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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

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Dragon Pt.1

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: assassin related stuff

Words: 3066

Summary: She had trusted her Unsullied with her life. That was why when one attacked her with a knife she doesn't have him killed. Instead Daenerys wants to get down to the problem. Only when she removes the Unsullied's helmet she is met with the face of a young girl.

Part 2

The tip of the dagger was mere inches from her chest. Had Daario and Jorah been a second slower in stopping it, Dany was positive she’d be dead. By the hands of one of her own Unsullied. The two men who vied for her attention wrestled the soldier down in an attempt to restrain him. For the odds being two-to-one, the single Unsullied assailant proved to be difficult to hold down. Grey Worm and the others assisted Jorah and Daario in bringing his own man down onto his knees.

“What shall you have me do to him?” Grey Worm turns to his queen. He was surprised that one of his own men would dare to lay a violent hand upon their silver haired queen. From the moment Daenerys had got them out of bondage the Unsullied had been completely devoted to her and would gladly die for her.

Dany was aware of this as well and wanted to know why he had attacked her. These were her sworn men, the only others besides Jorah that she would trust with her life.

Despite them urging her to stay back, Daenerys slowly walked up to the detained Unsullied who had his head held up high. Up close she noticed how small he was compared to the other men in his company. He must’ve been one of the young unblooded ones that she had taken from under the Master’s grasp. She places each of her hands on either side of the metal helmet that all the Unsullied wore and gently slid it up to remove it. She was met with a soft feminine face that held harsh (e/c) eyes. Her would be assassin was a girl. They stared at each other for some time, Dany for some odd reason held captive by those glowering eyes while the other girl keeps her facial features completely void except for the fire in her eyes.

“Your Grace? What should we do? She’s obviously an assassin. Although I must applaud her for easily passing off as an Unsullied.” Hums Daario with slight approval.

Jorah wasn’t as light hearted as Daario as he grabs the young girl’s slender throat. She doesn’t even flinch but her lips curl in a snarl. “Who sent you?”

“Unhand her Jorah.” Daenerys immediately instructs earning a confused look from her bear lord.

His lips part. “But Khaleesi, she nearly killed you.”

“I’m aware of what she almost did. I don’t want to repeat myself.”

Reluctantly he unwraps his meaty hand from her throat and backs away. Still Jorah makes sure to keep his glare trained on the little assassin.

Regarding her for a moment, Dany instructs her men to confine the girl in a cell and have a close eye on her; seeing as she had slipped from their detection to begin with. She made no struggle as they led her away.

Curious, Daario crosses his arms. “And what exactly do you have planned for her?”

“It’s not safe to keep her here.” Jorah insists.

“I’m going to persuade her to join our side. If it’s money she wants we can out pay whoever hired her in the first place. She’s obviously talented. Gave you two quite the fight.”

Chuckling while his counterpart flushes with embarrassment, Daario saunters closer to Daenerys with his usual playful, toothy, grin. “You can’t trust people like her. Of course I’m in the same job field, but I’m different.”

That made her quirk an eyebrow up. “Are you now?”

“Your love is the only payment I require.”

“You’re getting off track!” Snaps Jorah haughtily. “She can’t stay here. Khaleesi, with your kind heart you have won man over. But that won’t always work. Did you see her eyes? Eyes like those belong to someone who has no morals, who can’t be swayed.”

No. Dany had seen something else in those eyes. Something that pulled her in. A sense of familiarity.

Jorah always did have the tendency to see the worst in people. Daenerys wanted to believe that what she saw was something good.

You had been in worst situations. At least there were no rats in your cell. Small blessings you supposed. You groan at the thought of your lost payment. When you escaped you would definitely not get paid. Your benefactor would probably send others to get rid of you so that you wouldn’t utter a word that it was him. Not that you would. . . Unless the price was right.

You would worry about that when you got out of your cell.

No chains or locks could restrain you for long. This was nothing compared to some of the tight binds you found yourself in in Braavos. Even in Volantis where you had dealt in some risky business you were quick and smart enough to escape with all your limbs and your pride. When you caught a glimpse of prostitutes selling themselves in the dirt and grime, dread always made your stomach churn. That could’ve easily had been your fate. There had been numerous times when you were young that had nearly resulted in rape. You had kept your wits though and easily brought your assailant’s life to an end.

Flexing your feet and wrists you examine your surroundings and think of a plan. You refused to be dragon fodder.

You’d wait until a guard opened your cell and grabbed you. They hadn’t thought to check your boots for weapons. In each was a dagger strapped snuggly to the inside. There were pre-made sheaths in the insides of your boots that protected you from the sharp blades. You also had a small pack of needles laced with a fast acting poison hidden away as well.

You were prepared for the Unsullied guards to come back. It couldn’t have taken too long for the Mother of Dragons to decide your fate. If someone had tried to kill you you would want them dead. In fact anyone who had tried to kill you was indeed gone from the living plane. You had seen to that.

Instead it was the queen herself that was illuminated by torchlight. And she was alone.

You could still finish your job. Coax her to open the door and just as you walk out, feign tying your boots when you’re really reaching for your daggers. You would cut off her white hair as proof that you had indeed succeeded in your task.

Breathing slowly to calm your heart rate, you train your eyes on her as she continues to draw closer.

She was astonishingly beautiful, you would give her that. Daenerys Targaryen. With her flawless complexion and stunning lavender eyes you were sure she could easily have any man bend the knee to her regardless of her dragons.

What could she possibly have to say to you? Maybe spit in your face or curse you. You had experienced it all.

Except for. . . “Are you hungry?”

Questioningly you stare at her. You weren’t accustomed to being surprised. To be honest you hardly held any emotion except for anger and you used that when you fought. All emotion had been trained out of you much like the Unsullied. No female castration was performed on you though. Your lady bits didn’t stop you from killing without remorse.

Yet there you were. Surprised and confused.

Daenerys folds her hands in front of you. She had previously spoken in Valyrian as many in Essos spoke a a form of it. When you continued to look at her with unblinking eyes she tried using the Common Tongue of Westeros. Perhaps she thought you hadn’t understood her. “Whoever employed you. . . I can assure you that I have more to offer you than they can. We can discuss it over a meal. . .”

That was the oldest trick in the book. Did she really think you would fall for that? You had invited many to meals that had wound up being poisoned.

Yet if she opened the cell door you’d be able to get to her. You’d finally be able to leave the sweltering deserts that surrounded Meereen and all the other god awful enslaved cities.

“And what can you offer me?” You reply in Valyrian, trying to add interest in your voice. Make her believe that you were playing into her game. She seemed like the trusting type. After all she did stop one of her guards from possibly strangling you. Already you knew she had a kind heart. People with kind hearts didn’t last too long.

One step closer and she put her hand on the wrought iron bars. Daenerys gazed intently at you, trying to read something that you were unsure of. “A place in my guard. A chance to gain glory in Westeros.”

“I care not for glory or a position in your guard.” Folding your arms in front of your chest you go on. “What I care about are riches. Have you any of that, Mother of Dragons?”

“Once I take the Iron Throne you can have as much as your heart desires.”

You doubted that would ever happen. Stories told in taverns you had heard the history of Westeros and how the Valyrians had fled from their crumbled home; claiming and conquering Westeros as their own. Even though she had conquered Slaver’s Bay and Meereen there was so much more that went into being a queen. She was young and thought she could play at being ruler just because she had three dragons and a useless claim.

You hardly cared about her ambitions that were as doomed as Valyria.

Still you would get her to believe anything, as long as she opened the door.

“A castle. With a room filled with gold.”

She moves closer to the lock, her fingers revealing a brass key. You keep your eyes trained on her sparkling eyes though, not willing to let up what your intentions were. “If that is what you desire. It shall be your’s. I only request one thing of you.”

Of course you would have to prove your loyalty. You force an eyebrow up in mock question.

Daenerys takes this as an invitation to go on. “Go back and kill the person who hired you.”

The key was getting closer and closer to the lock.

You try not to hold your breath and force yourself to breathe steadily. “Then it will be done.”

For half a heart beat you feared that she wouldn’t open it, that she didn’t quite believe you. Something in her posture seemed testing. Yet you heard a click as Daenerys inserted the key and turned it.

Standing up you casually stalk toward the now open door. Indeed she was alone. This seemed all too easy for you. You tested the waters by taking one step out, then two until you were in front of her. You realized the two of you were initially the same height. Even in the dull light of the dungeons Daenerys’s hair was incredibly bright, giving her an almost white aura around her face. You were sure she was the most beautiful girl in the entire world. Not that beauty mattered much to you. Once, maybe when you were innocent ( you can’t remember a time when you were though), you had hoped to grow up into a beautiful lady. Fall in love with someone who would take you away and make you happy.

No one could make you happy though. Not even yourself.

Happiness didn’t exist for you.

You had been raised and trained to kill. You were a monstrous being.

That was why you kneeled down to supposedly tie your boots and once your fingers found the concealed daggers you lunged at the beautiful girl.

Her back crashed into the ground and knocked all the air right out of her. She shouldn’t have been so surprised. She should’ve known better. This girl was unpredictable. She should’ve at least brought Jorah with her and have him stand further down in the hall. But she so wanted to prove him wrong. Daenerys had thought she saw something different in the female assassin’s face. Something that told her that what Daario and Jorah had said was wrong. Yet there she was, having stopped the tip of the blade with her palm and feeling the sharp sting radiate throughout her hand. The warm trickle of blood kissed her pale palm as it rolled down to her arm. After all Daenerys had been through she should’ve known better. Not everyone could be converted.

She winces as she tries to wrap her fingers around the blade only further pressing it into her hand. She wanted to cry, to scream out in pain, but she had to try to get the knife out of the skilled hand.

As she turned her watering gaze to the unnamed girl she saw it. The fire. Flames that burned in (e/c) eyes. Fury and the strong drive to kill.

They looked exactly like Drogon’s eyes when he had snapped at her. It had been weeks since she last saw the biggest of her children, but she would never mistake his eyes. Daenerys may have been the blood of the dragon but this girl. . . she was the dragon. She was wasting her life with being a petty assassin.

“You could be so much more. . .” Dany finally found the strength to whisper catching the girl off guard. She clearly saw it as something twitched in her otherwise stoic face. She still pressed her dagger further into Daenery’s already blood drenched hand. “Why. . . Why are you wasting your time living like this? You could be something great.”

Something great.

Like what? A soldier in her crusade? There was nothing greater than being a well known assassin. They whispered your name all throughout Essos and those who knew of you in Westeros dare not even utter your name.

This girl insulted you.

Your nose scrunches in a snarl as you wind your arm back, watching her bleeding hand fall aside.

Her wide eyes stare at you without falter as you notice her chest tremble with evident fear. Full lips part and quiver as she lets out a shaky breath. “You could be more than assassin, taking orders from others. . . You could be a dragon.”

If you had the ability to laugh you would’ve. Westerosi lords and their mascots. They took it too seriously to where they thought they were that specific animal.

“As long as you live like this, no matter how many people you kill or how much you are paid it will never be enough. Just one meaningless task after another. Aren’t you tired? Wouldn’t you rather put your skills to good use and actually do something of merit? Fill your life with something that isn’t pointless. If you allowed yourself to grow you could be a dragon.”

You reel back as she spits out the truth you had feared for quite some time. Every word she said was true. Your life had become a repetitive cycle that you were growing bored of. It was never enough.

Nothing ever filled you.

You doubted even killing the Mother of Dragons wouldn’t satisfy you. You would probably just start another day and look for another kill. You weren’t a dragon but a jackal with a bottomless pit, always roaming the streets and devouring everything in sight.

Uncharacteristically your hands shook as they dropped your daggers. Everything crashed into you. All those years of your father beating all emotion out of you. Of your brothers poisoning you to make you stronger. You would die unhappy and starving just like your father had.

In this time Daenerys sits up and slowly backs away from you yet she doesn’t leave. “Join me and I promise you I can truly give your life meaning. I can help you live to your full potential.”

She offered you her red stained hand.

You slapped it away and ran.

*A FEW WEEKS LATER*

Daenerys hadn’t heard the end of it from Jorah. He fumed when he learned that the prisoner had escaped. Even more so when he saw her wounded hand. Melancholy, Daenerys had ignored Jorah’s worried and sulked quietly. Things had not been going well for her. The Sons of the Harpy had started attacking everyone that supported her. She had also been forced to lock up Viserion and Rhaegal underneath one of Meereen’s great pyramids.

Heart broken and weary, Daenerys had finally decided to choose a Meereenese husband in hopes that it would placate the Sons of the Harpy. She was not looking forward to what had to be done. She was queen though and would have to do things she didn’t want to in order to keep the peace of her people.

Her attention was brought back to the audience chamber where she had been sitting, hearing the complaints of the people. Loud yells pierced through the room before numerous Unsullied came flooding in with a familiar face.

The female assassin.

Daenerys notices Jorah prickle at the sight of her as his hand goes on top of the pommel of his sword. She didn’t think she would ever see her face again.

“Release her.”

“Your Grace. . .”

“I said release her.” She makes sure there’s a bite of authority in her tone. They do so and that’s when she notices a bag hanging off of her hip. She looked even more tiny without parading around in the bulky Unsullied uniform. Her (h/c) hair was pulled out of her face and Dany saw the dark circles that plagued her eyes. This girl had indeed lived a hard life.

