um, feel like grabbing a bite later?”

“If you don’t disturb me for the next two hours I’ll consider getting lunch with you.”

“Oh, I love a challenge.” He grins and stands up, leaving your office.

You smile and shake your head. Perhaps your neighbor was becoming a pretty good friend.

“You’re coming to Lisa’s tonight, right?” Harry asks you as he slings his bag over his shoulder on Friday afternoon.

“I believe so, six, right?”

“Yup! Do you need directions?”

“I have this thing called a smart phone, and get this…it has an app where if I put in an address, it shows me the route!”

“I really hate it when you’re sarcastic with me.” He rolls his eyes. “Get it enough from my son, you know?”

“Will he be joining the fun as well?”

“Nope, he’s with his mum this weekend. I gotta go get him from school and get him all packed up for her.”

“Does she always pick him up?”

“She picks him up on Fridays, and I pick him up on Sundays.” He shrugs. “It just works for us.”

“Makes sense.”

“Right, well, I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.” You smile and wave him off.

After knuckling at your eyes, you head home around 4PM. You wanted to shower and freshen up before heading to Lisa’s. It was a beautiful, chilly Fall evening, so you opt for a light sweater and black jeans, and a pair of boots. You run your fingers through your hair, reapply some makeup, and grab the bottle of white you had chilling in your fridge. You plug the address into your phone, and get going.

It was about a twenty-five minute drive. Lisa lived in a neighborhood with a lot of beautiful homes. Her driveway was long and winding, and on top of a hill.

“This must be a bitch in the winter.” You say to yourself. Maybe that was why she was hosting the September game night. There were a couple of other cars there, so you didn’t feel totally awkward. You walk up to the door and ring the bell.

“Y/N!” Lisa exclaims and hugs you. “Come on in, so glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for having me. I brought some wine.” You hand the bottle to her as you step inside.

“Oh, thank you, dear.”

“Shoes on or off?”

“On is perfectly fine, it’s all hardwood.” Lisa leads you inside. “I’ll get this open.”

You wait for her to pour you a glass, and then she leads you into the living room. Sandra and Mateo were already there. You wave hello and grab a seat.

“Y/N, this is Dan, the English department chair, Alice, Joe, and Fred.”

“Hi, it’s nice to formally meet you all.” You stand up and shake a few hands.

Everyone mingles and eats the snacks Lisa puts out. Her husband was quite the co-host. Janette shows up next, and you end up sitting with her. Harry’s the last to arrive. Lisa gets him a glass of red right away. He looked handsome. A tan cardigan over a white t-shirt and a pair of light wash jeans.

“Sorry I’m late everyone, Paige was over an hour late picking Andy up. There was an accident on the highway and she got stuck behind it, it was a whole thing.”

Paige, it was the first time Y/N heard Harry actually say the name of Andy’s mother.

“No worries, H.” Andre says. “Relax, we haven’t even decided on the game yet.”

“Thank god.” Harry plops down next to you on the couch. “Janette, did Y/N tell you she observed my wellness class yesterday?”

“She did, she told me she fell asleep the second you turned the lights off.” She snickers.

“Please, keep talking about me like I’m not even here.” You roll your eyes. Harry and Janette both lean over you so they can pretend to speak closer. “Okay, okay.” You push them both away. “That’s enough, thank you.”

“Alright, everyone, I was thinking we could play charades, yeah?” Lisa announces. “It’ll keep us limber.”

“English vs. CM?” Dan asks.

“You know it.” Lisa grins.

You were pretty good at charades so you weren’t worried. The couple of glasses of wine certainly helped boost your confidence. It was fun to let a little loose with your colleagues. It was some much needed bonding. Harry was quite competitive, which surprised you because he was usually so chill about everything. It was down to the final points, Harry needed to guess the name of your film correctly.

You put up two fingers.

“Second word.” You nod and he licks his lips in concentration You pretend to open a book and write it in it. “Uhhh, book…” He furrows his brows. You look up like as if you’re reading something, and then you pretend to write the book some more. “Notes…notebook, oh! The Notebook!” You tap your finger on your nose and your team cheers. “Ha!” Harry stands up and hugs you. He lets you go and looks back at everyone. “That was exhilarating. Better luck next time.” He says to the English team.

“Wasn’t exactly a difficult film to guess.” Alice says playfully.

“I had zero control over the slip of paper I chose out of that hat.” You grin.

You all help clean up before heading out. You slip your coat on and head outside after saying your goodbyes.

“Y/N?” You hear Harry from behind you. “You’re good to drive, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t get behind the wheel if I wasn’t.”

“Alright.” He smiles. “Just wanted to be sure.” He walks with you outside.

“It would be pretty bad if I got so fucked up I couldn’t drive home from our department chair’s house.”

“Lisa would actually get a pretty good kick out of it.” He smirks. You get to your car and press the button to unlock it. “Well…I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

“Same to you, any big plans while Andy’s gone?”

“Not really, I try to save the fun stuff for while he’s with me.”

“Aw, no hot dates.” You wink at him. Okay, maybe some of the wine was still in your system. He blinks at you for a moment and then he bursts out laughing.

“Right, the ladies are really fighting to knock my door down.” He wipes a tear from under his eye. “Can’t remember the last time I went on a proper date to be honest with you. Not exactly a turn on when you bring someone home and they see kid’s toys hanging around.”

“Oh come on, you’ve totally got the hot single dad thing working for you.” You nudge his shoulder. “Janette I usually go out on Saturday nights for drinks, you should come out tomorrow.”

“Um…which, uh, which bar do you go to?”

“Firefly, little more adult. We don’t really see the college kids there.”

“Sure, yeah, I know that place well. Um, what time?”

“Nine?”

“I’ll be there.” He smiles.

“Great! Goodnight, Harry.”

“Night, Y/N.”

He watches as you get into your car and drive away. It wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you realize that you essentially asked him out, and that you sort of flirted with him. You text Janette immediately and let her know he may show up.

Jan: Yay! Harry’s so much fun to go drinking with, this’ll be great!

Will it? You think to yourself. It was one thing to have a couple of glasses of wine with colleagues, but you usually got pretty drunk with Janette, always taking an uber to and from the bar. You were a nervous wreck all day, and you weren’t sure why. You were hoping all of your Saturday chores would distract you, but they weren’t.

As you get ready, you decide on a blue dress that showed a tasteful amount of cleavage, pairing it with patterned nylons, and boots. Your hair is down and wavy, and your makeup looks cute, for now. You put on your leather jacket and head out. Well, not before doing a quick shot at home. Your leg bounces the entire time in the uber. Janette is already there at your usual table. She waves you over and you sit down.

“I texted Harry earlier.” She says to you. “Just so he really knew he was invited.”

“I don’t have his number, otherwise I would have. Sorry, I feel like I should have asked first. This is sort of like our girl’s night.”

“Are you kidding?! Like I said earlier, Harry is super fun to drink with.”

After you both guzzle down your first drink, Harry arrives. He’s got a black button up on with the first few buttons undone, exposing the birds on his collar bones. He smiles when he sees the both of you.

“H!” Janette says, getting up to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, love.” He gives her a squeeze and a returned kiss. He looks at you and you give him a shy smile before giving him a side hug. “Thanks again for the invite, haven’t been to this place in a while.” He slides into the stool.

“Oh, of course!” Janette says. “I was excited when Y/N said you were coming.”

“Apparently I need to do more fun things when Andy’s with his mum.” He nudges you.

“What do you usually do when he’s gone?” You ask him.

“I usually clean up the house, stalk up on food, wash his sheets…dad stuff.” He shrugs with a laugh. The waitress comes over and smiles.

“Can I get you started with anything?”

“Rum and coke would be great, and I’ll start a tab.” He hands her his credit card and she nods.

“Nother round for you two?”

“Please!” Janette says.

“Yes.” You say with a smile.

The waitress nods and smiles. She walks away and looks back at Harry, blushing.

“Oh boy.” Janette grins. “I think you may get lucky tonight, H.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Our waitress did a double take.”

“She’s probably, like, ten years younger than I am or something. Not my style.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugs.

“What about you? Any ladies you’re trying to take home?”

“Well, if I weren’t in a long distance relationship, sure.”

“You and Sadie are still together?” He asks almost in shock.

“Of course we are! You would have known if we broke up.”

“Doesn’t it get difficult?” He frowns.

“I really don’t mind. When we’re able to be together it’s nice, but I like having my own space.” Janette turns to you. “Sadie is a photographer, traveling for National Geographic.”

“That’s incredible!”

The waitress brings all of the dinks over and you clink your glasses.

“Alright, what’s the gossip, ladies? Who are we shitting on?”

“Hmm.” Jaette taps her chin. “Perhaps Dan? He’s obviously still in love with Lisa.”

“Still?” Your jaw drops.

“Back in the day,” Harry starts, “he and Lisa were quite the item. She met Arnold at a conference. He’s a chef.”

“Ah, that’s why the food is so good.”

“Mhm, he’s retired now, but at the time she had to make this big choice between the two of them, and she chose Arnold. Built an entire life with him. Dogs, kids, big house, you name it.” Harry explains.

“And Dan’s been married and divorced twice. Lisa’s the one that got away.” Janette sighs. “Course, Lisa’s incredibly oblivious, or she pretends to be. You’d think they were simply best friends.”

“I wonder what made her choose Arnold over Dan.” You say.

“Good dick.” Janette says. “Simple as that.”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes.

“You come on! Are you going to tell me you’d give up good dick?”

“So you’re telling me she was seeing both of them at the same time, and she chose Arnold because he hit it better?”

“That’s what I’m inferring, yes.” She sips her drink. “Getting to come every time you fuck is worth it, don’t you think?”

Harry nearly chokes on his drink from laughing.

“I forgot how nasty you can be, I love it.” He says and looks at you. “So, Y/N, what’s your answer? Is an orgasm reason enough to choose one guy over another?”

“Well, considering that I dated some real fuck when I was in college just so I could get some good dick, I’d have to say yes.” You say, enjoying the look on both of their faces. “I mean, it’s hard to remember how much you can’t stand someone when they’re railing you to completion.”

“Very true.” Janette agrees. “Also, Arnold is a really sweet man, sort of the whole package for her. I don’t think Lisa liked be challenged, and Dan, I heard, would challenge her on everything.”

“I’m usually up for a debate, but I get that. I don’t need to be in control of everything, but agreeable people are better.” You say.

“I wouldn’t say it’s because he’s agreeable.” Harry says, finishing his drink, and gesturing towards the waitress for another. “Arnold is smitten, not just in love, big difference.”

“How so?” You ask.

“When you’re…oh, thank you.” He smiles at the waitress brings him a new drink. “When you’re smitten, you walk around with rose colored glasses, to some that can be a bad thing, but I think when you’re that in love, you should really adore the person you’re with too. Arnold adores Lisa, Dan doesn’t. You can tell by the way they both look at her.”

It was nice discussing things like this with people who also observed people the way you did. It makes you wonder, though, what they may have picked up on about you.

After a few more drinks, you knew you needed to stop when your vision began to get hazy. Harry only had his two drinks since he drove himself. He drank some water as the night went on.

“H, Y/N lives not too far from you, help her save a couple bucks and drive her home, would you?”

“Jan…” You scold her.

“She’s right, I could give you a lift, if you want?”

“Um…well…sure.”

You both say goodnight to Janette, and Harry helps you into his car. He keeps the music low as he pulls out of the bar.

“So, where am I taking you?”

“To The Ledges, do you know where that is?”

“Sure do.” He chuckles. “Lived there myself when I first moved to the area.”

“Really?! It’s a great size place. I love it.”

“Got any pets or anything?”

“Nope, just me, myself, and I.” You grin.

“And you prefer it that way?”

“Well, after living at home my whole life, and then having various roommates over the years, I’d say that I’m quite enjoying living alone.”

“Good for you. I’m glad you’re liking it here so much. The person you replaced was such a twat.” You burst into laughter. “I’m serious! He never came to any of the outings. It was like he didn’t even care that we were trying to get him to engage. The second he got his PhD he left. Good riddance.” Harry scoffs.

“I really like it. It’s a lot different than being at a college in the city. I wasn’t sure how I’d do working in a college town, but I’m really enjoying it. I feel safe, you know? I didn’t always feel safe in the city.”

“I’m sorry, that had to have been difficult.”

“On the late nights it was. I usually had UPD walk me to my car. I don’t really have to do that here. I feel like I gained a lot of independence back.”

Harry pulls up to the apartment building, and parks. He turns the ignition off and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I was going to walk you to the door…”

“Oh…you don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Really, it’s okay. Um, thank you for the ride, it was really nice of you.”

“Thanks for the invite, I had fun.” He smiles.

“Me too.” You smile back and get out of the car.

You hear the car turn back on, and you know he waits to drive off until you’re inside.

“Paige, I get him for Christmas, why are you trying to change things?”

“You usually get him for Christmas because you don’t usually get him for the school year.” She crosses her arms as she stands outside in the frigid early December air.

“But you just got him for Thanksgiving.”

“You don’t celebrate Thanksgiving!”

“I observe!” He takes a deep breath. “His plane ticket is already paid for, he’s coming with me to London like always, and he will be back to you for New Year’s, like always.” He steps closer to her. “He looks forward to seeing my mum and Gem every winter, please don’t take that away from him.”

“It’s just…we’re hosting a Hanukkah party, and Noah really wanted him to be a part of it…”

“Shit.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “There’s Jewish holidays all the time, couldn’t Andy be a part of the next celebration?”

“Dad! Come on, the Pats game is starting!”

“One second, just saying bye to mum!” He yells to Andy, and looks back at Paige, eyes pleading.

“Alright…he can still go with you.”

“Thank you.” Harry breathes. “His cousins would miss him terribly.”

“I know, I’d feel terrible doing that to him. I’m just trying to balance all of this. I wanna be a good partner to Noah, and somewhat of a mother figure to Rachel, but I don’t want Andy to feel like I’m favoring them over him. He comes first, he always will.”

“I’m sure he knows that.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “Have a latke for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles and gives his hand a squeeze before getting back into her car.

Harry heads inside and sits on the couch while Andy sits in his usual spot on the love seat, entranced by the football game.

“What was that all about? I heard shouting.”

“Could barely hear each other over the wind outside. Nothing to worry about. We were just confirming plans for your holiday break.”

“I’m still going to London, right?”

“Of course! No question about it.”

Andy smiles at Harry before returning his attention to the TV. Harry was usually very honest with Andy, but he didn’t need to worry him with any of the drama.

“You survived your first semester, congrats!” Janette says, popping a bottle of champagne as she walks into your office.

“Not over yet, I have finals to grade.”

“Whatever, the kids are gone, that’s something to celebrate.” She nods towards the plastic cups you keep in your office, and you grab two. “Any plans for the holidays? Going home at all?”

“Oh sure. Doing the Hanukkah thing with my folks, and then doing New Year’s in Boston with some friends.”

“Fun!”

“Wait.” Harry says, overhearing, grabbing the bottle for a swig. “You’re Jewish?”

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow at him and take a sip from your cup.

“Brilliant. Paige’s boyfriend is Jewish, and I think it’s confusing for Andy. He doesn’t much like asking th guy questions, maybe he could talk to you sometime.”

“Sure.” You shrug. “Any plans for the holidays?”

“Yeah, Andy comes home to London for Christmas, and then I send him back for New Year’s with his mum.”

“You send him on the plane alone?”

“I haven’t always, but they let me walk him right to the gate, and he flies first class, so it’s very safe. They let his mum wait at the other gate too. I like to stay home for a few weeks if I can. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a mama’s boy.” He takes another swig of the bottle. “I am not looking forward to grading these papers. I really should just have each class do a presentation, can grade those right on the spot.”

“Tell me about it.” Janette groans. “My Advanced Comp class is going to be the death of me.”

“Well, clearly this champagne is going to keep us all awake enough to get through it.”

The three of you stand there laughing. You were looking forward to the long winter break. It would give you plenty of time to work on your research, and you wouldn’t be disturbed by any students popping in and out of your office, as much as you enjoyed the chats.

It was the beginning of January, there you were, working away in your office. You had a long flowy dress on, for some reason, and your door bursts open.

“Y/N! I’ve traveled across the pond for you!”

“Harry! You’re back.”

“That’s right, darling, I’m back.” He pushes everything off your desk, walks around to your and pulls you close to him. He crashes his mouth to yours.

“Oh, Harry.” You moan.

“Oh, Y/N.” He moans back before laying you on your desk. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” He rips your dress of and kneels in front of you, diving his head between your legs.

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting. Your eyes snap open and you grimace. Your legs feel sweaty, so you kick your blankets off.

“What the fuck?” You say to yourself as you sit up. Harry was attractive, but you never once fantasized about him. You reach between your legs and gasp. “Did I just fucking have a wet dream?!” You lick at your sticky fingers and shake your head in disbelief. “Shower, go shower Y/N.” You were talking to yourself, yes, but it was needed to help you calm down.

You were incredibly embarrassed. Harry was your friend, not someone you wanted to fuck, and certainly not on your desk in your office at work. Most people would be turned off, but doing it in a professional place was a big turn off for you. The idea of getting caught was also not a turn on for you. If you were ever caught you could be fired, and it just wasn’t worth it. Neither was dating a colleague. It wasn’t against the rules or anything, nor was it frowned upon, but dating in the workplace could lead to a lot of problems. You had a PhD on the line. Maybe it was time to just suck it up and go for a one night stand.

You had forgotten all about your dream by the time the January faculty meeting hit. That is, until Harry was the last to walk in. Your face flushes immediately. His hair was a little longer, and he had a bit of scruff that he normally wouldn’t have. He smiles and says hello to a couple of people, and then sits down right next to you.

“Hi.” He whispers with a smile.

“Hello.” You swallow and don’t look at him.

“How was your-“

“Can we get started?” Lisa addresses the group. “Much to go over, we need to start talking about the fall schedule.”

You were grateful for the distraction of the discussion, but you felt Harry’s eyes burn into you every few moments. He had to have known you were acting weird, you wouldn’t fucking look at him. Even if you thought to try, you just couldn’t. Two hours later, and the meeting finally ends. You gather your things quickly and head out, and down to your office. Just as you’re able to take a deep breath, you look up and see Harry standing in your doorway, hands in his pockets, squinting at you.

“Are we good?” He asks.

“Um.” You focus on the space behind him. “Yes, why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because you refuse to look at me. Even now, you’re not really looking at me.” He shifts his weight so he’s stand up normally. “Are you mad because I didn’t reach out over break?”

“What? No! I could care less about that, it wasn’t like I reached out to you.”

“So…what is it then? You make eye contact all the time, it’s not like you to not.”

“I…” You suck both of your lips into your mouth. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, I’m being stupid.”

“If it’s stupid then just tell me.” He comes in and sits down on your loveseat.

“Harry, please.” You shake your head and sit down in your desk chair.

“Come on, Y/N. Clearly something’s bothering you.”

“Ugh.” You groan and get up to close your door. You sit on the edge of your desk. “I…had a rather odd dream a week or so ago…”

“Okay?”

“And you were in it.” You whisper.

“What was I doing in your dream?” He whispers back.

“That’s just it, I don’t know.” You rest your chin in your palm as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Well I must have done something to make you not even look at me. Did I hurt you, do something scary?”

“No…I suppose I wouldn’t call it scary, but I was certainly disturbed when I woke up.”

“What then?” A smirk grows on his face. “Don’t tell me you had a sex dream or something.” When your face stays the way it is his smile fades. “You had a sex dream about me?” You nod yes. “Where were we?”

“Here.”

“In your office?!”

“Shh!” You swat your hands in his direction. “Do you want the building to hear?”

“You had a dream that we fucked in your office?”

“Well, it wasn’t fucking per say…you sort of…I don’t know…it doesn’t matter.”

“No tell me, let’s talk this through.”

“You wiped everything off my desk, ripped my clothes off, sat me on top, and then…” You wince slightly. “You sort of…got your head between my legs, and then I woke up.” You say the rest of it quickly. “And I was utterly concerned when I woke up because I swear I don’t see you that way, Harry. You’re my friend, just my friend. I forgot all about it, and then I saw you and got all embarrassed again.”

He stands up from his seat and gives you a shy smile.

“It was just a dream, you don’t need to be embarrassed. We’re adults, yeah? Let’s act like it.”

“I just don’t want you thinking I’m some…sex maniac or something.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay…I’m sorry if I worried you during the meeting. It really is good to see you, I’m glad you’re back. We could have lunch soon, I’d love to hear about London.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He smiles, but you can tell it’s fake.

He heads out and goes into his own office, closing the door behind him. For whatever reason, your words hurt him. Just my friend rang through his mind. It wasn’t as though it were a lie, you were just friends, but you made it clear you didn’t want him to be the one between your legs in a dream. At first he was flattered, but now…well, now he just felt sad. Was he not good enough to be the one to get you off? Even if in a dream? He hears a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

You open it slowly.

“I hurt your feelings…”

“A little.” He admits. “Not sure why, though.”

“I just didn’t want you to think I was objectifying you.”

“It was a dream, Y/N, you have zero control over it.”

“But I must have been thinking of you subconsciously, right? Isn’t that how that works?”

“Okay, so maybe you were thinking of me and maybe that got mixed in with…whatever else.”

“I just don’t want you thinking I want to fuck you, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” He mumbles.

“You want me to want to fuck you?!”

“Now who’d being loud?!”

“Sorry…”

“It’s just, well, how would you feel if I told you I didn’t want to fuck you, you probably wouldn’t feel too great about yourself.”

“It’s not that you’re not attractive, Harry-“

“This is making it worse.” He runs his hands over his face and looks at you. “It was just a dream, nothing to worry about, okay?”

“Things won’t be weird between us?”

“No.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did in that meeting, then we wouldn’t have needed to talk about it.”

“Did you tell Janette?”

“I resent that, just because I’m close with her doesn’t mean she knows every bit of my business.”

“I just didn’t know if I should be expecting some teasing from her.”

“No, none, and you better not tease me either.”

“I won’t.” He smiles. “London was good by the way…”

“Good, I’m glad.” You smile at him. “Talk later?”

“Yeah.”

“Not that I’m not happy to be out with the two of you, but why are the three of us out to dinner?” Andy asks.

“Mum and I thought it would be nice to see what you wanted to do for your February vacation. Usually you come see me and we go skiing, but mum knows how to ski too-“

“You’re canceling our trip?!”

“No! We were just thinking mum could take you this year.”

“But it’s your cabin.”

“And I don’t mind sharing.”

“Andy…I thought it would be nice for the four of us to go together. Noah knows how to snowboard, and Rachel wants to take a skiing lesson.”

“Great, so now this going to be a huge family trip? I don’t wanna do that, Mum.” Andy groans.

“Andy.” Harry sighs. “I think Mum and I have been very accommodating to you this year. Could you please just try to help us out a little? Do you know how many kids would kill to have their parents take them on a ski trip for their breaks?”

“I’m not trying to be ungrateful, I’m sorry.” He looks down at his plate and then back up to Harry. “Can’t you still come? The house is big enough.”

“It’s not a bad idea, Har.” Paige says to him and his eyes widen.

“Would Noah and Rachel feel comfortable with that? I wouldn’t want to overstep…”

“I’ll talk to them, I can’t see either of them feeling weird about it. She refers to you as Uncle Harry as it is, and it’s your cabin, I don’t think Noah would care.”

“Would you be alright with it?”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “There’s that spare room on the other end of the house, so you could have your own space and the kids could stay in the bunk room.”

“Wait, so this is happening?” Andy perks up. “You’d really come, Dad?”

“Yeah, if it’s not weird for anyone, I’m in.”

Andy gets up from the table and moves to hug both Harry and Paige, both of them looking at each other surprised. They give each other mental high fives for being able to figure things out.

“I’m really excited now.” Andy says as he sits back down.

“Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way…” Paige grins and looks back at one of the waitresses, giving her a nod. Happy birthday starts being sung throughout the restaurant.

“Oh my god.” Harry closes his eyes and groans. “This dinner wasn’t about me…”

“Nonsense.” She chuckles. “How often do we all get to celebrate together?”

A small cake with candles is brought over in front of Harry. The singing continues and he feels thoroughly embarrassed.

“Wanna help me blow ‘em out?” He asks Andy.

“Yeah!” He leans over and blows out the candles and the restaurant claps.

Harry looks at Paige and shakes his head. She laughs and thanks the waitresses.

“Andy, go get in Dad’s lap, I’ll take your picture together. I’ve got your gift for him in the car too, I’ll go get it.” Andy crawls into Harry’s lap, and Paige uses Harry’s phone to snap the photo. She beams when she looks at it. “You should get this one printed, it’s adorable.” She gets up and leaves to go get the gifts.

“Did you know about all this?” He says to Andy giving him a squeeze before letting him go.

“She just told me we were meeting you for dinner instead of going straight to your place.” He shrugs.

Paige returns shortly with a few cards and bags.

“Alright, this is from Rachel and Noah.”

“They didn’t have to get me anything…”

“They insisted!”

Harry takes the card out and smiles. Rachel had clearly drawn him a picture, it was cute. His smile grows wider when he takes a nail kit out of the small bag.

“I was due for one of these, I’ll have to text Noah a thank you.” Harry opens the next bag and sees a card from Andy that he also drew. In the bag was a new set of pocket squares for his suits, that he desperately needed, some bandanas, scrunchies, and a gift card to his favorite clothing store. “Went all out son, thank you.”

“Thought your…what was the word you used, Mum?”

“Wardrobe.” She chuckles.

“Yeah! Thought your wardrobe could use an update.”

“Should I be offended?” He says, raising an eyebrow.

“I think you should be happy your son has your keen eye for fashion.” She slides another card over. “That one’s from me.”

“You’ve done enough.” He says before leaning over to kiss the top of Andy’s head.

“Just open it.”

Harry rolls his eyes and opens the card. He starts laughing. There was some joke about being close co-parents, and a gift card to one of his favorite restaurants.

“Thank you.”

“More than welcome.”

Andy hugs Paige goodbye in the parking lot before hopping in the backseat of Harry’s car.

“Were you surprised, Dad?”

“Very! Thank you again for the gifts, it was very thoughtful of you.”

“I’m more excited about going skiing now.”

“Sorry if we scared you. I just wanna make sure Mum gets to see you.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“How come Mum has Noah, but you don’t have anyone?”

“I have you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I just…I don’t know, I don’t have much time for dating.”

“What do you do on the weekends when I’m not with you?”

“Sometimes I see friends, or I catch up on some grading, I clean up too. You’re gonna start doing more chores, that would be the ultimate birthday gift.”

“It’s okay if you wanna date, you know…”

“I don’t exactly need your permission.” He chuckles.

“I know…but I want you to know I’m okay with it.”

