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arcadejohn127-9 · 3 years

Note

I read the Diavolos ball and angsty stuff, can I please please please get a happy ending to go with it?

This has been a highly requested and I must give my poor followers comfort after this straight up angst

So everyone, let's get into it! Some hurt and comfort to soothe your hearts

Warning: angst, long

I'll be putting this under readmore as it is long and I have had someone before say they wanted me to add it on long posts, I never really got any feedback about what I could do better and how this will help with people's viewing but I understand why, long posts can be annoying

If you guys think I should do this with all my long posts please comment or dm me or even state it in asks/requests - I wanna do what I can to make things enjoyable for people

Part 1 - beginning

Diavolo's ball aftermath

It's been a few days since they've seen you; they expected to find you in the dorm. Some fear you went back to the human world; there was no messages, no note - there was nothing. You were completely gone.

Everyone was losing it. The brothers got more aggressively with each other, no longer able to have you come between them. Your presence was so soothing to all of them but now you were gone. As soon as they realized you were gone the whole air of the dorm shifted. It wasn't right.

Mammon got desperate to know where you were. He handed one of his crows a necklace he got you, you promised to never take it off. His heart shattered when he saw it was on your desk. He wasn't sure what he did wrong - why did you take it off? What happened to you?

It wasn't long before the crow came back to the devildom; reporting that you were in fact in the human world. The brothers were devastated. They had to tell the others and they had to watch the hopeful shine in their eyes die.

They could all feel thankful you were unharmed but you were so far. You did this to get away from them. You didn't even leave a damn note!

Diavolo ordered everyone to go to the human world. They all split up into different parties to get you, whoever could get you first had to interrogate you. It didn't take a genius to understand that the Noble told you something horrible - why else would you have such a reaction? Barbatos was tasked to 'calmly discuss' that night with said noble but regardless of how rough and merciless he was; he refused to talk.

It was wasting time and energy. If he wasn't going to talk then they had to get the answer from you. A few were able to gather the gist of what he told you from your conversation before you disappeared; you were convinced you were being used and just a replacement, a pawn to them.

They wanted the full story. The whole reason. Anything! Just to understand why you would push them away and disappear like this. What have they done to make the nobles words feel so real to you? They needed to fix it.

The demon brother's split into a team of two; eldest and youngest, the royals stayed together and the elder exchange students were a double team aswell.

The crows lead the teams their way, splitting up to different routes to see if they could circle you so they could talk to you even if you decided to run.

In the end they found you, you were across the pavement, a train coming. The pedestrian stop dinged as it commanded people to stop but the men couldn't help themselves.

"(Y/N)!!!"

You whipped around, shocked. You thought your ears were playing tricks on you but there was the boys. Your boys. Tears bubbled in your eyes. You couldn't believe it. They followed you to the human world.

The world slowed down; the wind blowing against you as your eyes widened at the sight of them. They looked exhausted, some even with tear streaked cheeks. The more impulsive bunch being held back so they don't go running towards you. The street lights illuminated all of you; their appearance looked just as broken as their hearts.

The train rammed itself between you all. Disturbing the moment with its blaring horn, the screeching wheels ringing in your ears. It was the second you had to decide; do you run? Or do you stay?

To let them get you and finally face your emotions or run away, avoid everything and keep letting despair consume you.

You stayed. You couldn't move at all. It was if you were glued to the spot. But you knew it was just your heart aching for them; desperate to hold them and cry out your pain.

As soon as they could, they all rushed to your side. Hugging you, grabbing at your arms and head to pull you close to them. You choked on your tears as you let the 11 men hug you and check your face and clothes. All just wanting to make sure you were really there and unharmed.

You missed them all dearly and you were so happy they missed you too.

But then the big question was asked.

"what happened that night?"

"he said he was happy to meet me...asked for a dance and I said yes, I never should of, he kept telling me I was just Diavolo's pawn, Lilith's replacement and convinced me none of actually cared for me....I believed him.....I felt so unsure and he knew so much about us I just couldn't stop the doubts in my head....I'm so sorry-!"

Lucifer:

He couldn't believe that noble said that to you

He hastily grabbed your face, wiping away your tears

"You will never be and never have been her replacement, you are your own person, your connection to our sister means nothing other than comfort that she was able to be happy and that's it - I apologize if we have made you feel like you are a replacement and have compared you to her.... please understand we just miss her very dearly but we all want you in our life more than anything."

You buried your face into his shoulder

Sobbing your heart out as you kept chanting apologies and gratitude in a broken voice

He silenced you, holding you close

The prideful demon hid his face as best as he could and let tears drip down his cheeks

He was so relived to have you back

It seemed that noble wasn't only going to be visited by barbatos

Lucifer was not known for being merciful

Mammon:

He grabbed your arm and hastily tugged you towards him

His other hand cradled the back of your head

"Don't ever run away again, you understand?! I'm supposed to be the one protecting ya and how am I supposed to do that if you're off running in different realms without telling anyone??!! That noble doesn't know anything! I don't know how he knew about Lilith but you ain't her, you're (Y/N) And that's it! You are your own person - you gotta call out my dumbass-ary if I compare or make you feel that way, I would never do it on purpose! I like you and only you! I can't lose you again!"

He pushed his forhead against yours

A shaky exhale leaving him

You tried to apologize but he cut you right off, hugging you closer

He was going to make that Noble pay for ever making you doubt yourself like this

To doubt how much he loves you

Levithan:

He was already crying

He was crying before you even considered crying

He rushed to you and grabbed your hands

"I got so scared I did something, Don't listen to that normie! Normies are losers for a reason! There's no one else I would want as my best friend - no one will ever be a better game partner than you! You always make me feel happy and proud to be me-! I couldn't ask for anything more from you! I miss Lilith but I miss you even more! You're my favourite person, you're not some replacement, you're you! You're my player 2-! I'm sorry if I made you feel like you're not as amazing as you are, please don't leave again!"

It wasn't long after his speech he hugged you

Squeezing you tightly as he relished in having you back in real life 3D

since you were gone he kept playing as your game avatars

Using ai set ups to feel like he was with you again in VR

That noble will not stand a chance against his fury

Satan:

He wasn't sure if he was mad at you or himself

It was most likely both - mad you left and let someone just destory so much work and progression in one meeting

But mad at himself for not making you feel secure

He couldn't bring himself to hug you but that was because he was scared he wouldn't let go

"I knew that Noble was nothing but a menace-! You can't listen to people like him, he's just trying to get to you and tear us apart - I don't know why he would do that but he isn't right, he will never EVER be right! You are yourself and never will be Lilith, I didn't get to me her or really know who she was but I do know you will never be her and never were her! I care so much about you and I will make sure to keep my stupid brothers to never make you feel that way again, I've missed you so much (Y/N)."

In the end, he fell into your arms

Holding you tight as he let out his tears of frustration go

You apologized but he just told you to shut up, he didn't want you to be sorry for being the victim

He already had plans on what he's going to do to that noble, trying to push those thoughts away

Focusing on how wonderful it is to have you close

Asmodeus:

As soon as he could reach you, he pulled you into an embrace

Shaking his head as tears streamed down

His makeup already starting to to drip along work his tears

"No! No! No! Noooo!! Don't listen to that horrible noble! He isn't right at all, he doesn't know anything about us or you! He obviously doesn't know how much we care about you and like you as your own person, I never meant to make you feel as if you were some sort of replacement! Lilith was her own being and so are you, your connection means nothing! I i will always be happy knowing my sister got to live the life she wanted but you aren't apart of that, your life is your own and you are nothing like her! I love you because you're you! I couldn't imagine ever loving someone as much as I love you, please come back to the devildom!"

He nuzzled his cheek against yours

Thankful to have you back in his arms again

He didn't like getting his hands messy but no one was going to make you feel that way ever again

He didn't care about that demons status

Beezlebub:

His hand landed on the top of your head

You flinched not expecting such a gentle pat but it only broke his heart more

"That noble knows nothing about you or any of us, he's turned my sister into an enemy to our relationship and I will not let that go on for any longer! You are not her and not her replacement, how dare he make you feel that way! you're apart of my family and I'll have it no other way, I really love you and missed you everyday you were gone - I was scared I'd never feel full again, you make me feel complete and when you disappeared I knew I wouldn't be able to protect you, I would of never forgiven myself if you got hurt! I want to always be able to protect you and have you by my side and make you feel happy - I promise I won't fail you again."