Her guards flinch when she reaches into her bag and the ones closest to her turn their spears towards her. She arches her brows, slightly amused as she slowly retrieves a head out and throws it toward Daenerys’ throne. Jorah recoils but Daenerys keeps still.

“The head of the man who wanted you dead.” She says. “You say I can be more than an assassin. Prove it to me.”

The first time in quite a while, Dany smiles. “What is your name?”

“(y/n) (l/n).”

Getting up despite Jorah trying to get her to stay put, Daenerys travels down the steps of her platform, walks around the severed head and to (y/n). She takes off her necklace which had the Targaryen crest of the three headed dragon and pressed it into her hands.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen fanfiction #daenerys targaryen fanfic #daenerys targaryen x reader #got #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf reader insert #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom

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saphirered · 2 years

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Woodland strolls with aedion ? Can it be fluff please 💘

Hope you enjoy this one! Tooth rotting fluff. 😘

Snow and cold are fine. Especially after weeks of being exposed to the environment but when the weather’s stuck between the fading warmth of summer and the freezing winter, Aedion has some difficulty getting accustomed. He’d rather stay inside where he can sit by the fire, or be active to keep warm. Though, his favourite past time is letting you wrap him up in an embrace as you both slouch on the couch or your bed or wherever else you’ve deemed suitable. Relaxing together makes the weather bearable. That being said, he still can’t believe you somehow got him to agree to walk out to the middle of nowhere, into the forests far outside the city and traverse a path of your choosing. Wrapped up in warm wool may keep the worst at bay and Aedion is just glad it stopped raining a few hours ago which usually wouldn’t approve his mood but he sees you; the smile on your face as your gloved hand reaches between the layers of his cloak to lace with his as you pull him along. Okay, that’s why he agreed. You’d been excited and it didn’t take much more than the thought of your happiness to get him to come along. When he is reminded of how this brings you joy, he forgets all about his grumpiness, even if just briefly.

The first leaves have fallen covering the ground in a blanket of yellow when the trees still carry some of the orange canopies. Everything feels alive. The creatures of the forest prepare for winter and while not many see what beauty this nature brings, outside of some pretty colours, you do. You’d run left and right, leaving your darling’s side for but a moment to admire the mushrooms, or pick up the chestnuts, break their shell and collect them in your pockets.

“Are you going to keep standing there all day or will you help?” You laugh looking over your shoulder as you see Aedion rub his hands together. So much for that brave demi-fae warrior being displeased with some in-between-weather.

“I think I’m alright here, unless you insist. The view is quite nice.” He teases when you bend down at the waist to collect more, so in revenge you toss one of the chestnuts at him. He easily dodges it so you throw another which he does again.

“Bastard.” You mutter under your breath.

“I heard that.” He speaks as if you’re technically not incorrect and with a wicked grin he draws closer until you’re face to face sharing equally defiant looks, waiting for who will make the next move, or break. Aedion does, not because he’ll gladly give you the satisfaction of winning, he’d not make that easy on you, but simply because he cannot resist. He cups your cheeks and you squeal at his cold touch but soon that’s soothed by his lips on yours. It’s a good consolation in your mind as his fingers warm from the heat of your cheeks but then he pulls away.

“Can we go back to the castle now?” Aedion asks but it sounds more like a whine so you simply peck his lips ones, take his hands in yours and begin easing him along through the trees.

“Not quite yet.” He sighs feigning disappointment. “You’ll like this one. I promise.” He doesn’t look quite convinced but lets you lead the way anyway. He supposes this outside wandering day is getting better. You lead him through the trees and bushes far far away from the path.

“Usually when someone earn you trust and drags you off far away and out of earshot of any living thing it means trouble. Have I finally done it? Is this tje day you murder me?” Aedion may sound convincing but the grin gracing his features says otherwise. You just give him a look but then turn to cold neutrality as you approach an orchard. Walking straight up to the lower branches you can reach you inspect the green bunches of what Aedion can’t describe. Slightly fluffy, green and puffed leaves that curl at their pointy edges. You seem to know what they are as you move on to one more brown where the leaves have peeled away to reveal a little brown nut of some kind and pick it off the forest floor. You remove it from its pocket and break the shell and carefully remove the inside droping the other remains to the soil beneath. You face him, and offer him little thing in your hand.

“Right because I am trying to poison you by eating this thing, and will go back to the castle to tell their brave warrior commander choked on a poisonous nut out in the forest. However will I convince them of such recklessness.” You speak with as much sarcasm you can muster and roll your eyes.

“Thank you for revealing your master plan, my darling. Now I’d still like to know what it is.” You roll your eyes again as he gently plucks the nut from your palm and pops it into his mouth before you can give any explanation.

“You are unbelievable.” If Aedion was not so caught up in the flavour of what you made him eat, he might have countered with some sort of comment. His eyes go wide for a second, then confusion and he looks at you for information.

“This is delicious but why does it vaguely remind of chocolate?” You pick another from the same bunch as Aedion comes up behind when you stand tall and reaches for one on the higher branches, still somewhat green and pulls back the cocoon, picks the nut and crushes it like you did to reveal the lumpy inside. You eat the one you took and lean back into him as he wraps an arm around your waist. He can’t see your face but if he is in a teasing mood you’ll let him eat the fruits of it too.

“Because this is what hazelnut looks like. Which is a common replacement for chocolate. When it’s ripe it’s slightly sweet. It’s also quite delicious when mixed with chocolate.” You turn in his embrace as he puts the hazelnut in his mouth. His features sour in disgust when he bites through. With some difficulty and a cough he swallows it.

“That does not taste like the one before.” You stroke his cheek as you tut nearly as if you’d be schooling a child so he just looks annoyed at your deviousness. You could have stopped him at any time but you didn’t.

“Because they’ll taste good once they’ve fallen. And if you’re going to be a good little demifae I won’t complain about you eating the entire stash before we get back to the castle.” He looks at you thoughtfully but breaks when you kiss his cheek.

“I think I might need some convincing.” He still says.

“I can do that.” The mischief in your eyes is frightening but he forgets about that as soon as your lips meet his.

#aedion x reader #aedion ashryver #throne of glass #throne of glass imagines #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader #throne of glass fanfiction #sjm fic #sjmaas

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pinkhairedlily · 2 years

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SS Retsuden Countdown | D-2 (late entry sheessshh)

Prompt: Corona borealis - Your hands are my pride 🔞

Summary: In a party. On a stage. Sasuke shows Sakura what his hands could do.

Sakura likes parties. It's where people let loose and let live in the guise of freedom under dim lights. She has rules when she joins one: dance with practiced moves, drink enough and not too much, grind a little. Just the perfect amount of vulnerability to show them she’s human. But all the same cool, everybody-wants-you, it girl.

With Ino in tow, she becomes a mirrorball.

Maybe it's because of this that she's resistant in telling the world she's dating the uptight council president, Uchiha Sasuke. It’s not very on brand. She’s supposed to like jocks and MVP athletes, students who have more charm than brain cells, or men who would prefer her as eye candy than an armful of books.

Quite frankly, Sasuke doesn’t fall short in the looks department. He’s on top of it.

It’s just that he’s intimidating. And serious. And brooding. And grumpy. And he matches someone willing to sit in Uchiha family dinners with the pomp and grace of royalty and converse about trust funds.

And yet — he chose her.

One social science elective in fall, a project for two, library meetings blending into afternoon americanos. Then a class dinner after the semester. Sure, it was wholesome. He had a beer, she had a sangria, he slipped a casual ‘I like you’ over the rowdy laughter, and he held her hand under the table. She didn’t let go. She held on tighter. She felt dizzy then, as if he took her whole world and spun it around. She hoped it wouldn’t stop turning.

Now they have late nights drinking each other in. Under broken streetlights, against a tree, through pretend alleyways, in safe covers. Sasuke has become her most treasured secret.

“Why is he present tonight?” Sakura is seething. She can easily pick out Sasuke with his slicked back hair in the sea of bodies, dressed in white satin shirt that accentuates his eyes and leather pants that show off his build. He came to kill.

She tries to get his attention by staring, but of course, that was futile.

Ino shrugs and sips her cocktail. “Rest easy, Sakura babe. I heard he lost a game against their adviser. Standing order to go enjoy himself before his last semester.” One brow shoots up in curiosity. “Fit is A-plus. If I’m not the love of your life, I would have pulled him already in the nearest bathroom stall.”

“Shut up Ino,” Sakura stomps both of her feet in annoyance. Everyone, everyone, is looking at him. “Can you like — scare him off or something?”

Ino’s smile increases a notch. “You’re so worked up. This is quite a funny scene to me. I finally saw the day where my unaffected Sakura got so possessive.”

Sakura takes the glass out of Ino’s hand and glares at her until she does the favor. Ino rolls her eyes and complies with her best friend’s plea for help.

All the lights come on bright as day and the ear-dumbing music dies down to silence. “As you may know, we have special guests tonight.” The host comes on stage with a set of peaches. “Everyone, let’s give it up for our seniors in Business Administration!”

“Shit,” Sakura and Ino say at the same time.

“They’re doing the peach game.” Ino points at the table on the side of the stage where pieces of the fruit are placed.

“Let’s call them up here, especially our very own student council president Uchiha Sasuke!”

Cheers and hoots ring across the place. In her periphery, Sakura sees him getting shoved in front. He begrudgingly gets on the stage along with ten others, sticking to the side instead of the center. The number and positioning is comforting, but Sasuke is unfortunately dazzling.

“He just stands out too much,” Ino says what Sakura is thinking.

“Now that each of you has a fruit, your mission is to extract a small piece of pearl we injected inside. You have to…finger it.” This earns snickers from the crowd, and Sasuke almost looks like he’s about to pass out.

“Girl, don’t you think we should go in front?” The blonde doesn’t wait for Sakura’s answer, and she pulls him to the part of the stage directly in Sasuke’s line of sight.

“The pearl can be a cash prize, a key to a room, a free drink voucher, anything you like!” The host holds up a timer. “Fastest one wins — GO!”

Multitude of shouts ‘Go Sasuke’ irks Sakura. She almost opens her mouth to drown out the noise with her own voice. Surely, he’ll know her scream. He has been hearing it on most nights anyway.

But he finds her immediately. He smirks and complies with the theatrics.

“He’s looking at me,” Sakura says to Ino.

“Yeah, he is,” Ino grimaces. “Eeeewww. It's like being a bystander during sex. Let me look at Shikamaru instead.”

Sasuke takes his time. He’s uninterested in the competition. To Sakura, the room dwarfs down to only him and her. He flexes his hand before grappling the fruit. She doesn't have to squint to remember the thickness of his veins and how they pulse during the rush.

He palms one side and under until the peach nearly bursts. Sakura can feel the phantom connection of him fondling her breasts, one mound after the other, rough hands against smooth skin. Each one fits his hand perfectly; when they let go, they leave handprints. She finds that he likes leaving traces of his touch.

He puts up one finger at first — tender and long — and dives into the bottom of the peach, coaxing its way into the fruit’s entrance. It opens up to him, dripping juices over his wrist. He catches her eyes as if he could hear her catching her breath.

Then he puts in another digit, and Sakura has to be conscious not to let out an ungodly moan. Sasuke plows through the ripe flesh, and the mics below the stage relay the pulpy sound of decimation.

He makes scissoring motions inside the fruit, probably finding where the goddamn pearl is, but it's her core who feels the motions.

The tenacious nudge of his movements against her walls. The whispers and randomly placed kisses. The sound of her name leaving his perfect lips.

Sakura is near tears. The wanting is visceral — the way she is forced to see how he intends to pleasure her in a crowd of people she wants to please. Like she is being given an ultimatum.

Sasuke's fingers settle on a rhythm, thrusting and scissoring through the pulp and skin, until the small pearl finds its way in between.

He's one of the last to find it, but he's unperturbed, taking his time instead to lick his hand clean.

Long enough for Sakura to pull him down the stage and give him a kiss. Hands entwined for everyone to see. /He's mine./

Long enough for the lights to black out and return to their flashy show.

Long enough for the booming bass to mask the hurried steps, a french exit.

In an abandoned stall. Against the door. One leg raised to give entry to the aching bulge. His peach-laced fingers in her mouth, sucking him clean. His fingers in her hair, pulling her in, taking all of her lips, her mouth, her tongue.

Sasuke doesn't have to rip her apart. He only has to set the thong aside and enter in one swift thrust.

"Hmm, you're wet." There's satisfaction in the remark.

"With your performance — who wouldn't?" She bites his neck at the overwhelming pleasure of contact. Funny when they already fucked before the party.

"That was only for you though." Sasuke breaks away for a second. "Is the peach game a tradition or is it intentionally made to embarrass me? They could have chosen a ripe persimmon —"

"Uchiha, please shut up." She seals his ramblings with a flick of the tongue, and they both get lost in the ensuing waves of sensation.

He pulls up her other leg and wraps them both around his waist, giving his cock the right angle and tightness to thrust into. Sakura loves looking down on him as he starts to come undone.

She shivers and then she breaks.

In the sweat drenched afterglow of nicotine and alcohol, he asks her, "What does it mean?"

For someone who never runs out of excuses to wiggle out of her lovers' arms, she finds herself unable to dodge the question.

Sakura chooses to retreat further in his embrace, her legs still straddling him against the sink. "Hmm?"

"You gave me a verbal contract."

She remembers. She told him she'll only do this until he graduates, to preserve her reputation, to not taint her own, to let two different sides of the world stay where they should be.