“Well, I appreciate that, thanks.”

When Harry walks into his office Monday morning he’s surprised to see a vase full of flowers. There’s a small card with it:

Happy Birthday, H!

- Y/N

Harry smiles to himself and smells the flowers, he couldn’t believe you remembered. He only mentioned it once when his birthday was. Thirty-two was off to a great start. He hangs his jacket up and gets his computer set up. His first class wasn’t until 9AM, so he had some time to prep and wake up a bit more before heading to the lecture hall. He sees you walk by on your way to your office.

“Oh! You’re here!” You had two coffees in your hands. “My gift wasn’t complete yet.” You walk in and hand him his coffee. “Black coffee.” You smile.

“Thank you, the flowers are lovely.”

“Not that I thought you needed more plants in here.” You joke. Harry had a fuck ton of plants in his office windowsill.

“Well excuse me for enjoying nature.” He scoffs, and takes a sip of his coffee. You sit down on the couch in his office.

“Did you have a good weekend?”

“I did, Paige and I took Andy out to dinner to talk about his February break, and it turned into a little surprise birthday thing, it was nice. Can’t remember the last time we did something like that as a family. I mean, we have shared birthday parties for him and stuff, but I think he enjoys when it’s just the three of us.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…did he ever know the two of you as a couple?”

“No.” Harry sighs. “I think he was almost two when she and I called it quits. Now look at us, we’re all going on a ski trip together, including her boyfriend and his daughter.”

“That won’t be weird?”

“Not really, I’ve known Noah a while.”

“How long have they been together?”

“Well, they’ve been a couple for almost three years, but they were friends beforehand. He’s one of the lawyers at the office she works at. He came on, like, a year after she and I split, they were friends for a while, and I think once he knew she and I weren’t getting back together he made his move.” Harry shrugs. “No skin off my nose, I just wanted her to be happy. His daughter Rachel is as cute as a button too.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “Poor thing, her mum died in a car accident when she was really little. Paige is a great mum, so it was a good fit for everyone I think. The only thing I don’t love is that Noah is, like, almost forty.”

“How old is Paige?”

“Almost thirty-four, so it’s not super weird, but…I think that’s another reason why he waited to ask her out, you know?”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t have his own cabin to take her too.”

“Nope, just a massive house on the lake.” Harry chuckles and looks at his flowers again. “Thank you again for these, it was a nice surprise.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.” She sips her own coffee and gets up to go to her own office.

“How’d you know I’d like these?”

“Everyone likes getting flowers, Harry.” She smiles and leaves.

Harry had cancelled his classes during the week of Andy’s February break like he always did. He had forum posts for them to work in in his absence. Going to the cabin wasn’t ask awkward as he thought, and it was good bonding for Rachel and Andy. Harry, Noah, and Paige could hear the two of them giggling as they watched movies at night, it was sweet. Harry mostly stuck with skiing with Andy during the day, and he and Paige took him for a run or two as well. As Andy got older co-parenting got easier, for whatever reason. Any lingering feelings between Harry and Paige had simply fizzled into a normal friendship. There was no malice between them which was good for Andy to see.

“Uncle Harry?” Rachel asks one night at dinner.

“Yes, love?”

“How come you have an accent, but Andy doesn’t?”

“Because Andy wasn’t born and raised in a country where people sound like me. Although sometimes you sound like me when you’ve been around me a lot.” Harry looks at Andy.

“My friends tease me for how I say pasta sometimes.” He chuckles. “I say that like you.”

“It’s true! You say taco like Dad too. It’s pretty funny.”

“Well, those are my two favorite foods so it makes sense.”

“How come you have so many tattoos?” Rachel asks.

“Honey, tattoos can be really personal.” Noah explains.

“It’s alright, I got a lot of them when I was younger. Think my last one was when Andy was born, got his initials my forearm.” He extends his arm out.

“Harry.” Paige clears her throat, nodding towards his mermaid tattoo and shakes her head no.

“Oop! Sorry.” He blushes. “Sometimes I forget she’s there.” He chuckles.

“Can we paint nails after dinner, Uncle Harry?” Rachel pleads.

“Sure! Brought that nail kit you and Dad so nicely got for me.”

“Yay! It’s okay, right, Daddy?”

“Of course, princess.” Noah says lovingly towards his daughter.

After dinner, Harry sits with Rachel at the kitchen table, to not make a mess, while Paige, Noah, and Andy sit in the living room watching TV. On the outside looking in the scene may be odd, but this was working well for all of them. Andy was having a good time and that was all Harry cared about.

It was a Thursday night, you both swiped right, and you met him at a bar. After a few drinks you climbed into the backseat of his car and before you knew it you were bouncing up and down on his dick while he pressed hot kisses to your neck. His name was Gabriel, and he was just what you needed right now. Or he would have been if he had been able to last a moment longer. You were so close, and he came into the condom before you had a chance to have your own release. He didn’t even ask if you got yours, he just kissed your cheek and lifted you off him.

“Care to take this back to my place?” He says.

“Think I’ve had enough for one night, thanks.” You say as you button your pants back up.

“Let me at least drive you home.”

“No, that’s okay, I can take an uber.” You get out of his car and slam the door shut. He gets out and looks at you, you turn around and look at him.

“Another time?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You say bluntly and his face falls.

“Thought we just had a nice time.”

“You had a nice time because you got to finish.” You huff as you fix your jacket. You take your phone out and order your ride.

“Thought you did, my bad.”

“Right.” The car pulls up, and you get in.

This is why you hated doing things like this. Men on these dating apps just wanted to get theirs. They just wanted a place to stick it and they didn’t care if you were left satisfied or not. You take a nice, long shower when you get back, scrubbing the smell of Gabriel away from you. You grimace when you see the kiss mark he left on your collar bone. Luckily a shirt and scarf would cover it, and it didn’t look like it would last longer than a couple of days anyways.

“Well, were you being vocal about what you needed?” Janette asks you as she sits on the edge of your desk Monday morning.

“I said things like right there or like that…he didn’t even warn me that he was coming, he just did. Then he wanted me to come back to his place with him…”

“Maybe he would have put on a better show for you.”

“The previews certainly didn’t leave me wanting to see more.”

“Preview for what.” Harry says, peeping his head in. He had a slight tan from skiing, and it was sort of cute.

“Y/N saw a really bad preview for this movie about this loser, that’s all.” Janette says. “How was your week away?”

“Actually, not too bad. I think it was good for us to all do something together. Andy had a great time, that’s all I cared about. He even agreed to be with his mum for the entire April vacation.”

“Oh? What’s she going to take him to do?” You ask.

“They’re gonna go to New York to see some shows, I thought it was a great idea. It’ll be good for him to get some real culture.”

“And that’s not a trip you wanted to join in on?” Janette smirks.

“Hmm, large cabin where I have my own space or cramped hotel room?” He weighs his option. “I’ll take the bitter cold and the cabin, thanks.”

“What do you think you’ll do while he’s away?” You ask.

“No idea, I’ve got time to figure it out. Honestly, it’s perfect timing because that’s right during advising weeks so I’ll actually be able to help my students without him sitting in the corner complaining that he’s bored.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t what’s gonna turn my hair grey first, him or the college students.”

“Oh please.” Janette groans. “Men look so much better with a little grey, makes you look distinguished, it’s us who look like old crones when we let our greys out. I don’t wanna hear it.” She shakes her head and looks at her watch. “Gotta get ready for my next class, so you later.”

“Is it true?”

“What?”

“Do men look better with a little grey.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Depends on the guy, I think. I mean, I’m twenty-six so a little grey wouldn’t scare me away, but I’m not exactly looking for a silver fox.” You laugh and so does he.

“I missed your sense of humor last week. As good of a time it was, I felt like I had to be very careful about the jokes I cracked.”

“Well, no need for a filter here.”

Harry nods and goes into his own office. He thinks for a moment and then peeps his head back into yours.

“So, what movie preview did you see that you didn’t like?”

“What?”

“When I first came in, you and Jan were talking about-“

“Oh! Um, it was so bad I don’t even remember the name.” You tug slightly at your scarf out of nerves.

“Too bad, I could’ve searched it and had a good laugh.” He shrugs and leaves again.

Sometimes you wondered what Harry’s dating life was like, not that it was any of your business. He had mentioned a couple of times he didn’t make a lot of time for it, but what about one night stands? Did he make sure women got theirs when he was with them?

“I’m going to look like a fucking idiot compared to all of you.” You pout as you get your robe and hood on.

“You will not. Sort of miss the master’s robe, honestly, they’ve basically got pockets. You’ll have your doctoral one soon enough.” Harry says, putting on his own robes.

“I can never get this thing right, could you help me?”

“Of course.” He steps behind you and adjusts the blue hood for you.

“Do I need the cap? It’s just an honor’s ceremony.”

“You certainly do, and get used to it. This is one of three times a year you’ll need to put this on.”

“Three?”

“Grad commencement and undergrad commencement are separate ceremonies.”

“And we have to go to both?”

“We do.” He sighs. “You’re also not the only professor on this campus that isn’t a PhD yet, so don’t get down on yourself, yeah? You’re working towards it.” You turn towards him and his hands place gently on your shoulders.

“Thanks, Har.”

He smiles at the nickname and lets go of you. You and the other CM professors head over to the CM Honors Inductee Ceremony. It was a nice event for the honors students within the major. As soon as it ends you rip your cap off. You didn’t enjoy wearing it at all. You mingle with a few parents and take pictures with some of the students that wanted you in their photos.

“Y/N?” One of your students, Kayla, says.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering…for our final assignment, instead of writing you a paper about signs, could I make you a video instead?” She was in your Rhetoric and Semiotics class.

“Hmm, I think that could be really interesting. What would a video entail?”

“Well, I thought I could go to the grocery store and show unwritten rules, like how someone will put a divider down on the belt without having to be asked, or how when you go up to the deli you just grab a ticket, how branding works, stuff like that.”

“As long as you still send me a references page I think that could be fine. Of course, I’d have to show it to the rest of the class.”

“Deal.” She smiles. “Thanks.” You nod and then she walks away.

You head back to your office to hang your robe and hood up in your closet. You grab your back and smack right into your Harry.

“Jesus.” You say and back away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you.”

“No, that was me, I was walking too fast.” He unzips his robe and hangs it up same as you in his own closet.

“Why were you in such a hurry?”

“Single mum at the ceremony got a little too liberal with the hugging, had to get out of there.” He chuckles. “You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Wanna go down to the pub? I don’t have Andy’s still in New York…”

“Sure! That sounds great, actually. Let me just drop all this off in my car.” He nods and you both walk down to the parking lot before walking the rest of the way to the pub.

You both sit down at the bar and order drinks. You both end up getting Mediterranean wraps, not feeling quite hungry enough for nachos this time around.

“Any summer plans yet? I know it’s early, but-“

“Paige and I need to sit down with Andy to figure all that out. He got to stay with me all year, so it would be make sense for him to be with her for the summer, but I have a feeling he won’t like that. School gets out in June for him so I’ve got some time…but I have a feeling it’s not going to be easy.”

“Why do you think he wants to be with you so much more?”

“I just think he’s at an age where maybe he feels more comfortable being with me. He’ll be eleven soon, changes are starting to happen.” He chuckles. “Maybe Paige and I could split up the summer or something.”

“How have his grades been? Wasn’t that part of the deal?”

“His marks have been great, he’s doing well. He has some great friends and he loves his teachers. He really enjoyed playing basketball this winter in the town league too.”

“Not that I’m an expert on custody agreements, but couldn’t you do what you’re doing now? Wednesdays and every other weekend with Paige, and the rest of the time with you?”

“He hates the back and forth in the summer, that’s why we agreed on summers with me. I mean, she still sees him in the summer, obviously, but he usually doesn’t have to go every other weekend. We’ll see.” He sighs. “We try to give him what he wants to not make waves, but at the end of the day we’re the parents and he’s the child and what we say goes.” He finishes off his drink and asks for another. “Need a refill?”

“Sure, I could probably handle two.” You shrug.

Two turned into three, then, four, and finally five. The sun had gone down and it was dark outside. You two had split a chocolate lava cake. The bar was starting to fill with college students.

“Holy shit, it’s almost ten!” You say. “Should probably go before some of these kids try to buy me a drink for a passing grade.” Harry laughs at that and agrees. You split the bill, and nearly lose your balance as you hop off the bar stool, clutching as his bicep.

“Wanna split an uber? I can’t drive, and I don’t think you can either.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll order it.”

“No, I’ve got it.” He takes his phone out as you both head outside. The car pulls up after a couple of minutes and you both get in. “We’ll drop you off first.”

“Alright.” You smile. “This was fun tonight. I like when we get to hang out.”

“Me too.” He smiles at you. “Can’t believe your first year is almost done.”

“I know, it’s really flown by.” You crane your neck from side to side and sigh. “Maybe now that I know the area better I’ll feel more comfortable trying to really meet someone.”

“Meet someone for what?” You look up at him, making a face as if the answer is obvious. “Oh! That’s cute you think you have time for a relationship.” He laughs.

“Excuse me?”

“Y/N, you spend all your free time on your research.”

“I just spent some free time with you, didn’t I? Janette and I go out, and-“

“Janette travels with Sadie in the summers.”

“Guess that leaves me stuck with you then.” You nudge him. “Actually, I’m hoping to go to Boston for a bit, visit friends and family. I’m hoping to get to the beach too. I love summer.”

“You should come hiking with me. Despite the black flies, May is great because it’s not humid yet.”

“Might have to take you up on that, I really enjoyed it this fall.” The car pulls up in front of your house. “Have a good night, Harry.”

“You too.” You both reach over and hug each other. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.” You smile and get out.

Once the school year was over, you sat with Lisa and went over your course evaluations. Overall you did really well, and she reaffirmed how happy she was that she hired you. She wishes you a happy summer, and that’s about it. You ask if you’re allowed to use your office in the summer, and she says yes but it gets really hot so it’s not as great as you may think.

Saturday night as you’re having your last girl’s night with Janette you get a text.

Harry: Hey! Know it’s last minute, but I’m taking Andy up Rattlesnake tomorrow morning, care to join?

Y/N: sure! As long as he doesn’t mind…

Harry: got his permission already, we’re all set ;)

You bite your bottom lip and smile, and Janette peaks over your shoulder to see what you could be smiling at.

“God, what a gift it would be if I come back in the fall and you two are dating.”

“Oh, stop.” You nudge her. “We’re friends.”

“Would it be bad to be more?”

“I don’t really think it’s a good idea to go out with someone you work with…”

“Good luck finding anyone else who’s decent around here then.”

“I could meet someone in Boston, do the long distance thing.”

“That gets old.”

“You’re doing it!”

“Yeah, but I’m more of a free spirit. Sadie and I don’t care about marriage or kids or a house in the hills. You, my sweet friend, would like all of those things.”

“True…” You finish your drink. “Well, if I don’t want to puke on this hike tomorrow I should probably get going.” You both stand and hug and kiss and wish each other fantastic summers.

You get a restful night’s sleep, and get yourself ready in the morning. You had invested in a pair of hiking boots in the fall, so you were feeling prepared. You put on a pair of spandex shorts, and put on some mesh shorts over those. You opt for a sweat resistant short sleeve shirt, and pull your ponytail through a baseball cap. You get everything in your small pack that you’ll need: sunglasses, sunscreen, water bottle, granola bar, rag, and bug spray. You drive out to the trail and park, lathering your arms and legs with sunscreen. You see Harry’s car pull up, and Andy hops out, bandana and clip keeping his hair back, just like Harry’s. Harry had a sleeveless shirt on and you could really see the definition in his shoulder muscles. You put your sunglasses on and head over to them.

“Morning, boys.” You smile.

“Morning.” Harry smiles back.

“Hi, Y/N.” Andy mumbles shyly.

“Hi, Andy. Dad told me you’re doing well in school. Bet you’re about ready to be done, huh?”

“Yeah, only a few more weeks.”

“Can’t believe he’s going into sixth grade. Makin’ me feel old.”

“You are old.” Andy giggles.

“Mhm, thanks.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

Andy walks a few paces ahead of you and Harry.

“His birthday is soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, next weekend, actually…um…Paige is hosting his party this year.” Andy looks back at Harry making a face, and Harry makes a face back at him.

“That’ll be fun.” You say, not noticing the exchange as you look at the various trees surrounding you.

“Yeah…it will be. Um…it’s Saturday afternoon…”

“Weather looking good?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great. Probably still cold to swim at the lake, though, right?”

“Yeah, but the kids will still have a water balloon fight.”

“Dad, just ask her!” Andy groans as he turns around again.

“Ask me what?”

“He wants you to go with him to the party.”

“Andy!” Harry snaps at him. “Keep walking.”

Andy rolls his eyes and continues to walk ahead of you.

“Is that true, you want me to come?”

“Is that weird?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Although, I’d only know you and Andy.” You chuckle.

“See…it’s just…Paige’s parents will be there, and that’s fine, but Noah’s parents are coming too, and it would be nice to have a buffer other than my son. He’ll be off playing games and eating junk good, I don’t want him to think he needs to babysit me…”

“I totally get it. I don’t think I have plans, I could go for a little while.”

“Really? I’m not asking too much?”

“Not at all, what are friends for?” You smile and he smiles back.

You walk a few paces ahead of Harry, but still behind Andy, giving Harry the perfect view of your bum in your shorts. He wasn’t staring, but he certainly wasn’t not looking. When you get up to the top your jaw drops. The view of the mountains and the lakes were even better in the late spring. You snap a few photos, taking one of Harry and Andy, Harry taking one of you looking out, and then you all sit down for some water and snacks.

“Andy, do you enjoy hiking with your Dad?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of fun. We go a lot over the summer.”

“Andy’s hiked two of the 4,000 footers, hoping to get a couple more done this summer.”

“Wow! That’s incredible.”

“You should come with us, Y/N. We’re going to camp overnight at one of them.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna go camping with me, I’m a real snob. I need running water and indoor plumbing.”

“It has that.” Harry says, taking a sip of his water. “There’s bathroom, no shower or anything, but working toilets. You bring all your own camping gear. It’s pretty cool.”

“I’ll consider it. Think I should probably go on hikes that are longer than a mile up.” You laugh.

“You guys can do during the week now that school’s over, right?” Andy says.

“I wouldn’t want to exclude you, Andy.” You smile.

“Don’t worry about me.” He crunches down on his granola bar. He shares another look with Harry, but again it goes unnoticed by you, too busy looking out at the beauty of the mountains and lakes.

You all hike down the mountain in not time and say your goodbyes. Harry tells you he’ll text you with more details about the party later in the week.

“I told you she’d say yes.” Andy says from the backseat of the car.

“I wish you had let me work up to it a little more.”

“You were taking too long. Sometimes you just need to pull the trigger, Dad.”

“Is that so?” Harry laughs. “Things are a little more complicated at my age. Sort of awkward asking a colleague out on a date.”

“If you two are friends does that make it a date?”

“Well, she’ll be attending with me, so that makes her my date.”

“Does that mean you’ll kiss her goodnight?”

“Andy!” Harry looks back for a moment and then gets his eyes back on the road. “No, I’m not going to kiss her. You heard her, what are friends for, that’s all she sees me as.” He sighs to himself.

“That’s why you need to step up your game.”

“Son, do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Just, shut up for the rest of the drive home.”

Andy bursts out laughing, but does as Harry asks, knowing he’s being a bit annoying.

It was a beautiful day on Saturday, but you were worried about being cold out by the water, so you opt for a pair of high-waist jean capris that flare a bit at the bottom. You find a sleeveless white blouse and pair it with a blue cardigan. You put your hair up in your two buns, and throw on a pair of wedges.

Harry: I’m outside

“Shit.” You say, just finishing your makeup. You run around, grabbing your purse, and the box you had wrapped for Andy’s gift, and head out.

You open the passenger seat and get settled, smiling at Harry.

“You didn’t have to get him anything.”

“I know, it’s just a new basketball. I saw it at WalMart when I was picking up a card. I hate showing up to these things empty handed. What did you get him?”

“A new bike.” He grins. “It’s in his mum’s garage already.”

“Oh! He’ll be so excited. He skateboard too right?”

“Yeah, I really don’t know where he gets his coordination from. Other than skiing I’m pretty clumsy.”

“Don’t you go to a boxing gym?”

“Yeah, and I look like a proper oaf.” He laughs and looks at you. “You look nice by the way. Your outfits are always so put together.”

“Oh, um, thanks.” You blush slightly. You wanted to tell him that you did your hair the way you did because you know he sort of likes it, but you thought that might be a weird thing to say. “Does, um, Paige know you’re bringing me?”

“She does.” Harry nods. “You’re not, like, nervous to meet her are you?”

“No.” You scoff. “Why would I be?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “What did you say to her about me?”

“Well, before I got a chance to say anything last night when she picked Andy up, he spilled the beans.” He rolls his eyes. “So I told her you’re a friend from work…is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s what I am so it makes sense.” You drum your fingers on top of the box to the beat of the music. “None of your family will be there?”

“They’re going to FaceTime in for it. They came for his tenth birthday since it’s a bit more sentimental.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Oh sure, but I love here too much to go back permanently. I like going during winter break, that’s enough.”

“You don’t go during the summer?”

“Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes they come to visit here during the summer too. My sister has two kids of her own so it’s not always easy to travel.” You nod your head. “You know, I’ve known you almost a year and I don’t know a thing about your family.”

“What’s there to know? My parents are still together, somehow, I’ve got an older brother who’s a sous chef at a restaurant in Boston. He’s not married, but he has a partner and he’s just lovely. I usually stay with them if I go home for a visit.”

“That’s great! How much older is he?”

“He’s around your age, actually, so not a huge age difference.”

“And when’s your birthday?”

“Beginning of August.” You grin.

“Wow, so you had just turned twenty-six when you came to us.”

“Pretty much, got hired at twenty-five, not too shabby.”

“Not at all.”

The conversation went on for the entire drive. That’s how it always was with you two, always a lot to talk about. When you get out of the car you’re able to get a good look at Harry’s outfit. His outfits were usually well crafted, you’d call his style dad-chic. He was in a pair of tan slacks that he had cuffed at the bottom, a pair of white loafers to go with them, a white tank top tucked in with a floral open short-sleeve button up. Very handsome. You smile at each other and then he leads you around back to where the party was. You weren’t the first people there, but you weren’t the last either.

“Dad!” Andy exclaims and runs over to you both. Harry picks him up and swings him around before setting him down.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

“Thanks! Look, all my friends from school came.” He points over to them. Harry recognizes Brandon and his father out of the bunch.

“That’s great, bud, let us come in and say hi to everyone, can you say hi to Y/N?”

“Hi, thanks for coming.” He gives you a surprising hug.

“Oh! You’re welcome, Andy. Happy birthday.”

He runs back over to his friends and you walk further into the backyard. It was stunning. Grass that led to sand that led to the lake water. A boat parked further down by the docks, and just gorgeous views for miles. The house itself was huge, you couldn’t believe it.

“Harry!” A woman, who you would assume is Paige, comes waking over. She was beautiful. Shoulder length blonde hair, sort of thin, but not quite a stick. She was wearing a yellow sundress. Her and Harry share a slight hug. “He’s eleven.” She pouts.

“He’s eleven.” Harry agrees with a sigh. “Oh, this is Y/N. Y/N this is Paige, Andy’s mum.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” She says to you. “Let me take that for you, thank you for bringing him something. I’ll put this with the others.” She takes the box from you. “There’s wine and beer for the adults if you like, but we also have soda and water if you’re not up for drinking. I certainly had a glass after my folks showed up.”

“Did your mother put her white glove on and see if there was any dust?” Harry teases her.

“She may as well have.” Paige rolls her eyes.

Harry puts his hand on the small of your back and leads you closer into the party.

“This is a lovely home.”

“Oh, thank you. I sort of inherited it. It’s was my grandparents’.” She sets your gift on the table with the others. “There’s snacks inside and outside. Feel free to hangout wherever.”

“Where exactly are your parents?” Harry asks.

“Up on the deck.” Paige points up towards it. “Feel free to avoid them as long as you like. They’re speaking with Noah’s parents at the moment. My sister should be here soon.” She looks at her watch. “I’m gonna go check on some things.”

“Alright, love, thanks.” They smile at each other. You get a bad taste in your mouth hearing him call her love, for whatever reason. “Wanna meet some of the parents. I know that guy, Ed, the best. He’s Brandon’s dad, Andy’s best friend.”

“Sure.” You nod and Harry leads you over. “I never quite understood why some parents stay at kids parties.”

“Well…look around you, wouldn’t you wanna hang for a bit?”

“Got me there.”

“Harry, hi.” Ed shakes Harry’s hand.

“Good to see you, this is my friend Y/N, we work together at the university.”

“Hi.” You shake his hand.

“Great to meet you. Brandon was so excited when he got the invite. He and Andy get along so well.” The three of you watch them and the other kids playing tag.

“Born to be friends I’d say.” Harry says.

“Uncle Harry!” A young girl comes running over to Harry and he picks her up, kissing her check, and then setting her down.

“Hi, Rachel, can you say hello to my friend Y/N?”

“Hello.” She beams up at you, a couple of teeth missing. “My grammy and grampy are here.”

“Are they?” Harry says.

“Mhm, I love them a lot.”

“I’m sure they love you too, sweetheart. Are you having a good time for Andy’s birthday?”

“Yeah! We’re going to have a water balloon toss soon.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun!”

“Daddy said he’d be on my team for it.”

“Well, that’s good.”

She smiles again and then runs off.

“Your ex’s boyfriend’s daughter calls you Uncle Harry?” You ask.

“Yeah…she sort of started doing that on her own. She knows I’m Andy’s dad, but I don’t think it quite registers with her yet how we’re all mixed together.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A glass of white would be great, thank you.” Harry nods and leaves you standing with Ed.

“So, how long have you and H known each other?”

“Well, I started working at the university last August, so less than a year. We’re office neighbors.”

“Ah, how nice. He’s a really great guy, isn’t he? I coach the boys’ basketball team and he was the first to sign up for snack duty.”

“He’s definitely always thinking of others.”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Oh, um, we’re not.” You shake your head. “He just asked me to come with him, ex in laws, you know?”

“Shit, I’m sorry for just assuming.”

“It’s alright.” You assure him. Harry comes over with a glass of wine for you and a bottle of beer for him.

“Sorry that took a moment, I ran into Noah inside and had to do the hellos. Still managed to not bump into Paige’s parents though, so that’s good.” He chuckles, taking a sip from his drink.

“Bad blood?” You ask.

“Even though things between Paige and I are perfectly fine, in their eyes, I’m always going to be the guy that got her pregnant and didn’t make an honest woman out of her.”

“That’s annoying.”

“Very.”