He almost fell to his knees once he was done

He was ready to swear to you on one knee, like a true knight

But instead hugged you

Mindful not to squeeze too hard but let himself be selfish and hold you tighter than he would normally dare to

He was one prone to be violent unless it was in sports or he was starved - the Noble starved him of your touch and kindness

He'll break more than just rooms once he gets his hands on that Noble

Belphegor:

He spun you to face him

Demanding

Needing your attention on him

It was only a few days but it felt like forever since he's had your eyes on him

"You're no pawn and no replacement, you are you and that's all I want, I don't want any one else, I know I've made you feel like a replacement - i did something horrible to you and then tried to make it seem like it was all okay after, I'm always trying to make up for that day but I know that is something that will always effect us! I missed you so much....you are your own person and you've helped me be a better person, come back home and let me make this right......you're all I want and need."

He broke down crying

Hanging his head low and it dropped onto your shoulder

He loosely held your waist whilst you gripped onto him tight

If everyone thought choking you was bad, just wait until they see what he plans to do with that noble

He couldn't stand seeing you so upset anymore

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

He gently held your arm

Giving it a small squeeze as tears built up

"He said all that? I'm sorry he made you feel like that, to feel such confliction and dread, You are never will be or were my pawn, you're a fantastic student and wonderful person who's did more than I've ever imagined Someone could do, if I could have asked you myself properly to be apart of the exchange program I would of but the world is not yet ready to merge and be aware of our existence.... please you have my deepest apologies and regrets that you felt this way and I've allowed such a person in my court, I will do whatever I can to make this right."

The tears finally fell and he became selfish

Hugging you tight against him, his fingers brushing against any skin he could touch

He couldn't dare to think how he'll be when you finally do leave the program

But until that time comes he needed to make it a good experience for you

If what barbatos did to him wasn't enough to convince him then he will not go back on his word

He'll fix this and do whatever he can to make all the pain stop

Barbatos:

He sighed in relief seeing you in the flesh

Knees buckling as he stood before you

His knuckles bloodied and bruised under his gloves

"I should of been more comforting when I found you, if I had known that was what he said I would of never let him be apart of the lord's court or be at that party, believe me when I say you are not a pawn or someone's replacement - you are so much more than that, you are you and someone that's made me feel closer to the present, to act quicker and stop using endless time as a excuse, I will fix this and make him regret ever uttering a word to you, I promise you."

Your touch was as gentle as ever

He caved, leaning against you

Happy to be able to make amends and fix the situation

The nobles dealt with him once and no matter what he did it wasn't enough

But he was merely holding back to be a gentleman, even if that noble now looks like a beaten raisin

It seemed he will have to do much worse to send everyone's message across

Solomon:

His face was gentle yet scolding

He gently brushed your cheek, wiping away a stray tear

"don't run off next time something like this happens, your life is so short and I hate to think would could happen if I lost you because you felt isolated even from me, you though you could find solace as both of us are humans but I was slow to understand your needs - you are deeply loved by everyone, I envy how much love you get and that's why I can't stand to see you run! I also love you and your presence, you have been so kind to me and I still have so much to teach you- please believe me when I say you're no one's pawn or replacement, you're important because you're you."

You crumbled completely

He hugged you as you apologized, calling yourself an idioit

But it only made him tsk, rubbing your back as he filled your ears with praises

He was sure the demons were going to rip that Noble to shreds but he couldn't help but desire his own revenge

Seeing you like this hurt him so much

Simeon:

He was so quick and gentle you could of mistaken him as a feather

He embraced you, cradling your head and rubbed soothing circles between your shoulder blades

"I was worried about you, I took you home and then I learn you've completely disappeared! No warning or note behind, you ran away - your feelings are extremely valid and I understand why you did this, It must of been so conflicting and you needed space to think and reflect, you're so strong (Y/N)! but you are also smarter than this, I feel ashamed knowing I haven't showed you how much I appreciate you being in my life and make sure you feel secure in the Devildom, I want to look over you but I've failed you already, that Noble does not know what he's talking about regardless of the information he has! I would never let anyone use you or let anyone treat you as some replacement, we all care so much about you."

He slightly swayed with you in his arms

Overwhelmed by his fears and the emotions that were rushing through him

He promised to never harm an innocent soul

That noble did not have one

He will leave the more physically destructive rage to the others

Wanting to merely talk and show the noble the error of his ways

Bonus:

You were back in the Devildom, Everyone was making sure to spend extra time with you. So happy to have you back and wanting to work on making you feel more secure. You couldn't stop how fast your heart was beating from all the overwhelming joy you felt.

It felt so good to be back. But you nagging worry remained in your head; what was going to happen to the Noble? you wished you could go up to him and yell at him. Prove him wrong and make him regret ever making you spiral like that.

When you brought up the idea, the men all looked at each other. A knowing look in their eye.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N) but I think it's best you don't see him but rest assured, we've dealt with him on your behalf and understand your wishes - let us know how we can help you feel resolved from that situation if this is unsatisfactory."

Diavolo answered. If it weren't the state the noble was in they'd happily let you chew him out but your heart and mind have been through enough already. No need to add on to the hurt with seeing what was left of him. They couldn't stand to see you upset again.

But you agreed, thanking them for their support and handling the situation. Unaware of their true actions. They all wished you a great day before going back to their own private meeting.

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

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writingindulgence · 3 years

Text

Illumi x F.Reader - Expectation

Pairing: Illumi x Female Reader

Story tags: Arranged marriage, typical Zoldyck behaviour, angst-ish, heavy manipulation, ILLUMI, unhealthy one-sided dependence : ) my guy just toxic

3,200+ words and why? I don’t even like the dude. Also, two points of view.

The sound of fancy porcelain tea cups clinking against the glass table is soothing, along with the warm rays shining on your face. Times like these are what you are thankful for. The smell of purposely picked flowers, arranged to please the eyes. Not the stench of trash dumped for the sole convenience of other countries. Colourful butterflies and bees, instead of flies and disease ridden rats. A home cooked meal ready for your consumption rather than scraps of rotting food that you more often than not nearly died for.

Kukuroo mountain is infinitely more beautiful compared to Meteor City.

“(Y/n) dear, it’s unbecoming of you to make noise with your tableware,” a powerful feminine voice chastates your mistake. The woman sitting opposite you is none other than Kikyo Zoldyck. Or as she forces you to call her, mother.

Your heart flutters in relief, an apologetic expression weaving onto your face. She must be in an agreeable mood since her fan hasn’t struck your hand. Sometimes you are let off with a warning if she spots a blunder on your part. Sometimes, she resorts to physical punishment. It always depends on whether or not a family member said anything to ruin her day. In fact, any matter concerning Killua will set her off in a positive or negative direction.

Just like Illumi whenever you bring up his younger brother.

“I apologise mother, I’m too excited because Illumi is returning,” you proceed to take a sip and this time around, gently settle the tea cup down.

A content hum comes from her direction, her visor flashing for a split second. “Oh (Y/n), you’ll make such a good wife one day.” She picks up a fork gracefully and stabs it into the cake she asked for from the family cook.

The compliment ignites a multitude of feelings in your chest. It spreads out, only one thought in your mind.

How immensely grateful and happy you are to hear it.

Many of your friends from when you were young, starved to death. Some were beaten up by other desperate residents. Others lost their will to fight, a state you threaded on a magnitude of times.

Being taken away by the mafia one day was what gave you back the spark, a life in the city no more out of your reach. Until you figured out what type of work they wanted to sell you and other kids for. Stories from the older girls back in Meteor City came rushing back.

Your bloodlust and instinct to survive are what happened to change your life for the better. Out of all the line-up of children, you were selected by the Zoldycks. Instead of being the pet of some old pervert, you found a home within the assassin family.

There were many times when you felt like giving up. When the training you went through was worse than simply dying. However, you promised yourself to never throw away the chance you received all those years back.

You were indebted to the Zoldycks.

Hearing words of encouragement from one of the people you looked up to the most brought tears to your eyes. You wiped them away with your thumb.

Mother is a role model to you. It helped when you found out that she originates from Meteor City too. In a sense, it is easier to place yourself in her shoes and strive to achieve what she did. Being an amazing assassin, wife and mother.

A sudden scraping of a chair brought you back to the presence, startling you into a defensive pose. The knife under your sundress clasped in your hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Kalluto coming out from behind the bushes, his paper fan also ready for action.

“My Kil, what is he doing?! Quick, we have to stop him. Kalluto go call for Milluki right now!,” she orders shrilly before running into the mansion.

Without hesitation, you rush after her. It is expected of you. A nagging feeling in the back of your head also foreshadows that whatever is going on, it will have dire consequences if not stopped.

Killua is in the foyer, being kept idle by the servants. But not for long. You can see the irritation growing on his face, his muscles tensed.

You’ve known Killua since he was a baby, having been inducted as a future family member when mother was pregnant with him. There’s no doubt that if something wasn’t done, it would lead to a messy aftermath.