"Yeah," she replies. "It still stands. No one saw us."

She didn't tell him she's scared.

Scared of how much she loves him, and how it will eventually end.

"Everyone saw us." He's defiant. Those fingers that destroyed the peach wound themselves now around her wrists, planting them on the tiles. "Stop running away, Sakura. It only happens once for us."

"What is it?" She's in denial, and he's aware of it. His fingers let her go, only for his hands to settle on top of hers. She turns her palms over so he could hold them.

She has always lived on intimacy and affections, as if each touch pumps blood, gives her reason to go through one more night. One more day. She has always craved it. Sought it in the most opportune moments with the most random of people.

And now it has a name.

Uchiha Sasuke.

"This." He kisses her forehead, then her eyes, the tip of her nose. "This gold rush."

Sakura couldn't resist. She's being swept away.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42599475

#sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #ss retsuden countdown #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily

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beachboy-west · 2 years

Photo

Meet: West Virginia

“𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝒶𝒹𝓈”

Full name: West Virginia Age: 22 Sign: Aquarius City of birth: Cherry The current place for living: Cherry Siblings: Paulie Virginia, Virginia Ann Virginia, Westof Virginia, Baby Virginia Pets: N/A Birthday: February 1st Likes? Cars, drinking, weed, surfing, racing Dislike? Glenda Logan, people who talk to fast, when people get sand in his car right after he’s cleaned it, clowns

Mini Bio:

West Virginia is the second oldest of the Virginia clan, and probably one of Hugo's favorites... Especially since he skipped out on college to work full time at the garage. He eats, sleeps, and breathes classic cars - and though he believes blood is thicker than water, he's the first one to bully his siblings about nearly anything. Especially Paulie. When he's not at the garage, you can probably find him on a surfboard at the beach pretending like he doesn't know Virginia.

Bio:

- You grow up quick when you’re raised in a family like the Virginia’s. Or at least that’s what it felt like to West. He learned how to work a wrench at 2 years old. Was performing oil changes by the time he was 10. And by 16 he was one of the best mechanics in the family. So it was safe to say his love of cars started early. He learned to drive at the ripe age of 12 when he could just barely reach the gas pedal and found himself latched onto a need for speed only two years later. And he never really minded any of it. The hard grueling work his father forced upon him. Not the way some of his siblings did. But it was likely the start of his hunger for adrenaline that would carry him further and further from his fathers good graces. He fell in love with surfing the first time he went out. Got the cord of his surf board wrapped around his throat and almost drowned while out in the ocean. The life guard that carted him back in told him he was lucky to be alive. And he was right back out there an hour later. He fell into illegal street racing just as easily. Started as a way to blow off steam. Being stupid. Doing donuts in the Cherry High School parking lot. Ended in him going 150 down the backroads in an old car he’d fixed up at his dads shop. He’d earned more money that night than he ever had in a week at the shop.

- It was the races that got him involved in some shadier business. Once the guys he spent his time with realized how he did it, they wanted a part of it. Offered to buy and sell parts to him from the cars he worked on to make their own rides better. It was a dirty business, but as far as West was concerned it was his ticket out. The only place he really wanted to be after perhaps delving into the most adrenaline filled thing he could have done. At the ripe age of 16 years old, West Virginia fell head over heels in love with Sabrina Logan. Someone so far out of his league who should have been practically unattainable let him wiggle his way into her heart. Their relationship burned bright and West had never been happier than he was when he was with her. Unfortunately as some things do, the brightness of their love got them both burned when Glenda Logan found out and forced Sabrina to break up with him, sending him directly back down a track to self destruction as he welcomed any and all distractions.

- With a new found passion for proving he was worth more than Glenda made him feel, West doubled down on his efforts. Made a point of flirting with women outside his league, got himself involved in bigger races, and bigger schemes to make an extra buck. He’s still the hardest worker his father has at the Garage, and considers himself to be the closest thing to the head of the family. But little does anyone know the spiral of shit he’s gotten himself into.

-Skip to present day, West is still actively racing, still in the business of selling parts, and is actively working now to try and find a way to get his sister out of jail. He doesn’t trust his idiot brother to do it, despite Paulie being a literal cop, and is convinced it’s somehow his job to help her. At the same time he’s since re-kindled his relationship with Sabrina and has moved into an apartment with her to help support her after she removed herself from the Logan household and was attacked by her significantly less impressive ex boyfriend, the Mayor of Cherry.

#cusaintro #bio #Pretend I wrote this a really long time ago

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heliads · 3 years

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Guns Blazing, Tides Rising (Part One)

When Kaz Brekker announces that they’ll be working with a certain Tidemaker to help with the latest heist, Jesper knows it’s not going to end well. He and Y/N L/N have a fierce rivalry, although feelings may change over a night.

series masterlist / part two

Jesper is almost one block away from the Crow Club when he senses that he isn’t alone.

Technically, he hasn’t been alone in a long time. There is no place to get away in Ketterdam, no alley left uninhabited or room without a listener. It’s certainly nothing like Novyi Zem, where you could find miles of farmland with nobody to talk to and nothing to do. No, the Barrel has never been somewhere to stay away from people.

This, however, is a different kind of presence. Jesper only notices it now, and he has no idea how long the Wraith has been following him. Sometimes he thinks she does it on purpose, walking behind him, footsteps silent as ever, just to see how long it takes him to figure out that she’s there. Jesper halts in his tracks, raising his voice to the hooded figure no doubt a pace or two behind him. “I know you’re there, Inej, and if I turn around just now you had better not do that thing where you wait two inches behind me just to make me jump.”

There is silence, as expected. Jesper turns in a slow semicircle, ready for the inevitable, yet he still stiffens just slightly to see Inej standing behind him. Jesper has been in the Barrel for a long time, and gotten used to the skulking and sneaking of the various goons. He fancies himself at least somewhat capable at figuring out when people are following him, but for some reason, he cannot do the same with Inej. Not at all.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You did the thing.” Jesper finishes lamely. Something almost like a smile tugs at Inej’s lips. “That’s not exactly my fault. I’ve been waiting for you to notice me for a while. I’ve practically been stomping my heels against the cobblestones.” Jesper groans. “You have not. You’ve been as silent as ever, and you know that.” Inej ignores this, jerking her chin behind her, back in the direction of the Slat. “Your Crow Club endeavor will have to wait. Kaz needs you.”

Kaz Brekker needs him. “What a surprise. I’m very useful, as it turns out. Couldn’t this wait a little longer, though? I’ve heard they’ve got a new dealer over at Makker’s Wheel.” Inej just turns around, starting to walk back towards the Slat. No matter how hard Jesper tries, he cannot hear a single footstep echo against the stones. “This is more important.” Jesper raises an eyebrow. “More important than earning the Dregs money by supporting a local establishment? He doesn’t need to worry, you know, I’ve got money.”

Jesper grimaces at the look of incredulity starting to color Inej’s eyes. “Alright, it’s not a lot of money. But it is at least enough to buy a round or two. Besides,” Jesper continues, eager to shift the conversation away from his less than prosperous gambling habits, “Why did Kaz send you? He could have just delivered a note.” Inej lifts a shoulder, even the slightest of shrugs a graceful movement. “I told you, this is important.”

Jesper is intrigued by this. “Whenever you say ‘important’ more than once, it’s always good. Is it another heist? Extortion? Maybe a good clash of rival gangs?” Inej rolls her eyes. “I’m not supposed to tell you anything. That was the whole point of me going.” Jesper sighs dramatically. “You could tell me a little bit. I wouldn’t even mention it to Kaz.”

Inej instead lets her eyes trail upwards, towards the ramshackle glory of the Slat which is visible down the block. “You’ll get your information soon enough.” Her voice grows quiet, quieter than usual. It’s practically impossible to hear over the clack of footsteps on stone as pigeons and gang members alike rush to finish their business before it grows too late and the thieves come running. “I will say one thing, though. While we’re still away from prying ears.”

Jesper leans closer, fascinated. “What is it?” Inej looks up at him, and Jesper realizes that she looks almost regretful. “Don’t be too upset.” Jesper waits for more, some explanation to this excruciatingly vague statement, but nothing happens. “Don’t be upset? What, is Kaz going to cane me to death?” Inej tilts her head to the side. “There’s a plan, and it will involve some things that you won’t be too fond of. That’s all I can say for now.”

Jesper wants to pry a little further, even if he senses that the Wraith will remain silent, but the door to the Slat is already in front of him, effectively stopping any conversation. The Dregs may be Kaz’s gang, but loyalties can always be changed. Jesper has wandered the canals long enough to know that all secrets should be kept to locked doors, and even allies can turn against you. Some conversations are best when they’re not shared at all.

Jesper looks around for Kaz in the main room of the Slat, but he doesn’t see the dark-haired boy anywhere. Instead, Inej inclines her head towards the rickety set of stairs at the back of the room. “He’ll be waiting for you in his office.” Jesper moves to ask her something, anything, about what else is waiting for him there, but before he can even open his mouth to speak Inej has disappeared. It’s fascinating- Jesper hadn’t even turned away or looked elsewhere, yet she had vanished right before his open eyes. He hadn’t seen her go, just witnessed her blink away into the shadows.

Jesper stares at the empty floorboards where Inej had once stood, then, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a particularly nerve-wracking round of cards, begins to ascend the flights of stairs. He pauses once outside the door to Kaz’s office, touching the hilts of his pearl handled revolvers for luck, then pushes open the door and steps inside.

Kaz is waiting for him, standing at his desk and running through a map spread out across the wooden surface. He looks up when he sees Jesper enter, straightening to nod once in greeting. Jesper’s eyes travel to Inej, who had somehow beat him up the stairs and is now perched, catlike, on Kaz’s windowsill.

Kaz doesn’t bother with pleasantries or questions about Jesper’s day, as per usual, just dives into an explanation. “There’s a mercher living down near the Financial District. He’s like the others- snotty, pretends to be pious, unseasonably rich for someone who just arrived at his title, but he’s strayed too far from his gilded walkways and tried to start restrictions on Fifth Harbor.”

Jesper lets out a snort. “Merchers. Always getting too big for their tie pins.” Kaz ignores this. “Under his new plan, we’d have to pay out reparations to him and also ease back on coaxing pigeons into our establishments. There’s no way in hell that would ever pass, but this mercher just happens to have some pretty significant blackmail on key members of the Merchant Council, and they’ll pass whatever bill he wants so long as he keeps his mouth shut. Unfortunately, we can’t kill him directly, but we can break into his mansion and steal his proof of the Council’s less savory transactions. Without the blackmail, the Council will never pass the bill, and we’ll be fine.”

Jesper raises an eyebrow. “As easy as that?” Kaz lifts a shoulder. “There’s a slight complication. This mercher, Joeri ter Steege, has a certain thing for oceanside views. He’s found himself a nice little inlet near the water’s edge, and access to his mansion is only available by boat. This means that any attempt to access his house would mean we would travel by water, and any boat could easily be sighted by guards that patrol the area.”

Jesper squints at Kaz. “What do you mean, only available by boat? If he’s living in an inlet, shouldn’t there be some dock connecting it to the mainland?” Inej flashes him a smile. “The merch has got himself a moat.” Jesper stares. “You’re kidding me. You’ve got to be kidding me. This merch is so extravagantly wealthy that he’s gone and got himself a moat? Ghezen’s hand, maybe I should become a banker. The things I could do.” Inej hides a laugh. “The moats you could build.”

Kaz’s hand tightens around his crow’s head cane. “Regardless of the merch’s terrible landscaping decisions, the fact remains that access will be practically impossible. To get across, we’d need a boat, and any boat would be sighted by guards. That’s why we need a Tidemaker.” Jesper’s smile starts to drop from his face. Suddenly, pieces are starting to fall into place. Inej’s warning. Kaz’s mention of a Tidemaker. Jesper shakes his head. “Don’t tell me you got the one Tidemaker I’m thinking of. Please say you brought in somebody else.”

Kaz opens his mouth to either condemn this or save Jesper’s skin, but then a voice rings out from the newly opened door and Jesper’s spirits sink into his boots. “Afraid not, Fahey. They’ve brought me.” Jesper turns around, finding himself face to face with a girl just walking into the office, hand loosely wrapped around the wooden doorframe. She tosses him a smile as if they’re old friends, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Jesper whirls back around to face Kaz. “You didn’t. You’re really trusting her? Y/N L/N?” Kaz shrugs. “She’s the best there is, unfortunately. We need to remain hidden, and she’s the only one who won’t rat us out or let us drown.” Y/N walks further into the room, letting the door close behind her. “I appreciate the vote in confidence, but don’t worry about me. I can get you in and out, no problem. Well, the only problem will be you, sharpshooter.”

Jesper feels the sudden need to grab one (or maybe both) of his revolvers and let fly with his bullets. Can a Tidemaker wash away a hail of ammunition? Jesper’s assuming not. Kaz taps his cane against the floor. “Let’s not reach to violence just yet, Jesper. Wait until after the extraction is over.” Jesper throws one last glare Y/N’s way. “Trust me, I’ll have no problem with that.” He can wait, after all.

The problem with Y/N L/N is this: she keeps finding a way to meddle with everything he does. First, Jesper was on a heist by himself, breaking into a stronghold of the Dime Lions to snatch up an encoded message left by Pekka Rollins. He was doing fine until a wave of water cascaded in through the windows, knocking him aside and thoroughly drenching the paper. It was useless now, both to Rollins and to Kaz. Y/N had only bothered to toss a wink across the room before leaving, allowing her wave to soak Jesper’s boots while she was at it.