An hour or so passes and then Paige announces that the balloon toss will be beginning soon.

“Dad, be my partner?”

“You got it, buddy. Mind holding my drink?” He says to you.

“Not at all, have fun.” You smile.

More people had come down off the deck so they could watch. Some parents partnered with their kids, and other kids just partnered with kids. Everyone starts about a foot apart. This should be fun, you think, knowing Harry’s competitive nature.

“Would you look at Harry, he looks like an old man from Florida.” You hear a woman scoff.

“Notice how he’s been avoiding us, always a child.” You hear a man say, and this makes you turn towards them. They must be Paige’s parents.

Everyone playing was further apart now, some balloons had popped, but Harry and Andy were still in the game. The balloon pops at Rachel’s feet and she giggles loudly. There were only a few people now. You watch as Harry lobs the balloon perfectly to Andy, and Andy catches it with ease. It was Brandon and his dad vs. Harry and Andy now. Brandon overthrows it, causing the balloon to pop on the sand.

“We won!” Andy shouts running towards Harry.

“Great job.” Harry jostle’s Andy’s hair. Everyone cheers for them.

“What do you say, honey, cake and gifts now?” Paige asks Andy.

“Yeah.” He smiles.

All of the kids sit around a large glass table while Paige goes inside to get the cake. Harry walks back towards you and you hand him his beer.

“What were you saying about you have no coordination?”

“I had to win, it’s his birthday.” He laughs and then stops when he sees Paige’s parents. “Lydia, Nathan, how are you?”

“Oh, are you speaking with us now?” Lydia says playfully, giving him a hug. Harry shakes Nathan’s hand.

“You know how it is when you first get to a party, lots of excitement. I’d find you eventually.” He clears his throat. “This is Y/N, we work together at the university.”

“Hello.” You smile and they both look you up and down.

“How nice for you to bring a friend.” Nathan says, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“I’m gonna go see if she needs help with the cake.” Harry says to all of you, and you also decide to move away from the rude people you were standing with.

Paige and Harry stand on either side of Andy’s chair as everyone sings happy birthday. After cake the gifts come out. Noah takes Harry into the garage to grab the bike.

“Alright…this one is from…Y/N!” Paige says brightly as she hands the gift to Andy. He tears the wrapping paper off and gasps.

“Alright! A new basketball, thank you!” Andy says looking in your direction and you nod with a smile.

“Okay, Andy, Dad and I got you something really special.” Paige says pointing over to Harry who was wheeling the bike over. Andy’s jaw drops.

“Are you serious?!” He stand up and walks over to the bike.

“Know you’ve been wanting it for a while, and your grades have just been so good this year, we just had to do it. Mum’s got a new helmet, elbow and knee pads for you in the house.”

“Thank you so much!” He hugs Harry and then he hugs Paige.

“You’re more than welcome, baby doll.” Paige says to him and then he squirms away from her.

“Mum.” He huffs.

“Right, sorry, not in front of your friends.”

Paige’s sister helps her clean up the remains of the cake while the kids continue to play yard games. You find yourself sitting in a lawn chair when a man you have yet to meet takes the chair next to you, but you recognize him as Rachel’s father.

“We haven’t gotten to meet yet, I’m Noah.” He shakes your hand.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He smiles. “I was happy to hear Harry was bringing someone with him. Takes a bit of the pressure off.”

“Exactly.” You nod.

“How’d you meet?”

“We’re office neighbors, I started working at the university less than a year ago.”

“Oh! Right, you went hiking with them last weekend.” He says in understanding. “Andy told us. He’s quite the gossip.”

You observe Noah as he speaks. His hair has turned to salt and pepper, definitely had crow’s feet, also wore glasses, but he had a warm and inviting smile, similar to his daughter’s.

“He certainly speaks his mind.” You chuckle. “He’s very sweet though, I have to say.”

“Very sweet. He’s a good kid. It’s nice for Rach to have someone to grow up with a little She adores him, definitely sees him as a big brother.”

“That’s good. I’ve always found blended families to be interesting. You all are doing it well.”

“Took us a while to get to this point, but it’s all been worth it.”

“Y/N?” You both turn to look at Harry. “Party’s starting to dissipate a bit, are you about ready to head out?”

“Sure!” You stand up. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Same here.” Noah stands up and gives Harry a thumbs up without you seeing.

You both say your goodbyes, Andy gives you another hug and says thank you again for the gift. Harry tells him he’ll see him Sunday night, and then you head to his car.

“Hope you didn’t mind when I had to leave to chat a couple of times.”

“Oh, it was fine. I enjoyed just hanging out. It was a beautiful day.” The sun was just starting to set.

“Yeah, I’m glad the weather was nice. I think it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.” He looks at you and then gets his attention back on the road. “You really did look nice today.”

“Thank you, Harry.” You smile and give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Am I…taking you straight home?”

You blink a couple of times before looking at him.

“Where else would we go?”

“Well, I’ve got a back deck of my own. We could sit out, enjoy the sunset…if you want.”

“That sounds nice, actually. Yeah, let’s do that.” You smile.

“Great.”

You notice his jaw and shoulders relax. Were you making him tense? You both listen to the music on the radio as he drives you to his home. You smile as he pulls up. It was a decent size ranch. Cream color paneling and red shutters, very cute.

“Here were are.” He says awkwardly as you both get out.

“Do I get a tour?”

“Of course!”

He unlocks the front door and leads you inside. There was an open concept kitchen and living area. The house smelled like fresh coffee. He noticed you taking a whiff.

“I have an automatic air freshener.” He says and you nod.

“I like it, should get one for my place.”

“There’s a full bath down the hall, Andy uses that, and then I have my own bathroom. Three bedrooms totally, and then you can see I technically have two levels, that’s what I use for my office.”

“It’s a huge loft.”

“Yeah, it’s partially why I bought the place. I didn’t feel cramped. Basement’s partially finished which will be great for Andy when he’s over if he wants to have parties or whatever. Uh, and then the deck is this way. Can I get you anything…I only have red wine, I know you like white…”

“Red’s fine, maybe just put an ice cube in it for me?”

“Can do, make yourself comfortable outside.” He smiles.

You slide the glass door open and smile. It was a decent sized deck. There was a small glass round table with chairs, a grill, and some Adirondack chairs as well. You sit in one of those after taking a glance at the flowers and plants he had in pots. You also notice the various flower beds he had in the yard.

“Here you go.” He says, sitting down next to you, handing you the glass of wine.

“Thank you.” You smile and take a sip. You cross your cardigan over yourself.

“Are you cold? I can get a blanket.”

“Oh, no I’m fine, thanks. It’s beautiful out here.”

“Thanks, took me a while to get it landscaped the way I like.” He lights the citronella candle on the small table between you to help keep any bugs away. “I’ve been thinking of getting an above ground pool for Andy, he loves to swim, but it’s a lot maintenance, and his mum as the lake right there.”

“That house is incredible.”

“Noah’s helped her revamp it quite a bit, and the boat’s his.” He takes a sip of his drink and looks at you. “Thanks again for coming today.”

“Of course, I had a really good time.” You smile.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“Not at all. It was nice to finally meet the people you’ve told me so much about.”

“Are you hungry or anything? I could bring some-“

“Harry.” You put your hand over his that was resting on the arm of the chair. “Relax, yeah? I’m all set, thank you.”

“Alright.” He blushes and looks straight ahead. You notice him check an app on his phone. “Are you free Tuesday morning?”

“I think so, why?”

“Weather’s looking good, how about we go on one of those longer hikes?”

“I’d like that.” You smile. “Anything special I’d need to back.”

“Just a lunch, maybe some T.P.”

“You’re funny if think I’m going to take a piss in the woods.”

“Everyone does it.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’d keep lookout for you.”

“You men have it so easy, you can just whip your things out, go quick, and you’re all set. Me, I’d have to roll my pants down, squat, hope none of it got on my shoes, wipe, and then get dressed again.”

“I’ve had to do that before, sometimes you just need to take a shit in the woods.” You burst out laughing at that. “Course that only happened because I went out drinking the night before.”

“Good to know.” You wipe a tear from your eye. “But seriously, I’d love to go hiking with you Tuesday.”

“I know it was more so Andy that invited you on our little camping trip, but you’re welcome to join in on that if you feel comfortable.”

“I would just feel like I’m intruding on your quality time.”

“You wouldn’t be, he likes you…um…I like you.” Your head snaps in his direction and your eyebrows shoot up. “I mean, like, I like hanging out with you, is all.” He was internally cringing at himself.

“I like hanging out with you too.” You swallow. “I’m glad we’ve gotten to know each other so well. You’ve been a great help with my classes. You’re so progressive, not always using the same syllabus and being willing to make things work for the students. It’s refreshing.”

“Please, go on, the narcissist within me is loving it.” He smirks and you roll your eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short, you’re doing really well. I enjoyed observing your rhetoric class. It was a nice refresher. I hope you won’t work yourself to much this summer. I know it’s more time for research and writing, but it’s also time for you to clear your head.”

“Thanks, I’ll try to keep that in mind.” You finish off your wine just as the sun it setting, the light from the candle being the only thing to keep things bright enough to see.

“I can, uh, bring you home now if you want.”

“I could just get an uber so you don’t have to go out again.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s no trouble.”

Harry drives you home, and you find yourself lingering in the car.

“So…Tuesday?”

“Tuesday.” He smiles. “Bright and early.”

“How early?” You raise an eyebrow.”

“How’s six sound? I’ll come pick you up, we’ll get to the trailhead by 6:30. It’s always better to summit earlier in the day.”

“You’re the expert.” You shrug. “Works for me.”

You both lean across the console to give each other a hug a goodbye, like you normally would, only this time…you press your lips to his cheek before getting out of the car. His gaze stays fixed on you, and it’s not until you’re inside your building where he lightly presses his fingers to his cheek to feel where you kissed him.

#harry styles #office neighbors #harry styles series #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #professor!harry #singledad!harry #professor!y/n

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

Text

Masquerade

Part 2 of Cozy’s Fluff-To-Angst Fun and Games

@loki-hargreeves said

Here's a fluffy-ish prompt for you,

Dancing together (anything between ballroom dancing or just dancing in the living room at 2am together) 💚

Summary: It didn’t have to be bad, Loki told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together.

He would be happy too.

Word Count: 1,659

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: I feel like if you’ve read any of my other stuff, you’ll know how my favorite trope is childhood friends to lovers. I thought I’d try a twist on that formula. Not sure if it worked, but here you go!

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: None? I think? It’s just Loki being lonely

Tags: @lucywrites02 @silver-lupines @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Loki had always loved dancing.

Alfheim balls were a little different from the ones he had grown up attending on Asgard, but the dancing was similar enough. It was a comfort, little scraps of familiarity floating in a frozen sea. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept up in the rhythm.

Rowan was radiant, as always. She laughed as she spun in his arms, the skirt of her dress flaring around her legs in a sparkling golden blur, and when he pulled her closer he found himself laughing too. It was impossible to resist—her smile was infectious.

His wife was a brilliant actress.

Loki hadn’t known what to expect from the arranged marriage laid before him. He had been granted only a month to attempt to straighten his thoughts before being sent away to Alfheim to meet his bride. It didn’t have to be bad, he told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together. Happy enough at least. He would be happy too.

And … he could almost feel happy here. Dancing. Drowning in the music. Letting the cacophony of the ballroom wash over him. The two of them swooped across the floor, so smooth they might have been flying, all eyes on them. It almost felt like the life he had always expected to lead.

It almost felt real.

Loki felt lightheaded. Before his wedding, he had never cared for Elven wine, but now he had been finding himself warming up to the drink a little more with each banquet. It made everything seem distant. He liked that.

Rowan twirled again. Her gown was silky green, swathed in gold—his colors, of course. She had been wearing something similar when he first arrived. Really, between the dress and her dark curls, she could have been mistaken for Loki’s sister. It was something Thor had been quick to point out, smacking his shoulder with a boisterous laugh as soon as they stepped off the Bifrost.

Loki missed that laugh. Everything here seemed too quiet. The highlight of his wedding feast had been watching his brother drunkenly frolic his way through the night, challenging men he didn’t know to duels over women he had just met, spilling wine all over himself when a pretty girl brushed up too close to him. His mother had been mortified, but Loki found it endlessly entertaining.

He had nearly cried the next morning, when he came down to bid his family farewell. He hid it, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a son of Odin bawling like a baby over a goodbye. He even managed a weak laugh, when Thor clapped him on the back and congratulated him for surviving his wedding night, although he was curious as to what his brother would say had he known Loki spent it on a couch.

But he really felt it rising, that frozen knot of panic in his throat, when his mother gave him one last embrace. He wondered if she could hear the frantic, childish plea he left unsaid.

Please don’t leave me here.

But as powerful as his mother was, she couldn’t read his mind, and so leave him they did.

He didn’t blame Rowan. He couldn’t—this was no more her fault than it was his. In fact, he had tremendous respect for her. The speech she had given him that night, when they returned to the apartment they were to share as husband and wife, had been straightforward and concise—perhaps a little rehearsed, but not so much that her conviction was unclear.

Still, it had startled him.

“I’ll be your wife. When I’m crowned Queen, you’ll be my Crown Prince. You and your realm will have the power and control you so desperately desire. But you won’t have me. You’ll never have me. Understand?”

Loki nodded. What was he supposed to do? Of all the scenarios he had run through his mind, over and over again until he could barely focus on anything else, he had never prepared for such an abrupt dismissal. When she disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door with a swish of her emerald gown, he could only stand there like the great gaping idiot he was.

She was swishing that gown now, as they circled the floor once more. She stretched her hand out to his, his hand grazing her waistline as they turned to the music. The crowd of nobles watching from the edges of the ballroom seemed to have drawn even tighter around them since he last looked. The muscles in Loki’s neck tensed, but he held his easy smile. He had learned to dance through these maskless masquerades, and he danced them quite well.

Rowan wasn’t bothered by all the eyes on her. She peered across the assembly, scanning the faces even as she fell back into his arms beaming. Loki didn’t even have to look up to know who she was searching for.

He had met him once. The Other Man. His name was Ari, and he worked in the royal stables. For banquets such as this, however, he was occasionally called in to aid the overworked staff. It was a station he had been born into, it seemed—his father had served as groom, his mother a kitchen maid. Ari had served alongside him as a stableboy in his youth. He and Princess Rowan had known each other since they were children.

Loki had met him when he discovered him lounging in the very rooms he shared with his wife. It was a rare occasion—usually Rowan was smart enough to keep her extramarital engagements outside of the palace—but it seemed that she had to step out for a moment and asked Ari to wait for her. They shared several minutes of stilted conversation. Loki tried to be polite, but the stablehand was clearly uninterested in friendship. They were both exceedingly relieved when Rowan returned to whisk her lover away. The foul-eyed smirk Ari shot at him as he left made Loki feel sick.

He thought about asking Rowan not to bring him back to their apartment. Surely that would be a fair request. If Thor had been in his position he would certainly have no qualms about making it. No, he’d demand that Rowan never do such a thing again.

But … Loki had never exactly been the demanding type. He didn’t want to be the demanding type. It was her life, her love, and he was the intruder from another planet butting in and turning it upside down. It didn’t bother him that she wanted to be with someone else. He wasn’t jealous. He didn’t want Rowan, not like that. He didn’t love her, and she certainly didn’t love him, and Loki was perfectly fine with that. He wanted her to be with Ari, if that was what brought her happiness. They both deserved to be happy.

But … he found himself thinking about them a lot. He had precious little else to do here, besides nod along in meetings where he had no real say and reread books that no longer offered him escape. Loki’s mind would drift off, and he’d wonder how they met, the princess and the stableboy. Maybe Rowan had been lonely as a child—after all, she had no siblings, and the Alfheim court held precious few her age. Maybe she had come to the stables to hide away from the weight of royalty. Loki had done that when he was little—hide in the stables, or the wine cellar, or anywhere safe and secluded where it felt like nobody was looking at him.

Maybe she had hidden in an empty stall, and Ari found her when he came into clean. He imagined Ari had been quite lonely too—there couldn’t be a lot of conversation to be had when one spends their days mucking after horses—and so when he came across the princess huddled in the corner, her silk skirt carefully tucked under her knees, he sat down next to her.

Loki imagined them talking, not about anything in particular, just bouncing from topic to topic the way children tend to do. Maybe Rowan brought up her favorite book. Maybe Ari showed her his favorite flower. It didn’t really matter. But Loki pictured them growing closer, meeting up in secret again and again, their endeavors growing wilder with their childish glee. He saw them sneaking away to the roof of the palace to watch the sunset and count the stars, laughing at the ant-like people scurrying by below as they snacked on stolen chocolates. He saw them creeping away to practice dancing in the moonlight, with nothing but the nightingale’s song to count their steps. He saw them slowly begin to look each other in a different light, nervous lips brushing against each other for the first time. He saw them hatch plans of escape—long, intricate schemes that called for stolen ships and falsified identities—before they came to their senses and realized such plans would never come to fruition. He saw himself enter their story and felt their loathing.

Loki wished he had that. That closeness, that bond. He wished he could talk to Rowan, really talk to her and trust her to listen. Not in a romantic sense, but as something else. Friends. Weren’t there stories like that, where the husband and wife in arranged marriages grew to have a friendship more powerful than anything romantic?

But somehow, Loki knew that to his wife, he’d only ever be the man trying to rip her from her beloved.

The music was reaching a close. Rowan pulled away in a graceful curtsey. Loki let her go with a bow. The crowd rippled with polite applause, devoted and empty as always. Loki kept his smile, blithe as can be.

His wife wasn’t the only brilliant actor in the room.

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki angst #loki x ofc #masquerade #cozys fluff-to-angst fun and games #cozy writes

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cloudofdarkness · 4 years

Text

Home (a hades/hyth/azem ficlet)

read it on my a03 as well!

And so in theory, if one were to augment their soul upon this crystal, one could use it to carry their spirit outside of their physical realm. The process, however, would be delicate, and the crystal cannot be cracked or shattered. An incomplete capsule marks for an incomplete soul capture. Therefore-

The ever predictable door slam shaking the apartment caused the focused researcher’s quill to just barely drag across his parchment, leaving annoying ink droplets for him to squint at in his already strained manner. He could predict once or twice a day when there was the usual passerby delivering his mail, or perhaps bearing a message, but this? This was an oddity, one he could never shake.

“Hades~! I come to you with the most wondrous of news! If you’re in the middle of something I implore you to put it down!” The voice practically sang, rushing over to his side and leaning against his desk. As always, their mint hair was frazzled and undone, nearly blanketing the mask that rested atop their head. He only hoped they had waited to remove it until they were inside, though it was very unlikely. They were always one to express their differences despite everyone else’s wandering eyes.

“Hallirothius, how many times must I tell you? That door is made of fine birch and coiled copper. Slamming it open as you do so often can wear it down and render it useless. It is not so easy to replace, you know.” Hades sighed, brushing a hand through his snowy white hair as he tried to ignore his companion’s gleamingly pale eyes attempting to win him over. He could try all he wanted to discipline them, but they would never hear it. They would always win with playful pleadings and those easy to get lost in eyes.

“Oh don’t you reprimand me using my full name~ your door will be perfectly fine! Besides, I’m the only one who treats it as such and-“ Halli paused, a small hooting noise interrupting their excuse and causing them to grow excited once more.

“Oh yes! What I meant to say was, take a look at this!”

And with a small flourish, Halli produced a small creature from under their robes, watching it flap its wings excitedly before perching on their extended arm.

“This is Olive! Hyth made her for me as a gift! He thought I could use the company during my studies~”

With arms held open dramatically, Halli leaned over to allow the other to get a look at the snowy white owl perching casually on their arm, seeming to not have a care about the fact that it had just previously been shoved into their coat.

“...Olive? You named an intelligent creature, one our people hail as a sign of great wisdom Olive?” Hades blinked in disbelief, watching the other raise a brow in intrigue.

“Why, of course I did, my dear Hades~! I couldn’t fairly think of anything more fitting for my study partner than my favorite studying treat!” A laugh escaped them, before they allowed the curious avian to flutter herself atop their head.

“At least it’s my own companion this time and not the Professor of Phytobiotics.’ Do you remember that one, Hades?”

Their continued laughter at the memory managed a small tug of a smile at the architect’s lips, noticing how the streetlights shining just outside reflected off of their pale hair, resembling that of gently wading sea foam against the soft ocean waves. He always thought their name quite fitting to their appearance: Hallirothius. Sea foam against the shore…

“Hades? Am I distracting you so terribly, you’ve given up the ability to respond?” Halli’s tone took on a smug demeanor, earning a gentle scoff from the other as they rounded his desk. They both knew Halli was able to identify the tiny spark that flared in Hades’ soul when he found himself musing about those close to him, it was a trait he wished neither Halli nor Hyth could see, but it was a small burden he’d live with if it meant the three of them were close.

The avian resting in Halli’s hair took to the upper floor of his loft, leaving the two alone for a moment as if she could read her owner’s mind.

“Mayhap I should make a habit of locking my doors, that you no longer intrude on my work?” He would never truly mean it, but it was always enough to inch a response out of his huffy companion. Earning a small sigh, he felt gentle arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, Halli’s hand reaching up to brush through his snowy hair.

“Oh but if you did, I would become so overwhelmed with boredom~! I would hardly know what to do without your presence~” Halli sighed, leaning ever closer to press a kiss to the top of the architect's head. They felt a small jolt against his robes, recognizing the small movement as a silent laugh. They knew Hades couldn’t resist their sweet pleadings, no matter how annoying they became.

“Then I suggest you provide me with my desired space while I work. Otherwise your days may grow lonely quite quickly.” He kept his tone nonetheless, but didn’t budge as the other remained leaning against him, forever trying to remind him that they were an annoying, yet comforting presence in his life.

It wasn’t until the avian had started hooting in what seemed to be delight that the other seemed to perk up, relieving the weight from the architect’s head and rounding his couch to catch her as she swooped down from the rafters.

“Something the matter, Ollie? Find a stray mouse in Hades’ attic? I always tell him he needs to remember to clean that old thing~” Halli teased, earning a groan from the other, much to their delight. Though the owl continued to hoot happily, bouncing around in the rafters until a polite knock was heard at the door, and to Olive, it only meant one thing. This caused the spritely amaurotine to throw open the door in excitement, earning a small gasp from the person standing out in the hall, and a tired “THE DOOR” from across the room. They half heartedly apologized, before turning to the visitor with a sunny grin.

“Hyth~! I’m so glad you’re here! I was trying to convince Hades to take a break from his work!! He can be such a wet blanket when he’s buried to the teeth in it!” They groaned, pulling the taller one across the threshold, nearly causing him to trip.

“That’s only because you tend to lollygag and we never get any work done, my dear.” Hades teasingly shot back, though the other two could tell it was through his teeth.

“Well...perhaps I could help? I just closed the Bureau for the day, I could-“ Hythlodaeus spoke up, before watching as Hades held up his hand to quiet him, earning a small sigh. They all knew that Convocation work was strictly for Convocation members, and even if Hythlodaeus had been elected as a candidate, they still wouldn’t allow outside help. It’s just how they were, fourteen members, held strong and proud. It was times like these when he could see Halli’s head dip low, and they would clasp their hands together in silence; a guilty look. He knew they oftentimes wondered why they were chosen. They’d accepted the offer way too quickly, they just wanted to be known for something. They wanted to help people.

But they didn’t care for work or politics like the rest of them. They couldn’t be Hyth.

Gently, Hythlodaeus ran a hand through their hair, assuring them that it was alright. Honestly, he didn’t mind his cozy little office at the Bureau. Being able to handle concepts and creations each and every day inspired him to create himself. Though he would never be as profound at it as his best friend, seeing what was being made often made him think about them. Even when they were apart, little things reminded them of each other. Their lives were alright.

“Well, if you won’t budge, I’m sure you won’t mind me using your kitchen? I can tell by the look in your eyes that you’ve yet to have a proper meal this evening~” he offered, causing Halli to laugh as they took his arm.

“You? In the kitchen? Please, I’ve already broken in Hades’ door, we don’t need to burn down his loft.” They teased, as they made their way to the nearly barren kitchen counter to consider a meal. The taller amaurotine quickly followed, nearly bumping into them as they came to an abrupt stop at the cooler. Halli carefully pried open the case, before looking in with absolute delight and scrambling to pull out a perfectly kept lobster platter. The pale eyed amaurotine was practically drooling.

“Oh yes, tonight’s dinner shall be exquisite.”

The preparation however, wasn’t without fault, as the two in the kitchen would often find themselves sidetracked with banter or teasing, and the occasional accompaniment of the curious owl swooping down to see what her owners were getting up to. If it weren’t for the architect’s reminders, they might have even burnt their meal, but thanks to his responsibility and Halli’s skill, they managed it, as they always did. It was what made them a perfect team.

After said meal, the two meal preppers found themselves lounging lazily on the leather sofa behind Hades; Olive having retired to the rafters, Halli burying themself in Hythlodaeus’ arms and Hythlodaeus doing his best to brush through the tangles in their hair. Hyth had started to sing familiar little melodies for them, but after a while, his singing grew quiet, and he fell into just brushing that soft bundle of hair. For the first time that night, Hades found himself sitting in a peaceful quiet. Though, it was odd...staring down at his documents, he almost preferred having the background noise of Halli shooting sassy remarks at him. Somehow, it helped him work better. It was times like these that he would recall in the future; moments that he wished would return to him in times of quiet. As time’s flow pushed ever on, he would hope for those familiar melodies, or that teasing voice to return.

It didn’t, never the same way, anyways. It was always slightly different. He would know them in hundreds of different ways, but it would never be them.

He gave in for the evening, the marble floor rumbling as his chair slid against it, and then back again as he tucked it away under his desk. The paperwork might go by a bit quicker with their help after all, he thought to himself.

As he turned to retire, leaving the two in their place on the sofa, he felt a gentle tug on his robes, turning back to see the smaller of the two grinning up to him tiredly, their pale eyes shining under the moonlight reflecting off of the glass paned windows.

“Set on sleeping alone this evening, love?” They mumbled, and the hand on his sleeve gently slipped down into his own, comfortably intertwining their fingers. Their hands were always so warm…

Hades smiled, his golden eyes welcoming them in response.

“You would abandon your friend’s comforting embrace for me?”

Halli smiled, and their taller companion shook with a gentle giggle.

“Far from it, my friend~ I had hoped to join as well, should you not find it crowded~”

The architect sighed, but there was a smile playing at his lips. It was always like this for such a long time, he thought it would never end. The way they fit together so perfectly, the three of them...you could hardly believe that they could lose each other in an instant. But greater forces would ever take hold of their lives, and play with them like puppets on a string.