A few seconds after you make it inside, Milluki shows up and the servants are all dismissed.

“Kil, my little Kil, what’s wrong? Why did I hear that you’re leaving to take the Hunter’s Exam?,” mother’s voice is aghast, the idea of her favourite child abandoning the nest filling her with pain.

You too are taken aback at the news, a protective sensation coursing through you. Your fingers flex at your side.

“It’s boring here and I heard that the Exam is difficult so I’m going to test my skill,” he shrugs her worry off and spins his skateboard. Your heart begins to pound uncontrollably.

Hearing the disrespect, Milluki steps up and lashes out at Killua. “You brat, what’s with that arrogant attitude you-,”

“Stop that!,” mother’s voice sharply cuts him down.

She begins pleading with Killua to stay, her voice cracking multiple times. It pains you to watch someone you respect growing so desperate.

Killua is too young to understand what he’s putting the ones around him through. Of course, a rebellious phase is healthy-

A prickly discomfort surges through your head and you clutch it. Your unexpected movement grabs everyone’s attention. You try to brush it off, not wishing to be a burden.

It isn’t expected of you to be one.

“Killua, you should stay here. The world is a dangerous place,” your words try to reach him. “Illumi is coming home today, why don’t we-”,

“I don’t want him around! Just leave me alone,” he angrily interrupts. The air grows heavy. Heavier than it’s been since the beginning.

Mother gasps in shock at his behaviour since Killua never really yells at you. Yes, he gets annoyed as much as any other kid but when he shouts, he doesn’t really mean it.

It’s expected of you to coerce him into calming down.

“You’ve changed during the past few weeks (Y/n), after Illumi came back before leaving again. Anyway, I will kill you all if you try to stop me,” Killua promises in a cold voice, his blue eyes a piercing ice.

This rouses an onslaught of insults from Milluki and a mix of agony and happiness from mother.

However, you’re currently stuck in your own mind, reflecting on Killua’s comment. It is true that during the past three weeks you doted on him more than ever before. Usually you try to split your attention between him and Kalluto when you have free time. What changed?

Nothing should have changed, Killua is the priority of the family.

A high-pitched scream echoes around the foyer and your clouded head awakens. The sight in front of you freezes your blood and it takes immense strength not to bite your tongue.

Mother is kneeling down on the ground, her hands covering her bloody face. Before you can take a step, Milluki rages and charges at Killua. The young boy bounces back and proceeds to plunge the knife into his older brother. Milluki curses and grabs his wound.

On impulse, your hand is already equipped with a knife and you’re ready to protect yourself as well as mother Killua.

Killua mistakes your movements as an attack and strikes his own knife across your arm. A long gash appears on your skin, the blood seeping out moments later. You take in the pain as punishment. Punishment for letting it get this far and failing.

You’re a failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.

Taking the chance to escape, he kicks his skateboard up and runs out.

And you were helpless to stop him.

It’s been a while since Illumi has been back home on Kukuroo mountain, his previous mission requiring him to travel across multiple locations. The target was a cautious person so they moved from place to place, leaving lousy decoys. That did not impede Illumi at all, it was simply an inconvenience at worst.

After all, nervous-wrecks are the ones who put their emotions out on display. They are the first to slip up due to the fact that they care about others.

Which is concerning because Killua is at a stage where he is showing his rebellious streak more often. It is crucial that he can snuff it out before his dear brother falls further down the slope of idiotic fantasies . In which case, it is a slight relief that (Y/n) is here. She tries to keep Killua in check in a subtle way instead of hanging over his shoulder or perpetuating his moody behaviour.

Though the last time he visited there were hints of her growing soft and losing her devotion of raising Killua to be the next head of the family. He is ashamed to confess that it irked him to some degree. It’s expected of her to put her desires down for what he wants. And he wants Killua to be the next head.

Even so, he thought that he dealt with this the last time.

However, imagine the surprise he felt when his mother came wailing to him, begging him to follow her little Kil to the Hunter’s Exam. To think that instead of a joyful family reunion, the news of his stray younger brother reached his ears before anything else.

That won’t do.

Currently, it’s close to midnight which is the time (Y/n) comes to his room to say goodnight. Why she even bothers is beyond him. The effort of keeping up with formalities could be used for better activities. It’s already indisputable that they are arranged to marry in the future at the request of his parents, so there is no reason to be close together in any romantic sense.

In fact, Killua will succeed as the head which is why there is no point in thinking about his own future.

A sigh leaves his mouth.

There is only one positive outcome that came out of this whole arrangement. He has an extra set of eyes and he’s sure that she will listen to him without question. All he has to do is play into these formalities and she’s wrapped around his finger.

An affectionate hug here, a tiny smile there...Normally he’d be concerned that a future Zoldyck , even if not by blood, would be so easy to deceive. However, since every carefully planned step is coming from him he’s not surprised in the slightest.

It’s expected of (Y/n) to be loyal, just as much as it’s expected for Killua to take over the family business.

The wooden clock hanging opposite his bed strikes 12 but there is no sign of (Y/n). She never runs late.

The fact that she hadn’t even greeted him when he came back is also unusual. Normally she’d be pacing in front of the entrance door but today his mother took over that role. He heard that she got injured by Killua but (Y/n) has experienced worse so what’s the fuss?

It’s not his problem, he’ll just take a bath before bed. She’ll come running eventually.

Illumi’s right arm is beginning to grow numb. He hasn’t moved from the water in over an hour. Not because he needed a break to relax, taking time off for yourself is inefficient. No, he hasn’t moved because he’s been waiting for the familiar steps and hesitant knock to come from outside his room.

Discerning who someone is from the sound of their footsteps and how they carry themselves is second nature to any professional assassin. For instance, Milluki hovers in one spot when walking while Kalluto creates soft patters with his toes.

On the other hand, (Y/n) always shuffles her feet forward just before his door. It takes her approximately 2 seconds to knock when she’s unsure, 1 second when she’s in a normal mood and 0.5 whenever she has news deemed worthy enough for him to hear. Reading the mood of someone before they see you face to face is important.

Coming to terms with the fact that today she won’t pay him a visit, he steps out of the bathtub, water dripping down his naked body. He throws on a plain black bathrobe and leaves the bathroom. Giving his bed a quick-over, he walks out the door.

Guess it’s time for him to pay a visit instead.

If he actually bothers and gives it some thought, it’s not a mystery as to why he hasn’t even seen her shadow today. She’s ashamed. Ashamed of being a failure for letting Killua go.

Her scrambled mind is most likely trying to piece together what she should say. How she should ask for forgiveness and repent.

He wonders if she’s starving herself or if she’s contemplating about going to the self-confinement room.

Normally he’d push her into whatever she makes up but a stick approach by itself won’t be enough. There needs to be a push and pull factor involved if he wants her to listen to him unconditionally.

And what better way than to appear before her, disheveled and still wet in his robe? She’ll jump to conclusions.

Further guilt will set in, how she unnecessarily worried him by skipping the usual goodnight. His state will continue feeding her imagination, connecting unrelated dots to make her believe that he cares for her.

Truly, a puppet and its real master.

Soaking footprints follow behind him on the floor, the dim candlelight making them difficult to notice. He knocks once before letting himself in and shutting the door, back turned to the only other person inside.

A small gasp penetrates the silence and a rush of steps follow suit, stopping just behind him.

“Illumi, welcome back,” (Y/n) is the first to speak. He stays silent.

A nervous shuffle. “Is..everything okay?”.

The voice quietens downs the more she speaks. That should be enough for now.

He turns around and looks down at her concerned face, with no emotion of his own. Her eyes widen a fraction after registering his condition. Before she can open her mouth to question him further, Illumi crinkles his eyes and smiles.

“It’s nothing. I was just worried since I didn’t see you today,” he gazes away, giving her enough time to fix her expression. It’ll be harder for him to get her to open up if she thinks that he sees through her lack of control.

“I missed you too-,”

Presumptuous to think that he missed her.

“-and I’m sorry for not saying anything. I just…,” she stops right before confessing her shortcoming.

He doesn’t provide her with any more time to compose herself, a full day is already generous. Grabbing the door handle he gives it a slight tug but her hand shuts it and pulls his sleeve. That’s new. (Y/n) rarely takes the initiative.

He allows her to drag him over to the bed, slightly curious about her next move. Is she trying to entertain him as an apology or simply trying to put distance between him and the door?

Both tactics aren’t half bad when it comes to simple targets.

He sits down on the covers and analyses her.

A long white nightdress, face ready for bed, barefoot, and a long knife wound going up her arm.