The second time was during a shootout. She’d been hired to the other side, although Jesper hadn’t known it yet. Jesper was just about to fire upon the lousy goon who’d hired her when she’d used her powers again, this time specifically intending to ruin his guns. His precious pearl-handled revolvers, soaked through with water. It had taken him forever to get the saltwater out of every crack and groove in the metal, and during all of that time he’d vowed to himself that he’d be the one to darken her doorway and make Y/N regret ever stepping foot against him again.

Jesper had won the third time. This time, he was the unexpected guest, and she was seconds away from drowning an entire swath of gang members to protect a secret. She was just raising her hands to move the water into place when a gunshot sounded from out of nowhere and she was knocked sideways, hand already raising to the stain of red starting to bloom out from her arm. It wouldn’t kill her, unfortunately, but it was enough to give the gang members time to escape. Some of them were Dregs, after all, and Jesper had some friends to protect. That isn’t to say that he didn’t walk away with a smile, just that he had multiple motives.

Needless to say, he didn’t exactly have the best history with Y/N L/N. And now Kaz was asking him to have her back during a heist? It sounds like a joke. Unfortunately, Jesper has a sinking feeling that there’s no getting out of this. If he’s going to have to depend on Y/N for his life, things might not exactly go according to plan. He has no idea where Y/N’s loyalties lie, he reasons, but Jesper thinks there might be more to it than that.

The group meets up at the water’s edge. The canals bleed into the harbor here, and Jesper can just make out the lights of Joeri ter Steege’s mansion across the glittering black of the waves. He can also make out a slight tension in Kaz’s grip on his cane as he takes in the sight of the undulating water, but that isn’t for him to notice. Y/N melts out of the shadows, a blue lining on her coat the only indication that she might still cling to Ravkan traditions for Grisha. “Well?” She asks, walking past them as if not expecting an answer, “Are we ready?”

Y/N spreads her hands and the water of the harbor flickers and shifts on the surface. As Jesper watches, Y/N steps forward, and the water solidifies under her feet as if she’s walking on glass instead of the tides. She pushes her hands apart, and the area of solid water expands until it’s large enough to act as a bridge. She turns to the rest of the group. “We can walk from here. It’ll be faster than a boat, and far more quiet.”

Kaz nods, beginning to walk after her on the bridge of water. Before his feet leave the ground, his mouth moves once. “No mourners.” Jesper nods. “No funerals.” They won’t be able to speak as freely at the mercher’s island, so this will do best. Jesper considers the unmoving waves one last time, then follows him. He’s half expecting Y/N to let the water liquify under his feet just a little bit, out of spite, but it holds. They continue along the harbor, and if Jesper turns his head he can see the bridge rippling back into normal water after they pass by it. It raises the hairs on the back of his neck to see his escape route disappear so quickly, but Jesper does his best to quiet the voice of warning. Kaz would never bring Y/N in if he thought she would betray them, and even if he did, Kaz would have another way out. That’s just the way Dirtyhands worked.

All the same, Jesper feels a little better when his heels land on solid ground once more. Kaz doesn’t have to say a word, just points at the roof. Jesper nods, remembering the plan. He and Y/N split away from Kaz and Inej, heading towards the roof for their line of entry. When Jesper had heard this part of the plan, he had complained viciously. Why should he have to go scale the building alone with Y/N? Why couldn’t Inej go instead? In the end, it hadn’t mattered- the plan needed them both there, so that’s where they would go.

Jesper doesn’t exactly have Inej’s skill in climbing, but ter Steege makes it easy. There are balconies and handholds practically everywhere, as if the merch is offering free mansion climbing lessons to anyone interested. Jesper supposes that one would be less concerned about robberies if you had a moat, but still. You have that much money, you might as well pretend to make it hard for light-fingered con artists.

Soon enough, Jesper and Y/N are standing on the roof, staring down at the fourth skylight from the left. This is where they’ll enter, once it reaches eleven bells and it’s time to move. Now, however, all they can do is wait as Kaz and Inej get into position. Jesper carefully sits down, letting his long legs prop up against the tiles of the roof. Y/N sits next to him, staring up at the sky. The moon is out tonight, the pale light illuminating her eyes and dusting her cheeks.

Distantly, Jesper realizes that he’s never seen her like this- letting her guard down for once. He’s not shooting at her, she’s not trying to drown him, it’s almost like a peace offering. Y/N must be having the same thoughts, because she turns to face him. The moonlight still stays on her face, as if unwilling to let go. Jesper has the sudden thought that he wouldn’t want to do the same either, if he had the opportunity to linger here, then shakes himself mentally.

Y/N’s voice is quiet, a whisper cutting through his thoughts and scattering them to the wind. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t been fighting when we first met each other? Would we have been friends like you and Kaz?” Jesper chuckles in spite of himself. “If you think Kaz Brekker makes friends, I’m starting to think that you’ve suffered a head injury.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “He trusts you. That’s rare.” Jesper shrugs, conceding this. He keeps speaking, though, even when he has just decided to remain silent. “I think we could have been close. We have similar interests.” Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Money? A good time?” Jesper flashes her a grin, easy as flipping a coin and landing it square in your palm. “Exactly. See? We already understand each other perfectly.”

Y/N lets out a short laugh at that, moonlight still teasing at the corner of her lips. Jesper’s eyes linger longer than they should. Curse his tendencies to start rivalries with the prettiest of enemies- it’s beginning to get him into trouble. Y/N’s head tilts towards the tides below, and then she stands. “It’s time. The bells are about to ring.” Jesper mourns the moment lost, then stands and takes his position by the skylight. He waits for the bells to begin to toll, then grabs his revolver, spinning it back and forth in his palm like a nervous tic before firing four times at the corners of the window, exactly where the locks will hold.

He doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s eyes track the spin of the gun, or the admirative tug of her lips into a half smile. However, now is no longer the time for schoolboy glances, and Jesper kneels at the window, carefully removing it from its frame. This is their entrance, and they would do well to hurry along.

The plan almost goes well. Almost. They manage to break into the mercher’s office, stealing the documents and meeting up with Kaz and Inej to get out, but just as they’re about to cross through the main atrium of the mansion, a loud dissonance of bells breaks out. An alarm. Jesper sees identical looks of panic reflected on every face- this was not supposed to happen. Not at all. They don’t hesitate, just run. Jesper’s lived in the Barrel long enough to remember this one lesson: when you can’t count on gangs or anyone to have your back, your feet always will. Just remember to keep moving.

They’re almost to the water’s edge when the shots ring out. Guards have followed them out of the building and fire even as their feet pound down the beach. Jesper’s revolvers are in his hands before another second can pass, bullets aimed with precision as he runs. They’re almost to the water when he hears a sound from behind him that draws all breath from his lungs. From here, it almost sounds like a cry of pain. It’s soft, as if someone’s trying not to draw attention, but Jesper hears it nonetheless.

He turns around and his stomach clenches with horror as he realizes he was right. Y/N is stumbling, clutching a terrible scarlet stain across her chest. It’s deep, too deep, and far too close to her heart to be safe. Y/N has time to fling her arms up, casting out the bridge of water once more, before she falls to the ground. All of a sudden, Jesper’s vision tunnels. He can only see two things: Y/N, hand limp over the spreading blood, and the guards, pistols still smoking.

Jesper’s shots ring out again and again. He can’t hear anything other than a buzzing in his ears, something that might be his pulse or just a sign that he’s gone mad. To be honest, Jesper’s not sure that he cares. Bullets careen through the air, curving around pillars and corners to reach their targets. His da would panic to see him, grab Jesper by his shoulders and tell him to be more careful. Anyone could know now, could see the way the bullets fly through the air as if guided by an invisible hand and figure out what that means, but Jesper doesn’t think about that for a second. All he can think about is revenge, and making sure that every single body falls to the ground.

Jesper’s haze leaves him, and he realizes that all of the guards are dead. All of them. Then his guns are back in their holsters, and he’s scrambling towards Y/N. When he picks her up, she feels cold. Too cold. Blood is staining his hands now, turning the long fingers red, but he barely notices at all. His heels flash down the beach, then onto the water, which is still solid. It must be killing her to keep this up, but she’s still doing it.

Jesper swore that it took far longer to make the trip over the harbor, but it feels like he’s barely taken a few steps before he’s on the other side and the water bridge is swallowed up by the tides once more. Kaz and Inej have just made it onto the other side, and their eyes widen at the crazed look on Jesper and the bloodied form of Y/N in his arms. Jesper doesn’t have time to consider this, and he shouts at them as he runs. “Get a healer! Get somebody- Nina, maybe. Anybody.”

Inej takes off into the streets, but Kaz remains, giving Jesper a particular look. “I remember you saying something about how Y/N was your rival. This is your chance, you know. The Barrel can be a ruthless place, and nobody would suspect you if she never made it back.” Jesper has the feeling that this is a test, some challenge placed before him to see how he’ll respond, but he can’t find it within himself to care. Jesper has always had an affinity for the odds, but this once, it’s not enough. “No. I’m getting her out. I need a Healer.”

Kaz steps back, allowing Jesper to pass, but not before he sees the appraising look in his eyes. Kaz nods once, briefly, and then Jesper is around the corner and sprinting headlong towards the Slat. A Healer is indeed waiting there, and holds out her arms to receive Y/N. For a second, Jesper’s arms clench around her body, unwilling to give her up, and then he forces his arms to relax and she’s gone, carried away into another room.

Jesper is left with the blood staining his shirt and the decision staining his conscience. If Y/N died, was it his fault? Should he care this much? He’s not sure that question can even be answered. The Healer comes out eventually, nodding at him. She’s not ready to have visitors, or at least she won’t be awake to see them, but that doesn’t stop Jesper from disappearing into her room the second the Healer leaves.

Jesper feels his throat close up when he sees her. Y/N is lying stiff and unmoving on a narrow bed, breath unnaturally slow and eyes closed. It’s strange- he’s seen her fiery and powerful, glowing as a Grisha does after they use their powers, but now she looks seconds from death. Jesper’s feet carry him woodenly over to the bed, and he stands there for a moment before reaching down and taking her hand. He doesn’t expect to feel anything at all, yet there’s a slight pressure and her eyelids flicker open.

“What, trying to finish the job?” A slight smile cracks Y/N’s lips, and Jesper feels like he could cry out in relief. Maybe it’s time he takes up Inej’s saints after all. “You’re alright?” She nods, although even this small movement appears to hurt. “As well as one can. I think I have someone to thank for that, though.” Jesper nods slowly. “Yeah, the Healer was great. We should keep her around just in case.”

Y/N laughs, the sound undamaged even as her blood still stains the bandages. “You’re impossible. I’m talking about you.” Jesper’s cheeks feel hot. “Oh.” Now this is unreal- usually he’s the one eliciting blushes, never the other way around. “I couldn’t just leave you there, you know.” She nods once, smiling, and then her eyelids seem too heavy to stay open and she starts to drift off to sleep once more. If Jesper happened to stay with her even after her eyes shut, and even if a kiss just happened to be pressed to her cheek, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

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willyoulovemeinthemorning · 3 years

Text

The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway (1/?)

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: You are a mutant with the powers of ice and cold and you have never been able to be touched or touch anyone without making them uncomfortable, or worse, hurting them. You’ve always desperately wished for physical affection, and it isn't until a new silver tongued Asgardian moves into the Avengers tower and takes an interest in you that anyone really dares to try to be physical with you.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This part is pure fluff, but future chapters will be... more.

Warnings: None for this chapter besides maybe a few cavities!

It had been like this since you’d been a child. You couldn’t remember a life without your ailment. You’d always seen it as a curse more than a blessing- but as you grew up and learned to control it to the best of your abilities, your mind started to change a little bit. Being adopted into Xaviers Academy had been the best thing that could have happened to you. You’d been homeless at the young age of 5 after your third foster family had thrown you out, and Charles had found you sleeping in the snow. It was lucky for you that you didn’t mind the cold at all- your powers were the cold. You could freeze anything, alive or not- and at first that was the problem. You’d frozen your mother’s heart whilst in the middle of a tantrum, and your father met the same fate after he tried to hurt you for doing it. The police found a crying child within hours, surrounded by dead parents and a house full of ice and snow. No one could prove what happened, and no one knew what to do with you from then on. After a life of constant abuse, Charles took you into a world of safety and understanding, and thankfully, that world was really the only world you knew in your conscious mind today.

The trauma was still there, but it was rooted deep in your subconscious mind. Now, as an adult, you’d been taken in to your new chosen family- The Avengers. And your home was no longer at the Academy, it was Avengers Tower. You still taught there every once in a while, whenever Charles called you, but your days were filled with world saving and working out with the worlds mightiest superheroes.

Your best friends in the complex were easily Natasha and Wanda, seeing as you all came from similar lonely backgrounds. It was a quick friendship built on trust, sarcasm, and constant blatant flirting and fucking with eachother. You loved the whole team differently, but Nat and Wanda were definitely special.

Besides them, you were definitely a little… taken with a new member of the household. When Loki was taken in by the Avengers to try and “change” him for the sake of Thor, life definitely got a little… uncomfortable. He was just so attractive, and so sassy and his smart mouth was probably the hottest thing about him. That silver tongue as you’d heard it been called constantly got your mind whirling. The girls mocked you ruthlessly for your crush, but they never pushed it to be more- they both knew your fear of relationships, friendship or otherwise.