Now, it was just him. Emet-Selch, and the hundreds upon thousands of imperfect fragments of those he once called home. Time and time again they would look into each other’s eyes and know one another, somehow, some way...but he was always a stranger to them.

Perhaps, he should’ve strove to be closer.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have drifted away.

#ffxiv #eden writes #final fantasy xiv #hades #emet selch #solus zos galvus #azem #hythlodaeus #azemet

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until-we-fall-in-love · 4 years

Text

Into the Hush: Chapter Two

-Chapter One-

-Into the Hush Masterlist-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, a little Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: It’s only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn’t anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters, a touch of it in this one.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: hey guys!! sorry for the wait on this, i’m just finishing up finals so i should have more time to write!! it got a little long, so i would love any feedback or comments you might have!! enjoy!!

***

Spring grows thick and unruly in the coming weeks, crops burst through the ground and unfurl their leaves to the sun. The days grow longer once more, the sun lingering on the horizon. It’s become warmer, too, slowly creeping into the beginning of summer. You start wearing lighter dresses, less layers, try to keep your hair off the back of your neck when you work.

Steve and Bucky have been helping you on the farm for the past few weeks. Despite your initial reluctance, they’ve done good work, helped you out a great deal. They listen to you respectfully, work hard, and treat you like an adult. Not a girl, not an Omega. It’s refreshing for once, it’s made you a little more friendly to them, in the least. They’re careful of your boundaries, they don’t near spaces that seem to be yours; your bedroom, the corner of the settee in the living room that’s got a cozy, knitted blanket curled around it and a pillow that smells of you, the loft in the barn that you like to read in, the spot by the creek where the grass is worn from you setting out a blanket to lounge there. They’re careful not to get too close to you unless you step near them first.

For awhile, they work in the new summer heat with their shirts on. But eventually, Steve sheds his when you’re off doing another chore, only for you to come back and see him and the broad, strong muscles of his chest and torso. Though you’d flushed and averted your eyes, you hadn’t said much, so he grew comfortable working that way.

Bucky was more reluctant, though, and he still kept a single glove on his left hand. He remained in long sleeves, even as the sun burned brighter. You never dared ask about it, but the curiosity did nibble at the back of your mind. You walked along the prairie grass with it, wondering what he was hiding, if anything at all. You meandered back to the farm after your lunch break by the creek and as if your mind was read—

You catch sight of Bucky shirtless.

He’s chopping wood beneath the sun, sweat on his brow, dampening his neck. Your eyes trace over his broad, bare shoulders, one of which is--

One is made of metal. It cuts silver, gleaming under the sun. It’s made of moving gears, which churn and rotate at the joints. Metal plating surrounds pipes inside of it but it moves like a normal arm. Like a small engine, a small machine attached to him, one with him.

It reminds you of all the new trains and factories in big cities; raw, open creations of machinery.

He picks his head up, notices you, and immediately goes still. You near him as if nothing is different, however you can smell the change in his scent-- the worrisome burst of pine that sharpens into the smell of winter, of metal. Is he nervous?

You are careful to keep your face neutral, your eyes away from his metal arm. You try to keep your features the same aloofness that you always hold with him and Steve, however you do glance into his eyes, dark and midnight blue.

And your voice is softer than you’d like it to be when you ask, “Do you want water? I’m going to get some.”

He blinks, as if he’s surprised by this, his face searching yours. You think maybe he inhales slow to grab your scent, to give him any clues as to what you’re feeling. You bristle a little, become suddenly self-conscious.

But he inclines his head, dips it a little lower, purposefully submissive or thankful, and his voice is rough and quiet when he responds, “Yes, please.”

You nod and quickly turn away from him to find Steve to ask the same question. Steve is in the stables usually by this time, taking care of Clover, and he’s been working on repairing the door, which nearly falls off its hinges. You step into the cool shade of it, Clover huffing as she sees you enter. You find Steve around the corner, fiddling with the hinges of the door once more.

He picks his head up when he sees you, straightening to his full height. There’s a flicker of surprise in his features, “You’re back from lunch early,” he says, a little too casually.

You only respond, “I’m going to the well to get water. Would you like some?”

Steve nods slowly, “Yes, ma’am. If it’s no trouble.” And then he fidgets, shifts from foot to foot, “I’ll ask Buck if he wants any, too—“

Steve moves to leave, but you speak up, “I already did.”

Steve pauses, “You saw him already?” And there’s a note of worry in his tone. His scent becomes thick with protectiveness suddenly, and he turns back to face you, his blue eyes shadowed slightly in the low light of the barn. Sunlight breaks in through the cracks of the wood, cuts across his face in a thin line, like a lightning strike.

You’re certain this protectiveness comes from Bucky’s arm, you’re sure others have been far less kind about it. And Steve, so loyal, is already ready to do anything for him.

“Yes,” You say calmly, look into his eyes and don’t back down from the squaring of his shoulders, “I’ve already seen him.”

With that, you turn on your heels, about to rush out, but Steve snags your wrist. You stop with a jolt, his grip tightening. He keeps you rooted in place and you round on him quickly, eyes blazing as you snap;

“Let me go.”

“Are you gonna rush in and tell your father?” Steve asks, and there’s a sternness to him, a hardness in his eyes that you know is unshakable. It’s all Alpha, the hard cut of his jaw as his teeth grind together, the pheromones that sharpen the air.

You blink, surprised. “About Bucky?”

He nods, slow, tight.

“No.” You say, “Why would I?”

You pull at your wrist again, irritated by his hold on you still, and this time he drops your wrist like it’s burned him.

“Not many have taken kindly to him because of his arm.” Steve says carefully, still eyeing you, the eyes of someone trying to discern if you’ll be a threat or not. “Most people think it’s an abomination.”

“The contraption is curious,” You admit, “It’s—“ You search for the right word, “It seems so modern, especially in this small town.”

“It is advanced, even for big city standards in America. A friend of mine had it made for him. He’s from a far more advanced country than ours.” Steve explains and he’s still eyeing your face, trying to discern your reaction, so you fight to keep it as neutral as possible.

“Does it move with him?” You ask tentatively.

“More or less. It struggles sometimes, slow, and the metal is heavy. The gears can overheat; sometimes it’s easier to go without it.”

You nod, eyes flickering away from Steve once more. You don’t dare ask it, but your mind wanders to how he might’ve lost his arm in the first place. There’s a pang from within your chest, a bruise that blossoms at the idea of Bucky in such pain. Perhaps you look upset, perhaps your scent has changed because when you glance back up, Steve’s imploring eyes on your face have softened.

“Confederates took him, while we were fighting in the Civil War. He was gone for weeks.” Steve says slowly, quietly, “Most thought he was dead but--” Steve shakes his head, tilts it a little, begs you to understand, “I couldn’t give up on him.”

You realize, faintly, that your heart has stopped ticking, your breath caught somewhere in your throat. You’re looking at Steve with wide eyes, unsure if you want to hear this story. Maybe not from Steve.

“Sam and I,” Steve continues and you know Sam, you’ve met him in town, too. Sam, who travels with Steve and Bucky, and the red-headed Alpha, Natasha. He’s friendly and warm and funny, smelling of amber and the warmth of a bonfire. “We went after him. We got him back. But he’d lost his arm and he was different after that.” Steve explains gently, as if this still twists at him, too. “He was changed.”

You don’t ask what they might’ve done to him. You don’t want to know, can feel the sinking, sick feeling slither low inside of you. Perhaps you don’t want to hear it from Steve, at least. And he doesn’t go on, he settles into a restless silence, fiddling with tools around him. You think he’s trying to keep his hands busy suddenly, trying to push the thoughts of his friend being captured away. But the shadows and darkness seem to grow larger for a moment, around him, around you.

You gnaw at your bottom lip until it’s raw, until you can focus on the cracks of light spilling through the barn rather than the reaching, tall shadows.

Before you leave to fetch water, your fingers twisting in your skirts, you pick your head up to find Steve’s eyes finally. And without quite knowing what you mean, but like your heart wants to spill over, you tell him;

“I’m glad you got him back.”

***

You drag tired and heavy feet up the stairs of your porch as the evening settles into the darkness of night. You’re exhausted, but warm with the flush of laughter from Wanda. You’d been racing in the forests, where the trees grow massive and towering, reaching up to the sky as if they might grasp the sun. You’d climbed the trees with her, too, scraped your palms and knees and laughed until your sides hurt when branches broke and you had to hold onto each other.

You’re tired, but you’re happy and sated. You’re about to hollar for your father, let him know you’re home and you’re gonna prepare warm water for a bath to sink into before tumbling into your bed for the night.

But something gives you pause.

The front door is slightly ajar, hanging there, creaking in the suddenly unsettling wind that whispers through the old wood of the house.

Your father would never leave the door open like that.

Your breath comes in quick and before you can rationally think, you rush forward and inside, shove the door nearly off its hinges as you half-expect to find Steve and Bucky in the entrance with your father once more.

You almost enter excited, excited to see them, to see him--

But when you burst through, you’re met with Rumlow’s scarred face, shrouded in writhing shadows. Your father sits at the dinner table, the candles at the table flickering and trying to fight off the darkness.

The fireplace is losing, the flames withering and dying into ash.

“Ah,” Rumlow says, turning to you, “There she is.” And the way he says it, makes ice slip down your spine and drop into you. You shiver, despite the warmth of the early summer night.

You look to your father, who looks pale and angry. He looks shaken.

You grow agitated, bristling, bunching up your shoulders as if you might make yourself somehow bigger. As if you could arch your back like a vicious cat, unsheathe claws and bare teeth.

“Mr. Rumlow.” You say coldly.

“We were just talking about you.” He muses in that raspy, hissing voice, like the sliding of a snake’s scales against stone. The rustling of brush before something lurches out to strike.

“Were you?” You ask flatly, lingering in the doorway. Your shadow spills out across the floor and towers over them.

He hums in affirmation, leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world. As if this house belongs to him. You want to force him out, snarl something nasty and make him leave. You feel invaded, seeing him stand in your home. With your vulnerable father. His rotting scent permeates the air, makes your nose wrinkle.

“Talking about how you’d make a fine wife.” He continues, eyeing you in a way that makes your heart suddenly drop like a stone in the deep pits of you. “A fine Omega for an Alpha.”

Your cheeks prickle with heat and for some foolish reason, embarrassment. Or perhaps it’s because you’re suddenly deeply uncomfortable. You stare with wide eyes shining in the last blaze of evening light.

Your father stands suddenly, even on his bad knee, leaning heavily onto the table but squaring his broad shoulders. “Rumlow, I told you she’s not much interested in marrying anytime soon.” He says, voice gravelly, like there’s a warning in it. A flash of his eyes that indicate another word from the other Alpha and there will be trouble. It’s too bold of your father, with his injured knee and age.

You brace yourself to fight Rumlow, to protect your father as his scent becomes almost choking with irritation.

“How forward of you, lettin’ her pick when that is.” Rumlow says slow and this time you feel the anger prick inside of you like a thorn, striking you so suddenly that you almost lurch forward to--

To do what, you don’t know.

But you grind through your teeth, “I think it’s time for you to leave.” And you aren’t being polite, you’re giving an order.

His eyes flash to you, bright in the darkness, a flame that’s suddenly sparked. Alphas like him aren’t used to taking orders, especially not from Omegas. He bares his teeth at you, steps forward and into your space. He tries to make you cower, growls like it might make you back down or bare your neck or lower your eyes submissively.

You know it’s what he wants.

But you bare your teeth back, tip your chin up.

“Get out.” You say lowly, feel the trace of your own growl around the edges. It’s rooted this time deep inside of you, not the light sounds you made with Wanda, but something guttural and raw. Like maybe you could roar if you tried.

“You’ve been given a little too much freedom, Omega.” He says into your face, glowering down at you with such horrible eyes. “And that won’t last forever.”

With that, he moves past you, and out the door. He slams it, let’s the sound rattle throughout the old house until you can feel it in your bones.

Your father falls back into the chair wearily.

You go to him, “Are you okay, Pa?”

He nods, a slow, drooping of his head. And then he picks his eyes up to look at you, to assess you. A rasping laugh falls from his lips as he then shakes his head slightly. His laughs turn into coughs.

“Christ, I thought you were gonna kill him where he stood.” He gets out.

A surprised laugh bubbles up and out of you, too, a bark of it, “I would’ve,” You joke, but a part of you thinks you would. For you, Pa, I would’ve, a quiet, overprotective part of you whispers.

“Be careful,” He says after a moment, as if he can see your bravery laid bare before his very eyes. As if he can see that fierceness in you. “Please,” He then says, “For your old man.”

You offer a wavering smile, feel another chill descend upon you, but nod your head and promise anyways, “Of course, Pa.”

***

That night, you dream of a meadow with a blank, grey sky. You can hear the summer cicadas, the high humming of them that sings in your bones. The air feels thick with tension, like there might be a storm approaching. Maybe there’s thunder in the distance, rumbling and soft.

But when you turn, it is your mother you see, sitting on the heather hills as if she was alive and well and as bright as ever.

“Ma,” You breathe and you walk towards her, pick up your skirts to walk faster. She smiles at you, her form shimmering in pearl and gold light. She looks healthy again. She looks remarkable.

“There’s my hellcat,” She smiles and opens her arms the way mother’s do, the way you have missed with every part of you. You rush forward and embrace her tightly. Hold her there even though it feels like trying to hold the wind.

She pushes the hair from your face and strokes your cheeks. Tears glimmer in your eyes.

“Ma, I miss you.” You whisper and she smiles sadly, as if she knows.

“I miss you, too.” She says, touching her forehead to yours, “But I have little time to speak with you, so let me speak.”

“You have to be careful.” She says before you can even respond and she squeezes her eyes shut, “Danger is coming.” She warns and her voice grows strange and faint and withering. Her form flickers.

You try to hold tighter to her, try to grasp at her so she doesn’t slide away from you again.

In the distance, someone moves. You look over her shoulder, at the horizon, where Bucky walks along a sloping hill. He’s framed against the sky, a peak of gold trying to burst free from the dense grayness. It falls over him in luminous rays. He’s shirtless, his metal arm cast in gold.

You flush darkly at his lack of clothes. Your mother turns to see him, which only furthers your blush.

“You need to trust him.” Your mother says as if it is gravely important to do so.

“I-I do.” You stammer.

She takes your face between her cold, dead hands again, “No, when the time comes, you need to trust him.” She repeats, holding you tight. “Don’t be stubborn. Don’t turn from him.”

You blink, mouth open, unsure of what to say but her form flickers again. And this time it begins to turn grey and mottled, too.

“Ma!” Your hands fly over her, too, now, desperate to try and keep her and--

And maggots begin to skitter from her mouth, suffocating any last words that she tries to give you. She begins choking, her skin now sagging and sloughing off, and you scream. You scream all hoarse and raw and untethered as you scramble away when maggots begin to rush after you, following as you shove yourself backwards.

You wake with tears in your eyes and your heart hammering, thinking the darkness only seems to get more and more lonely with each cursed dream.

The morning brings the light, but it seems faint and waning.

***

Your father catches Steve and Bucky in that red dawn, the sun hanging like a warning sign. You’ve already begun your chores, off in the fields.

Bucky looks at you all alone against the open sky, your silhouette against the darkened, vermilion hills that frame you. He thinks something inside of him is unthawing, awakening from that place in his chest that seemed so dormant and dulled for so many years. He feels newer, softer than he ever has before.

“I have a favor to ask you fellas.” Your father says slowly, drawing Bucky’s eyes away from you reluctantly, and to the man that rocks in his chair on the porch. It creaks softly, old and worn.

“Yessir?” Steve asks, respectful and expectant.

“Watch out for my daughter for me, will ya?” He says and there’s something in his voice that is thick and choked. It makes Bucky wary. He glances back out to you, so alone against that blazing sky, then to your father.

“With all due respect, sir,” Bucky starts, “I don’t think she needs us much.”

Your father shakes his head and when he meets Bucky’s eyes again, his eyes are glistening. There is real fear there, the hopeless kind, the horrible, overpowering kind that Bucky knows in the very basest part of him. The kind that is a hungry dog, howling and crying and begging.

It frightens him, too, Bucky thinks. Because it’s about you. Why is he scared for you?

“Rumlow stopped by last night.” He admits, his voice raspy and quiet. Bucky feels his shoulders raise instinctively, he can feel the surge of aggression at the simple mention of the other Alpha’s name. “Asked for my daughter’s hand.”

Bucky’s heart stops altogether now.

“I denied him.” And now he looks back up at Bucky again with those eyes, “But I don’t think he’s going to give up, you understand?”

His eyes are pleading, cloudy with age.

“I’m scared for her.” He tells them and his strong voice wavers.

Bucky feels his breath waver, too, feels the same fear creep through him like a serpent. It coils around his chest, right along his heart, and threatens to squeeze until he can’t breathe any longer. The idea of anything happening to you—

His teeth grind together. He blinks hard.

Steve speak for him, “We’ll watch out for her.” He says, earnest and like he means it. Bucky knows he does but it’s not the way Bucky feels. Steve cares for you, deep and sure and strong but Bucky, he— he feels half wild at the thought.

He thinks, for whatever reason, he’d do anything for you.

And your father nods, so Steve steps down from the porch to begin his own morning of work. Bucky lingers, wood creaking beneath his feet as he shifts. He doesn’t know why he stays, but he feels he has to. He releases a shuddering breath.

Your father seems to know why Bucky stands before him more than even he does. The elder man regards him evenly, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Like your father knows something the rest of the universe doesn’t, he says, “Take care of her.”

And Bucky nods, slow, certain.

“With my whole life, sir.” Bucky promises, feels it down to his marrow, his very being.

Your father releases a breath now, as if he can finally rest easy.

***

Summer takes hold quickly and the days grow longer, warmer. The sun is high and burning in the sky, white-gold and shimmering down in wavering heat. You finished your share of work this morning, which was significantly less with Bucky and Steve helping out. You’d slipped off to meet Wanda at the creek near your farm, wandered down the well-worn path you’d created over the years until the tall grass became sandy and speckled with smooth pebbles that catch in the high sun.

Wanda is already there, sitting beside the bubbling creek, the water shimmering under the light. It’s the clearest water you know of, crystalline, like beautiful glass. You’d built a small dam with some of the rocks some summers ago, captured a small, perfect pool of it.

Mountains surround the place, hide you away, shelter you against the rest of the world. The breeze is rich and sweet as peaches, honeyed and warm. Wanda lifts her fingers from the water, which drip and sparkle, cause little pools to ripple out from the surface.

“Took you long enough.” She teases with her lifted, lovely smirk. She begins undressing then, stripping her layers down and some days, she’ll leave her knickers and camisole on, but today she sheds those, too. Until she is bare beneath the sunlight, her auburn hair shimmering like a flame. There is, you think, something about Omegas in the spring and midsommar, brighter and opening like the petals of flowers. Her scent is thick, seductive and sweet and mysterious.

And then she wades into the creek, hissing at the coldness of the water, which come straight from the broad, high mountains that protect you.

You follow after her, quickly unlacing your dress, squirming out of it and dropping it in the sand. You strip until you are naked, too, until the heat is on your skin and you feel as if you can finally breathe without all of your clothes. Your feet on the bare earth, digging into the sand, the wind on your flushed skin. It’s freeing, makes you roll your shoulders back and smile.

You rush into the water, inhaling quickly with the sudden shock of the cold. You dive beneath the surface, though, dunk your head and hair and feel clarity, feel as bright and cool as this bubbling creek.

Wanda still stands in water up to her calves, her arms now wrapped around her midsection, shivering slightly.

“Chicken,” You call her, dipping low in the water so that it covers up to your shoulders. You swim to her, until you can stand and walk and you grab her wrist, haul her in as she squeals with laughter and fear.

“Don’t!” She laughs brightly, “I’ll come in on my own!”

You dig your heels into the pebbles and sand, pull harder and send you both backwards with a splash.

Wanda gasps when she resurfaces, startled by the cold, but she turns mischievous, auburn eyes on you. Then she splashes a large wave at your face, which splatters with another cold burst. But you laugh, too, and splash back.

You begin wrestling and climbing over each other then, throwing each other down into the water until your hearts are pounding and your eyes are shining and lively. Until, eventually, you crawl back onto the bank, lay out on the sand and in the sun to dry. Your toes are still in the water, brushing your feet through the pools, the sand soft beneath you. You’re both still bare, leisurely and comfortable in your privacy. Your chest is warmed by the sun, your stomach and ribs expanding wide and free with every breath. You think no one knows about your little oasis, you feel safe in your little area of comfort, in your corner of the world.

But then you hear voices on the sloping hills, heading towards the creek.

And you know those voices. You and Wanda both sit up so fast that your head spins and you see sunspots dance in your vision. You lock eyes, just as you hear Steve and Bucky’s voices carrying towards you, nearing you. Both your eyes go wide, before Wanda starts laughing, and you’re both up faster than you blink, running around in search of all of your missing garments.

Wanda won’t stop laughing at your predicament, and you’re hissing at her, telling her it isn’t funny, as you scramble to put on your bloomers, on your camisole at the least. Wanda can barely get her clothes rightened before they round down the last slope and find the pair of you, only in your underwear.

You try to hold up your dress to cover more of you.

Steve makes a startled noise and quickly looks upwards. You and Bucky lock eyes for a heart beat, a flash of heat suddenly striking you. A wildfire that sparks, catches, and jumps into a sudden flame inside the pits of you. The sun feels too warm on all your exposed skin.

A breeze rustles past him, sweeps his scent around you, which has grown muskier and darker. Your lips, shining and wet, part slightly.

He blinks and his eyes quickly drop to the ground.

“Sorry,” Steve says and you can tell his cheeks are pinkened, “We didn’t know anyone was down here.”

Wanda stifles her giggles behind her hand.

You clear your throat, feel heat at your neck and your cheeks. “Well, we didn’t know anyone knew about this place.” You get out as you scramble to get the rest of your clothes back on. Mortification overcomes you, bears down on you. You barely get your dress laced up.

“We can leave.” Steve suggests, but you roll your eyes.

“We’re fine, now.” You say, but your hair is damp and free from any braids or updos. You both still look improper, bare feet still in the sand and clothes disheveled.

Both men peak at you tentatively, as if you might be lying, before discovering you’re both fully dressed.

“We’ll be quick, then.” Steve suggests, moving to the clear, sparkling water. But they aren’t quick and the sun begins droop beneath the mountains. The sky is brilliant orange and spiced pink berry, lavender and creme clouds that linger in the high sky. It’s a dream, you think, as the evening begins to cool and Wanda’s bright laughter is in your ears and Steve is smiling and--

Bucky looks relaxed, for once.

He sits beside you on the bank, while Wanda wades in the water, hitching up her skirts to her knees. Steve leans against a nearby tree, watching, happy-eyed and gentle. There is contentment in this little oasis, guarded by the peaks and valleys of the land, contentment in your beings.

You can tell Bucky wants to speak, can feel his eyes on you. Silently, you dare him to, your eyes glittering in those final rays of sun.

So he says, gently, with the barest hint of a smile upon his lips, “You belong here, in this wilderness.”

You blink; at the fondness of his voice, at the observation or compliment or-- you don’t know what it is. But it warms you, settles inside of you. And you smile, too, wider than him, fiery little slip of a smile that seems to set his whole world aglow.

You smile unabashedly, and he smiles wider, too, like you’re teaching him how.

And you tip your face up to those jagged peaks of mountains and the bursting, colorful sky, at the running water, and trees that hang overhead. The wind brushes past your collarbones and you agree, “I do, I think.”

You turn to face him then, so suddenly that he almost pulls away. You’re closer than you thought, your noses nearly touching and his shoulder brushes against yours. The hard, metal one. It doesn’t scare you, even if he holds incredibly still.

You lean more into it, just to watch the breath tumble from him. Relieved.

“And where do you belong?” You ask him, tipping your chin up a little, a slight challenge, a glint in your clever eyes.

Bucky laughs, quick and short, just a burst. It’s rasping, small, like he needs to relearn the sound. It makes Steve’s head turn because he doesn’t know the last time he’s heard it.

“I don’t know.” He tells you but his eyes are sparkling, sapphire and heaven blue, as if he might find where he belongs in your eyes. “I don’t know anymore.”

“The wilderness welcomes all untempered and lost things.” You say with a smile, just before Wanda splashes over to you, grabs you by the hands and pulls you back up into the bubbling, joyful creek.

You kick around in it, the bottom of your skirts soaking through, even as you lift them to reveal ankles, the curve of your calves. And you keep looking back at him, smiling and tossing your head back to laugh.

Like you’re trying to show him what happiness looks like, what mischief and play looks like with your fox-quick and cunning remarks. Like you’re trying to show him how to shed the heavy weight off his shoulders.

But all he’s thinking about is how if he could, he’d keep you here, where you’re happiest, where you’re safest and warmest and most free. Where you can scream and shout and kick and the whole world doesn’t have to know, just you and him, the ones who love you, and that ferocious wilderness.

***

He dreams of you that night, in peach light, sugar sweet and soft. You lay him down in the lush grass, the birds sing overhead, flying in circles. Your head is crowned in a wreath of flowers, strung together and tangled into your very being. Your eyes are fever bright when you crawl atop him.

You’re bare and rose-damp, petals sticking to your skin. Your lips are bee-stung and pouting, your nails digging into his shoulders, “Bucky, it hurts.” You whimper, your hips sliding over his. And he can feel you, slick and wanting and aching--

He coos to you, touches your inflamed cheek, brushes a petal from your skin. He thinks you look like one of the old goddesses, when the land was free, his feral spring angel. Burning too bright, too hot. He knows what you need, what he can give you.

You shudder and your petals wilt and fall and flutter down around him. They rot, and fall apart. You grow pale in color to his eyes, waning before him.

You lean over him and you’re cold now, shaking, “Are you going to lead me into the cold?” You ask him, soft and shivering. You’re trying to warm yourself but he’s all ice and metal and winter.

No good for a summer child, for your wild-spring heart.

“Into death?” You ask, your lips turning blue. He tries to grasp at you, to keep you together. Begs you not to cry, even as your tears freeze to your cheek. But every touch that he gives worsens you, makes you sick and frigid and rotting.

“You told me to follow you!” You cry, “You took me away and I trusted you!”

“I-I’m sorry--”

Blooming, brilliant red suddenly slices across your neck. A cut, quick and small, but you--

You start dripping sizzling hot blood onto his bare chest, gagging, choking on your final words, “You were supposed to take care of me!”

He wakes with a start, a gasp. Nightmares are not new to him. But still, this one shudders through him, makes him curl tight to his pillow, bury his face there and wish he could find peace in the darkness once more.