A shred of pride for Killua’s work passes through his head but he doesn’t showcase this. If by any chance she spotted the look, it would demolish the picture he wants to paint.

(Y/n) kneels down in front of him and takes his hand into hers. It’s warm, though not as soft as it used to be. Her breasts rest atop his knees.

His attention migrates from the sudden action to her face, looking for answers. He made sure that she will only expect affection coming from him, not the other way around. It would be too tiring to keep up a loving demeanour- no, scratch that. It wouldn’t be tiring but the expectations would eventually rise and it would result in less time spent on bringing up Killua.

Oh, he zoned out.

(Y/n)’s eyes are full of regret and desperation, the hand holding his trembling just enough to tell him that today’s event is eating at her. Is she waiting for him to say something?

Finally after what feels like an unprecedented amount of time, the scene unfolds.

Her smaller hand pulls his to her face and rests it against her cheek. The second his skin touches hers, he detects slight heat radiating. She must have not treated the cut. The knife was probably dirty too, Killua slacks off in that regard.

“I’m sorry for being a failure, I’m very sorry Illumi. I have no excuse,” the apology flows out of her mouth, bottom lip quivering. The pain of looking at someone she disappointed forces her eyes to shut close. Her free hand latches onto his thigh and she digs in before continuing.

“You can slash my other arm as punishment. Or hang me upside down in the self-containment room,” she throws out. “But please, please don’t give up on me. I can do better Illumi”.

And as if to prove how determined she is, her eyes open up again, staring deeply into his own. Unwavering. Confident.

Though the thumb that he has under her jaw gave the hammering pulse away.

1,2,3. 1,2. 1,2,3.

He stretched out the silence, pretending to ponder over his answer. The unsettling emotions influencing her thoughts will prove beneficial when he flips her assumption around.

He removes his hand from her cheek and moves the one on his thigh to her side. (Y/n) adopts a look of relief, believing that he agreed to her conditions of punishment. What he’s about to do is infinitely more cruel though.

She catches her breath when he follows her example and kneels in front of her. He pulls up the sleeve of her nightdress that’s slipping down before grabbing her shoulders, gently.

“How can I not give up on you when you give up on yourself,” he lectures her, peeking down at her wound. Make the target question their actions.

An expression of remorse adorns her face, a downward tug of the mouth.

He pulls her in, arms encircling and resting on her lower back. The material of the nightdress is light enough for him to make out the feeling of skin.

“Though I won’t give up on you.” Affirmation and a moment of reassurance.

One of his hands travels deliberately slowly up to her neck. It rests on the back of her head, fingers entangled in her hair. Illumi locates the present that he left her the last time he visited and pushes it back into her head. It has moved slightly out.

This prompts (Y/n) to hug him in response, her previously hanging arms now resting comfortably around him. Good, as for the finishing line.

“Though your failure is a disappointment, I know that you will not repeat the same mistake, because you

love me, right?”.

Her head moves to rest between the crook of his neck, nodding in agreement. She doesn’t ask him if he loves her.

It’s expected of her not to.

#illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck x reader #hunter x hunter fanfiction #hunter x hunter #This took 2 long but now I can focus on other things yay

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all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years

Text

A priority.

summary: Y/N defends herself from the hate and Harry gets mad.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst!

a/n: a little something to hold onto until i finish some requests for my shy little boy, hope you like this! (i’m on a roll, sorry for posting so much mjsiw)

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Ugly. Worthless. Bitch. And her personal favorite, slut. Those words along with some others were all over Y/N’s social media accounts every single day.

Ever since some bloody paparazzi took a picture of Harry and Y/N holding hands while shopping, Y/N couldn’t go online without having thousands of strangers on the internet throwing names at her.

She should’ve seen it coming, honestly. It was stupid to think they could hide their relationship forever, she just wished fans wouldn’t be so aggressive towards her.

Y/N wanted to understand, she really did. For a solid week she convinced herself they were just being protective over Harry, but after the insults and derogatory comments about her imagine didn’t stop, she started to grow annoyed. She started believing fans just didn’t want to see him happy.

Y/N had to bit her tongue numerous times, knowing that if she stood up for herself, it would only be worse. So she tried to ignore it.

She didn’t stop using social media, why the hell would she stop having a life because of fans that couldn’t contain their need to harass every person Harry became close with?

A month after the pictures of them were out for the entire world to see, Harry had to travel to the States for work. He was supposed to be away for only two weeks, and Y/N was going to stay at his house a couple of days before his arrival so they can spend time together right away.

Laying on the couch, Y/N scrolled mindlessly through her Instagram feed, seeing what her friends and family were up to. She rolled her eyes when her notifications started to go off, not really wanting to enter and see her entire comment section below her posts full of hate towards her.

But curiosity killed the cat.

Promising herself she would only have a look, she clicked her notifications. She had posted a picture yesterday when she went out with a couple of her girlfriend, so all the comments were directed towards that post.

She’s dressed like a slut here

Can’t believe Harry is dating her…

He can do so much better, what a shame

It can be so easy to slip into a mindset where she let these type of things affect her and her confidence, but she simply chose not to. These people didn’t know her, and probably never will.

I can’t wait for harry to realize the kind of whore you are and dumps your fucking ass.

Oh well, that’s hilarious. Now she was mad. Probably picking a fight wasn’t the smartest decision she’s ever made, but she couldn’t help it. She let the anger speak for itself as she pressed the reply bottom and started writing directly to that specific comment.

‘So he can date you instead or what?”

Send.

Y/N dropped her phone on her lap, deciding it was enough internet for the day. She decided to move to the kitchen and start on the cupcakes she had previously planned to bake her boyfriend. Harry wasn’t one to allow himself to eat a lot of unhealthy stuff, as he has always tried to be as healthy as possible. But, man, cupcakes were something Harry absolutely loved.

She didn’t really touched her phone for the rest of the afternoon, staying busy in other things. She had a facetime call with Harry at night, and she was looking forward to see his face, even if it was only through the phone. Her phone didn’t have enough battery, so she turned on her computer to wait for Harry’s call.

The screen lightened, showing Harry’s upcoming call. Y/N furrowed, thinking he was way earlier but she wouldn’t complain about it. She answered the call, expecting to see her beautiful boyfriend’s dimpled smile on the screen, but she was surprised when she saw a serious look instead.

“Why would you do that, Y/N?” he asked sternly.

“Do what?” Was this some kind of joke?

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Y/N. Don’t play dumb”

“Excuse me?” she raised her eyebrows. “Maybe if you explained what you mean we could talk about it”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how disrespectful it was from you to answer like that to a fan? It was unnecessary and, to be honest, childish from you”

Y/N was surprised. “Yeah, maybe I was rude but I don’t think I was being childish, Harry”

“Yes, you were. Are you aware of how this makes me look? You can’t just say things like those and don’t think it wouldn’t affect my image too”

Well, what the fuck. “Ah, yes. Treat people with kindness and whatnot. I guess that doesn’t include your fucking girlfriend, because the only reason why I said what I said was because your bloody fans wouldn’t stop harassing me!” Now her face had a deep frown.

“You sure you’re not being a little dramatic? I mean, how bad could the hate get?”

“How bad?! Harry, do you even go online? To them I’m nothing but a fucking whore, do you have any idea of how fucking frustrating is to be treated like you’re the worst human being by your fans just because we’re dating?”

“There’s always gonna be people like that, Y/N” he sighed. “You need to learn how to ignore it”

“Do you think I haven’t tried? I’m sorry but it is not my fault the fans can’t contain themselves from sending death threats to every person that breaths close to you!” she paused. “Do you seriously just called me to scold me?”

“Well, I’m not happy about what you did, to be honest. They’re my fans, Y/N. They deserve to be respected”

“And I don’t?” she raised an eyebrow. “You know what? I’m done. Enjoy your day alone tomorrow because I’m fucking leaving”

“Leaving? What do you mean?” Harry’s pulse started to rise, watching his girlfriend stand up from the bed, the computer moved and he saw she was in his house. “Y/N, don’t leave. We’ll talk about this tomorrow”

“No, I’ve heard enough. I don’t want to talk to you right now” She closed her computer, hanging up. She put on her jacket and took her phone from the nightstand.

Before she exited the house, she went to the kitchen and threw the cupcakes she made in the trash.

Harry, you fucking asshole.

They’ve only dated for seven months and have never really got into a fight before. Y/N was a very impulsive person, more so when she was mad. Fuck, she knew his fans were important to him, she understood that. But it was becoming too much for Y/N to handle.

She loved Harry, she was truly in love with him. But was it really worth it to go through all of this if he wasn’t even willing to stand up for her?