Loki, on the other hand, was equally as enamored with you as you were him. He never stopped watching you, trying to learn every facet of your soul as he could from far away. There was something about you, and he looked at you as a puzzle that he desperately wanted to solve.

He loved watching you with your friends- the way you all so effortlessly joked and laughed with eachother- you had what he’d always wanted. An ease with earning love from others with no effort whatsoever. But something that plagued him was the juxtaposition that was your physical affection. You were so jovial and happy with everyone in the house- but you never let anyone touch you. You never touched anyone else either.

At first, he put it to what he knew was your background- abuse and loneliness. Maybe you’d been hurt more than you let on, so you didn’t let people touch you. But he threw out that hypothesis when he spent more time watching you. You always leaned in towards everyone close to you- and they leaned more away as if trying to retreat from your proximity. When with Natasha and Wanda, they always went to touch you, and you just stopped them with a look. It was such a sad look, and Loki longed to understand the pain behind your eyes. The women would pause, sigh, and take their hands back, pull their bodies back, put more distance between you and them, seemingly hurt at having to.

Today was no different. Loki was sitting on a chair in the library by the window with it open, pretending to read a book but actually watching you, while you were lazing on the couch actually reading a book. Something you had both grown very fond of in your time together. Neither of you said much, but you just enjoyed the company of one another with the chill wind coming in from outside. That’s when Natasha came to sit with you. You moved your legs and curled them up into yourself, but something new happened. Natasha, who threw something at you- ah, it was a cookie- to get your attention, and you laughed and ate it while looking at her curiously. She covered herself with a big, thick blanket, and then patted her lap for you to put your legs on top of her. You thought about it, looking pained and unsure, before slowly giving in, your eyes weary with doubt. But… nothing happened. Natasha smiled like the cat who got the cream as she pulled her phone out, and you went back to reading your book with the loveliest look of surprised warmth Loki had ever seen gracing your beautiful features.

After a little while, your eyes started fluttering shut, and you moved yourself so your head was on the red heads lap instead of your legs, and you fell asleep faster than you ever had in your life- a few happy tears falling down your cheeks.

Loki watched you sleep and forgot to put on the facade of reading, which caught the attention of Natasha, who didn’t even look up from her phone. “Whatcha staring at, Loki?” She asked, continuing to scroll.

Loki looked up at her surprise etched into his eyebrows. “Oh, nothing. I just- She’s never let anyone that close to her- how did you do that?” He asked her, eyes falling back to you.

“Y/N doesn’t let anyone touch her because she’s watched them flinch away from how cold she is her whole life. If they’re not flinching away, she hurts them by accident because most of the touches of her life have been dangerous or abusive, and she’s had to protect herself. Her powers don’t ever really turn off, they just… quiet. As long as we’ve been friends, this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to her letting me touch her.” She said, eyes on him now, watching his expressions. “Why do you care to notice?”

His eyes flew back to hers, trying to guard his expression from her knowing gaze. “I was just curious. Trying to figure you all out- she’s been the hardest to understand.” But his eyes falling back to your face gave him away, and when he looked back at Natasha, he knew she knew. She had the decency not to say anything, but the look on her face was enough to make Loki look back to his book and actually try to read this time to avoid any more speculation.

Days passed, and all he could think about was the look on your face when you were able to get some kind of physical affection- and he wanted to see it again. So this time, when he found you in the library like he always did- he didn’t choose the chair by the window. He sat down next to you. You looked up at him, and he could feel your surprise.

You eyed him up and down, and he just smiled that little smile that seemed to be only reserved for you, and started to read. The window was open, as it always was- this was your favorite room, because almost no one came in here besides Loki, and he never seemed to mind your proclivity towards keeping this room cold.

You two were like that for a while, but you started to notice him leaning more towards you- you were already at the end of the couch, so there wasn’t really anywhere for you to go, so you tried to will yourself to calm down and just focus on reading. His presence always calmed you down, he was so charming and kind- well, he was kind to you. You loved watching him read, as his tongue poked out as he was really involved with the words on the page.

Unable to focus on your page in front of you, you instead focused on the way he felt beside you. Normally, when someone was near you, you could feel their warmth radiating off of them- especially Thor and Steve. They seemed to have very naturally high body temperatures, and it made you feel itchy, like there was fire licking at your skin. Vision was one of your favorites to be near- his presence felt like nothing. No warm or cold coming off of him, so completely neutral and it made it very easy to be around him. Loki… well, Loki had never been close enough for you to be able to tell. You expected him to feel like Thor did, seeing as they were both Gods and all, and came from the same place; Asgard. But… Loki felt different. He was… normal? Well, normal for her, that was. He didn’t feel warm, he didn’t feel like anything? He kind of felt like Vision, and that surprised her.

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you scootched a little closer to him, your feet brushing his thigh on the couch next to you. You watched out of the corner of your eye for a reaction- but there was nothing negative. If that had happened with Peter, he would have shivered a little and pulled away from the touch because of how cold you were. Tony would have made a joke like, “Just because the cold doesn’t bother you, Elsa, doesn’t mean the rest of us are like that,” and you’d pull away embarrassed at the reminder of how different you are.

Loki moved again, tucking his feet under himself, which repositioned his upper half to be a centimeter from being arm and arm with you. And considering his button up had the sleeves rolled up and you could see his arm hair- God, you wanted to play with it- you were almost skin to skin. Your hands started shaking and you were about to pull away to protect yourself from the inevitable pain that would come from seeing him flinch away in pain- but before you could, it happened. His skin was pressed up against you, and your heart sped up three times as fast… and nothing bad happened. He didn’t move, he didn’t flinch, his face looked… serene? He looked happy touching you.

Now the gates were open and you needed to know more- know why.

“Loki?” You asked, your head turned to face him.

When he turned to face you, you could feel his breath on your face. “Yes, darling?” You almost choked on your spit- he’d never spoken to you with that endearment before.

“Why- I mean… How? I… Loki-” You tried to get a reasonable sentence out, but the words got caught in your throat as tears started prickling your vision.

Loki put his book down and turned to face you, movements slow as if he was afraid to spook you away. “Can I try something?” He asked, hands in his lap, waiting for permission for something. You nodded dumbly, completely unsure what was about to happen. All you knew was that a door had been opened to something, and you knew there was no going back now. Loki’s hands moved, and your instincts were to pull away from him, but you fought them. You wanted to see what was going to happen here. His hands found yours, and he covered them with his own. His skin was so soft, and you looked down and noticed that his skin started to turn a different color- so you pulled away, worried you were hurting him. But you hadn’t felt a surge of your own power?

You were about to ask him, but he beat you to it with the answer. “Did you know I was adopted? Odin stole me from my home when I was a baby- whether to hurt my people or to use me as a peace making tool, I still haven’t figured out, but I am not really Loki Odinson. I am a Frost Giant from birth, raised as an Asgardian. My birth name is Loki Laufeyson. The blue you just saw was… a piece of my real form, coming out at your touch, not because you were in any way hurting or negatively affecting me… so please, let me-” He reached out again, but this time, one hand found your face, his thumb running over your cheek bone, while the other hand ran over your arm softly. Your eyes fluttered closed- his touch was like nothing you’d ever experienced. He somehow felt the same temperature as you did to yourself. He wasn’t cold or hot, he was just… perfect. The tears that were threatening to spill before finally did, and Loki raised his other hand to cup both sides of your face and wipe away the tears as they fell.

“I’ve finally figured you out. It took longer than it ever has for me, but I’ve done it. I’ve never been so taken with figuring someone out before, not like this. You don’t pull away from people because you don’t want physical affection- you pull away because you’ve never had anyone who could physically handle you. No one’s temperature matched you. You’ve never been able to be touched gently. You’ve never been able to let yourself. You are so strong, my popsicle, but you don’t have to be anymore. I was made to be able to touch you, and be touched by you.” You opened your eyes and took him in in his base form- he was the most beautiful shade of icy turquoise, his eyes red as rubies, and he was touching you. He was touching you so lovingly and so sweetly, you couldn’t stop crying. In all your years, you had never been touched like this. No one ever could. Without a beat, you clambered up into his lap and wrapped your arms around him, sighing when his arms wound their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I’m not hurting you?” You asked, your voice shaking.

“Not in the way you mean, darling, but you are hugging me a little tight.” You felt his chuckle vibrate in your chest, which made you laugh too. “Don’t stop, though.” He whispered into your hair.

“You’re so beautiful, you know. Why don’t you let people see your real self?” You asked, burrowing your face in his neck, pressing your nose into the column of his throat.

“I’ve spent my whole life using my magic to make myself look a certain way- it’s more or less unconscious at this point. And I’m… a little insecure about this form. Very few people have seen me look like this. And it’s never been for a good, healthy reason like this.”

“Well, I’m honored. Thank you for this. No one… no one has ever been able to touch me without it hurting them. Thank you so much, Loki.” After a few more minutes of you straddling him on the couch, wrapped around him, you came to your senses enough to know that this was probably not completely appropriate- so you got off of him as a blush crept from your cheeks to your neck to your chest, smiling shyly and biting your lip.

Loki thought you were beautiful before, but you’d never looked more beautiful than you did right in that moment.

You went back to reading together, enjoying the chill air fill the room from the window, pressed up against one another on the couch- comfortable for the first time in your life.

Part 2

#loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #reader insert #reader fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #loki fanfiction

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axwalker · 3 years

Text

Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my FC.

Words: 4,110

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!!

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?”

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack.

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent.

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?”

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up.

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony.

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence.

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done.

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.”

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long.

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me.

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.”

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was.

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right.

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me.

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.”

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.”

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion.

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.”

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—”

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me.

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City.

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.”

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…”

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along.

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper.

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

Drake

What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall.

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me.

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.”

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.”

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.”

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

“I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.”

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly.

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand.

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.”

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside.

“What can I do?” I ask.

“How long do we have?”

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead.

“Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?”

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway.

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine.

“I can’t just leave, can I?”

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?”

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?”

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.”

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.”

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything.

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

#tw domestic violence #toxic relationship #tw bullying

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nanaminsonyfans · 4 years

Text

✨Wing Beifong✨

Masterlist✨ Request Rules

Request; Hii could I anonymously (you dont have to tag me in the post) request a Wing Beifong Fluff? Maybe where the reader and Wing are a fresh couple and are practicing metal/earthbending together? ☺️ and the Korra Team and his family mention how cute they are?

A/N; I had a lot of fun writing this! I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings; fluff and slight cursing?

Being the younger sister of Mako and Bolin was rough as it is. Two overprotective brothers? Check. Being babied for being a girl AND the youngest? Double-check. Anything you can think of, stereotypes and all, that’s them. However, everything changed when you met Korra. Your brother’s never let you join the Fire Ferrets for their pro-bending things, so you were just a groupie. You also had Earthbending so even if they wanted you, you really couldn’t join anyways.

But you met Korra, and you were so happy to see a strong girl, and she’s the Avatar? Hell yes! You were on team Avatar, Mako always argued that you shouldn’t be allowed to go on their dangerous missions, but Bolin and Korra always disagreed, plus you had Asumi on your side now so it wasn’t a problem. Haha, you’re outmatched Mako >:)

Which leads you to where you are now. Zaofu of the Earthkingdom, looking for the new Airbender. Bolin and you were so excited, so many Earthbenders and Metalbenders! You never tried Metalbending, Bolin taught you everything you knew so if he didn’t know it, you didn’t either.

You were enjoying the tour that Suyin Beifong was giving you of her home. “And these are my youngest, Wei and Wing. They’re playing a game they invented, power disc is what they call it.” Suyin explained, causing you to walk over to the railing to water. They were twins but they could be easily told apart by their smiles. ‘Oh god, was I staring too much?’ You were snapped out of your trance when you heard a buzzer go off and the twin you were staring at on the ground.

“Good job Wei!” Suyin praised one of her sons, earning a small cheer from him. “Wing almost had me, but he was making goo-goo eyes at the girl.” Wei laughed as he pointed at you. Your entire face went flush with embarrassment as did Wing’s. “Shut up Wei!” He hissed and punched his brother’s shoulder, Mako was already grabbing your arm and dragging you off. Both of your brothers made threatening glare at Wing, Mako holding a ball of fire in his hands and Bolin just cracked his knuckles.

You huffed and tried to pull away from them as they dragged you away, well mostly Mako. He was the eldest and always tried to protect you both no matter what but, Bolin could take care of himself and why couldn’t you?

“Mako! Let me go!” You huffed and pushed him away with a grunt. Korra stopped and was at your side. “Yeah, Mako. She is allowed to have crushes.” She scolded. “Crush?! I do not!” You argued, turning bright red. At this point everyone had stopped, staring at you and making the embarrassment worse. “Ugh, we are here for the Airbender! Not to talk about my brothers destroying my love life!” You argued and started to storm off. “Y/n!” Bolin called for you but stopped. “Trust me, she just needs space.” Suyin stated in a motherly tone. The boys reluctantly nodded and carried on.

You had bumped back into the twins as you were exploring. You bumped into Wing and fell to the ground. “Oh spirits, I’m so sorry.” He mumbled nervously and helped you up. “Oh no it’s okay, honestly I should be sorry. I caused you to lose that game right?” You excused as you took his hand and stood up. “Oh well, it’s hard to resist looking at a pretty face.” Wing smiled, soon turning pink when he realized what he said, you did as well.