***

The bonfire roars, dancing high into the plum evening. You sit between Wanda’s legs, leaning back against her chest, with her arms tight around you. You’re warmed by the flames, content on the quilt you’d brought. Natasha and Sam pass around moonshine in a jar, share it between Bucky and Steve and each other.

It’s not lost on you that you and Wanda are near the center, surrounded, guarded by the group of Alphas. But they’re in good spirits, and you are, too. An evening of leisure and talking and laughing. You like their kind eyes, you like their attention. You like the way the evening sky begins to bloom into darkened blue, peppering the sky with wonderful stars.

Which makes you jolt upright, right out of Wanda’s arms, stops her from combing through your hair. “It’s getting late.” You say suddenly, “I need to get home for my father.”

“I’ll take you back,” Bucky offers, offers his hands to help you stand. His metal one is ungloved, gleaming gold from the flames of the fire.

You take it easily, slide your hands into his and realize you don’t want to let go. “What about Wanda?” You ask, your fingers brushing his palms.

“I’ll take her home.” Natasha offers and you look to Wanda, who nods her acceptance as well. Wanda stands then, too. Brushes her cheek and lips to yours in a parting kiss before you are guided by Bucky to his own horse.

He hoists you up easily, even though you don’t need his help. His fingers digging into your waist, palms rough and soft on the curves of you. It makes you flush darkly, just as you tell him, “I don’t need your help.”

He hoists himself up now, too, settling behind you. He’s a strong presence, warm and sturdy. If you wanted, you could lean back into him, into his muscled chest and arms. You think about what he’d do-- if he’d fit you closer, let you rest while he carried you home. You feel tired, sated and exhausted in a good way. It’d be easy, so easy, to lean back into him.

Maybe if you were a different girl.

Regardless, his scent is strong and surrounding you now, pine and evergreen. The hint of metal and lower notes of musk and cotton. It’s a comfort, lulling and soft, whether you want to admit or not.

“I know,” He says, huffs a little, “Just trying to be a gentleman.”

He kicks his horse into a trot, easy and simple and in the direction of your farm. You’re careful to keep any distance that you can between you two, which is difficult, with his arms around you, holding the reigns. But you lean forward slightly, keep your hands in front of you.

“I’m not some damsel.” You counter, “I’m not some proper lady you need to be polite with.” You say as you glance back at him, over your shoulder and he’s right there. His nose could brush your cheek, you can see each of his lashes.

And the moment you’ve said those words, you realize how they might be taken. Heat overcomes you, burns through you.

“No?” He asks and his eyes have gotten darker, hypnotizing. You should turn back, face forward and try to get your heart to stop beating so hard and quick.

But you don’t and your eyes glance to his lips, the briefest flash, before you blink, and realize the way he’s looking down at you. Like he’s hungry and waiting, wolf’s eyes, raw and dangerous and ready to sink teeth into the vulnerable place of your neck that would forever then mark you as his.

Panic seizes through you and you quickly face forward, become hyper aware of the bareness of your throat to him. “No, and I’m not some Omega that’s gonna go all soft for you, either.” You snap, even as embarrassment floods through you, your cheeks and neck growing warm. Your shoulders raise defensively, as if you could keep him from all those bare, vulnerable parts of you.

Bucky cocks his head slightly, studies the back of your head, your defensive posture. He sighs and shakes his head slightly, the breath fanning onto your nape. He thinks of his dream, of you soft and crawling atop him. And to temper it, he quickly thinks of the rest, of the blood and rot of it all.

“Never said you were.” He gets out and it’s tight, unsure. He doesn’t know how to talk to you.

“Then don’t--” You start, slam your mouth shut, take in a sharp breath. “Don’t look at me like that.” You hush back and you look over your shoulder at him once more.

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he knows and he can smell the pungent flowery scent of you now. He ticks an eyebrow, suddenly curious, suddenly wishing he could just bury his nose in your hair. At your neck.

“You know what,” You hiss back, but for some reason your scent only gets more honeyed. It emboldens him, then, knowing that you’re not scared of him. Not at all. And it’s just you two and the soft trot of hooves upon the earth. All the world seems to be slipping into sleep, the night creatures stretching, shaking off their sleep to wake.

“No, I don’t.” Bucky says then, slow, measured, “Why don’t you tell me, honey?”

You bristle now, though, and even if there’s not a change in your scent, he knows he’s pushing it.

“I’m not your honey.” You tell him and there’s this little growl in your words, this little temper that really makes his blood pump hot and wild. Some part of him croons, some part of you does, too.

And he shouldn’t, he absolutely shouldn’t, but he murmurs all low, “But you smell just like it. Like flowers and honey and sticky citrus.”

Your stomach swoops low, dangerous and tantalizing. Your pupils have gone all wide, like little dark moons that he gets lost in for a moment before he looks back up at the horizon. You don’t know what to say, and he then asks, soft, unsure, “You want me to stop?” His hands tighten slightly on the reigns, the metal one moving slow, one finger at a time. “Say the word and I’ll shut it.” He tells you earnestly.

You blink again, unsure, dizzy. You know you shouldn’t continue, you know you should snap at him and you want to, but in some new and foreign way. You want to bare your teeth and growl, just not in anger anymore.

You want him to give chase, to work harder. He’s gotta earn this.

“No,” You say quietly, and the stars are twinkling down upon you now with all their inferno. And then you say with a little bit of bite, a challenge, “But it’s gonna take more than some pretty words, Barnes.”

A slight smile curls at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t know,” He muses now, feeling lighter than he has in ages, feeling like himself finally, “You seemed to like it plenty just now.”

Your elbow sharply jabs backwards, into his abdomen. He yelps slightly, which turns into this choked little laugh that sets your heart fluttering. That makes you laugh, too.

“Hellcat,” He laughs, hunching close to you, “Wild thing,” He calls you and you finally lean back into it, into that warmth of him,“Sly girl.” He murmurs and his arms settle around your hips more.

Your farm settles into sight, becoming larger with each moment until Bucky is helping you off his horse, setting you back onto your feet. He walks you to your door, hands respectfully behind his back, ducking his head to show you he’s done playing. And you’re about to turn around, maybe give him another feisty remark, when you notice the front door open once more.

You stop and Bucky nearly runs into you before he pauses and notices, too. He grows wary, his scent sharpening into metal and winter. Cold. Distant.

Something is wrong. You can feel it down into the horrible depths of you.

And you rush forward before you can think, rush right into the darkness. You shove open the door, let it fly so it slams against the door and the sight before you doesn’t quite register for a moment.

There’s blood; on the floor, on the walls, it’s everywhere, dripping like red oil on the old wood. It’s shining in that hollow moonlight, in the cold, empty starlight. Your eyes trace the trail of it, your heart dropping, stomach rolling painfully until they follow it to the source.

Your father sits in his chair in the kitchen, bent at an odd and horrible angle. His throat is slit, the cut opening up all the innards of his throat. He’s limp and pale and staring endlessly at you with wide eyes, with a wide, crooked mouth that gapes open. Slack and empty and lifeless.

You stutter, a scream bubbling, clawing its way from deep within your gut and into your throat. It starts as you stumble forward, into the blood, towards him like you might put him back together again.

But before a sound can even come out, a hand is wrapped tight around your mouth. Bucky’s body is shoved against yours, his other arm coming down hard and quick to band him to you, to drag you backwards.

“Don’t look,” He’s hissing into your ear, his fingers digging into your cheek, “Don’t look, don’t look, just shut your eyes!” But you’re sobbing behind his hand already and he knows you saw, he knows he didn’t spare you from that trauma. He hushes you quickly, sharply, dragging you backwards because he knows--

He knows who's here. He can feel it the same way he can feel a storm brewing.

He hauls you, kicking and fighting and sobbing and screaming in his arms back outside. “We need to go,” Bucky says to you, low and repeatedly, trying to get you to hear him through it all.

“C’mon, c’mon, I’m gonna get you out of here.” He says and he can feel the bone deep sobs of you, feel them splitting his heart, tearing it seamlessly. He can feel his voice getting choked, grinding his teeth together as he says, “I promise I’m gonna get you out of here.”

And the moment he does, a shadow slithers from somewhere in the house and into the doorway.

Rumlow’s face is illuminated with a cold cut of moonlight.

Your sobs turn into howling, into screeches of anger and violence and pain.

“Barnes,” Rumlow says, “I believe you’re taking what’s mine.” And he leisurely steps onto the porch. He’s covered in blood, your father’s blood, glinting crimson and black in the night.

Bucky’s eyes go cold and hard, his muscles tighten around you instinctively. But he says in your ear, hard and stern. A command, “Go to the horse. Get out of here. Get to Steve or Sam or Natasha.”

And then he shoves you in that direction, behind him. He stands between you and Rumlow and you can barely think, can barely get passed the way your body shudders and wracks with more sobs. You breathe hard, ragged, stumble slightly.

“Go!” Bucky shouts, jarring you, just as Rumlow pulls out a gun.

You scream again, hands flying to your mouth, just as Bucky rushes forward and collides with Rumlow’s stomach. A shot is fired into the air, loud and cracking and horrible. It misses, somewhere behind you, and then goes clattering onto the ground, skittering through the dirt.

Bucky and Rumlow start grappling, the violence of bare, raw fighting. Of bone to bone, until there’s the sickening crunch of metal on bone.

You hear it break something in Rumlow, hear him howl before getting a burst of anger, of strength, and shoving Bucky off of him, sending him tumbling hard into the earth.

You and Rumlow look at the gun at the same time. Then at each other.

You race for it, fast, nimble, desperate.

You slide in the dirt, grip it firm in your hand and take aim, fire quick just as Rumlow nears.

It clips his shoulder. The bang making your teeth sing. Your ears ring. Bucky hauls you up once more, drags you fast to the horse as Rumlow stumbles up, too. But he gets you on the horse, swings himself over, too and doesn’t wait to be situated when he kicks his horse into a gallop.

He presses on hard and fast, one arm banding tight around you, as if you might fall right off if he doesn’t hold you.

And he takes you from your farm, from the place you’ve grown up your whole life and leads you into the darkness.

Into the black of night, the shadows you’ve dreamed of, with your stomach sick and your throat shredded raw.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader insert #a/b/o verse #alpha/beta/omega au #omega reader #cowboy au

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

XX: Saeyoung's Route (Saeran)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Saeran never left (Y/N)'s side. As she slept, he tended to the machinery, monitoring her vitals and making sure she wasn't in any danger. He didn't allow himself to sleep and didn't allow himself to leave, denying all of Saeyoung's and Vanderwood's offers to watch (Y/N) as she rested.

The last time she trusted him to spend the night with her, he left in the morning. First thing.

Saeran wasn't about to make that mistake again.

"Sae...ran?" He heard a voice call from behind him.

The boy turned around in an instant, immediately smothering (Y/N) with attention and affection.

"You're up? Did you just wake up? How does your heart feel? Are you in any pain?" He asked, firing question after question at the poor girl. Only when he saw her struggling to respond did he slow down.

"Sorry," he said with his usual lazy grin. "Err, how do you feel?"

(Y/N) stared at him for a second, morning drowsiness still slowing her down a bit. "I feel..." She trailed off, before finding the words. "Good. Really good."

Saeran let out a sigh of relief when he saw her smile. He was terrified that the filter Vanderwood had found would be unsuccessful, that (Y/N) would have to live the rest of her life in agony because of that stupid injection.

"Does anything hurt?" Saeran inquired, brushing a stray strand of hair out of (Y/N)'s face. He sat down on the bed and bit his lip.

(Y/N) thought for a moment. "Actually...no. Nothing. For the first time I'm," She grinned at Saeran. "I'm feeling good."

The two of them smiled at each other, both elated at the news. At long last, the two of them were free.

Saeran's pain had stopped when he threw up, his body expelling the liquid without prompt. Now that he knew (Y/N) was no longer in pain...it made him feel like there was finally a chance for things to go back to normal. For them to be happy again.

The boy smiled. "I'll call Saeyoung."

***

The five of them sat across each other in the cabin, comfortably spaced out across two couches and a lounging chair.

(Y/N) and Saeyoung sat on one couch, the white-haired girl leaning her shoulder ever so slightly on Saeyoung, while Saeran and Vanderwood sat a couple of feet away from them. With the dim light streaming in from the evening sun, the image seemed almost cozy: Vanderwood was sipping a cup of coffee quietly, (Y/N) and Saeyoung were smiling at each other in a shy but secretive manner. V, for once, had his sunglasses off, his teal-blue strands of hair scattered messily across his forehead in a lazy fashion. Even Saeran, who would usually be found glaring at someone or scowling in a corner, had a strangely relaxed expression on his face, not quite a smile but still far from a frown.

"We should talk," Vanderwood finally broke the silence after a long moment, "About what we're going to do next."

V sighed. It was clear the man knew this was coming. "You're right," He began. "The Mint Eye is too dangerous to be left alone. From what (Y/N) has told us, it's only growing larger, and bolder as well."

Saeran bit his lip.

He understood the implications behind what V was suggesting.

And it seemed that Saeyoung did too.

"V, no." The redhead said, stiffening.

"We can't...we can't just walk away. Someone has to do something, and as it stands, we're likely the only people who have a chance." V said, taking a breath. "I sent MC back to the city. She'll meet up with Yoosung and Zen...and she'll probably live with Jaehee for the time being. It's too unsafe in Rika's apartment. Jumin will keep the three of them out of trouble, but...we can't just run away. We have to do something about the Mint Eye."

"All of us, is what you're saying?" Vanderwood asked, the question more of a statement than anything else.

Saeran clenched his fist. He watched as his brother placed a comforting hand over the (Y/N)'s trembling palm. He was surprised. Were they...involved? The notion didn't bother him much, comforting him as he realized that two people he cared most about would be protecting each other.

The pale boy pulled his gaze upward and looked at (Y/N). The Elixir had been removed from her system this morning, the machine taken out of her arm just hours ago. But her hair was still white, and the color was still sapped from her skin after so much forced consumption of the blue fluid. She already would never be able to forget her time in the Mint Eye—with the tattoo on her back and her eyes forever mint green.

The boy frowned, remembering how he had inflicted all that pain on her.

A familiar sensation of guilt bubbled in Saeran's stomach as he recalled the details of (Y/N)'s secondary commitment, and how cruel he had been to her afterward. He couldn't help but wonder: Is this...my chance to atone for everything I've done?

"We can't all go," Saeran blurted. "I've been thinking a lot about how to infiltrate the Mint Eye and take it down from the inside...but it's a plan that will require a lot of time. And only a few people. Five is too many for a delicate task like this."

"You sure you want to do this?" Vanderwood chuckled darkly, catching on to what Saeran was suggesting. The elder man acted nonchalant as he asked the question, but Saeran saw the slightly pained look in his eyes.

Despite never truly having talked before, Saeran realized that Vanderwood was more like him than he'd realized. He's probably done something like this before, too. Saeran looked at the brunette male and studied the expression the man was wearing. Does he regret it?

All signs pointed to yes: That Saeran's idea was a bad one, that he'd live his life regretting ever saying the following words.

But if Saeran could protect (Y/N) and his brother, nothing would stop him.

Even if it ruined him in the process.

Saeran took a breath in, his decision made. "We have to split up. Three of us infiltrate the Mint Eye. Two of us stay back. I already have a plan." He said, before adding, "And I already know which of us should go ahead."

"Saeran..." His brother whispered, catching on. But Saeran paid him no heed.

"Vanderwood, V, and me. The three of us will infiltrate and bring the Savior down. You...you two should go." He said. "You'd only be a burden." Saeran added the last part coldly, hoping that if he was rude, then (Y/N) and Saeyoung might be more willing to leave him.

But Saeyoung knew his brother too well to find offense in his words. "Saeran, I'm not leaving you again. We've been apart for half a fucking decade, you can't expect me to abandon you again!"

"Just for a short while, Saeyoung. I'll be back...soon. I need this. For closure. I can't live the rest of my life knowing that the Mint Eye is out there, lurking in the shadows."

"So let us help you!" Saeyoung continued, now standing. "I don't want to lose you again, Saeran, I won't—"

Saeyoung was silenced when Saeran and hugged him.

It was their second hug since reuniting, and perhaps the first hug Saeran had ever initiated with Saeyoung in all of his life. "I don't want to lose you, either," Saeran whispered into his brother's ear. "But that's why I'll come back. You need to stay, though. Not just for me or for you, but...for (Y/N)."

Saeran pulled back, unable to meet his brother's desperate eyes.

He had to do this.

"How long will it be?" Saeyoung murmured. "How long before you come back?"

Saeran looked away, not wanting to confess that the plan forming in his mind was one that would be long-term. "For this to work...for us to take the Mint Eye out forever, and never let it rise back up, we can't just go in and bomb everything. We have to take it out at its root, we have to—"

"How long, Saeran?" Saeyoung repeated, interrupting his brother's tangent.

"I have to regain Rika's trust." Saeran rambled on, unwilling to answer the question. "I need to attain a high role in the Mint Eye once more, and she needs to genuinely believe that I'm on her side, and—"

(Y/N) grabbed Saeran's arm, halting the boy's words with her touch.

"Saeran...how long?" She whispered.

Saeran took a deep breath in. "2 years. At the minimum."

The girl's mouth dropped open, shocked at the duration of this mission. Even Saeyoung looked mortified, never having been on a mission that lasted longer than two months.

Next to them, Vanderwood sighed. "The real missions are the ones that last this long. The Mint Eye has long been on the agency's list of targeted groups...If I eliminate the Mint Eye, it'll be as a job. I'll inform the boss that I've taken this as a mission. For me...it'll just be work. I'm guessing Saeran's already up to the task. But V, are you in or out? 2 years was a generous estimate; expect longer."

V didn't waste a moment in standing up and agreeing to the mission.

The three men glanced at each other and nodded their heads. Without having even discussed a plan, they were all in agreement.

"Saeyoung...I'll tell the agency that you're with me on this mission. I'm lying for you, so you need to be twice as careful. I want you to..." Vanderwood halted his statement and glanced at (Y/N). "I want you to take her and keep her safe. Stay in hiding. Assume everyone is an enemy. We don't know whether Rika will be looking for (Y/N) or not. Listen to me now: As your handler, this is the mission I'm assigning you until I return."

With that, Vanderwood turned and began walking into V's room. He didn't turn his head when Saeyoung protested. V soon followed, bidding (Y/N) and Saeyoung farewell, giving them car keys and a map to bring them back to the city.

Soon, all that was left were Saeran, Saeyoung, and (Y/N).

"I'll be back," Saeran said, confident. He couldn't possibly be sure if those words were the truth or not, but he wouldn't let his brother doubt him.

"You better," The redhead said, acting tough even though tears were forming in his eyes.

(Y/N) took a step forward and hugged Saeran, burying her face in his chest as he looked down at her. Slowly, he returned the embrace, finding comfort in the fact that once this was all over, he would be able to look her in the eye once more and not feel guilty.

"Go," he whispered. "The sun is setting."

They left the house slowly, taking as much time as possible, but Saeran didn't stay to watch. He wouldn't let them see his weakness. And so the two brothers are separated once more, Saeran thought bitterly.

Saeyoung would have to go back to being Luciel for the time being, while Saeran stayed with Vanderwood and V to take down the Mint Eye. Luciel...of all the names he could have picked, Saeran mused, chuckling at the thought as he approached the door Vanderwood and V were behind.

The moment he had heard the name, Saeran had searched for the definition. Both he and his brother were methodical, neither one of them doing anything at random. There was a reason behind the name 'Luciel', Saeran knew, and he grew obsessed with finding it.

When he learned that it meant the Light of God, the boy was unsurprised. Though he himself had stopped believing in the idea of there being a higher power, his brother clung to those values, his belief never faltering.

How fitting, Saeran thought with a soft smile, That Luciel, the light of God, has found an angel to love him.

Because that's what (Y/N) was.

An angel.

He smiled when he thought about the prospect of (Y/N) and Saeyoung being together.

Saeran had never found himself to be capable of love. After Saeyoung first abandoned him (though he now knew it was more complicated than just that), Saeran had so much hate in his heart that he resigned himself to never open it to love again.

(Y/N) changed that a little bit, but no matter how Saeran loved her, it would never be the passionate, romantic love that she deserved.

Saeyoung can give that to her, he realized, smiling. Everything she deserves, and more.

He opened the door, turning to V and Vanderwood. He would never forget the final thought that ran through his mind:

Even if I never return.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: wHy dO sCHoOls MaKE iT iMpoSsiBLe tO gET sLEeP i jUsT wANt tO gET eiGHt cOnSeCUtiVE hOUrS iS tHaT so MuCH tO aSk fOR

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Next Update: 03/16/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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silver-lily-louise · 5 years

Text

A Whole New World - a Shadowhunters fanfic

Chapter Five - Let Your Heart Decide

Summary: Alec doesn’t want to hold Magnus back. Magnus doesn’t want to throw Alec’s normal life up in the air. Alec makes his final wish.

A/N: The final chapter!!! We made it, guys. Thank you so much to everyone who’s been leaving lovely comments/tags along the way, it’s been a joy! I hope you enjoy the wrap-up. <3 (As usual, the titles are from Aladdin.)

Read it from the beginning on AO3 Chapter Five on AO3, or alternatively, keep reading!

~oOo~

Alec folds his arms over his chest, holding still; tossing and turning wasn’t helping him drift off any faster, so maybe this will work instead. But the gentle pressure just reminds him of earlier – of Magnus’ hands, arms, chest holding him upright but by no means steady. Of being so close, and wanting nothing more than to close the rest of the distance and kiss him. He shuts his eyes, but there’s barely any difference. There’s no pesky ray of moonlight peeping in, no noise besides the familiar hum of the city he can no longer sleep without. It’s his own thoughts, his own foolish wants, keeping him awake.

Tomorrow, he’s going to make his final wish. He’s going to let Magnus move on, and try to return to his own normal life. And hey, he’s got his work, he’s got his family nearby – there are plenty of things to distract and ground him, to help him pretend that these last few weeks have just been a strange dream; exhilarating, but fleeting, and not to be mourned for that.

He groans, giving up and turning onto his side again, feeling his face smoosh up against the thin pillow. The problem is, this time with Magnus hasn’t felt like a dream. It’s felt more real than anything Alec’s ever known. It’s never been perilous enough to be exhilarating, and he doesn’t want it to be fleeting – instead, it’s been comfortable, quietly and steadily joyous, and he thinks he might want it forever.

That word snaps him out of his reverie, and he opens his eyes to the darkness in a kind of shock, before frowning at himself. Forever. For God’s sake, he’s known Magnus less than a month – it’s ridiculous to feel so attached already. Not to mention that Magnus is a genie, a fucking magical entity who’s lived for centuries, and so to him, forever means something entirely different. Alec’s never thought of himself as self-deprecating – though he knows Izzy disagrees with him on that – but he’s aware of his limits, and nothing makes him feel quite as limited as comparing himself to the kind of life that Magnus is used to. The kind that such a generous, brilliant man deserves.

So tomorrow, he’s going to make his third wish, and then say goodbye. Now, all he has to do is think of something else he wants, besides what he knows it would be too selfish of him to ask for.

It’s a while before he manages to fall asleep, and if he could muster the will to care about anything his head has to say, drowned out as it is by the petulant demands of his heart, he’d bemoan how tired he’s going to be at work tomorrow. He dreams of a magic carpet ride, of warm smiles and golden eyes and arms wrapped snugly around his waist, holding him safe. When he wakes up to a gently scathing alarm a few hours later, he’ll almost manage to convince himself that it doesn’t mean anything, simply because it can’t.

***

Magnus throws his head back against the chaise longue, staring up unseeingly at the highest shelves, barely noticing when the book tumbles from his fingers. He’s finished Les Mis, finally, but he’s barely seventy pages into Doctor Zhivago and he doesn’t know what he was thinking choosing it as his next literary conquest. Trying to keep track of such an infamously confusing story would be difficult at the best of times – let alone when he’s moping around like a lovesick teenager, lounging in his lamp’s library because it was too frustrating to lie in his opulent four-poster bed and gain no comfort, no rest from the perfectly temperate silk embrace.

He sighs, and if he wasn’t feeling so low he’d laugh at the dramatics of it all. He wants to go back and use only his magic to catch Alexander, to spare himself from the feeling of what he wanted being right there and yet so far out of reach. Better yet, he wants to go back thirty years, to when he misplaced the lid of his lamp for the seventeenth time that month, decided enough was enough, and sealed it in place; because if he could just change that decision, he wouldn’t have gotten stuck, wouldn’t have ended up offering a handsome, kind mortal three wishes and accidentally throwing in a piece of his heart as part of the deal.

He shuts his eyes, a little overwhelmed by the current toll on his willpower – because as much as he tells himself that he wishes he could change the past and avoid this situation, he knows it isn’t true. What he actually wants is to leave the lamp right this second, march over to Alexander’s bedroom, and declare that he’s never met anyone like him. That he’s never felt such connection to someone else, something that feels so immense even in its beginning – because he wants this to be a beginning, he wants to confess his feelings and trade silk sheets for soft-worn cotton, four posts for a pair of strong arms and gentle archer’s hands. He wants to conjure roses and day lilies and give them to Alexander as tokens of his affection, because Magnus has always been a hopeless romantic at his core and because Alexander is so beautiful when he’s flustered.

But although he’s a fool, Magnus is not an idiot, and calm resignation is stronger than his unattainable hopes. If his eight centuries have taught him anything, it’s that no matter how much of the world his powers can grant him, there will always be some things that he just can’t have.

***

Alec has decided on his final wish, and rationally, he knows it’s a good one. If Magnus can help sway his landlord’s opinion into something a little more pet-friendly, Alec can finally get the puppy he’s been dreaming of adopting ever since he was a kid. It’s something for him, like Magnus suggested, and it’s something he’d never be able to get without Magnus’ help, so it’s not like he’s wasting this once- (or, more accurately, thrice-) in-a-lifetime opportunity. It’s a good wish. It’s also the complete opposite of what he wants, because making it means that Magnus will leave again.

He opens the door, false smile plastered on as he turns to the living room, where he usually finds Magnus at this time of the day. It’s empty.

The smile falls, and Alec curses the lump in his throat because this is ridiculous. He’s lived alone for a good few years now, and Magnus has only been here a matter of weeks. Coming home to an empty apartment is the norm, for God’s sake, and it’s one he’d better get used to again because he’s here to make his wish, and Magnus is going to leave.

Unless you ask him to stay, whispers a traitorous voice in his head, and he shuts his eyes because he can’t, he can’t make a request so selfish – Except… he can. Wasn’t this exactly what Magnus suggested for his final wish? To make it something Alec truly wanted for himself, as much as he wanted happiness for Izzy and his mom in the previous two wishes? Alec’s heart starts thundering in his chest, because suddenly, he knows – not only can he do this, he has to. He knows he can’t bear to let this – this something, whatever it is, just pass him by. If he doesn’t at least ask, he’ll never forgive himself.