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Harry changed his flights. After Y/N hung up on him, he realized he behaved like a proper asshole. He could’ve said so many things differently, without offending her the way he did.

He didn’t like she thought she wasn’t important to him. He was scared all the baggage he carried with him was a deal breaker for her, it has been on the past for almost every other relationship he has ever had.

It wasn’t fair of him to straight up scold her without hearing her first. He was upset and didn’t think enough before speaking, and now he regretted it.

He knew he needed to fix things. Fast.

Even though the night before Y/N made very clear she wasn’t staying, a part of him still hoped to see her curled up on the couch watching Netflix and waiting for him to arrive, but he was welcomed by an empty house.

He sighed, passing his hand through his curls, thinking how he could make it up to her. He went to the kitchen, where he kept his car keys. Harry stopped his tracks when he saw the trash can.

His heart dropped to his stomach when he noticed the homemade untouched cupcakes tossed into the trash.

He better make this right.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Y/N was bored. She had cleared her schedule because Harry was coming home and now she had nothing to do other than drown on her sorrows.

Being bored and upset at her boyfriend, made her take the decision to take an afternoon nap on her couch. She had been asleep for a little while when someone started banging at the door.

You see, Harry had a key to her place, but he feel undeserving of using it after the way he treated her. But she wasn’t answering, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t home, he had seen her car in the parking lot of her apartment building.

Keying into her place, he looked around for his girlfriend, finding her sleeping figure on the couch, a blanked wrapped around her. He didn’t want to wake her up but they really needed to talk, so he kneeled down to be at the same eye level.

“Y/N… Y/N, wake up” he shook her a little. Her eyelashes fluttered a little before her eyes opened, a frown immediately appearing on her face.

“What are you doing here?” She sat down, taking the blanked off of her and crossing her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby”

“Now I’m baby? Not the childish Y/N you were scolding yesterday?”

He sighed, moving to sit in the coffee table to be in front of her. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday, it wasn’t fair for you”

“It wasn’t”

“I was upset, Jeff had sent me a screenshot of the comment and I didn’t even check social media. It was impulsive and wrong from me and I apologize”

“I don’t like the way you talked to me yesterday, Harry”

“I know. If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. Please don’t leave me over this, my love” he grabbed her hands, feeling tears threaten to spill out of his eyes. “I know it isn’t fair for you, I know you’ll have to put up to so much shit, but please, please don’t give up on us. I swear I’ll make it right, Y/N, I don’t want these kind of situations get in the way of us”

“I’m not going to leave you” she mumbled. “I’m upset, yes. I know I was wrong too, but it all got too much and i… snapped. I know these kind of things affect your image and reputation too, so I’m sorry”

“I don’t care about my image. I should’ve said something sooner, before it all went out of control. I suppose I ignored it, hoping you’d do the same. I’m sorry for not checking up with you about this”

Y/N gave him a little smile, pulling from his hands to make him sit beside her. She wrapped her arms around his torso, pushing herself into his chest. “I know your fans are important to you, and you love them. I swear I want to have a good relationship with them, because they’re a huge part of your life, and I’m gonna work on that, I promise”

“And I promise I’ll stand up for you. I love my fans, so much. But you’re my girlfriend, my priority” he kissed her forehead. “I love you, Y/N, my baby”

“I love you more, love” she planted little kisses on his chin and jaw.

“Enough to make me more cupcakes?” Y/N let out a belly laugh, nodding. “Good. You owe me after you threw those to the trash”

“That’s what you get for being a meanie”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction

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starshine583 · 4 years

Text

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself.

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that.

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys.

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present.

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!”

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed.

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel.

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing.

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?”

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.”

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance.

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch.

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were.

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?”

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars).

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside.

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.”

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking.

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person.

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien,

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!”

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her?

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

#felinette #Felix Culpa #Marinette #New Girl on the Block #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids

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femalehumanoid · 3 years

Text

Fluff Alphabet - Keevan

A ctivities – What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Keevan likes to spend an occasional evening simply talking to you. Let’s face it – the list of his psychological issues and traumas is a lengthy one, but he adamantly refuses to see a counselor, so that leaves the only person he can trust – you. He tells you stories from his past, ranging from funny and entertaining to tragic and horrible; for the most part you just listen, offering an appropriate comment here and there or squeezing his hand in encouragement. You have long since learned that tearing up and trying to hug him outright is a bad idea in such moments – he sees it as pity and closes up immediately, refusing to reveal anything remotely close to personal for weeks afterwards.

But your talks are not always about his past – in fact, your discussion topics are vastly varied. He’s lived many lifetimes and knows a lot, so he has an opinion on just about everything. He relishes finally being able to discuss his true thoughts without having to constantly look over his shoulder and filter which opinions are safe to share and which ones could be used against him.

As for other activities, Keevan’s a bit of a hedonist, so he wouldn’t say no to a day at a holosuite spa or a short trip to the pleasure planet together. Freedom from the Dominion didn’t make him any less of an asshole, so when you’re in public – say, lounging at the beach on Risa – he’ll occasionally make scathing (and, unfortunately, quite funny) observations about the passersby under his breath. You feel bad for snickering at the especially insulting comments, but ultimately don’t have the heart to tell him off because he looks so pleased with himself when he manages to make you laugh.

B eauty – What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Being a Vorta, Keevan is of course devoid of an aesthetic sense as such. That doesn’t mean that he can’t deduce by the reactions of others that you are beautiful – and boy, does it stroke his ego to see people eyeing you with appreciation (and him with jealousy) when you dress up and go out in public together.

While he can’t fully perceive your beauty visually, he admires your lips for their softness, your hands for their warmth, your eyes for the way you look at him.

On a more general note, what Keevan appreciates most about you is your behavior towards him. Sure, you have many other admirable qualities – you’re fun, and charming, and intelligent – but he’s met a plethora of fun, charming and intelligent people, and you’re the only one who truly loves and accepts him.

C omfort – how would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Before he met you, Keevan had very little experience in comforting another person or providing genuine emotional support, so he’ll be somewhat stiff the first few times you show this type of vulnerability in front of him. But as soon as he’ll realize you’re looking to him for comfort, he’ll soften and open his arms for an embrace. Next thing you know, you’ll be sitting on his lap, telling him your woes and being sweet-talked to death.

By the way, if the reason for your distress is another person, you can rest assured that they would regret what they did – Keevan would make sure of it.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Keevan is happy to leave the decision of where you’re going to live fully in your hands, but if you were to ask him, he’d recommend a smaller planet with comfortable climate and of little strategic value (so that it’d be left alone if another war were to erupt). But even though he’s mostly indifferent towards the finer details of your life together, it doesn’t mean that he’s not thinking about the future. The longer you are together, the clearer it becomes to him that one lifetime with you wouldn’t be enough. So, he starts to make discreet inquiries with his old contacts at various cloning facilities – is the Dominion technology suitable for cloning a human? How would one go about it? You won’t hear a word of it until Keevan knows for sure it’s possible, and one day he nonchalantly drops the offer on you like it’s not one of the most life-changing decisions with plenty of questionable ethical implications. In his mind, the decision has already been made, and he’s not above manipulating you into accepting if that means he gets to be with you forever.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or are they rather passive?

On the surface Keevan might appear passive, simply because he doesn’t expend energy caring about most things. You want to take an assignment on a different planet? Fine, he’ll come along - as long as you’ll have enough free time to devote to him, that is. You’re feeling frisky and want to explore your dominant side? Oh, he’s way into that.

In the past, when he was a servant of the Dominion, he had to constantly assert his dominance to keep his position, but nowadays he mostly reserves those impulses for the bedroom. However, there are some things he’s not willing to compromise on at all. You’re not going on that dangerous mission even if he has to tie you to the bed. That ex of yours that recently came into your life again and is behaving suspiciously flirty? Oh look, a week later they’ve decided to take a trip to another part of the galaxy and not return, totally of their own accord.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How is their fighting?

For both your sakes, let’s hope you’re more diplomatic than he is. Fighting with Keevan goes one of two ways – it’s either a nightmare because he knows exactly what to say to make it hurt, OR your heated exchange turns into an even more heated reconciliation and you both forget what you were fighting about in the first place.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Even if Keevan doesn’t often show it, he is grateful. He knows he’s not the easiest person to get along with, and he is aware of the effort you’re putting into the relationship and into helping him through his issues even when he’s being a total prick.

He does try to smooth his edges when he’s around you (around others, not so much) and takes note of the little things that make you happy – how you light up when he takes your hand, or when he remembers how you take your morning beverage – and consciously does it more often.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Keevan wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘secrets’, simply certain information that you don’t need to know. Some details of his past, for example – stories that could traumatize you – and why would he do that to a person he loves? You will rarely catch him lying to you outright, but some things he simply omits, like how he’s convinced your colleague to back off from that assignment you really wanted.