“Your Wing right? Where’s Wei?” “Oh, he went to brag to our dad about wining because I got distracted.” You giggled softly and then realized he didn’t even know your name! “M-My name is Y-Y/n.” You mumbled shyly and looked down at your feet. “Y/n is a lovely name.” Wing chuckled softly and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “So are you a Firebender? I assume since your Mako held some fire at me.” He laughed nervously.

You shook your head with a smile. “No, Bolin and I are Earthbenders. Mako is the only Firebender from my mom’s side of the family. My father is from the Earthkingdom, Ba Sing Se. That’s all I know, Mako and Bolin don’t tell me much about them. I was too young to remember.” You shrug as you start walking again, him following suit. “What do you mean?” “Oh! My parents were killed. I was really young at the time, only like three or two.” You shrug.

“I’m sorry.” Wing said softly, glancing at you now and then. “Don’t be!” You said with the most gorgeous smile he had ever seen. “Well, to change the subject, do you Metlbend?” “Oh no. Bolin taught me everything I know, and he can’t Metalbend so I can’t either. Watching you though, it was very enchanting! The movements were so graceful from you two. Bolin and I do street style, fighting dirty I guess you could say.” You shrugged and looked over at him, the stray hair curled on his forehead looked so cute. “I could teach you if you’d like.” Wing offered with a smile. “I’d like that!”

That morning was eventful. Since your clothes were a little bland and dirty, Opal lent you an outfit that she didn’t wear. It was the usual Earthkingdom garb but not a dress, since you weren’t really that ‘ladylike’ anyways. It was the usual loose-fitting pale green shirt and dark green pants. When you walked into the dining room for breakfast, you sat by Wing. Mako and Bolin were LIVID.

Like, why are you sitting by the guy that was checking you out yesterday? Mako being his usual self was glaring. You noticed this, and Earthbended the ground to hit him in the shin. He let out a grunt and you just smirked happily.

“Wei, Wing! Are you doing another power disc game today?” Suyin asked, earning the attention of everyone. “Um, actually...I’m gonna be teaching Y/n how to Metalbend.” Wing said with a smile. “That’s great! I’m going to be teaching Korra as well. You should join us, Bolin.” She smiled as your brother. “I can’t actually Metalbend. I’ve tried before and couldn’t- Ow Mako..” Bolin whined the last part but sighed. “I guess I’ll try..” He grumbled.

The teaching went really well! Both you and Korra seemed to be naturals. Bolin obviously didn’t want to be there but Mako requested that he go to keep an eye on you and Wing. Currently, Wing was showing you positions for bending. He was telling you jokes and you had little giggles as you moved with him. It was a fun time and Korra stopped to watch with Bolin and Suyin.

“Doesn’t Y/n look happy?” Korra said with a soft chuckle. Suyin hummed in agreement, “I haven’t seen Wing this happy since he was a child.” The mother gushed, sighing softly. “I know, it’s cute.” Bolin admitted with a grumble. “I’m happy for her, but Mako is being his overprotective self over our babysis.” He sighed softly and looked down.

You and Wing started to get closer the more time you spent in Zoafu. Then Korra was almost kidnapped. You were terrified when Wei, Wing, Suyin, and Lin sat they were going to attack from the top. What if they got to the Beifong’s, your heart would be broken. You hadn’t confessed your feelings, neither did Wing but it was pretty obvious that you and Wing liked each other more than friends as you lead on.

“Are we in the clear?” Wing’s voice rang through the radio. “No, not clear.” Mako said but they went anyways. You were crying at this point, scared that they would be killed and so would Korra. Your mind was going a hundred miles a minute until you say that they were safe. You practically jumped into Wing’s arms when you saw him. “Thank the spirits you’re okay. I was so worried!” You cry as he hugs you back tightly. “I was worried about you. Still being down here. I was safer up there, plus you know I’m strong.” Wing whispered against your hair and squeezed you tightly.

“Shut up…” You sniffled and got on your tippy-toes to kiss the Beifong boy. You felt his smile through the kiss, which caused you to giggle. He spun you both around happily as you kissed. When you both pulled away you realized all eyes were on you. Mako was giving Wing his best death glare. “Mako…” Bolin started but Mako just shook his head and put his hand on Wing’s shoulder. “Just take care of her.” He mumbled with a small smile before walking away.

Bolin was freaking out but in a happy way. “OHMYGOSH you guys are soooo cute!” He gushes with Opal and Suyin. Suyin gives an approving smile as Wing wraps his arm around your waist. Everyone seemed to think you were the cutest couple ever. You were also a very badass one but we’ll get into that later

#lok x reader #legend of korra #legend of korra x reader #legend of korra fluff #beifong #wing beifong #wing beifong x reader #wei beifong x reader #wei beifong #suyin beifong #lin beifong #bolin x reader #mako x reader #opal x reader #korra x reader #wei and wing #wei and wing beifong #wing x reader

1K notes · View notes

rumblelibrary · 3 years

Text

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it. To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth. But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me. What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them. A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen. What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining. Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance. You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me? I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee. Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.” (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence. The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way. And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty. To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

#the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #thealienist #the alienist fanfic #the alienist fanfiction

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra Dimitrescu x Maiden ----Valiant pt.2

Part 1

You don’t think you could catch a wink of sleep if you tried.

Your mind is just too busy to shut down. Nerves buzz across your whole body. You feel like you’re suspended in time, trapped in a loop endlessly replaying the previous night’s events. Your mistake was getting involved in affairs that didn’t concern you. In this village, that can very well be one’s undoing. You know it. You knew it.

Yet you still intervened.

Like a fool.

If you close your eyes, you can still see her. The brunette Dimitrescu. A living painting of a woman in a background of howls and pitch-black darkness, who spoke with a lilting voice and prettily pronounced vowels –and complete disregard over human life.

Earning her amusement was the only reason you and the shopkeeper got to see another sunrise, although you have a sneaking suspicion it will be his last. Nobody disrespects a Dimitrescu and gets away with it. It may as well be law in the village –and the sentence for breaking it is very clear.

The man doesn’t remember what he did. It may be for the better, bitter as it feels to you. Either way, you try not to stare at him too much –nor the bruise on his face in the shape of your knuckles— when you enter his shop and ask for the brunette daughter’s order. It’s under the initials C.D. No name has been given and no address. He hasn’t realized who she is. Perhaps being permanently intoxicated has to do with it.

The box you receive weighs heavy in your hands, for more than one reason. Seeing it springs forth in your senses the expensive scent of her perfume, the tickle of her hair against your nose when she leaned in. Her lips were soft as a wildflower’s petals and cold as snow.

The “Thanks, sweetheart.” she said plays on repeat in your head.

Of course, such is your luck that you couldn’t pine over any normal girl. It’s human nature, you suppose, to desire what’s forbidden, but that’s not the only adjective that describes her;

She’s lethal.

A certain part of you was aware the moment you looked into her blueish amber eyes. Like a snake being stared down by a hawk or a deer caught in the gaze of a wolf, your place in the food chain wasn’t quite the same. Part of you was –is— attracted to her beauty. Part of you was petrified.

The stories your mother told you about her family don’t help in that department. Maidens who have been taken as maids into their castle never came back. Nobody who passed that threshold ever returned. There are rumors about dungeons filled with wailing. Warnings, to avoid bloodied steps should one come across them in the forest. To fear the mark the three daughters bear on their foreheads.

Hours pass. The sun begins its descent down the plane of the sky.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll see it rise again.

You tell your employer you aren’t feeling well and need to take the evening off. You’ve worked non-stop so many days he doesn’t get to voice anything other than a grumble of acknowledgement.

It’s… a daunting experience, being alone after sunset.

You aren’t used to it, which makes it all the more jarring when the distant howling begins. You’re sitting in your couch with the nicest button-up shirt you have on –might as well look good dying, you figure— waiting.

And waiting.

Night has completely settled in. The cold penetrates your skin. You busy yourself with lighting the fireplace, pretending not to hear the sounds from outside. The cracking of wood helps, if only for a little bit. It gets a tad warmer, though you’re still chilled to the bone.

Perhaps she won’t come. you’re beginning to think.

But then, a peculiar sound comes from the other side of your door. Like the buzzing of insects, followed by a rush of air. Followed… by a knock on the wooden surface.

Your lungs suddenly empty of oxygen. If it was possible for a heart to jump right out a person’s chest yours would be doing just that. You have to answer but you’ve lost your voice. Every instinct screams at you to stay as far away from the door as humanly possible.

“It’s me.” you hear her muffled huff.

You summon all the courage you possess to walk to the entrance –and turn the handle. The brunette Dimitrescu is standing there in all her black-clad glory, eyes gleaming in the dark like gemstones. The very edge of her lip curves up upon seeing you. You move aside to let her in and waste zero seconds in closing the door behind her.

Her hood is pushed off in one graceful motion, revealing her waterfall of rich brown hair. “It’s cold in here.” she states, then turns to you. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You are, but that’s the least of your worries. “Kind of.” you say as you hover there awkwardly.

Your breath leaves a hint of smoke behind. Hers does not. You’re moving towards the box before your nerves cause you to break down in front of her.

It’s one thing to have a pretty girl in your house for the first time.

It’s entirely another when said pretty girl can also very easily kill you.

“Eager to get rid of me, beautiful?” she asks. There is obvious teasing in her voice but also an undertone of… something else. Disappointment, maybe. Whatever it is it strikes straight at your heart.

“I—no.” you reply, quickly. “Can I offer you something to drink, uh…” you still don’t know her name.

“Cassandra.” she smirks. A name as beautiful as the rest of her.

“Can I offer you a drink, Cassandra?” The offer makes her smirk widen, almost to the point of a grin. It’s cute but you’re not sure you want to know why the question amuses her so greatly.

“Depends.” she retorts, taking off her gloves. “My choice of drink is very… singular.”

“Well, there’s wine. It’s… good.”

She eyes you for a moment. There is hunger in her gaze, something deep, as it lingers over your collarbones. Then she averts her head in favor of looking about the house. It can’t be anything like the castle she lives in, but it’s quaint, at least. Her heels click against the wooden floor. They come to a stop in front of the small table your sketchbook lies upon.

“You draw?” she questions, curious as a child.

Please, don’t look inside. you pray. The rough sketches of sheet-clad brunettes will surely give your tastes away and your heart can’t take that embarrassment on top of everything else right now.

“Landscapes and stuff. When I’m bored.” you lie to save your dignity.

“I’m a bit of an artist myself.” she grins proudly. “I paint.”

“…acrylics?” you ask.

Cassandra gives you that secretive smile again. The one that is both hot and scary at once. “You could say that, yeah.” If any of the rumors have basis in reality, you don’t want to think about what she could be painting with. Some things are best left unsaid.

“So. I got your order.” you say, taking the box in your hands.

Cassandra walks to you and takes the object between her pale fingers like it weighs nothing. You’re left staring. At her hand, then her eyes, looking into your own with that same curiosity from earlier. “I’m sure mother will like it.” Then, after a pause, “She’d like you, too.”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

“You’d look good in the castle. But then I’d have to share you and I don’t think I’d like that.” Her fingers absently toy with the hem of your shirt while she speaks. It’s terribly distracting, to the point you almost miss what she says. It’s not fair that everything about Cassandra is just so damn attractive…

You like her, you realize. You already knew that you’re weak to her looks and her grace and the way she talks, so it’s not a startling revelation. But what is surprising is the mirror of what you’re thinking in her eyes. She likes you back.

She could just turn and leave, yet she doesn’t.

Instead, she lifts her hand to your chin. Traps it between thumb and pointer… and leans in. You think she’s going to kiss you goodbye on the cheek again, like the last time. Instead, her lips find the corner of your mouth and leave you breathless.

For a heartbeat, you don’t move.

Cassandra lingers, almost unsure but unwilling to let go.

A certain part of your brain is triggered and the sense of danger and reason keeping you back evaporates. You turn your head to kiss her fully, sucking on her lower lip, running your tongue over its softness until she opens her mouth to let you in. She tastes like strawberry lipbalm and wine and oh God you’ll die right there with that little moan she gives.

You end up holding her sides and she the back of your neck until you have to pull back or you’ll melt into an aroused puddle on the floor.

She looks as dazed as you feel. Her nails dig into your skin but your warmed body only draws pleasure from the slight sting.

Cassandra’s hooded eyes drop to your throat like a woman left thirsty in the desert far too long. “…does the offer for a drink still apply?” The breathy quality her voice has taken does things to you. You can only nod and trust she won’t kill you. She did ask, so your chances are probably decent.

Brown hair tickles your nose. She’s wonderfully close, the length of her cool body pressed against yours. You can feel the swell of her breasts and the firmness of her thigh almost as if there are no clothes between you. Your body is alight, heart pounding. You want her.

“Keep still for me, beautiful.” she says with a little growl to your ear and—

Pain comes.

Sharp. Biting.

You don’t expect it. A harsh gasp leaves your throat. You can feel twin needles embedded in your skin, breaking open your vein. The corners of your eyes prickle. Something thick and wet trails down your collarbone while she swallows mouthfuls, keeping you tighter in place. It’s agonizing, at first, but the area begins to numb, then fill with a pleasant tingle.

You can’t tell when Cassandra stops drinking from you, but you feel her tongue on your neck, following the red trail down before it ruins your shirt.

Your brain can’t comprehend what just happened, yet something about it is just so raw and erotic you know you won’t be able to sleep for days without the thought of her haunting you.