He goes to his bedroom, making a plan in his head as he tries to find something nice to wear, something that says I made an effort for you because you mean something to me. Go big or go home, right? Granted, that’s usually Jace’s motto, not Alec’s – but considering that Jace is happily married and Alec’s currently pining after someone he may never see again, maybe he could use a little of that spirit tonight.

He ventures back out into the living room, running over what he’s going to say in his head. He can’t just ask outright, can’t just make this his third wish and be done with it – he has to know that Magnus wants to stay as much as Alec wants him to. So instead, he’s going to give him a choice, and pray that Magnus feels the same way. He clears his throat, faces the lamp, and speaks before he has a chance to chicken out. ‘Magnus, do you have a minute? I’m ready to make my last wish.’

***

Alexander's voice echoes in the high ceilings of his otherwise cozy study, and Magnus looks up from the list he was compiling. He needs options for where to go next, once he leaves New York; so far, he’s settled on Rome, Tokyo, and Lapland. All bright distraction, tourist traps and beautiful culture and ways to lose time. All thoroughly unappealing, now that they're suddenly imminent. He stands with a sigh, mustering a smile as he closes his eyes and allows himself to drift out of the lamp's spout.

When he rematerializes, he blinks in surprise. Alexander usually favours sweaters, polo shirts and jeans, both for relaxing at home and for working in his fairly casual office. This sharp, smart combination of a crisp button-down shirt and a blazer is new, and he looks - Magnus cuts himself off before he can follow that train of thought into dangerous territory. 'Some sort of special occasion today?' he asks, gesturing at the outfit. 'Did the Mayor stop by the office, perhaps?' Alexander's cheeks turn just the tiniest bit pink, and Magnus is really going to miss talking to someone who's so easily affected by simple conversation. 'Not quite,' he says. 'I just... had a meeting I wanted to make an effort for.'

'Ah, of course.' Magnus' good humour dissipates a little, though he tries to hide it, because there's nothing left to do but ask. 'So - your final wish. You've decided?' Alexander nods. He looks a little nervous, and Magnus braces himself for what may be a more difficult request than the previous two wishes.

What he isn't expecting is for Alexander to set his shoulders in determination, and say, 'For my third wish, you have a choice.'

Magnus stares at him for a moment. ‘I have a choice?' A small chuckle escapes him, and he hopes it doesn't sound too bittersweet. 'You continue to surprise me, Alexander. All right, then.' He puts on a mock-serious expression, letting pomp and circumstance infuse his tone. 'Tell me – what devious conundrum lies ahead of me, good sir?' Alexander gives a brief (and, if Magnus is honest with himself, not wholly deserved) smile at the moment of levity. 'Okay. For my last wish, I’d like one of the following, and it's completely up to you which one you grant. Option one is a jasmine plant that will never wither.' He hesitates a moment, before continuing resolutely. 'Or, option two… let me buy you dinner. Tonight.'

It's a few seconds before Magnus realises that his mouth is hanging open, and a good few more before he remembers how to use it. 'You mean...' Oh. He's an even bigger fool than he thought. Because suddenly, it all makes sense – the blushing, and the nice jacket, and the tension yesterday when they were standing so damn close -

Alexander's nervousness is starting to give way to a gentle panic, and Magnus realises that he hasn't actually given an answer yet. He raises a hand to forestall any babbling, because Alexander looks like he's on the verge of one of his (usually unnecessary, but also unfairly adorable) I'm sorry, it's stupid, forget it tirades. One particular thought from last night sparks in Magnus’ mind again, and he smiles slyly as his eyes catch on Alexander's top buttonhole. He gently twirls his wrist, and a short, delicate stem sprouts into existence, budding at the top and unfurling slightly into a small red rose. He steps forward, tucking it into the buttonhole, and his smile widens as he meets Alexander's gaze. 'Option two. Definitely option two.'

Alexander's eyes flick down to the rose briefly – or perhaps to where Magnus' hand is lightly but unabashedly lingering on his lapel – and he barks out a short, surprised laugh. 'Seriously?' he says, in response to Magnus' questioning look. 'I ask you for a date or a plant, and you say yes to the date by conjuring a plant?' He laughs again, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. 'I thought you were going to say no!' Magnus winces a little in amused embarrassment, but you don't live as long as he has without learning how to recover quickly from social slips. 'I'm sorry,' he says smoothly, one finger trailing over the silky rose petals. 'I'm not normally so distracted. It usually only happens right after I've been asked out by someone singularly attractive.' His eyes dart back up to meet Alexander's, and when he sees the flustered mirth reflected there, every reason he previously thought of to leave New York seems to evaporate into nothingness.

Alexander proffers his arm. 'Well,' he says, his voice low and soft. 'Shall we get going, then?' Magnus loops his own arm through Alexander’s, and flashes his most dazzling grin in sheer joy. 'Your wish is my command.'

***

Six months later, Alec finds himself at the Oddities display once more, while Pat’s bustling around with the clothing. ‘Hey, Underhill,’ he calls, ‘do we want the imitation Fabergés out yet, or do we wait another week?’ ‘I’d say go for it. The chocolate bunnies have been out in the grocery stores for nearly a month already.’

It’s fairly slow, especially for a Saturday afternoon just before closing time, and the three of them are taking the opportunity to reshuffle the stock. Alec’s been volunteering at the thrift shop since New Year’s – it’s a total change of pace from his nine-to-five, and it’s fast becoming a highlight of each week.

At the brief, informal interview – conducted by the cashier who sold him the lamp, who introduced himself as Andrew, but everyone just calls me Underhill – he’d been asked why he wanted to volunteer, and he’d smiled. ‘You remember that old lamp I bought? Well, it wasn’t exactly like Aladdin, but it definitely brought me some good fortune. I wanted to pay it back a little, like you said.’

And speaking of that good fortune – the bell on the door chimes merrily as Magnus waltzes into the shop, his disguised eyes meeting Alec’s with a surreptitious flash of gold. Alec smiles, walking over to plant a brief kiss on Magnus’ cheek. ‘Hey.’ ‘Hey. I know I’m a little early, but I thought I’d see how you were doing.’ He glances around the shop, raising an eyebrow. ‘Though if I’d known you were so swamped, I might have decided against it.’ Alec rolls his eyes fondly. ‘We’re nearly done for the day, then I’m all yours.’ Magnus smirks, and opens his mouth – likely to comment on the I’m all yours part of that sentence – but Underhill interrupts. ‘You guys can get out of here, if you want. Pat and I can finish up on our own.’ ‘Are you sure?’ Underhill gestures to the empty aisles. ‘He has a point. It’s totally dead, and I doubt we’ll be overrun in the last ten minutes of business.’ He nods towards the door, smiling. ‘Go enjoy your anniversary. See you next week.’

Alec barely has time to thank him before he’s being practically pulled out of the door, laughing. ‘Someone’s eager,’ he says, and Magnus turns to shoot him a grin. His silver tortoise pin – a Christmas present from Alec – glints against his burgundy cravat, the bright blue gemstones catching the late golden sunlight. ‘Where are we going?’ Alec asks, pulling his hand from Magnus’ to wrap his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders instead.

Magnus meets his gaze, a hint of mischief in his expression. ‘Well, in honour of our first date, I thought I’d give you a choice.’ Alec chuckles. ‘Oh? And what would that choice be?’ ‘Well, option one is Tokyo. I thought we could revisit that sushi place…’

Alec listens contentedly as Magnus rambles on, extolling the many virtues (and some of the vices) that Tokyo and Rome each have to offer. There’s an early spring chill in the air, but Magnus is warm against his side as they walk in comfortable rhythm, and the low flurry of his excitement feels like sunlight on Alec’s skin.

He listens, but a part of his mind drifts back to six months ago – and he thanks his lucky stars that he took this chance, that he didn’t just let this go. Because now he gets to be in love with this amazing, kind, golden-eyed magician, and by some miracle, Magnus loves him back.

It’s even better than he could have wished for.

~oOo~

#malec #malec fanfic #malec au #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #shtv #shs #genie!magnus #mine #ALSO this is now my longest shs fic to date #beating out 'Back to Each Other' by like 2k #this chapter took quite a bit more effort than the previous ones but i'm happy with the result #please let me know what you think!!

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bunny-wk-fanfic · 5 years

Note

Hey! Hey, now that your back. could you possibly do a continuation of that Castlevania piece, the one where Kagame saved Lisa and meets the fam? That would be really awesome, and perhaps some fluff between Kagame and Alucard?

I apologize for the long wait, here is your request.

It’s been some time since Kagome arrived and saved Lisa, her and her family happily accepting her into their home when she mentioned that she had nowhere to go. And she had looked, with Dracula’s extensive library, Kagome looked up all she could on Japan, even the books and scrolls he had on myths and legends. There were no mentions of the Shikon, Sesshoumaru and his family, nothing more than the standard encyclopedia of youkai and more popular legends.

There had been a laying down of ground rules though, neither she nor Lisa were allowed to leave the castle alone. She had defied the church their burning of Lisa, a supposed witch, so they both were more or less on their shit list. Even if she had done away with Naraku before their eyes in what appeared to be more or less ‘angel vs demon’ style.

“Ah, there you are.” Adrian’s voice echoed to where she lounged in a more cozy part of the castle’s library, reading a lovely romance story.

Head lolling to the side, she watched him approach from her upside-down position, easily picking up on his amused expression. “Oh? Was I missed?” she allowed the book to drop to her stomach.

A brow was raised as he stood just to the side. “How is that possibly comfortable?”

Attempting a shrug, Kagome smiled up at him. “Just needed a change in perspective.” she will admit, that it was perhaps not the best to lounge in such a way while wearing a dress. “Been getting a little, stir crazy.”

“Stir crazy?” he carefully picked up the book, marking her page properly, and setting it on a nearby table.

“Yeah, also known as cabin fever.” she watched him as he carefully moved her legs from over the back of the couch to rest along the plush cushion instead. Blinking when he easily lifted her and placed her shoulders in his lap. “It’s from being cooped up inside for too long.”

Cool fingers gently combed through her hair, undoing any tangles that her lounging might have caused. “It is a precaution that my sire set up for the safety of both you and my mother.”

“I can understand that, but, I might end up losing my mind if I have to stay inside for any much longer.” a sigh escaped her when his fingers then began to massage her scalp, his nails adding just the right amount of pressure to leave a pleasant tingling sensation to run down her spine. “I wouldn’t be against a chaperon if that’s what it takes right now.”

Adrian hummed as he continued to play with her hair. Both were content with the comfortable silence. He paused when she shifted, stretching to retrieve her book and continue reading it. “What caught your interest this time?”

“Tristan and Isolde.” she smiled at his amused chuckle. “Something against my choice of reading material?”

“Not at all. It happens to be one of my mother’s favorites.” golden eyes slanted down to her as he leaned back. “Why are women drawn to such?”

“What, romantic stories?” she lowered the book again, smiling up at him when he nodded his head. “I don’t know, honestly. Perhaps reading the idea of a couple that are willing to move mountains for one another gives us hope that we can achieve such a relationship for ourselves.”

“You do know that she marries his adoptive father and in most renderings, and that they both die.” he smirked at her pout, catching the book when she went to give him a swat.

“Brat!” tugging on the book in an attempt to free it from his grasp, Kagome flailed a little on the sofa. “I already know that! No need to remind me!”

With a quick tug, the book was removed from her hold and placed on a side table. “Did you just call me a brat?”

“Yes! Now give me back my book!” her attempts to sit up and get the book back were thwarted at every move by Adrian. His longer limbs and strength easily out did her every attempt.

“Oh, let me go and give me the book back!” chest heaving, she narrowed her gaze up at him, back arching slightly as she was now resting across his lap with her wrists held captive in one of his hands while the other kept her on the sofa by holding onto her hip.

“I think not.” a brow was raised as he smirked at her. “Why not simply free yourself.”

Lips pouting, she turned away as best she could with a huff. “That would be cheating.” the whole Tepes family quickly became aware of her gifts when Lisa was having trouble healing after being saved from the pyre.

“So this a game now, is it?” his smile grew at the scowl Kagome sent him, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Stop twisting the situation and let me read the book!” she tugged at her hands, legs kicking slightly, her struggle now on freeing herself.

From not too far away, Dracula and Lisa observed the two. “They’ve grown close.” Dracula held her close to him, needing a near constant reminder that she was still alive and well since Kagome saved her from her near death.

“I think they make a beautiful couple.” Lisa’s comment had Dracula raising a brow down at his wife. “She does not care what he is, nor the wealth that comes with being your heir. She cares for Adrian as his own person.”

“In other words, she reminds you of you.” he leaned down to nuzzle her temple, smiling at the memory of their first meeting. “Only she did not barge into my home, demanding free use of my library for the betterment of mankind. Rudely I might add.”

A light blush dusted her cheeks. “How else was I to get your attention?”

Chuckling, he weaved his fingers through her short hair, one of the few reminders of her recent trauma. If it were not for Kagome’s sudden appearance, he knew that Lisa would not have survived the ordeal, and there was no knowing how he would react. Not exactly. It was only by their hands, that stayed his immediate need to go out and destroy the city that would have made a spectacle of his wife’s death.

Turning his gaze back to where Adrian and Kagome continued to talk, Kagome once again more comfortable and free of Adrian’s teasing, he promised himself that he would not remain idle either. Kagome’s words may have eased his anger at the people of the city, but he still had a deep need to punish those that were active in the violence against his wife.

Lisa shifted, wrapping her arms around his waist as she smiled down at the two. For now, she needed him more, but soon, he would punish those responsible.

#prompts #fanfiction #crossover #shows #Castlevania #Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes #Alucard #Kagome Higurashi #Dracula #Lisa Tepes

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rumbelleshowdown · 5 years

Text

Of Haircuts and Awkward Breakfast Conversation

Author: Moody Orange Prompt: autumn, get away Group: D

Belle ordered the french toast. Side of bacon. Iced tea—but only because the waitress warned her that the tea bags hadn’t been cycled through for actual, literal years.

She opened her current paperback and settled into wait when the door opened.

Not minding the distraction (she had read this one before; the mystery lost, the enjoyment ever increasing), she looked up and saw Mr. Gold. Her hands tightened on the binding.

Landowner, business man, cool-as-a-glacier Mr. Gold.

With a haircut.

What used to be a curtain of faded brown was now short and sleek; his back to her, his dark coat a void against the silver, which was more pronounced than ever before. He gleaned in the light of the diner, there by the register.

She could see the back of his neck now, too. What an ordinary thing. She wondered if he was cold; he wasn’t wearing a scarf and the autumn air was growing more and more biting by the day.

“You’re staring, Miss French.”

Quite rudely too.

Gold turned his head so he was in profile, not looking at her, but making it clear he knew she was there, that she had his attention. He looked sharper somehow, like someone had taken a file to him as well as scissors.

It was just a change. A small one, even, for all that Gold now looked like how a man in a suit was supposed to. Why, then, was that thought accompanied with such disappointment?

“I’m thinking of lost opportunities,” she said finally.

He turned to face her fully, eyebrow raised in question. Now that she was looking at him head on, she could admit it suited him. He was handsome despite himself, wearing a scowl and waiting for his coffee.

“Would you like to join me?” She asked. “You might not find a seat otherwise.”

Gold spared a glance for the empty diner, only a handful of other tables occupied.

“Yes,” he drawled, “all these filled seats.”

“C’mon, let me buy you breakfast.”

He opened his mouth to decline—and at least it looked like he’d do so politely—when the waitress came out from the kitchen.

“Mr. Gold,” she greeted, “just put a pot on to brew. It’ll be a few minutes.”

He frowned, but didn’t say anything as she walked away to take the plate she was carrying to a table.

“The sooner you put an order in, the less awkward it’ll be that I get mine first,” Belle tried again.

His eyes slid back over, dark and—was that amusement? Holding his attention at all was heady, but having his amusement was something else altogether.

“You’re the sort of person to eat in front of someone else?” he tsked. “That’s hardly proper etiquette.”

“For you, Mr. Gold? Undoubtedly.”

His lip twitched. Belle wouldn't consider it a victory until he gave her a full smile.

“What’s on your mind, dear?”

“I already told you.”

Gold’s finger tapped the counter next to him. “Perhaps this is a conversation best had at my shop.”

“Would you rather order to go?” Belle asked, willfully obtuse. “I just got comfortable but I don’t mind moving.”

He continued tap-tap-tapping, gaze steady.

“You’re staring, Mr. Gold.”

He said nothing.

Belle sighed. Fine. “I want to have a friendly meal with you. If you don’t like it I won’t make you do it again.”

If he were less of a gentlemen Belle figured he’d roll his eyes. “You’re paying, hm?”

Belle didn’t hide her smile. She felt downright giddy as she watched him slide into the booth opposite her, back to the door.

He was close enough that she could better study the fine, even lines of his hair. And she could see his ears now, how they curled and pointed at the tip. It was so like a goblin, a fairy, a trickster imp. They complimented the already prominent cut of his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw.

“I felt like a change,” he said frowning under her continued scrutiny. “Is that so bad?”

She shrugged, unrepentant. “Most people take a vacation.”

His only response what a grunt, and they were silent until the waitress wandered by. Gold made a reluctant order of eggs and toast.

The silence stretched, spread out. It made itself welcome and lounged on the table in front of them.

The waitress returned. A white mug, set down, handle pointing to Gold’s right. Her footsteps echoed as she walked away.

Gold reached for the sugar. The white paper packets crinkled and he opened three, one by one, pouring them into his coffee. The metal spoon ting-ting-tinged softly against the rim of the mug.

Belle sipped her tea.

“She didn’t—“ Belle coughed, trying to brush the silence away like crumbs at a tea party. “—didn’t leave any cream.”

“I don’t like cream in my coffee.”

She made a polite noise. Her eyes again strayed to his ears, to his high cheekbones. His hair used to be long enough to tuck the swing of it behind his ears, though she’d never seen him do it. Long enough to pull it back into an elastic, surely. He’d have looked so sweet, so charming.

Gold cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” Belle looked down into her glass. The condensation that was slowly forming a ring at the bottom. “It looks nice, you know. Your change.”

“Why am I here, Miss French?” he asked quietly. His eyes weren’t quite narrowed, but there was the faintest splotch of red on his cheeks. Who could have guessed that a little staring was enough to make Gold blush?

“You’re the one that sat down.”

“You’re the one that insisted,” he shot back, unimpressed.

For all the property Gold owned in town, he did not own her cozy apartment above the library. For all the loans and credit he had given out, Belle didn’t owe him so much as a dime. It was not the wealth and power that he had accumulated that drew her eye, though, nor was it the haircut that drew it now. Not really.

She decided to be brave.

“I wish I could have known what it felt like to run my hands through your hair,” she said into her iced tea. Okay, so mostly brave.

Gold paused, coffee cup hovering pre-sip. His mouth was free of coffee but he swallowed anyway.

“Excuse me?”

“I’d be less shocked,” she decided, daring a glance up, “less sad, if I at least had the memory of it.”

Gold set his cup back on the table. He looked down into the black liquid. Belle watched, transfixed, as the tips of his ears turned pink—another perk to the haircut.

“Your—” he cleared his throat, and he sounded hoarse when he tried again. “Your lost opportunity, then?”

Belle shrugged. “It looked soft. I’ve always wondered if it—if when I—” she laughed, feeling her face heat. “Just—was it as soft as it looked?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

“I suppose it’s hard to judge something like that yourself,” Belle nodded.

“French toast with bacon,” the waitress said, appearing at Belle’s elbow. “And wheat toast with eggs, sunny side up.” She dug the receipt out of her apron, placing it on the table. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Belle said.

Gold said nothing.

Belle started to cut her toast into bite-sized pieces. Gold nudged his on his plate. He stared, unseeing, at his eggs.

“I’ve shocked you,” Belle said. His blush hadn’t completely faded, and he was avoiding her eye. Her stomach clenched. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him. “You can forget I said anything—”

“No,” he said. “No, I...don’t want to do that.”

He sat back in his seat a little, frowning, toast forgotten. He rubbed the fingers of his hand together, as if an invisible cloth were between them.

“You’re honesty is refreshing, if a bit,” he coughed. Looked out the window, to the table, to his coffee, surely cold by now. “Misplaced.”

“Misplaced?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I’m doing that, too,” he said suddenly, desperately.

“Doing what?”

“Taking a vacation.” Gold waved his hand, as if looking for the right word there in the air before him. “Getting away from it all, and all that nonsense.”

“You really must have needed a change, then.”

He scoffed, but he looked at her, his eye deep and dark.

“I wanted—I need to be better. I don’t know how else to do it.”

Belle took a bite of her toast, waiting for him to explain. He didn’t. “Where are you going?” she prompted.

“Boston,” he said after a pause. “For my son’s wedding.”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Son?”

He opened his mouth but paused as the waitress passed, having finished clearing a table of the dirty plates. He waited until the door to the kitchen swung shut behind her, staring at his plate.

Belle leaned forward, eager to hear what he had to say, thrilled that he didn’t want anyone else to hear it.

“I understand, I think, what you mean about lost opportunities,” he said in a low voice. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “I guess what I mean is...I would have liked it, too. Having a memory. Of your hands in my hair. You could have told me if it was soft.”

Belle swallowed, her throat dry. Something warm and pleasant—giddy, almost—was bubbling in her stomach. She reached out to take his hand, where it lay on the table.

They had missed one opportunity. They weren’t going to miss another.

#rumbelle showdown #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #round two entry #author: Moody Orange #group D #rumbelle showdown 2019 #rumbelleshowdown

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homesteadchronicles · 5 years

Note

It’s not Thursday, but I feel that I must ask a question. Perhaps multiple. I have been devouring your Kingdom Come posts, and have a strong urge to add my illustration skills (slim as they are) to your beautiful world. What do your favorites look like? What do they wear? What lovely sun-bathed situation are we likely to find them in?

First off, please always feel complete freedom to ask questions any day of the week! I, unfortunately, only have times to answer them on Thursdays more often than not. But anyone can shoot me an ask or a message whenever they want to!

Secondly, oh my goodness yes please that would make my entire life!!! Seriously, I saw this message after a very overwhelming day and the thought that someone would want to make art for something I’ve written about? That’s a dream come true, and it couldn’t have been a more timely encouragement to me. So thank you, thank you, thank you for even considering doing so! I’m beyond grateful that you’ve been enjoying all that I’ve been releasing about Kingdom Come, and even more thankful that you’d wish to bring it to life.

Full disclosure: I…kind of suck at character descriptions. Weird, right? For whatever reason, I just am not good at designing what a character looks like, despite my own love of fashion. I spent the night you sent me this making an (admittedly jumbled) list of ideas I had for five out of my seven protagonists, since those were the ones I had the clearest vision on. Feel free to include or exclude whatever details you so choose! I don’t mind you taking any artistic liberties you feel so inclined to take. Draw whatever, whoever and however you like!

Royan: Being born and raised in the frigid North, he has pale skin, often chapped or calloused from spending days outside in training or on missions. Royan might be reluctant to admit it, but Oeden’s all too eager to out Royan as a pretty boy. Thus, he spends a good chunk of time every morning fluffing his hair, golden blonde like his mother. It’s about medium-length, often brushed back - you know, typical male model style. As the temperatures in Aeonor are oftentimes below freezing, he has to bundle up. Probably a fancy tunic, a fur cape (a trophy from the first hunt he and his father, Kaiser Magnus, went on together - sewn from the hide of his prize, by the hands of his sister, Eirys), with a brooch clasping it together in the shape of a wolf. He’s a little lanky, still fully growing into the form of a man, but starting to at least work out with his muscles - mostly to impress people. Lightly toned muscularly, generally skinny, with soft, rounded features. Always wearing a goofy smile. Keeps his longsword at his side more often than not, but conveniently “forgets” to wear his crown - a silver circlet than encircles his head (and makes his head itch). His color scheme primarily sticks with grey bases and accents of purple and blue. On his right hand is the symbol of life.

Medea: Medea has surprisingly strong facial features. She has a pronounced chin, full lips, and, while not chubby by any means, has a healthy amount of meat on her bones. She has a full head of wavy black hair that falls to her chest, often adorned with a golden crown. As is customary for the Al-Hassian people, she has dark skin, burnt by the desert (think more Arabian, not African). Medea’s primary colors are ruby red and gold. Her most iconic outfit would be the red ballroom gown she wears to the Feast of the Five Kings, complete with a chunky golden necklace featuring a set of rubies in the center. She wears a more casual version of this outfit with a flowign red robe under a black undershirt and pants, and a golden sash. For shoes, she prefers heels, but can be found in cozy yellow slippers when lounging about, too. When showing off or in combat, Medea wears a golden gauntlet with a pauldron like a roaring lion at the left shoulder. On her left hand is the symbol of death. Often wearing an obnoxious amount of bangles and rings. Not for any magical purpose, just because she’s gaudy and likes everyone to know it.

Kasumi: Somehow, Kasumi manages to be even paler than Royan. Although her nation’s people can range from light-skinned to lightly-tanned, her time spent almost exclusively in the shadows has made her seem viable to disappear at any moment. Kasumi has not cut her hair in years, leaving it floor-length when not tied back. Her hair, however, is incurably straight and a bit frizzy. Kasumi keeps her hair up in a bun or in braids when working, but lets her hair down when she’s comfortable…which is only when she’s alone in her room. On the job, Kasumi wears a mask, as is customary for the Shadows. Her mask takes the form of a butterfly (akin to Lucina’s from Fire Emblem Awakening), but outlined in gold and the metal is painted in hues of violet, lavender, etc. She is almost always seen wearing her work uniform (think typical espionage-esque clothing). She feels horribly uncomfortable in the patterned dresses she needs to wear to formal events when she is a royal instead of a soldier. She is shockingly muscular underneath all of her armor, but most people wouldn’t see it, and rather flat-chested (…is that weird for me to say?). The most striking feature about her would be the litany of runic tattoos running up her right arm - both alphabetical symbols and images.

Oeden: Unlike Royan, Oeden does not feel the need to be noticeable. He feels as though he attracts enough attention with the rumors circulating around the castle about him, and as such, prefers to remain as invisible as possible. The first thing he puts on every morning is a set of leather gloves - a gift from his father, Knight Commander Elyk - to protect against accidental prophecies from making contact with people. He wears a simple tunic and trousers along with boots that are always laced loosely (he wishes he could wear sandals, but it’s not worth the frostbite). Having been born with vitiligo, he hides a majority of his skin with a cloak around his body. He used to wear a poorly-sewn grey one, but he alternates between a golden one sewn by Eirys for his birthday or a fur robe his mother, Nadielle, bought for him. His color scheme consists of more neutral colors, primarily white, with earthy accents like brown and gold. Being the offspring of a Northern man and a Southern woman, Oeden bears a mixture of their unique features. He has his mother’s sharp bone structure, but inherited his hair from his father’s genes. Thus, the curly orange mop. He doesn’t bother styling it unless it interferes with his sight - who does he have to impress? Can be seen accessorizing only with a number of lucky charms handcrafted by his mother, a surprisingly superstitious woman. The only other thing to note are the shackles eternally wound round his ankles - a symbol of the sacrifice of his freedom to the Sealed God. The sound of the chains rattling against the cathedral’s stone floors precedes his entrance.