Also, he often has trouble sharing his emotions, partly because he’s been repressing them for so long that even he can’t get to the bottom of what he’s feeling at times.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Your relationship has transformed both of you in some respects. It might not have been smooth sailing, especially in the beginning, but it’s the healthiest relationship Keevan’s ever been in, and you’ve been gradually helping him heal and move on from a lot of trauma of his past. As for you, Keevan has taught you to be more assertive and you learned to accept the darker parts of your own psyche like you accepted the worst sides of his.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Keevan is extremely prone to jealousy, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. He likes to cultivate a reputation of a person who’s not to be crossed, and with his sadistic streak scaring people comes easily to him. That way, he can be reasonably sure no-one is going to dare take what’s his – namely, you.

But if he catches you being too friendly (in his opinion) to, say, some bar patron, he won’t hesitate to come up and insert himself into the conversation, only to artfully insult the unfortunate person, smirking and possessively holding your hip all the while. If you think getting punched in the face by a huge Klingon for such behavior would deter him, you’d be dead wrong.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

He’s a wonderful kisser – and very intense. Your first kiss happened in the middle of a heated argument, one moment you were getting in each other’s face, angrily flushing pink and aubergine respectfully, and the next you’re furiously kissing and knocking down the nearby furniture in an attempt to pin the other to the wall.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Not in a healthy way, I’m afraid. For the longest time, he would be in denial as to the nature of his feelings towards you. Lust, he could understand – but you seem to behave in a way that implies deeper feelings. Out of curiosity, he would let himself get closer to you, and after a while he’d discover with great surprise that he has developed feelings towards you as well. Weaknesses like that tended to get one killed in the Dominion (and that’s the best-case scenario), and despite the big changes after the war, that fear would still be fresh in his mind. But even regardless of that, getting seriously involved with someone would bring out a myriad of other fears and insecurities. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he opens up to you and that scares you off? What if he becomes attached and something happens to you? It’s safer not to get involved. Without explanation, he’d start avoiding you, thereby hurting your feelings, and one night when you’re crying, drinking wine and nursing your broken heart, you decide that enough is enough and you deserve an explanation. You march to his quarters and barge in as soon as the doors slide open, to Keevan’s astonishment and slight indignation (since when are you so bold?). After that, there’s a lot of shouting, finger pointing and angry confessions, followed by passionate kissing. The next morning, you’d hear a whisper that sounds a lot like ‘I love you’ while you’re still half-asleep in his bed, but you’re not sure if that really happened or if you dreamt it.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

If you want to get married, you’re going to have to explain to him the significance of that ritual because Keevan doesn’t really understand why you need to involve the government, or even worse – god – in your personal affairs. Although your explanation won’t likely change his mind on the matter, if he sees that you really, really want to get married, he’ll concede. But under no circumstances will Keevan agree to a religious ceremony of any sort – his experiences with gods (i.e. the Founders) have embittered him to any form of religion, so he’ll never sully the matter of such intimacy and importance as your union with mentions of any god, be they real or imaginary.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Pet, darling, sweet thing. Princess, in certain situations (😉). He starts out using the nicknames sarcastically, but at some point it becomes one of his ways to show genuine affection towards you.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious to others? How do they express their feelings?

At first, Keevan in love seems even more aloof than usual. His thoughts keep returning to you, thinking and overthinking everything, imagining all the ways your relationship could go wrong and even more ways it could go right.

The others truly start to notice the changes in his behavior only when he’s with you. His movements gain a bit more grace and sensuality, he doesn’t pass up an opportunity to make a clever snarky comment where he otherwise wouldn’t have bothered. He subtly puts himself in your personal space and holds your gaze for meaningful lengths of time. In other words, he is infatuated with you, which is obvious to everyone present.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

PDA? Yes, please! Keevan’s displays of affection border on exhibitionistic. If you’re too embarrassed, he’ll tone it down, of course - but not by much, so you might as well forget about having any shame at all when he’s around. While he doesn’t tend to be too clingy in public, he thinks nothing of groping your ass if the mood strikes him, undressing you with his eyes or whispering suggestively into your ear and making you blush. Bragging about you and showing you off is par for the course.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship

Keevan has an uncanny ability to stay level-headed in dangerous situations, and years of serving as a field supervisor have taught him to always have a plan B, C and ideally ten more, just in case. So if anything happens, you can rely on him to get you both out of trouble.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

While not romantic in a classical sense, Keevan does try to keep you happy in his own way. He prefers to hide the true amount of effort he puts into the seemingly little things he’s doing for you – what it’s like to hear the whispers about his race when you’re on a date on a Federation planet, or how draining it is to socialize with your friends (you have to threaten not to talk to him for a week if he doesn’t behave civilly).

Aside from that, Keevan likes to make an occasional grand gesture to impress you – there’s nothing he loves more than seeing the awe and admiration in your eyes and hearing you praise him. Basically, flattery will get you anywhere with this Vorta.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He knows that you’re talented enough to excel at anything you put your mind to. If you want to advance your career, he can offer you plenty of useful (if sometimes unethical) advice on how to do that quickly. But if you want him to actually do something to help, you’re going to have to ask veeery nicely. In rare cases he does help without being asked - but don’t get used to it.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Over the iterations, Keevan was known to be, shall we say, adventurous, so there isn’t much that is truly new to him. The only thing that’s actually novel is the significance of the relationship. Did he ever wake up in bed with an attractive stranger? Sure, many times. Had he ever woken up next to the person he loves? You are the first. He wants to relish every new thing he gets to experience with you, so he isn’t in a hurry to try out everything all at once.

U nderstanding - How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Keevan isn’t terribly empathetic, but he can read the cues pretty well if he wants to – a skill that is essential for any Vorta to acquire if they want to survive past their first iteration. For all his supposed indifference, Keevan has learned a lot about you pretty early on after you’ve first met, and if you weren’t so love-struck, you’d have probably found it suspicious. At times, it can be irritating how well he knows you, especially when he’s acting smug about it.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Once upon a time, Keevan had a career, and a rather successful one at that. Unfortunately, it was a career in a fascistic interstellar empire serving merciless gods – this kind of thing gets you disillusioned sooner rather than later. Still, his work had its moments, and having left the Dominion he had been missing the opportunity to apply himself.

But the freedom has granted him a choice – for the first time, he could decide what he wants to do. That freedom is just as important to him as your relationship, and the fact that you’re supporting him and helping him discover the new possibilities means more to Keevan than you can possibly imagine.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Keevan is a very tactile person by nature, which may come as a surprise because due to his past he’s had to learn to survive without closeness. At the earlier stages of your relationship he’d be pretty wary of platonic affectionate gestures, but as he becomes more comfortable around you, you’ll notice the casual touches becoming more frequent – he’d put his chin on your shoulder from behind to see what you’re reading on your PADD, thoughtfully trace your brow with his finger or play with your hair. Also, good luck trying to get out of bed without waking him – if you try to wriggle out of his embrace, he’ll only tighten his arms around you and mumble something unintelligible in Vortawa.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

By making everyone around him miserable. By moping around in your quarters and passive-aggressively destroying the knickknacks on your shelves (and later claiming that it was an accident).

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Oh yes. Great, borderline creepy length. Out of the two of you, you are the only one who actually has morals (and the longer you are with Keevan, the more the lines will start to blur), so he won’t have any qualms doing whatever needs to be done for your relationship. The only thing that could give him pause is if he knows you might not forgive him for doing something particularly amoral - but on the other hand, what you don’t know won’t hurt you.

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

dedicated to the wonderful @stay-neurotic , the originator of Keevan thirst on tumblr dot com

#Keevan #Vorta #fluff alphabet #keevan x reader #star trek

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madam-melon-meow · 3 years

Text

Bisexual Kyoshi is something that can be so personal, actually

Panel edit by @flagellasturbation

[image I.D. : An edit of a comic panel of avatar Kyoshi. On the left in the image is a close-up of Kyoshi from the torso up, contained within an upside-down trapezoid shape. She wears her full battle uniform of olive and emerald robes, dark gloves and bracers, and a golden headpiece in a fan-like shape. Her eyes are the same emerald shade as her robes, she has black hair billowing to the left edge of the image, and her black eyebrows have been dramatically lengthened by black face paint. Her face and neck are artificially whitened with chalky makeup, she has black winged eyeliner, red eyeshadow that sweeps upwards to her temples and down the sides of her nose, and red lipstick outlined in black. This is the classic Kyoshi makeup. Her arms are crossed, the left arm behind her head pointing a golden fan away from the viewer, the right arm extended in front of her face, another golden fan pointed towards the viewer. She appears to be looking upwards and towards the right of the image. Above Kyoshi’s eye level and in the top right of the image is a comic text box. It reads in all caps: “even avatar Kyoshi- who by all accounts loved men and women- was unable to effect any kind of real progress.” The background art and color has been replaced with the Bisexual Flag, a thick horizontal line of pink on top, stopping at Kyoshi’s cheek level, then a thinner line of purple ending at her shoulders, and a thick line of blue that extends to the bottom of the image. End I.D.]