“You’re delicious, darling.” she breathes, eyes brighter than before, licking her lips like a lioness.

You want to reply, but you nearly wobble on your feet. “Ugh.”

“Take it easy and dress your wound.” she smiles, fingertips tracing the slope of your jaw. “I’ll come by again, sometime.”

Your hands tighten on her sides, but she only gives a little laugh –and steps away too easily. Her hood is pulled back on. A last molten look is sent over her shoulder.

Then, your mind halts for the hundredth time that night as you watch her figure disperse into a swarm of insects and black swirls. The door closes behind Cassandra.

Your hand slowly reaches up to your neck, where the imprint of her teeth in you –her mark left on you– yet throbs.

Ko-Fi

#Cassandra Dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #Cassandra Dimitrescu x OC #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady dimitrescu's daughters x oc #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #fanfiction #sexy vampires are sexy #I'm in love with the entire family send help

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oh-crap-im-attatched · 3 years

Text

Ok, so I’ve been really into batfamily reverse age au’s lately, but a lot of the fics I’ve read just insert Tim Drake into Jason’s story with minor changes. That’s fine, but it got me thinking about what would’ve happened if Tim was the second Robin.

And I may or may not have gotten a little out of control.

Anyways, enjoy.

So Talia would drop Damian off on Bruce first. Which, I mean imagine Bruce having to learn how to parent with Damian. Anyway, Damian becomes Bruce’s first sidekick, not Robin because Dick came up with the name Robin, so for the sake of this rant I’m going to call him Blackbird. I think that would go pretty similarly to canon, with Damian eventually wanting to go off by himself, having a falling out with Bruce, etc. I imagine reverse Damian as less bratty than regular Damian, because he doesn’t have a Robin legacy to live up to or a mantle to earn. He was the first. I mean he’s still Damian, and still has to learn how to go from assassin to vigilante, but he is definitely more confident with his place. I think he’d be a lot like Bruce because 1. Regular Damian is already similar to Bruce and 2. He didn’t have any other role models, so there was no Dick Grayson to admire instead. So, eventually, Damian goes off by himself as a new vigilante (that isn’t Nightwing.)

Then Tim shows up. Bruce is upset that his son left and is trying to learn how to deal with the fact that Damian grew up, no longer needs him, etc. Bruce probably blames himself partly, thinking that he was a bad parent to Damian, and starts getting more violent with criminals. Taking his own guilt out on them, when a boy shows up at his door talking about how he knows that Bruce Wayne is Batman. Now there was no Dick Grayson doing a quadruple flip for Tim to figure it out, so he had to figure out a different way. Maybe he met Damian at a gala and was able to connect his formal speech patterns with Blackbird’s, and then everything else clicked into place. Anyway, Tim saw that there wasn’t a Blackbird anymore and saw that Batman started getting more violent with criminals and needed a sidekick, so he volunteered. It would take way less convincing from Tim in this au, because Damian didn’t die, especially when Bruce finds out about the neglectful parents. Tim would be closer with Bruce right off the bat too. So Tim becomes Blackbird. Everything’s great for a while, and when Tim’s parents die, Bruce adopts him. I think that Tim would always help the street kids, because he started becoming friends with some of them while following Batman and Blackbird.

Now, I’m thinking that Tim encountered the Joker in a very different way than Jason. Tim is smart enough that he can’t be easily tricked into a trap like Jason did, and he’s less impulsive. I think the same thing that happens to Jason would happen to Tim though, because the timing wouldn’t change. The Joker would want to traumatize Batman by killing his sidekick at the same time as canon. Who that sidekick is doesn’t really matter. It probably would’ve happened similarly to in Batman Beyond, where Tim was chasing a criminal or Harely and ended up getting knocked out. After that, the same thing in canon would happen, beaten, blown up, dead.

Bruce would be devestated. He’d probably be even more guilty than in canon because he let Tim convince him to be Blackbird in the first place, when Tim wasn’t even part of the family yet. He’d get even more violent than before, probably suicidal, starting to lose it. Damian would come back to Gotham to try to help his father, and mourn Tim himself. Damian and Tim didn’t have a strong relationship, but Damian respected his intelligence and the boy started to grow in him. Damian would feel that he should’ve gotten to know Tim better.

Then Jason would come flying into everyone’s lives. Bruce is worse than ever, when he comes across a boy stealing his tires. He’s surprised and a little shocked at the absolute balls this kid has, stealing from the batmobile, and dazedly asks if Jason was hungry. Jason would remind Bruce of Tim, and how Tim was always so good with the younger street kids and how he would want to help Jason. Long story short, Jason gets adopted. Jason in this au wouldn’t become Blackbird for a decent amount of time, even when he discovers Bruce is Batman, because Bruce is so scared at the thought of losing another son, but he eventually relents. Jason wouldn’t be able to get away with as many impulsive moves as in canon, because Bruce is way more cautious now. Anyway, Batman calms down, and everything’s normal for a while.

Then Tim comes back.

The same thing would happen as in canon. Ra’s Al Ghul heard that the smart Blackbird died, and starts plotting. Cut to grace robbing and Lazarus pit ex machina. Now, Tim wouldn’t respond to the same manipulation that Jason did. He doesn’t want people to die, he wouldn’t be that mad at Bruce for not killing the Joker, because he understands Batman, he followed him, studied him, flew with him. He knows why Bruce didn’t kill the Joker. No, Ra’s would have to resort to different tactics. Jason. Ra’s would play it that Bruce immediately took a new son off of the streets, a new Blackbird. That would get to Tim. If Tim thought that Bruce immediately got a new sidekick to put in harm’s way, didn’t even pause, and a street kid at that, who wouldn’t have a better alternative. That would get Tim mad. Tim wouldn’t be mad at being replaced, but that he got replaced with a kid who didn’t know better, immediately, and that Damian didn’t stop it. That would break through Tim’s walls enough for Ra’s to get to him. And given a year, Ra’s could manipulate him into wanted to kill Bruce. “For everyone’s sake,” Ra’s would say. “How many kids will he get killed.” Damian would be used as fuel too. Ra’s would say that he knows Damian. That Damian would stand by and let it happen if it meant he got to stay as a solo vigilante. That Damian doesn’t care about anyone else. Tim’s smart enough to logic his way through most of these lies, and he knows full well how much trouble Ra’s is, given that Damian was his predecessor, But, it wouldn’t matter how smart Tim was, given enough time and sole exposure to the league. Ra’s would shape Tim into his heir. Damian was a failure in that regard, and Tim is smarter anyway.

Eventually, Ra’s would be confident enough in Tim’s brainwashing that he would bring Tim back to Gotham. Not as the Red Hood, but as an assassin. A very well-trained assassin. Tim wouldn’t just kill people like Jason did, he’d probably have killed people with the league but not a lot. Forcing Tim to kill a lot would shake him out of the brainwashing more, because of his morals. No, Ra’s would be the one to get Batman’s attention. When Bruce eventually figured out Ra’s was in town, he’d go find him, and find Tim instead. Tim would have swords on him, and be in league of assassins uniform, but would probably be holding a gun at Bruce, because he could still beat Tim in a one on one fight. Damian would be there too, because he can handle his grandfather, but when he sees Tim, he’d blanch. Because, despite not being incredibly close to Tim, that was still his little brother, his dead little brother with his grandfather behind him. Oh, Damian would know exactly what happened.

Bruce would try to talk Tim down, and so would Damian, but with Ra’s right there as well, Tim wouldn’t shake enough to back down. Then, Jason shows up. I think that’s what gets through to Tim. Jason would’ve heard about Tim, and wanted to be just like him. He’d say as much to him. That is what would make a Tim pause, because according to Ra’s, Bruce made Jason Blackbird, Tim didn’t even think about if Jason had to convince Bruce to become Blackbird. He wasn’t able to with being around Ra’s constantly for a year. But with Jason standing right in front of him, completely unharmed, saying he wanted to be like Tim. That would shock Tim’s brain enough to actually think about what Damian and Bruce were saying. It would be like his entire word view suddenly tilted. His hand would start shaking. Damian would try to get him to see reason again, to reach out to Tim for what is pretty much the first time, and Ra’s gets cocky. He forgets that Tim’s intelligence doesn’t belong to him or Bruce. Tim would be reevaluating everything and start seeing more and more holes with Ra’s arguments. Tim’s more rational that regularJason, he’d be able to see that reverse Jason seems to want to be Blackbird, just like Tim wanted to be. I think that untimately it would take Bruce reaching out to him, calling him son, calking him back to truly break him. I think that Tim would go after Ra’s, pit madness still being a thing. Tim would probably almost kill him because a Ra’s would be caught off guard. Damian would be the one to stop him, to pull him back.

Afterwards, Tim would have a lot to sort through, and still wouldn’t exactly trust Bruce. He’d talk to Jason though. He and Jason would be very close, with Jason helping with a lot of his recovery. Giving constant assurance that he’s ok and that he loves being Blackbird. Tim would be very protective over him. Damian and Tim would get a lot closer too. Damian helping to undo all the conditioning and lies that Tim endured while with the league. Damian understands, and Tim would see that. Given enough time Tim would eventually go back home for good, go back to Bruce. When he finally rejoins the family he’d become a solo vigilante. His name would be Cardinal. A bird representing dead loved ones watching over you.

Bruce “dying” would still happen and I think that Tim would still be the one to figure it out, Damian might be a little skeptical because of Tim’s admittedly less than amazing mental state, but would offer assistance. He’d seen enough people coming back to life to be to sure that it’s impossible, and Jason really likes Tim at this point and wants Bruce back, so he’d be all for it. They’d bring Bruce back together, without the league of assassins, although Tim still finds a way to blow up half of Ra’s bases.

Dick would be like a breath of fresh air after the chaos of the first three. Bruce and the family would go to the circus for bonding. Maybe Tim mentioned seeing a circus performance when he was little, a Bruce wanted something to help Tim get even more comfortable being around him and the family again. They’d see the Flying Graysons fall, and see poor little Dick Grayson crying over the dead bodies of his family and immediately come to a consensus. Dick would get adopted soon after. He wouldn’t become Blackbird very quickly, as Jason still held the mantle, and maybe he wouldn’t at all. Maybe when the family finally deemed him ready to join them as a vigilante, he’d take the name Robin. The older siblings would love Dick and want to protect this boy with endless energy and a wide smile no matter what. Tim now having a strong urge when it comes to protecting his younger brothers because of Ra’s, Damian finally knowing how to big brother (in a very Damian way) at this point, and Jason getting to take care of someone younger than him. All of them would be a strong family unit at this point. And no one could tear them apart again.

#tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #ra’s al ghul #reverse age au #reverse batfam #this is longer than i thought it would be #oh well #hope you enjoyed #I’ll probably write the batgirls version to this at some point too #batfamily

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cheelduh · 3 years

Text

A Liar’s Bait

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!reader

Warnings: Idk fatui abuse? Also Aether gets his braid pulled don’t hate me. Also unedited asf.

Synopsis: There’s a hiccup in the elaborate plan you’ve concocted to rescue your friends, and said hiccup comes in the form of a handsome Cavalry Captain that doesn’t have the foggiest of clues as to what personal space is.

"Ah darling, I didn't know you'd be wondering about this late in the night." The charming cavalry captain, Kaeya, sang from behind you.

For a brief second, you froze in place, but not long enough for him to see through your motives. "Kaeya," You turned to him naturally, and spoke your next words like an actor revising a memorized script. "Have to return a book. You know how Lisa gets."

"At these ungodly hours?" He raised a brow, and you blinked away any remnants of sleep in your eyes at the mention of time.

Barely skipping a beat, you gave him an acknowledging smile. "I have some tasks to do tomorrow. It's better if I return it now." The book that is supposedly due tomorrow is waved hurriedly in the air, as if to exaggerate your point.

"Though it seems like Lisa has went home." He pointed out, cornering you against the brick wall, a knowing look in the deep pools of his eyes.

Of course you knew Lisa wasn't in. That was the entire base of your plan. There were a total of four knights on rotation at the headquarters. It was simple really, sneak into the library with your authority as trusted aide, and if push came to shove, an easy knockout would do.

However, Kaeya's sudden appearance put a hiccup through your plans. It would take more than a sock to the face to put him out of commission.

"Oh really?" You tilted your head in confusion, eyes widening, as you eyed him. "I probably should have came by earlier. Well then, I'll just have to put it on her desk with a note."

"You could trust it with me, and I'll return it tomorrow. Captain's word." He replied innocently, snatching the book from your fingers.

Archons, you absolutely did not have the time for this.

Aether and Paimon were waiting after all.

You decided not to shove a stick up his ass, and instead let your anger blow over silently.

"Your hands are clammy darling," Kaeya went on, flipping through the text just for show. "I can feel it on the book."

'Ew that's gross' You wanted to say, but decided to play his game instead.

"Guess I'm nervous." A forced a blush made its way onto your face. Okay maybe it wasn't forced, but you couldn't blame yourself for letting his subtle teasing get to you.

"Oh?" He feigned curiosity, letting the book close with a soft thud. "My presence often does that to people." The cocky undertone in his voice made you fantasize smacking his face a hundred times over.

"Of course," It was a struggle to not speak in a dry tone. "You are truly..." A small cough escaped your lips, and you tried to stumble upon the words, wishing upon barbatos that the flattering would work. "charming."