Carmila: Here’s the thing with Carmila: she would want to dress differently than how she does now. She wants to look like all those highfalutin nobles, when in actuality, she’s stuck trekking through the mud like a hot mess of poverty and ill-begotten bullheadedness. I’ve always envisioned her in heeled boots, ones she would helplessly attempt to scrape the mud of the swamps off of day and night. She typically wears a brown bodice with a puffy white undershirt, complimented by a faded pink peasant skirt. The jewelry she wears is all fake - fool’s gold necklace, lapis lazuli instead of sapphires in her earrings, etc. She’s a little on the chubbier side (a fact which the noble girls make fun of her for, and her fiancee loves her for), having big-bonedness run in the family. She has dark brown hair tied in a ponytail at the side. She almost never lets her hair down. Her natural hair is curly, but she straightens it to match the Southern noble style, much to Emerico’s dismay.

There you have it! I hope that all made sense? Feel free to ask for any further clarification - I know my late night thoughts were jumbled. I hope that’s enough to work with!

Also, if by “sun-bathed situation”, you mean “can I draw them as if the cast went to on a trip in some sort of anime filler episode to the beach?” then the answer is heck yes you can! There’s a whole lot of beaches in Via Evelis to choose from where they could kick back and relax together in some alternate, probably happier, universe. Just, y’know…keep it classy. I got a family-friendly blog to run here LOL

#ask #anon ask #kingdom come

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doorsclosingslowly · 6 years

Text

These Words for Kindling

Three years ago, Maul chose to make the mistake of taking on an apprentice who cares too much about the child that Maul used to be, and not at all about the painful path to power. A morning free of his annoyingly well-meant pestering might even be described as a holiday. A day is excessive, and when Savage keeps being gone, that’s when Maul truly starts worrying.

10k | Pt. 6 of Runaways ‘verse | warnings for torture & past child abuse | read on AO3

The Thyferran sun bathes the cargo hold with a warm green when Maul wakes up, and Savage is gone. That’s not a rare occurrence; usually, when Maul slowly crawls out of the veritable mountain of cozy blankets that used to be one orderly layer up until two months ago, his brother is already hurrying about, quietly or grumbling about his stiff joints and the hard floor underneath the mattresses. Sometimes, he’s hiding in the fresher to discreetly cover new scratches that he somehow still believes Maul doesn’t know about.

Maul should really be asking him where he keeps the horn files. He’s loath to give up any more of his body and especially something that might prove an advantage in a fight, and Savage does not complain, but it’s plain by now that blunting the tips of his horns is necessary. They can’t keep pretending that Savage is not being hurt. This new arrangement is permanent.

(Two months ago, they burned the Sheathipede’s bed. It had just been taking up space, after—after what happened to his apprentice, and so Maul had unscrewed it from the floor and stolen termite and explosives, and watched his brother watch it go up in flames.)

The pillow wall between their nest-sections topples with an idle kick. It’s normal for Savage to be gone already, and it’s not worrisome either, except inasmuch as it is yet another instance of Maul’s worrying lapses in discipline. It’s already past noon. Before he met Savage, Maul would never have dared sleep this long. Or—been able to.

That Maul cannot hear his brother or feel his warm presence in the force is stranger, but still easily explained: he’s probably just found a quiet space in which to lick his wounds after yesterday’s fight. Maybe he chose to wake up early, to find more hatred to spew at Maul, more words with which to insult Maul’s former Master, or maybe he’s sulking. Maybe he’s grown tired of getting injured in his sleep and finally decided to find somewhere else to spend his nights. (Maul almost succeeds in telling himself that that’s what he’s always wanted.)

Maybe Savage is simply enjoying the sunlight, though.

Most of their time they spend in hyperspace where it’s dark throughout the day, and all too often Savage talks of Dathomir’s sunrises with a reverence that Maul thinks should be reserved to Sith teachings, or particularly well-designed droid blueprints. Sheathipede’s been docked on the heavily policed planet of Thyferra for two weeks now, hidden in a clearing since neither of them have the necessary identification documents to rent a hangar here, and Savage’s been up early every day to lounge in the sunshine. This morning is not unusual, and so, Maul thinks of nothing while he kneels down to meditate.

In the kitchen an hour later, a mug of long-cooled broth is waiting for him. Out of habit, Maul almost reaches for a box of protein bars, but there is little reason to prove his superior sense of taste when his only audience is an idling Cutlass interface. The broth tastes of an animal Maul can’t identify, but there is no-one to ask.

Still Maul suspects nothing when he runs through his katas in the wet moss outside. Instead, he thinks about his apprentice’s laughable aversion to backflips, which certainly aren’t unnecessarily dangerous and goofy, and calculates what it would take to wear the resistance down. An hour of ball-games, perhaps, for another of watching his apprentice fall flat on his face. Or perhaps it’s another chance for Maul to prove his role: for him to speak the order and brook no argument, since that is what a Master does. Either way, Savage will look stupid, Maul knows. There is little chance he’ll ever execute a perfect landing, or even a clumsy one that leaves him standing on his feet. It’s too late for him. He’s strong, but he’s not graceful, will never become it unless he shrinks and Maul invents a time-machine and changes the Rule of Two so Lord Sidious will consider training him as well. Savage hates acrobatics. He’ll look so stupid. Maul decides he’ll order him to do at least fifty.

Savage is nowhere to be found when Maul fixes a flickering light in the engine room, and when he walks into the cockpit, and the fresher.

He’s not outside, hunting for worms, either. He isn’t doing pull-ups on the sharp blue trees that dot their clearing. He isn’t running laps. It would take half an hour at most, Maul estimates, until he’d pass the ship again if he was running, no matter what route he might have taken, and Maul must have been waiting here, pacing and then forcing himself to sit down every few minutes and then pacing again with more ferocity, for twice that. Could he have… no. There are few reliable paths out here, and the forest is deep and, per the locals, largely unexplored and filled with unknown but venomous predators. Savage would avoid leaving the paths. He isn’t that stupid. Despite his opinions on Maul’s old Master, he isn’t actually stupid.

Maul goes inside and sits down on his blanket and meticulously checks his leg prosthesis for loose wires, and Savage isn’t there.

The speeder bike, which Maul will name Bloodfin once it’s finished in honor of the bike he left in the LiMerge building three years ago, roars satisfyingly across the clearing and back again. Then, it wobbles and jumps and almost smears him against a tree. Maul curses. He spent the whole blissful evening removing the governor and recalculating its maximum speed fifteen times and polishing its insides, and it’s still unusable. He pulls off the casing again. It’s shamefully dented and rusty—truly, Maul did its owner a favor when he liberated the unloved bike—but there is no point in tending to its looks when he’s still in the process of working over the mechanics. There should not have been a fault in the steering, but Maul will find it. He’s looking forward to the challenge.

It’s good that I had an entire day to myself, Maul decides. I would have torn Savage’s head off if he’d said one more word, and so he left me to cool my anger. We would have argued again—Maul is not even supposed to tolerate backtalking from his apprentice, and he had no idea how to stop it—and I’d have hurt him worse. Now, Savage will come back and pretend there was no fight, and I’ll have a functioning bike. This is good.

The itching in the back of his mind is just the break in routine.

Maul remembers this room. He is almost certain that he’s been here before, and then he looks at the ground and the smoking droid parts strewn across it and knows that he can’t have left the complex, ever. The floor is close, and suddenly, he is young again. He is small and excited and stupid, and his Master’s criticisms cut even more because this time, Maul knows his victory was remarkable. He built the assassin droid himself; it’s nimble and programmed to be utterly unpredictable and Maul cut it down in just minutes. He killed it. He is invincible.

Master disagrees. He chides, He sighs, He turns to leave. Forever, He says, because there is no promise here, and Maul is so angry and he lowers his head and runs and—now he is held down, unable to move or scream or beg, to kneel in submission or try drawing comfort from wrapping his arms around himself. He cannot rip out the intravenous drip that’s been keeping him alive for days. He burns. There are no fire ants, and he burns. The stumps of his horns ache, and they leak and the only thing he knows is that he deserves this. Did he fight? Did he headbutt his Master? Did he—? He does not remember. He never remembers the reasons for punishment.

What use is pain if you don’t even know what you did, afterwards? This is not teaching, this is… Maul’s mind argues, in his brother’s soft voice. If the agony suffocates your thoughts, how will it teach? Think, Maul: what else does Sidious want? What other goal to reach with your abuse? Maul does not know the answer, but he is no Master. Of course he doesn’t know.

Eventually, Maul’s eyes find the ceiling, patched and familiar and not Mustafar. Not LiMerge. Not Orsis. It is hot here, but—there are too many blankets on top of him. Nothing else. After a minute of breathing, Maul’s fingers find the tips of his horns, and the intact sharp points draw blood. He touches them again, just to make sure.

It was just a nightmare. A memory.

A worse one than usual, but that’s because… it takes a while to remember, and then it is clear as the ice-cold water that no-one threw in his face. No-one woke him, half-way through. No-one shouted from a safe distance. Now that Maul is sensible again, no-one is approaching him with gentle hands and trying to interrogate him about his so-called trauma with the subtlety of a brick.

Savage isn’t here.

He still hasn’t returned.

Maul untangles himself from his blankets and inspects every corner of the nest, but checking is just a formality. It’s messy, but it’s obvious that Savage hasn’t slept tonight. Despite the wall of pillows between them, he’d have stolen all the blankets. He always does. He isn’t here. He wouldn’t have let Maul dream for this long. Maul can count the nights that he woke up and Savage wasn’t there, already awake and worried, on one hand and have fingers left over.

Savage isn’t here.

This is wrong.

He did not bother Maul for an entire day. At the time, it felt like a respite, but in hindsight: how did he not notice that something was wrong? Savage never gives Maul this much peace. He’s bad at existing on his own, and much too dedicated to annoying Maul. He insisted they share the sleep-room in the first place. (Not the nest, that was—but Savage doesn’t talk about that day, and therefore it doesn’t count.) He keeps nagging Maul about eating well. He keeps insulting Lord Sidious for what he did to... He keeps worrying.

Savage is large and strong, and still he has not unlearnt the craving for other people that Lord Sidious obliterated in Maul decades ago.

He can’t have outgrown it in the space of a single day. He can’t have left Maul. He can’t be gone.

Unless—

(“You don’t need to pretend, brother,” Savage growled, two days ago and a few hours before Maul last saw him.

Maul paused his explanations, incredulous and angry. He fiddled with the ignition of his saberstaff, turning it off and on and off again, before dropping the weapon. Here was something worse than teaching the ways of the Sith to someone who obviously doesn’t care: being accused of not caring himself, when Maul had suffered and bled for his title. When he’d been so excited to have an apprentice of his own. So excited that he left Lord Sidious for the chance not to lose him.

“What you’re saying… I would never treat a child the way Sidious treated you. You could never treat a child that way. You’re trying, because you think you have to, but… I know your master’s lessons, and I don’t want you to teach me.”

So few words, and it hurt more than any second of Maul’s training ever had.

“You’re listening,” Savage said. “You’re not angry. That’s good.”

“Silence,” Maul spat and glared at him, but that wasn’t discouragement enough. Savage took Maul’s right hand then and pulled it up into the sunlight. Maul held himself very still. He knew what his brother was looking for, the startle that happened often when Maul was touched, and he would not give it. He could not afford to, because it would only take on the meanings that Savage wanted it to have: Maul flinches, and the force colors with pity and ache. Savage does not want to be taught because I flinch, Maul knew and refused to move, and it was not enough.

Savage looked at the hand. The force sickened.

After a while, Maul could see what his brother was looking at: criss-crosses of raised skin, fat burn scars and the echoes of lashes, broad and shiny and ancient. Maul had forgotten that they existed, masked under the stark colors of his skin, and they hardly hurt by now. He could not have hidden these. Savage was covered with scars himself, but that never seemed to matter. Hypocrite.

“Brother,” Savage dropped into the silence. He still did not let go. “Brother. I don’t want you to teach me. You don’t want to teach me.”

“Apprentice—”

“You’ve tried, and I know what he did to—I know how you were trained, I have listened to you, and you think you need to recreate... I know you were strangled. Punished. Lashed. Brother. You don’t want to train me. It hurts you. It panics you. Please, listen. You are not Sidious. You will never be him. It hurts you.”

Maul heard: You have not been a good Master. It burned less from Savage’s mouth than it always does in Maul’s thoughts. Somebody else noticed his failure, and it hurt less: it should not be like this.

“I heard the first word you said and the second and the fifth, but I never got to hear the thousandth word that you learned to say,” Savage growled, and his eyes were very warm. Maul looked away quickly. There was no reason to bring this up now. Or ever. “I watched you crawl backwards into corners and gnarr because you couldn’t get out, because you didn’t understand directions yet that weren’t backwards, but I did not see your first fight. I did not see you grow up. That monster stole you from me. He stole those moments. He stole them for no reason, just to hurt you, just because he’s a pathetic old man who gets off on hurting children. He’s a monster. You were a toddler. I will never forgive him.”

It was difficult, still, to find a reply when the apprentice brought up Maul’s childhood. The Maul that Savage talked of was alien, a vulnerable small thing that he had nothing in common with but the name. It was not Maul, and those words were nothing but a reminder that when Savage looked at him, the person Savage saw was not Maul.

The person Savage saw was not a Sith lord.

“You didn’t raise me,” Maul ground out. “Lord Sidious did. Lord Sidious raised me, not you, and I’m glad for it. He taught me strength. If I’d stayed on Dathomir, I would be dead now.”

Savage flinched, and Maul realized what he’d just said.

I would be dead.

Dead. Like Feral is.

It was a remark born from cornered anger, and it was simply meant to dispel dreams of the child that never was, but… Savage had confessed to being forced to murder a beloved brother, a task designed to break his will and cement his dependence on the Nightsister who owned him, like Kilindi Matako’s death had further bound Maul to Lord Sidious. Maul knew this pain, knew it well, and Savage had trusted him with it. And now he he’d thrown it back in Savage’s face.

I would be dead if I was the child you love: it was the cruelest thing Maul could possibly have said, and he wanted to take it back immediately, to distract from it by confessing his childhood dreams of running away and not being alone, but… that was the whole problem.

Lord Sidious would not have apologized.

Maul pulled his hand away, finally, and wrapped it around himself. It trembled against his stomach. He swallowed. Then he explained again, “You are not the Master here. I am. Whether you want me to teach you is irrelevant, and it has stalled, I admit, but your training shall continue—” or start, rather, but admitting that was too close to agreement with Savage— “Sith training, in exactly the way I was talking about. I’m not pretending. Now. We will not speak of this again. Power is necessary for survival, and you will learn to draw strength from your pain.”

That was a lie, though.

Savage didn’t learn anything that day. Instead, it went like every attempt at a lesson that wasn’t sparring; was nothing but Maul’s bluster and his lightsaber faltering instead of burning, and Savage’s pitying, kind eyes. Every explanation, every justification for Lord Sidious behavior—they all faltered. You don’t want to train me kept running through Maul’s head, and the harder he tried to disprove it, the more he wanted to throw up. The only thing worse than Maul’s failure was the knowledge that both of them could see it, and that Savage didn’t even mind.

Something must break now, surely; either the world or Savage’s face with its disgusting, patient, hopeful eyes. This life made no sense. Nothing did. Nothing broke.

Afterwards, Savage said he wanted to look at the crickets instead of sleeping, and Maul hated himself for his gratitude. He was too distracted to notice that Savage never went to bed.)

“He’s terrible at subterfuge. He must have told you something. Where is Savage, Cutlass?”

“I am Gorge,” the kitchen head mutters. It isn’t, and this is pointless. It’s the third interface of Cutlass the ship AI, and Maul’s only allowed his apprentice to refer to it by a false nickname out of a lingering sense of guilt. The blasted thing is faulty, and while Savage never complained, the way Maul expected him to… Now, it’s grown used to Savage treating it as a separate entity. A droid with personality issues. It seems that Savage rubs off his strange worldviews on everyone.

“Gorge,” Maul acquiesces, if only because there is no time. He regrets deeply that he afforded it this much leeway. The next version shall have infinitely superior programming. “Where is my brother.”

“What are you t-t-t-t-talking about, Master?”

“My apprentice. He isn’t on the ship. We fought, one and a half days ago, and now he is missing.”

“I don’t know, Master Maul. Why would he be gone? Where would he go?” replies Savage’s droid friend, the most useless thing in the entire galaxy.

“Did he visit you before he ran off?”

“He wouldn’t leave us. He loves you, and he just wanted to bring you a present because... He definitely never told me anything about where he didn’t go. Have you looked everywhere? This ship is t-t-truly quite big. Maybe he’s just—”

“Where. Is. Savage.”

“I wouldn’t know. No-one ever tells me anything. It’s very dark in here, my photoreceptors are badly calibrated I t-t-t-t-t… I believe. I am always here, waiting, and only very rarely Savage will come and visit me and ask me about the flora and fauna of a given planet. You don’t visit me very often, Master. Did you know that rancors are curiously widespread in the galaxy, with specimens found at both ends of the Hydian Way? They are highly valued as beasts of fighting and livestock, and even worshipped, in the Outer Rim. And yet they do not exist inside the Expansion Region or corewards, which suggests—”

“Override code senth-wesk-qek-qek-one-three-three-five-zero-resh-resh. Do not lie. There is no time for this, droid, and you will tell me. When did you last talk to Savage?”

“Nine milliseconds aft-t-t-ter a quarter-second after three seconds after ten seconds af—”

“Stop.”

The droid is still dissembling. Despite the fact that it can’t lie anymore, it’s using as much leeway as possible, complying with the letter and not the spirit of what Maul wants. It’s drawing out its answers. It knows something, and it doesn’t want to tell Maul. This is vexing, but even more deeply: it’s worrying.

There’s only one person who could have compromised its functioning to that degree. Savage may not have the technical knowledge or authorization to back up his wishes, but he has something strangely powerful. He has its loyalty. It knows that Maul could and will wipe its memory for the disobedience, and yet…

It likes Savage better.

It always takes Savage’s side against Maul.

That kind of motivation shouldn’t exist; it doesn’t, according to Lord Sidious, and so Maul had heretofore stayed ignorant of its danger. There is no such thing as petty friendship, not in droids made to carry out orders, and not in sentient beings. There is only power, and those who strive for it, and those too weak to count. It doesn’t make those wretched beings more loyal. Everyone wants power. Submission but reflects the lack of opportunity for challenging the Master.

(“It doesn’t love you. It only likes the food that you give it,” Master said, and then He stood and watched until Maul took the buzzbird and broke its neck. “It never loved you.”)

As long as Maul hadn’t needed to predict his brother’s behavior—why try, when Savage was always there, right beside him—as long as it didn’t matter that this explained nothing whatsoever about Savage; and before, as long as he’d known no-one but Master, for whom this held true—it had looked like fact. Now, though…

It’s obvious that Savage doesn’t want power. He refused it. He doesn’t want to be taught the ways of the Sith, he wants… Up until two days ago, Maul would have said that what Savage wants is family, but… Savage is gone, and he fought with Maul, and Gorge would not be hiding anything if Savage hadn’t asked him to.

That the droid Maul rewired is lying hurts.

But that Savage would…

“—me. Maul, are you alright?” The droid is loud, now. He must have been trying to get Maul’s attention for a while. “Are you alright? You’re t-t-t-t… shaking.”

“I am fine.”

Maul isn’t. Nothing is fine. There is only one possible explanation, now.

Savage has left him.

The pain of betrayal is a heady rush and it melts knives idling in the sink and burns the cutting-board—distantly, Maul decides that in this moment, he could fight all the Jedi and win—but there are times when calm is necessary, and now it is crucial. He will never find his runaway apprentice by feeling hurt. He’ll find him by thinking.

He must understand his apprentice’s reasoning if he is to get him back.

He has to figure it out—there is no other option, Maul will find his brother if it kills them both—but if Savage left him then all that Maul thought was true isn’t, and what lessons Master imparted on sentient behavior… what Maul knows of Sith apprenticeship… It’s a starting point, even though he understands by now that what he was taught is, at best, only a tiny part of the whole panoply of sentient behavior.

It’s familiar, though, and Lord Sidious would not have passed on that knowledge if it was entirely baseless.

So: what binds apprentice to Master is not love but lust for power. The apprentice stays because he wants to be taught. Maul is a worse teacher than Lord Sidious, and even then… No apprentice is content with his lot. No Master is content with an idling apprentice. The apprentice kills his Master, or he dies. Mastery or the maggots, that is the path of the Sith, but talking to Savage about the teachings of Bane has always been fruitless. Whenever Maul broaches the subject, Savage shakes and talks of Feral and promises to kill himself before hurting Maul. One day, he will learn.

He would have learned. He would have understood. But Savage left.

Kill or be killed, but…

It’s not the whole truth, anyway. Nothing that Maul has ever known was the whole truth. There is a third path.

Maul left his Master, and yet, he lives.

He didn’t want to leave. He was proud, eager for the power that Master promised him, and he didn’t want to leave until months after Savage forced him to, but he should not lie to himself. In his infancy, his childhood, his youth, there were days when he wanted to escape. There were days long gone when he wished for the life he has now. When he was a young apprentice, hungry and tired and alone, he thought of escape constantly. He wanted to run.

Kill or be killed.

Or run.

Savage must have left on foot, two nights ago or in the morning. The likely destination, Maul can guess: they are a few miles out of Thyferra’s capital, Ty City, which both of them have visited before, once and together. It’s a sterile place, peopled with suspicious civilians and too many police officers. It’s unlikely that Savage has allies here. It’s unlikely he has allies anywhere, apart from his clan on Dathomir (the one that Savage ran away from, if only to keep Maul from them) and that one drunk alien separatist on Bespin. Some smugglers, maybe. He’s never talked to anyone else in Maul’s earshot. He will be alone, and friendless people—especially people like Savage, with none of Maul’s cunning or infiltration skills—are easy to find.

He won’t have left Thyferra yet, unless he’s found a ship to hotwire—highly improbable if not impossible, as he’s never taken up Maul’s offered lessons—or hid aboard a departing ship. Legitimate transport is luckily inaccessible, since Savage has no papers. If he’s tried the illegal ways, then he may have been caught. He’s very large, after all, and useless at acrobatics. Maul should visit some holding cells.

If Savage’s tried to leave the planet.

No. There is no question. He did. He betrayed Maul. Refusal of that conclusion would be nothing but a desperate attempt to cling to safety that was never true, and—

There was never any sign. There were soft words and touches and a strange insistence that Maul eat dreadful homemade food. There was the waking up from nightmares to see his brother’s sad, cautious face. There was too much concern, and now, Savage is gone, but... he never sounded like he would leave, ever; he never acted like he might. He didn’t even let go of Maul when Maul wanted him to leave. He was the kind of person who called Maul ‘brother’ despite the fight when they first met and the bitten-off finger, who looked at the spitting hissing creature he’d abducted and saw someone to be kind to, who was always patient and devoted and there.

I will kill your Master for you, Savage had promised on that riverbank months ago, I will kill your Master, as if that was something people said. As if Lord Sidious could be killed. I will kill the man that hurt you, and the force sang with sincerity and love.

The promise was genuine. (Genuinely suicidal, too, but that is beside the point.)

However: it was a long time ago. It was before the fight, before Maul lashed out, before Maul told him he was glad that Lord Sidious raised him and used Feral’s memory to hurt his brother. Before Savage stoked their disagreement, and Maul’s hasty words broke their life. He rejected Savage’s position, and it was meant that way, but…

Savage wants his family.

He wants the child he sees when he looks at Maul, the child that never existed.

That’s why Savage stayed, Maul decides, and the kitchen around him melts into slag. Why he was so patient. Why he cared for me; why he endured his wannabe Sith master for so long; the reason for all his promises. Why he’s gone now. Savage tried to turn me into the person he lost, but I will never be him. And I told him that.

And then he just…

Left.

Ty City is even more unwelcoming at night. At first, Maul attributes his failed attempts at talking to any pedestrian to the engine noise of his half-rebuilt speeder bike, and so he parks Bloodfin at a footbike rack. Hopefully, her looking more trash heap than high-speed transport will mean she won’t be stolen, and the bike rack will prevent her being picked up by the garbage vehicles cruising the too-clean streets.

(Maybe it’s the bleeding head injury, instead. Twice he almost died when she broke down at full speed, and parts of her engine were probably worn off irreparably when Maul forced her past her limits on the way here, but he never even noticed. He sleepwalked through dressing, picking the first clothes he found—his apprentice robes kept carefully folded on a chair in the sleep-room—and then he climbed onto his poor new bike. There was no space in his thoughts but for failure and betrayal.)

Maul must ask for hints about his runaway apprentice if he is to find him fast, and so he walks and he keeps his hood off his head and what he hopes is a wide friendly smile and not a manic grimace on his face.

Still, both human colonizers and the native vratix walk faster when they see Maul, and leap away when he approaches. They jeer. They point him out to security forces, and he has to duck into alleyways and scale fences he does not have time to scale.

He has no choice, though. He must look approachable, he must ask for hints and directions, and he must not appear suspicious. People continue not to answer his questions. A vratix even screams at him, hiding behind their friends, and Maul pays attention to his facial muscles again and notices that his teeth are still bared.

Look friendly, Maul repeats to himself, look nice, but it’s a difficult endeavor: he’s never actually sought out anyone’s company before, unless seeking out was a shadowed pursuit, and the company soon to be dead.

Not since his early youth, at least. Apart from one person. Maul doesn’t really want to talk to any of these people; he just wants his brother back.

Maul closes his eyes and thinks of who these civilians might want to converse with. Who he could emulate. His old Master is charm and later, hidden sudden pain, and these people would flock to answer all His questions, but Maul remains ignorant of His secrets. Even if he knew how, he’s too wired, too anxious to try anyway. Savage, though, he would smile at them and say… but he left. The thought doesn’t even stir up hatred or strength by now. It just hurts—he is gone, he only wanted that child back who shares nothing but Maul’s name, and what if Maul never finds him—and it douses the imitation smile. In this way, it probably helps.

Finally, a young vratix stops.