(If someone does not find my image I.D. sufficient, please let me know. This is my first time trying to make such a thing, as i am a lurker, not a poster)

Rise of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee, page 99 (text copy / pasted from the b&n ebook version)

““Are those . . . fire lilies?” he said, a wide, knowing grin spreading across his face.

Kyoshi flushed beet red. “Stop it,” she said.

“That’s right,” Yun said. “The Ember Island tourism minister brought a bunch when he visited two weeks ago. I can’t believe you simply shred the flowers once they dry out. I guess nothing goes to waste in this house.”

“Knock it off,” Kyoshi snapped. But it was too hard keeping the corners of her lips from curling upward.

“Knock what off?” he said, enjoying her reaction. “I’m just commenting on a fragrance I’ve come to particularly enjoy.”

It was an inside reference that only the two of them shared. Rangi didn’t know. She hadn’t been there in the gifting room eight months ago while Kyoshi arranged a vast quantity of fire lilies sent by an admiral in the Fire Navy, one of Hei-Ran’s friends.

Yun had spent the afternoon watching Kyoshi work. Against every scrap of her better judgment, she’d allowed him to lie down on the floor and rest his head in her lap while she plucked deformed leaves and trimmed stems to the right length. Had anyone caught the two of them like that, there would have been a scandal that not even the Avatar could have recovered from.

That day, entranced by Yun’s upside-down features dappled with the flower petals she’d teasingly sprinkled over his face, she’d almost leaned down and kissed him. And he knew it. Because he’d almost reached up and kissed her.

They never spoke of it afterward, the shared impulse that had nearly crashed both of their carriages. It was too . . . well, they each had their duties was a good way to put it. That moment did not fit anywhere among their responsibilities.

But since then, whenever the two of them were in the presence of fire lilies, Yun’s eyes would dart toward the flowers repeatedly until he was sure Kyoshi noticed. She would try unsuccessfully to keep a straight face, the heat coloring her neck, and he’d sigh as if to mourn what could have been.

Today was no different. With a wistful blush on his own cheeks, Yun stared her down until her defenses broke and she let out a giggle through her nose.

“There’s that beautiful smile,” he said. He pressed his heels into the floor, sliding up against the wall, and straightened his rumpled shirt. “Kyoshi, trust me when I say this: If it turns out not to be me, I’ll be glad it’s you.”

~~~~~~~~~

Rise of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee, page 210 (text copy / pasted from the b&n ebook version)

“You think you don’t deserve peace and happiness and good things, but you do!” Rangi yelled. “You, Kyoshi! Not the Avatar, but you!”

She closed the distance and wrapped her arms around Kyoshi’s waist. The embrace was a clever way to hide her face.

“Do you have any idea how painful it’s been for me to follow you on this journey where you’re so determined to punish yourself?” she said. “Watching you treat yourself like an empty vessel for revenge, when I’ve known you since you were a servant girl who couldn’t bend a pebble? The Avatar can be reborn. But you can’t, Kyoshi. I don’t want to give you up to the next generation. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Kyoshi realized she’d had it all wrong. Rangi was a true believer. But her greatest faith had been for her friends, not her assignment. She pulled Rangi in closer. She thought she heard a slight, contented sigh come from the other girl.

“I wish I could give you your due,” Rangi muttered after some time had passed. “The wisest teachers. Armies to defend you. A palace to live in.”

Kyoshi raised an eyebrow. “The Avatar gets a palace?”

“No, but you deserve one.”

“I don’t need it,” Kyoshi said. She smiled into Rangi’s hair, the soft strands caressing her lips. “And I don’t need an army. I have you.”

Psh,” Rangi scoffed. “A lot of good I’ve been so far. If I were better at my job you would never feel scared. Only loved. Adored by all.”

Kyoshi gently nudged Rangi’s chin upward. She could no more prevent herself from doing this than she could keep from breathing, living, fearing.

“I do feel loved,” she declared.

Rangi’s beautiful face shone in reflection. Kyoshi leaned in and kissed her.

A warm glow mapped Kyoshi’s veins. Eternity distilled in a single brush of skin. She thought she would never be more alive than now.

And then—

The shock of hands pushing her away. Kyoshi snapped out of her trance, aghast.

Rangi had flinched at the contact. Repelled her. Viscerally, reflexively.

Oh no. Oh no.

This couldn’t—not after everything they’d been through—this couldn’t be how it—

Kyoshi shut her eyes until they hurt. She wanted to shrink until she vanished within the cracks of the earth. She wanted to become dust and blow away in the wind.

But the sound of laughter pulled her back. Rangi was coughing, drowning herself with her own tears and mirth. She caught her breath and retook Kyoshi by the hips, turning to the side, offering up the smooth, unblemished skin of her throat.

“That side of my face is busted up, stupid,” she whispered in the darkness. “Kiss me where I’m not hurt.”

~~~~~

I include both these quotes because i've seen a few posts about the “gigantic lesbian” avatar, and although i am glad my sapphic sisters feel connected to Kyoshi (as well they should!), that doesn't mean i wish to simply be quiet on the matter of her textual bisexuality. I understand that not everyone has read her novels, nor has everyone read legend of Korra comics, but Kyoshi is *textually* bisexual.

Kyoshi had a loving romantic relationship with her firebending friend Rangi, but this does not erase her feelings for her earthbending friend Yun, even if neither of them were able to properly express it due to their respective “status”. (For context if you haven’t read, the masters believed that Yun was the avatar, and though he was bodyguarded by Rangi, and though Kyoshi was his servent, the three of them were simiar ages and thus close friends until the discovery of Kyoshi’s true ability destroyed their former lives). Hell, Kyoshi and Rangi do not become intimate until after fleeing their former lives. Who is to say what would have happened, had Yun not been captured by father glowworm ?

I know that there is a chance you will scoff at this, will write this off as comphet, accuse me of disproportionately weighting an almost-kiss with a true relationship, but these above quotes (as well as the comic panel from “the legend of korra: turf wars- part 1”) serve as proof that Kyoshi, “by all accounts loved men and women” (see panel directly below)

[image I.D. : the same comic panel as the edit above, this one without the bisexual flag edited in. Directly behind Kyoshi, within the upside-down trapezoid shape, is an olive to lime gradient, darker around her head and lighter near the bottom. Around and to the right in the image, outside of the trapezoid, is an aerial shot of buildings within an Earth Kingdom city, and what appears to be the lines of troops on the ground far below. the text box in the image is the same, but I have underlined the word “men” in blue, the word “and” in purple, and the word “women” in pink, to reflect the bisexual flag. End I.D.]

I am making such a big deal over this because Kyoshi is a massive figure, her long shadow cast over Aang’s life alongside Roku’s, and even before her novels came out there were often jokes about her “bloodthirsty” nature. I implore you to read the novels and see why Kyoshi believed in deadly justice at times, but also so you can see what a dynamic, loving, and beautiful character she is.

Some members of fandom have taken a “step on me” attitude towards Kyoshi, who has, even if the 7 feet tall thing is more fanon than canon, been explicitly described as “exceptionally tall”, and “towering” over others. This “strong woman who will break me and I thank them” attitude is one that butch &/or physically imposing sapphics, as well as trans women with similar statures to Kyoshi have expressed discomfort when applied to themselves and characters like them. I would love for more people to acknowledge her flaws and multi-faceted nature, that she is more than a “warrior goddess”, just as Aang is more than a living relic. Flattening her out to the easily-fetishable parts erases the depth of her character and the complexity of circumstances that led to the instances of deadly force.

There are very few bisexual characters in media, especially women, and especially in children’s media. Bisexual women have often been caricatured as loose, promiscuous, good for a threesome and not much else. (This is mot to say that i think any lesser of my fellow bisexuals who are proudly promiscious, nor can an actual live bisexual person be considered a stereotype for living their life, but media’s portayal of us as obsessed with desire is incredibly harmful). Knowing that a strong, beautiful, and important character in the avatar universe is a bisexual woman is amazing, even more so to have her first lady-love described in the novels with such care. F. C. Yee, the author of these novels, has my eternal gratitude. I sincerely hope that the new generation of fans, whether they are drawn to the cartoon or even the hypothetical live action show, will pick up these novels and discover the kind of bisexual character that I wish existed in my early days as a reader, and if a small fraction of them resonate with Kyoshi’s reciprocal on Yun and love for Rangi, then the world becomes a little bit brighter for it.