Kaeya's grin widened, all cat like, and for a brief moment you felt your heart stutter. He swooped in to cage you against the wall. "I didn't know you were so bold dear."

Before he could utter another flirtatious remark, you pushed yourself close to him, distracting him for a mere moment just to strategically slip the book into the safety of your arms. "Thanks but no thanks. I'll return the book myself."

With a swift duck under his arm, you made your way to HQ before a cold hand grabbed your shoulder. You ceased any movement and glanced over your shoulder, a frown made clear.

Kaeya narrowed his eyes at you, clearly not liking how you weren't becoming a bumbling idiot at his flirty behaviour like you usually did. You'd love to—but you just didn't have the time to deal with him, not when the fatui were breathing down your neck.

"I'll go with you." He said slowly, testing you for any reactions. Shit. He's on to you. "I can't let a pretty lady wander all alone. You might get lost."

Like hell you would. You knew everything about the damn base as if it were the back of your hand. Kaeya understood this as well, but instead, he opted to wake up every morning and choose to be a dickwad.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Lead the way."

Kaeya seemed satisfied at your reply, and slid his grip down from your shoulder, straight to your free hand. He walked in front of you, pulling you behind him like you were a clumsy toddler.

His gaze wasn't on you, so you took the chance to examine your surroundings, trying to find the presence that was tailing you.

Kaeya being this close to you wasn't looking good for you at all. The walls had eyes and ears, and the only way to apprehend the risk was by doing as they said. Only then would you get your opening.

Paimon...Aether...hold on a bit longer.

With a nod to the guards, Kaeya and you made your way in, stopping right in front of the library. With a puzzled expression on your face, you were about to question his intentions, until he readjusted his grip so that your fingers were intertwined.

You were sure your face was flushed in all kinds of colours by now.

"Shall we enter?" He asked you, mirth clear in his eyes.

The only signal you managed to give him was a quick nod.

The library smelled of dark oak and silk flowers. You briefly remembered Aether giving her the plant from his adventures back in Liyue. The bookshelves were decorated with intricate designs, filled with countless of books that had all earned their rightful place.

And you were about to steal one, summoning chaos into Lisa's beloved library. It would be you who might deliver an archived book straight into the hands of the very people who sought out violence in order to achieve power.

"I'll check it in for you," Kaeya let go of your hand after dragging you all the way to the front desk, only to outstretch it for the text you were gripping too hard.

"Oh yeah," You handed it to him—willingly this time. "thank you. I'll be looking around."

It was understood what you had to do. Easily finding the locked case from which you would slip the book into your clothes only to make a run for it wouldn't cut it.

The captain would make too much noise and track you down himself before you could get the chance to shove the book up the Fatui's ass, get Aether and Paimon their freedom back. Then once you'd ensure their safety, you'd beat the living shit out of the Fatui agents right after. It's not like you'd have a choice.

The whole reason you were in this whole mess was because you decided to help Aether out with his latest commission, which happened to be clearing out a hilichurl camp smack dab in the middle of a road. The camp blocked all imports and exports, proving to be a stick in the butt for the merchants of Monstadt.

You, oh helpful and kind you, assisted him with the task, seeing as you were walking back from a fishing trip.

Turned out that the hilichurl camp was a cover for a bunch of Knights of Favonious hungry Fatui agents who were hellbent on getting the one and only copy of a book Lisa had tucked away in the library.

While you two could've easily ended every single one of those shady bastards, enemy reinforcements came out of nowhere and dug their claws right into Aether.

At least that was the cover story.

Violà, a hostage situation was born.

They promised to let Aether go on one condition. If you obtained a book they had their eyes on for quite some time. But their promise had as much worth as Venti's word did when he told you that the drinks were on him.

They couldn't risk the Knights finding out. You were just another loose string that would be cut off along your two friends.

Locating the book and hiding it in your outfit undetected was as effortless as it could get. What was coming would not be.

"Darling," Kaeya called out to you, but his voice is different. More darker than usual. You didn't summon your spear just yet.

"I've finished up. Let's get going yeah?" His footsteps are light on the wooden planks of the floor, but his words are solid. Frozen even.

You breathed out, but refused to turn around.

"You know," He continued, halting next to your shoulder, leaning his sweet mouth down to your ear. His hot breath fanned against your neck, but you paid no heed. "A liar is no stranger to a liar."

You lunged to the side, spinning on your heel as your back hit the railing in the middle of the library. The captain reacted quickly by swiping the air, but ultimately failed to grab you as you gracefully tipped yourself over, landing right on your feet.

There was now a floor that separated the two of you. Just as you had intended.

The reflexes you showcased earned you a smooth-voiced chuckle, an amused smirk gracing his lips. He leaned against the ledge with both hands, bending down his upper body.

"Oh my. We've got ourselves a thief. You didn't think I wouldn't notice, right?" He contemplated, weapon materializing right then and there, ready to put on a good show. You could read him like a book just as he could you. "Can't believe you're such a naughty girl."

Despite his teasing tone, his eyes remained cold and calculating.

"Don't flatter yourself." You spoke monotonously, brushing a hand in the air. "The date stamp didn't match up right? Tight time frame, couldn't really think about the logistics."

Kaeya narrowed his eye shrewdly, offended. "I can't let you go you know."

"I don't need you to." You quipped, but then placed a finger on your chin. "On second thought I kind of do. How about a friendly transaction? I really don't want to fight you."

"And I do not wish to fight you, darling." Kaeya's face split into a viscous smile, a far less forgiving gaze meeting you halfway. This was your chance to tell him, he was giving you a generous opening to explain yourself.

You bit your lip, feeling the unknown presence yet again. The walls had eyes and ears. The walls had vengeful teeth that would dig into you the minute you'd let it slip.

"I need you to let me go." You clutched the leather of your gloves desperately, your prior confidence flickering. Begging was the only card you had left.

His hardened gaze on your form softened slightly, but disappeared almost instantly.

You didn't have to wait for him to voice his answer. It was as clear as day.

The captain didn't waste any more time when jumping over the ledge.

By the time Kaeya's feet made impact, your pole arm was already aimed and ready to strike.

"Let's dance."

After a tactical withdrawal, you found yourself taking tentative steps on the outskirts of Springvale. It wouldn't have been possible if Kaeya didn't let his guard down momentarily.

The cuts on your shoulder still stung, but it was difficult to spare any time towards the throbbing.

Why were you walking so slow? Did your plan not work? No, it should have. You calculated every risk. But why the hell were you prolonging the inevitable end?

It didn't matter. Either way, you'd get to sink your teeth into some unfortunate fatui agents, injecting them with centuries worth of pain.

The opening was nearby, you noted, the pathway familiar. You always were good with maps, oftentimes lending a hand to the certain young outrider with a bright smile and kind heart.

You allowed yourself to calm your erratic heartbeat, and slow your breathing as to get a clearer sense around you. There were two, but before there had been three. The third one revealed himself when you deployed your "return the book" scheme, flipping through the guidebook carefully to see if you left potential breadcrumbs.

Gnawing at your lip, you followed the trail, the world behind you quieting down to a silent whisper.

It seemed like forever when you reached the destination, halting your movements.

Your ears perked up at their footsteps before you could catch a glimpse of them, but made no sudden movements except for dropping the book on the ground as they had instructed.

It was odd that you felt as calm as you did. It could've been because of your confidence in your abilities, or perhaps, something else entirely.

The pyro agent appeared from one of the bushes, right after shoving a bruised and gagged Aether. Paimon came next, in a cage controlled by a fatui cicin mage who wore a wicked smile on her stupid face.

They managed to shut Paimon up real quick. You wondered what it took, but not for too long.

"Hey now," You grinned, but your fingernails were digging crescents in your palm. "I thought we agreed that no one gets hurt?"

"The traveller here is a real handful." The fatui agent hissed from under his mask, harshly yanking Aether by his braid.

Aether, immobile, scowled in discomfort and continued to struggle through his bounds.

You didn't acknowledge the blond nor the agent's words, alternatively choosing to nod your head to the book instead. "Here as promised."

The agent motioned to the Cicin mage, who walked forward in order to obtain the book safely. She handed it back to him, and he briefly flipped through it, seemingly satisfied.

Just like that, Aether was knocked down on his knees next to your feet, Paimon thrown like a sack of potatoes atop him. They were out of the red. Your signal to strike.

"Unfortunately, promises are beneath our pay grade." The agent placed a finger on his chin, as if in thought. "However, you prove to be a valuable asset."

"Oh really?" You piped, eyes crinkling in mock excitement. "I'm really glad a lowly fatui scum thinks so highly of me. It's truly an honour."

Said fatui agent glared knives straight through his mask.

"Kill them." He ordered, and the Cicin mage hummed a sound of delight, summoning her electro-flies or whatever the hell those things were called.

Your polearm took shape in the clutches of your left hand, a twisted grin plastered on your face.

"I'm gonna have so much fun tearing you apart." The bloodlust you emanated was enough to choke the air out of both the mage and agent.

Pouncing on your prey, you didn't give the mage a chance to scream before you landed a roundhouse kick straight to her ribs. She made a guttural choking sound, moving to clutch herself. You ended the move by twisting your weapon into the air to send a shattering hit straight to her temple.

Your blow successfully knocked her out, the kick back proving to be enough to send the pyro agent flying into a nearby tree.

"I really expected something more challenging." A pout formed on your lips, eyebrows furrowed. "Hopefully you can make up for what your mage lacked. If not, I'll be disappointed."

The agent chuckled painfully. "You won't get the chance. You can't take on all of us."

"All of you?" You questioned, tilting your head, eyes widening innocently. "Oh you mean those pesks that were tailing me? So sorry, but they're gone now."

"W-what?!" He sputtered, quick on his feet as he pulled out his knife, charging it with elemental energy. "How could you have—"

"How unfair," A low tone whistled, and Kaeya finally made an appearance, smiles and everything. "Don't give her all the credit. You're making me feel left out."

The pyro agent scattered around his flames, preparing to shake up the battle—

You lost your patience and picked up a decent sized rock, aimed for his nose, and sent a plunging attack.

The agent lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

"Oh come on!" Kaeya's dejected groan rang in your ears. "Could've let me have a turn."

"You already had your turn." You sent a pointed stare at him, bending down near the mage to wipe the blood of your pole arm with her clothes. "Two times if I recall."

He rolled his eyes playfully, forgetting the banter to go and free the traveller of his bounds.

—

"Let's me get this straight." Jean said with fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "You two roughed up some fatui agents without informing the knights, and put the traveller at risk." There's this look of disappointment in her face, but you're used to it by now.

Hanging around Kaeya sure had its ups and downs.

"Precisely. The folder on your desk has all the details. Enough proof to have them in our custody.” The cavalry captain nodded along, and it somehow made you feel like you were a kid being scolded after getting caught stealing cookies from the jar.

"It was an operation that the traveller agreed to," You declared so her brewing anger didn't overflow. "The perfect plan to catch them in the act. It was my idea. The captain didn’t really know until later.”

"Although I’m quite hurt you didn’t fill me in any sooner, I must say, watching those ignorant fatui diplomats scramble to try and find an explanation is going to be worth the wait.” He spoke with a hint of a smile.

The both of you fist bumped. Jean wasn't amused.

The acting grand master produced a stern glare. "Y/N, assist Lisa with anything she needs for the rest of the week. And the Cavalry Captain here won't be going out on patrols any time soon."

That was a clear lie, but Jean had to keep up appearances after all. What kind of acting grand master would she be if she didn't at least pretend to have some sort of authority over her two trouble-making subordinates.

With a dramatic sigh, you spun on your heel to leave.

“Hey Y/N,” Jean called out, and you tilted your head, wanting to know if she changed her mind and decided to make your punishment worse. “Good work today. That will be all.” She avoided eye contact, feigning deeper interest in the pileup on her desk.

After the "briefing”, as Kaeya liked to call it, you found yourself outside of HQ with him right on your tail.

"Not too shabby for a day's work." He winked, smoothing out his words. "I must say, I'm quite impressed with how this went. Didn't expect you to put so much faith in me.”

"How did you get my signal anyways?" You snorted. "The entire scheme was off the bat. I had to wink at the traveller like five times to get him to showcase a crappy fight stance and become my fake hostage. Dense little guy.”

There was a momentary pause before Kaeya enlightened you with an answer.

"You hate reading, and you're irresponsible." He pointed out cheekily, poking at your nose. You scrunched your nose and turned away, cheeks warming. "The abyss would freeze over before you ever read a book, let alone steal one. That’s several red flags for me.”

He kept going, finding the topic of this to be quite interesting. “Not to mention returning the “Code of Conduct” handbook.” The relentless teasing was one of the reasons why you dreaded work,

"Gee thanks." You remarked unceremoniously. “I didn’t need your help at all. You just love sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

"Aww don't be so low spirited." He suspended your movements by curling an arm around your waist. "Let me treat you for a job well done darling." His hot breath fanned your ear, lips teasingly close.

Dammit dammit...why does he have to be so close!

"That's unfair." Paimon screeched from thin air, scaring the living daylights out of you. "After all the traveller and I have been through, don't we deserve a treat as well?!"

Kaeya laughed apologetically, cold hand never leaving your hips. "Of course. The honorary knight has been quite the help. Now let’s get moving, we're not frozen in place, after—"

A smack on the arm shut him up real quick.

#kaeya x reader #genshin impact #kaeya alberich #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x you #genshin impact oneshot #aether #Paimon

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