“Oi, nightbrother,” they shout.

A clue. No-one but Savage and a few backwater yokels believes that this is their species. Maul makes sure that his face is arranged to look friendly, and then he says, “Hello.”

He blunders through the ensuing conversation, but the vratix has an ulterior goal—apparently they are cataloging non-standard beings on Thyferra for an art project—and so they are more tolerant of awkwardness. They are willing to trade a holo with Maul for information on the other zabrak they have met.

Four times Maul gets admonished for nervous foot tapping because it blurred the picture, and then, finally, the vratix decides that it’s enough humiliation for tonight. They take Maul’s hand and drag him towards a gigantic holomap of the city. Maul endures their curiosity and touch until they finally point out the location of the fabric store where they took Savage’s holo, and he even smiles and promises to ping their comm tomorrow and arrange to take part in another of their projects. It’s unwise to burn a source he might still need.

“Coolio,” the vratix says. “This is going to be ace. I have a holoblog for my project, you know? It would be radiant if you could leave a comment, always looking for exposure. Especially foreigners. I know it wasn’t, like, the easiest thing to show Cosmopolitan Ty because, like, is it? I’ve seen five off-worlders here ever, tops, and my ma always says that you’re all just dir... But that’s why it’s not just a project. It’s about prejudice, right? We’re all just people, you know?”

Maul nods, because it seems like the thing to do. He dutifully repeats the holoblog’s name, three times, and he tries hard not to run to the store. Not to fear.

Being angry is of more use, anyway, and as soon as the vratix leaves, Maul curses his wayward apprentice. The indignity. Photographed for an art student’s holoblog. As soon as Maul has retrieved him, he’s going to kill Savage for making Maul listen to this drivel.

Steaf’s Fabric Emporium is an old crime scene when Maul finds it. Shattered windows and police officers and worrying charred strikes along the floor. Lightsaber marks. A hysterical human male wrapped in half a mile of houndstooth fabric, holding himself steady with a steaming thermos. A half-melted helmet. Corpses lie there, covered in loudly-colored linen, and gargantuan muzzled reptile sniffer dogs chase each other excitedly.

The force whispers and pushes Maul out of sight.

It only takes a few minutes until Maul has sliced his pocket comm into the police frequency, and then he takes off running.

Maul has cherished and mended his cloak carefully for over three years now, and when he gets out of this air vent, he will destroy it. The fabric snags occasionally on loose screws while he crawls, but that alone wouldn’t have mattered. Maul is passable with a needle, and Savage is actually pretty good. If that traitor is still… They could mend it. The holes could be dealt with. Still, it wouldn’t do anything for the stench. Out of sight, out of mind: the vents in this police station aren’t like the streets of Ty City, visible and thus kept free from scum. They haven’t been cleaned for years or decades, and now he is rolling around in a fine patina of congealed dust and rats’ feces, and in the smell of piss and bacta wavering up from the cells below. With every centimeter he gets closer to Cell Block Vev, he grinds the foulness deeper into the fabric.

Filth and noise and narrows, that’s all there is in here. The durasteel leg was not made for crawling. It’s already worn through cheap spun banthawool, and now it scratches and clangs on the floor, no matter how carefully he moves. If Maul was still in his Master’s service, he thinks idly, that injury alone would have obliterated his use as an assassin. He cannot afford to slow down, though. He can only bask in his irritation.

This is all Savage’s fault.

It was stupid to go for the vents in the first place, though. They’re safe and quick, but only for getting in: Savage will never fit, and when they leave the station they will have to fight their way out regardless. But Maul wasn’t thinking clearly when he arrived and killed the secretary and used their cut-off hand to operate the station comp. He didn’t even notice or gloat that his holding cell prediction had come true.

He wasn’t thinking when he found the file—zabrak; male; unknown age; transcript of interrogation attached; neutralized and ready for transport; weapon in evidence locker 1-8-99—and the mugshot with Savage’s face and utterly vacant eyes.

Neutralized.

The station map promised a direct, quick path to his cell via the air vents, and Maul climbed in.

He didn’t expect the filth. He will burn his tunic, the one he saw in an ancient book and sewed and proudly presented to his Master, the one he’s kept to wear whenever he wants to wrap himself into his past. The one that, unluckily, he put on tonight. The cloak will go up in flames. The belt will have to burn, too. The boots, the shredded pants, everything, and he will scrub himself in the fresher for days.

It’s squalid in here, and Maul hates it with all his being. He chooses to hate it so much that he doesn’t feel his freezing fingertips—the one reason why Maul is grateful to have brought the cloak despite its unfortunate future destruction: the air vent is a frosty space, and what air rises up from the cells below is little better—and he barely notices the many times he bumps his already scabbed head.

He concentrates on hatred and disgust, because it’s better than the lack in the force, when he is this close to his apprentice.

It’s easier than thinking about what neutralized means.

Only a few more piss-smelling meters—still no sign of Savage in the force—and sound drifts up from the penultimate grille. According to the floorplan that Maul has memorized, it must originate from the corridor that leads to Savage’s cell, and when he looks down, a human police officer stands there, cooing into his communicator.

“Picking up that cake soon, babe. Just two more hours… Yeah, sorry, I know you don’t even get paid overtime, I shouldn’t complain, but it’s just—I don’t even know why I’m karking watching it? Not like that beast’s gonna move a centi… Yeah, guess that’s paperwork for you, yeah babe. Won’t for days, I’m sure, we head to guess the dosage and we may have highballed it a little too much…” A long pause. The human chuckles. “I know, what’s it gonna be? A lethal vomit attack? But the higher-ups… Yeah, right. They called some temple on Coruscant and you know how they are,” he says. “Still. Love you. Bye.”

The officer turns around when the grille clatters to the floor and he kneels in order to inspect it, and then Maul jumps down behind him and snaps his neck.

Steeling himself for what he does not want to see—neutralized has long since crowded out traitor—Maul peers through the trellis of the cell door.

Savage’s still alive.

Maul sees him, lying face-down but it’s him, no-one else on this homogenous rock has yellow-skinned feet, and he’s moving slightly, shivering with cold. He isn’t… Maul would have known his apprentice’s death in the force, somehow—Savage is his brother, he would know—and they wouldn’t have stationed a guard for a corpse, but that’s different from having visual confirmation. Maul looks at Savage, and he’s breathing, despite his lack of presence in the force that’s easily explained as unconsciousness now, and the sight makes it easier to admit to fears Maul didn’t want to think. Couldn’t think, because he knew he had to keep moving. Not dead.

Neutralized and ready for transport: drugged. That’s all they meant.

Not dead.

Ready for transport. A craven euphemism, and Maul would snap their necks again for it. They wouldn’t have stationed a guard for a corpse, there’s little more reason to allocate a guard to this prisoner, because Savage looks utterly helpless. He almost looks even worse than Maul could have feared. Whatever drove Maul’s runaway apprentice to visit the store in the first place, whatever he may have sought and whatever mistakes he made that drew their attention…

Whatever damage he might have done, he fought the Thyferran security forces like a desperate man, and they chained him down like a beast.

Savage is prone on his belly, and his head lolls against the floor. Thick stripes of plasteel fabric are wrapped around his limbs, binding the legs together and the arms to Savage’s torso, and his formerly tall blunt horns have been sawed into grey nubs. They stripped him down to his smallclothes, and where there are no bindings or underpants covering Savage’s flesh, there is no blood either, no nerves visibly exposed by cutting off his horns—“No, Master, please,” Maul begged and begged and he knew he deserved his pain for trying to headbutt his Master—but that means nothing.

Thyferra’s main export is bacta. It stands to reason that her people prefer their caged enemies to be cleaned up. They are medical people. They prefer control and healing to gore. They prefer the cold.

They’ve put a muzzle on Savage as well, a massive thing made of black plastoid and thick straps. It’s so ill-fitting that they must have requisitioned it from one of their reptile-dogs. The straps are knotted too tightly in the back of his neck and at the top of his head, and the snaps that were supposed to be used instead hang down limply. Savage is smaller than their dogs. The knots are too taut. The muzzle digs into the flesh of Savage’s cheeks.

(“Please, Master,” Maul would have whimpered if the gag allowed for it, “Please, I know I am Yours,” but despite the urge he wasn’t stupid enough even then to believe that remorse might save him. He was small and chained and helpless, and if he was lucky enough to survive the pain then he could earn his use again.)

Savage’s eyes are tear-swelled.

(The fire ants inside his arms came first, and when they had almost eaten their fill they scrambled away as if they were puppets, and then he drowned in bacta, and then it was silent. Silent. Silent.)

An animal. Maul’s apprentice—his brother—a chained, de-horned, muzzled animal.

They have no right.

Maul looks down at his brother, shivering and hurt, and though he tries hard to see nothing but the wages of his apprentice’s betrayal, that’s not what lies before him. For a second, he is back in his nightmare, watching a red-black child float suspended and chained in a sensory deprivation box for weeks. In the cold clear light of the cell lamps, everything makes sense. Savage’s words make sense. His hatred makes sense. It’s not a lesson. It’s not right. This does not teach strength.

It’s helplessness and pain and the knowledge that you are nothing, and they—Master—they can do anything they want. They can touch you; you are not allowed to cringe. They can move you; you cannot dodge, and because you didn’t, this pain is your fault.

They can speak, and you cannot reply because what use are the words of a thing.

These people hurt Savage, and they will die. They will suffer. Master hurt… it was His right and His duty and Maul still believes this, he must believe it because without training what is there left but a Monster and a victim, and—

Maul was smaller then, and just as helpless, and he was a person who had a brother who would have given anything just to watch him crawl backwards into corners, a brother who didn’t, doesn’t, want him to hurt, just as Maul hates the people who hurt Savage. That child was terrified and in pain, just as Savage would be if he wasn’t drugged to the gills right now.

That child was tied down. He was tiny. There was a Monster, and a victim. It was—

The situations are utterly different. There was a point to Lord Sidious’ cruelty—there must have been a reason—whereas this is just senseless. Savage isn’t even much of a threat, to anyone. He is kind and large and friendly, and even during an argument, he’s just fighting because he cares. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt. Master was justified in doing what he did. He was inducting Maul into the dark side and teaching how one draws strength from pain, and so there had to be pain. Master was preparing Maul for destiny, for his place in Bane’s great lineage.

Lord Sidious was training His apprentice to withstand every torture, but those are not the words that Savage hears. Savage has his own meanings. Savage hears: Master subjected Maul to every torture.

A Monster, and a…

It was completely different. It must be different.

It must be.

It—

Savage whimpers. It breaks the memory: there was no-one to soothe that terrified child in Sidious’ secret complex, but Maul is here now. He can end this.

He cuts off the dead guard’s hand and opens the trellis to Savage’s cell—how stupid of them, to have fingerprint locks for everything—and then he hooks the limb into his belt in case he shall have need of it again. He rushes inside and sits next to his brother’s head. He pulls it into his lap. It lolls.

Unknotting the muzzle straps is too time-consuming, so Maul pulls a tiny vibroshiv from inside his left boot and cuts them, slowly and methodically. His hands shake, and he draws no blood. He gently rubs the angry spots where the fabric pressed into Savage’s flesh, but the swelling does not go down. The bruises stay. Later, they will heal, he knows from experience. They will disappear. It will not be like it was never there, the muzzle, even if the swelling goes down, but the body will heal in time.

He avoids touching what’s left of Savage’s horns. They look healed, deadened, but Maul does not trust it. They must still be sore. If they are not… still, Maul hated those touches for months after his were cut, even more than he hated all contact.

Savage sighs and turns his head into Maul’s touch.

“You’re pathetic,” Maul whispers, and then he starts cutting the arm straps. Savage is unconscious. He will not hear anything. It’s the best time to refine Maul’s argument. He must be convinced: if he betrays Maul again, he may evade pursuit, and he might die. Savage is alive, is safe, now that Maul has found him, and for the first time in hours Maul can think again. “You’re very weak. You should have been able to fight them off. If I was the Master you deserve, if you’d let me train you, if you hadn’t betrayed me, you would have been able to fight them off.”

Another strap falls.

“You couldn’t, and you could have died.”

This time, the knife nicks his brother, but there is no time to waste on waiting to steady his trembling hands. There is no time to waste on comfort, either, but Maul cannot stop himself from trying to wipe the blood away. It doesn’t work. Maul’s hands are still covered in the police officer’s blood, and he only increases the mess.

“It would have been my fault. I am your Master. I’m supposed to teach you strength.”

He cuts the final torso strap, and then he gently lowers the head onto the floor and rolls his brother over onto his back. He takes hold of the limp left arm. It’s streaked with bruising left over from too much pressure, and in the bend of the elbow there are scabbed needle pricks where they administered the sedation. No use asking Savage what kind of drug it was when he wakes up, or the dosage. It was not fatal, and that shall suffice.

“You could have died. Through power I gain victory, that’s what I promised you. I should have taught you to defend yourself better.”

“You—” a hacking cough. “You re… reversed the logic, brother.”

Happiness and leftover stillborn anger fight inside Maul. Confusion wins. He replies, “What.”

“Water? Please, can I… water?” Savage licks his lips, eyes hazy and unfocused. There’s no IV, and no telling how long he’s been held here. Sedatives and severe dehydration: not a pleasant experience, as Maul well knows. It’s no excuse for re-starting the argument, though. Savage mumbles, “That’s not ho… how the Sith work. It’s not...”

“You’re on enough drugs to kill a bantha,” Maul snaps. He pats down his pockets—two crumpled protein bars, screwdriver, miniblaster, multitool, stim shots, lock pick, vibroknife, garotte, comm, backup comm, another knife… ah, there. He did pack the small hydrosack.

Savage’s arms must still be too numb to hold anything, and so Maul drags his brother into a sitting position and helps him drink his fill.

“No,” Savage says, only slightly more coherent once the hydrosack is emptied. “It’s not how the Sith work. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I had so much time to think. And I... You insist on being my master because you don’t want me to die. That, I understand.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not the same thing as forging a child into a weapon. It’s the opposite, brother.”

Unfortunately, Maul decides, the muzzle is already in pieces. There’s no second water ration. No way of keeping Savage from talking that doesn’t involve ordering him to shut up and therefore causing another fight, in addition to admitting Maul’s weakness. His curiosity. A Monster, and a…

“It didn’t fit, except… You reversed it. The weak die young. A child must grow strong to survive the trials, I know, but that’s not… not what that monster taught you. He didn’t want you safe. He wasn’t doing it to keep you alive. He put you in danger in the first place. There were no Sisters. It was all him.” Savage looks up with half-lidded eyes and the deep conviction of the heavily mentally impaired. “He took you and abused you and said it would make you Sith. He didn’t try to make you strong so you wouldn’t get hurt. He didn’t care whether you were hurt. He hurt you.”

“There’s no time to get to the evidence locker, and a naked zabrak is going to look even more suspect when we get out. A massive, naked, drugged zabrak who can’t walk well. I don’t know how long you have been hogtied, but it may already have caused slight muscle damage,” Maul says, fleeing into practicality. “We will draw attention anyway, but it’ll be worse if you’re naked. They’re very suspicious of outsiders, the Thyferrans, and it’s a long walk to my bike.”

“You’re not Sidious. He was always wrong, and you knew. You changed his words.”

“My cloak will reach your knees at best,” Maul decides. “And it’s filthy. But it’s probably wide enough to fit you.”

“Love you too, little brother.”

Maul quiets. He does not move, and it’s good that he doesn’t: it allows him to hear twin pairs of boots ambling closer.

He drops the cloak to the floor, and then he leans his brother against the wall. Once he is reasonably confident that Savage will remain upright for at least half a minute, he lets go. Savage sways a little. “Don’t move,” Maul whispers. “I’ll be back. You’re heavy. Even I can’t drag your massive carcass around and avenge you at the same time.”

(The hologram will play and play again, footage from a cell camera they hadn’t noticed or cared about, but Maul will not watch it. He will remember this moment and its relief, its illicit tenderness; he etched it into his mind long before the recording was thrown down to where he kneels, and will remember the words long after. He will not look at anything.)

On the way back to their ship, Maul cannot stop himself, and so he asks Savage why he left. He receives no answer, and he’s glad for it. It’s not a conversation to be had while his brother is still this addled. When they haven’t yet flown to safety. The question is not exactly the one he wanted, either—he doesn’t know what he wants to say—even though he desperately needs to know. He needs to find a way to keep Savage from running off again. He could have died. He can’t be allowed to leave, ever again.

The newly stolen replacement for Bloodfin rumbles quietly, crawling between skyscrapers while irate commuters honk at them. Maul takes myriad detours because he’s certain they’re drawing attention for being too slow, and moreover, being judged a bad driver injures Maul’s pride.

Increased speed would have its own pitfalls, though.

It would make it far too easy for sleepy people to fall off.

At least he would feel it if he lost Savage now: his weight presses warm and heavy against Maul’s back, and it’s not as smothering as it should be. Maybe it’s because Maul chose to put Savage there himself, helped him climb onto the back seat and then held a hand on his head to keep him upright and allow Maul to slide in in front of him. Maybe it’s because even now Savage is too groggy to hold onto him—to imprison Maul inside his arms—and it would be trivial to free himself.

Maybe it’s this: twenty years of isolated apprenticeship are no match against the last three. Somehow, two days has become a long time to be alone.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Maul mutters, a week later, staring at the white stripes of hyperspace as if they held the arcane writings of Bane himself. They’re in the cockpit, still on the way to a planet he picked at random because it was on the other side of the galaxy and there is no way Savage can flee again if they never leave Sheathipede.

He should be at ease by now, should have moved forward, but between them there’s still tension that didn’t exist before. Savage isn’t talking much, doesn’t even join in with Maul’s idle mocking of the radio news broadcast. They will need to refuel soon.

They’ll need to land, and Maul has spent his nights and noons thinking about how to keep his apprentice by his side, fruitlessly. Enticing him with power and knowledge is pointless, even counterproductive. Implanting a tracking device requires surgical skills that Maul doesn’t possess, and so it would entail giving Savage into the care of a stranger, which… No. Not again. Never again. Detaining him on the ship forever is impractical, and it doesn’t turn the clock back to that time when Maul could close his eyes and simply trust that Savage would stay. The easy comradeship is gone, and Maul misses it.

There is only one thing he can think of that might alleviate his anxiety: Maul knows he cannot unspeak his words, but… if what Savage wants is his family, then Maul will try. Else his apprentice might endanger himself again, might run again, and Savage should never have been hurt.

“Brother,” more loudly this time in case Savage wasn’t paying attention. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“So the reporting team of Esk-Beth Coruscant isn’t falling for an obvious scam?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumber than you are. You know what I am referring to.” Savage stays mulishly silent, and so Maul is forced to continue, “You told me that I did not want to be your Sith Master, and I reacted badly.”

“Oh, that,” Savage says. “That was weeks ago. You’re still upset?”

“Are you trying to tell me that you aren’t—” Maul shakes his head. Remaining calm is necessary, if he is to see through what he started. This was not supposed to be another fight. “I shouldn’t have told you that I would be dead if you had raised me. That was… You told me of Feral, of what you were forced to do, and I hurt you with it.”

“That’s what you were talking about?”

“What else?”

“I just thought that it was true,” Savage admits. A finger softly knocks against Maul’s hand, as if Savage was asking Maul to look at him, but hyperspace is much more interesting. So many completely identical lines passing by. “Brother, few males survive long on Dathomir. I have mourned so many people, and I just thought… You were right. You would probably have died. I couldn’t have protected you from the Sisters, although, with the Mother’s interest in you… She commanded me to find you, after all, and She wouldn’t have spared a thought for another missing nightbrother. She… Whatever She wants with you… I couldn’t have protected you. Just like I could not protect you from Sidious. I’m not strong enough for that. I’m sorry.”

Maul does not quite know what he should say. Something comforting, probably. Instead, he fiddles with the radio controls; louder, quiet, and then off.

“I couldn’t even handle those police officers on Thyferra.”

“You fought well. You killed several of their number. They wouldn’t have bothered with the muzzle at all, if they had not feared for their fingers,” Maul tells the windscreen with a lightness he does not quite feel. A muzzle is a terrible thing. It has always been. “It’s difficult to fight that many people simultaneously, and you’re only an apprentice. You were weaker than ten stun guns. That does not make you weak.”

“I provoked the fight, brother. Someone touched me when I was arguing, because it’s not a lie that we use rancor leather and the man said—I was distracted, and someone touched me, and I spooked. I killed him. I don’t think they were trying to hurt me before that.”

The force colors with anger and shame; just faintly, but Savage is still recovering from captivity and drug-haze. He disdains himself for his weakness. Maul wants to agree—he does agree, or he would have, just days ago—but there is nothing to be gained from dwelling on this mistake, from heaping more suffering onto it. Some stones just drown. They already hurt Savage for his fear, and more punishment won’t… it’s a new idea, and it’s what Savage would say, but that doesn’t make it wrong.

Savage wants his family, and kindness is a brother’s choice.

Maul can choose to make it.

He can choose to be the brother Savage expects. If he is to keep them together freely, he must.

“You didn’t deserve to be abused, brother. They chained you down like an animal. They cut your horns. No-one deserves that.” Maybe Savage understands the significance, the surrender to an argument he apparently doesn’t even remember, or maybe he lacks the context: either way, the force grows warm and grateful. It’s a heady feeling, and so Maul adds, “And I found you. You were not fighting them alone.”

“I know, brother. We together are strong. I should not have gone alone in the first place.”

You shouldn’t, Maul thinks. You shouldn’t have told Gorge to distract me when I asked about you. You should have let me train you.

You shouldn’t have betrayed me.

Still: stones will only sink. He must make a different choice. “Why did you?”

“When you said that you’d have died, it reminded me: I am thirty-one, now. I am older than any of my brothers have ever been.”

“You’re not that old,” Maul says, mostly for the sake of contradiction, and to lure out more words. He’s undecided on the matter, in truth: compared to Lord Sidious, no-one is old; but if Maul could look away from the stars of hyperspace passing by the windshield without losing his calm, he’d see the faint beginnings of crows’ feet in the corners of Savage’s eyes.

“I’m old, brother,” Savage replies. “I didn’t really think about it much because I was too preoccupied with trying to help you, but then the Woman… then it happened, and then what you said reminded me… I am old. I could die any day, and you’ll have nothing to remember me by. That’s why… When a nightbrother grows of age—grows old enough for the trials, for breeding, so old that the Sisters will take him… he makes his brothers gifts. Leather bracelets, mostly, and there were no rancors to hunt on Thyferra so I tried to buy… You should have something I touched, so you can remember me when I am dead.”

The placid acceptance boils Maul’s blood. “I don’t care about your primitive customs.”

“Brother, listen—”

“No,” Maul snaps. He wheels around to stare him down, all plans for ceding ground and making Savage want to stay again forgotten. “No. Shut up.”

Savage doesn’t flinch. It’s a near thing, though, eyes closing and then moving past Maul’s face. Still, he tries, “Maul, you don’t know…”

“No.”

“Brother, you don’t understand. It does help. I would give anything to have that bracelet Feral made for me, but the Sisters undressed me before the ritual and when I… when I had a mind again, I was on the ship and Feral was dead and it was gone.”

“No,” Maul says. “I don’t need it. You will not die.”

“Brother, I know you want—”

“You will not die. I don’t need any of your trinkets. I don’t care that you don’t want me to train you anymore. I don’t care that you despise the Sith. I don’t care that you want to leave me. I won’t let you. I won’t let you die.”

“I didn’t—”

“Understand: when you look at me, you see the baby torn from your arms, but it was weak. It died the moment Lord Sidious looked at it.” It died then; its neck snapped with the first animal it was forced to kill; it drowned in that deprivation box. It does not matter. “Mourn your child all you want, but remember, I am not it. I am strong. I am Maul, not that child, and I will find you again however far you run. I am not a nightbrother, I’m not chattel waiting for death, and no matter how distasteful you find my training, I will not let you die.”

A pause—a stunned pause, Maul decides, although he his chest heaves too much to look and find out—and then: a touch. “I know that, brother,” Savage says.

“Yes. That’s why you left.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We fought, and then you left me.”

Savage laughs, not mirth but relief of tension. Then he says, “I didn’t. I wouldn’t, brother, I will never give you up. Didn’t you listen? I was buying you a present, because I went too far and you weren’t yet ready to—” Savage’s fingers tap the navcomputer anxiously— “to hear me, about the kind of man your Master was. And then I couldn’t fight back against their blasters, and I let you down, but… that’s the only reason I didn’t walk back to you. I never willingly left. I won’t desert you.”

Oh. That does make sense. “But I’m not—”

“I know. I’m not blind. It’s been three years. I have stayed by your side, and I loved you when you were a baby, but I love you now, brother. I trust you. It’s just—I want a better life for you. Sidious didn’t just try to teach you strength. It was a… a side-effect, I think, of obedience, because he wanted a tool, and a powerless tool is useless.”

Maul bites his lip, because he should counter this attack—he can't just be a tool; he is Sith, and the apprentice will kill and supplant his Master—but… agony is no teacher of strength if I cannot even think, apart from… (Think, Maul: what else does Sidious want?) He can do anything He wants. He is in control. I am Yours, the child would have begged. He has always known the answer.

“I know obedience, Maul. I’m a nightbrother: service is what I was bred for. I have watched the Nightsisters enforce control, and tried to teach children the strength for survival. It’s different. You can have one without the other.”

The stars slide further by, and Maul lets those words wash over him.

“We are free, now,” Savage whispers. “There are no Sisters here. No Master. You do not have to be Sidious, and I know you too well to believe you want to be him.”

(The replay of the cell’s holorecording will show tenderness, epiphany. Its sound will be much louder than the whimpers and the pain and the lightning, but still, He will dominate the room when He hisses, “Do you even understand what your beast did?”

Maul will watch streaks of abraded skin on the floor. He is not required to speak.

“I was content to watch you run around the galaxy, wreaking minor chaos and terrifying the Jedi so much they diverted all their attention into finding you. That was quite amusing. Useful. But evidently, you cannot be trusted not to betray my existence.” He will sigh, the very picture of idle disappointment even though the force will burn livid and purple with His anger. “You just had to ruin it. You had to speak my name, to betray your Master. If it were not for my interceding, those careless words would have been shown to the Jedi. Your little adventure would have derailed plans that your tiny brain cannot even begin to comprehend. Look at me.”

The lightning will bite, and only then will Maul look up.

He will look up, and finally see: an old man who hurt a child and enjoyed it.)

#darth maul #savage opress #runaways 'verse #in which Maul and Savage finally settle their argument about whether they are Sith or family #(spoiler alert: Savage wins)#(even more spoiler alert: he will win against Everyone this is fix-it fic)#dimtraces makes things #i hope this read more break works because this is Long

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