I mentioned her importance for the simple reason that Kyoshi IS important with the text of ATLA. As one of the avatars, she is one of the most historically important figures in that universe, one of the few avatars that Aang knows by name, and one of the only avatars to speak through his body. The fact that she has two whole novels to herself testifies to that effect, making her bisexual representation all the more important than a simple background character might be.

If or when the ATLA live action tv show occurs, we can expect some mention of Kyoshi. After all, there is a whole episode dedicated to exploring one of her missions, and the way that the descendants of her enemy have recolored history. It is my sincere desire that enough discussion is made about her canon bisexuality , that fandom trumphets it from the roof with as much force as crackshipping zukka, that when she does make it to the screen, there is some subtle nod in her bisexuality’s direction, even if it is something as meta as casting a bisexual actress for her. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

edit by @flagellasturbation

[image I.D. : An edit of a comic panel of avatar Kyoshi. This is like the first image, Kyoshi and the text box of the comic panel untouched, the background color and art replaced with the bisexual flag. However, this version has the words “by all accounts” blown up large and placed diagonally in the image, directly under Kyoshi’s face and stretching from one side of the image to the other. The bottom third of the image is similarly obscured, the words “men” , “and” , “women” blown up large enough to fill the panel and cover most of Kyoshi’s torso, as well as the purple and blue areas of the background flag. End I.D.]

#Avatar Kyoshi #Rangi #Yun #The Rise of Kyoshi #The Shadow of Kyoshi #father glowworm #bisexual

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary:

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark?

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

#soho speaks #batfamily #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #this is so fluffy my teeth fell out in the first two paragraphs #bi dick grayson #bisexual dick grayson #bisexuality #gay #lgbtq

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hournites · 3 years

Text

A lot of ways to love you (teach me through your eyes)

Hournite Week Day 7: Love Languages

Summary: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Gifts, Quality Time, Touch. Or, Rick, Beth, and their many languages of love.

Thank you for coming along on this first HN week journey with me! ❤️

~.~

Words of Affirmation

Beth found Rick by himself at the corner of their shared history class, carving his initials into the desk. She didn’t understand why he’d put himself there. It was like a brooding corner to be miserable.

“Hey,” she said, taking the seat in front of his desk. “What’s wrong?”

Rick dug deeper to splinter the wood. “They think I cheated on my chem test.”

Without asking, Beth unzipped Rick’s bag to pull out the test. Rick let her.

She gaped at him as she scanned over the F and comments from the teacher. He always treated Beth kindly when they passed in the halls, but she never actually had Mr. Geralds. Chemistry wasn’t her strong suit like Rick, but there wasn’t a doubt that she’d given some of the same answers with a great grade from the other science teacher. “Are you serious? That’s crazy. You’re going to contest that, right?”

“You’re not going to even ask if I did?”

“I know you didn’t, you’re too smart.”

“I used to steal shit,” he muttered under his breath and dropped his pencil. “Haven’t heard you say I’m too smart for that.”

Beth slipped his test into her folder to return to at a later time, right now focusing on Rick.

“Hey, that’s not fair.” When Rick wouldn’t meet her eyes, she leaned in closer. “Look at me.”

Rick did.

“You know you deserved a good grade. And you’ve done what you did to get by.” She glanced at the vandalism briefly. “There are people here who know you’re better than what the majority of the town thinks.” She lowered her voice to keep her next words between them. “You’re a hero. You’ve helped save everyone in this town. So show them who you really are.”

She smiled when he let out a small huff, she knew he was listening. “I’ll go to the principal’s office with you, and we can get Pat to vouch for us. We both know that for Chem you should be in AP.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” he lied, shifting uncomfortably from all her nice words.

“If it weren’t a big deal, you wouldn’t have done that.” She pointed at the roughened mess he’d made of the school desk. “I know you better than you think.”

Act of Service

“Has anyone seen Beth?”

Rick walked around the main area of Pat’s cabin. It was after 2 AM. Barbara and Jennie were making late-night comfort food in the kitchen. Pat was manning the first aid station, tending to Mike, Jakeem and Yolanda’s injuries from Sportsmaster. Courtney was bonding or something with the staff in some strange ritual she had after a life-threatening mission. Rick just stepped out of the shower, washing the grime from his arms and face.

“She’s upstairs, I think!” Yolanda called, holding her ribs from her seat on top of the table. Rick shook his head when Pat admonished her not to yell. Rick made it up the stairs two at a time, stopping when he found Beth with her packed school bag on the floor in front of the couch. She was searching through papers, openly crying. She hadn’t even taken her cape off yet.

Rick crouched down beside her. “Hey,” he said softly. She looked utterly exhausted. “Are you okay? You said you didn’t get hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.” She hiccuped, flipping through more papers, a little hysterical. It looked like it was for school. “I can’t find my math assignment. It’s due tomorrow morning.”

“Did you finish it?” he asked.

“I don’t remember.” She wiped at her tears as she cried harder. “I might’ve left it at home, I can’t find it. I’m too tired, I can’t think.”

“Yeah,” Rick agreed. His bones were weary but he had always felt the least affected after battling it out with the ISA. He suffered plenty of superficial cuts and bruises, but he hardly felt them because his hourglass really protected him. He couldn’t imagine the hit the night must’ve taken on Beth’s body. Pat was going to be driving them back to main Blue Valley at 4 or 5 o’clock in the morning to get them back to school. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a random Wednesday. It’s not like they had a choice.

“Did you ask Chuck?”

“No.” Her lip wobbled, face contorting into another sob. Rick regretted asking. It was clear she was far too drained. It would’ve been simple to have asked Chuck to scan her bag to find out, but she hadn’t thought of it.

“Okay, okay,” Rick said. “Go to bed. You’re not going to be able to do the homework now even if you found it.” Rick got up to get to the top of the stairs, calling down for Barbara.

When he returned, he helped her up and managed to get her to let go of her school bag. “We’ll look for it before we leave, okay?” Rick ran a hand through his damp hair, his own eyelids started to droop. “I promise you’ll get it done before school.”

Barb joined them upstairs and coaxed Beth to change out of her suit, leading her downstairs with her regular clothes and a promise of a warm bed and tea.

Rick followed to grab Chuck when Beth wasn’t looking, turning him on once alone to help identify if this alleged math homework was even in her bag. Together they found what she was talking about. Ten problems of pre-calc. She was right. It was rushed and not done.

Rick sighed, tucking it under his arm. He said goodnight to the rest and retired to his assigned room. He turned on the lamp on the desk where he first solved the code of his father’s journal, spreading out the assignment and using Chuck as a calculator. It dawned on him an hour later as he rubbed at his tired eyes how he would be staying up all night to finish homework that wasn’t even his.

Gifts

Beth was immersed in her book when two hands landed on her collarbone. She looked down, touching the skin at the opening of her shirt when she felt the weight of something new at the base of her throat.

“What’s this?”

Rick murmured in her ear from behind. “An early birthday present.”

She let out a soft gasp when he finished with the clasp. A tiny brass hourglass pendant with sand just like Hourman’s trickled steadily beside her rainbow pendant.

“Woah.” She glanced up at him. “You got me an hourglass?” She bit down on her lip, dread creeping into her mind when she realized this had to be expensive. She struggled to voice what she was feeling out loud, but Rick must’ve caught the complicated expression on her face. He smoothed his hand along the sleeve of her cardigan and reassured her the cost didn’t push him into any kind of financial ruin.

“Did you not realize I’ve been working for Pat before school? I had some spare cash. Trust me, there’s nothing better I’d spend my money on.”

The puzzle clicked into place. Beth had been meeting Rick at the Pit Stop every morning before school for what felt like months now. It made sense he was there to work on the cars. Beth felt her face heat up at his implicit soft-spoken confession. “Thank you,” she said in a whisper, still in awe. The necklace was beautiful and she felt fuzzy ever since his hands were on her neck. “I love it.”

His eyes, usually hardened and defensive, skilled at warding off unwanted attention, now creased at the corners. Gentle, quiet, yearning, he watched her accept his gift. “I’m glad.”

Impulsively she asked, “Could you unclasp the rainbow one?”

Rick did. The chain pooled in her palm. She shook her head, pushing it to his chest. “You should have it.”

His brows furrowed in response. “You want to give me your... rainbow necklace?”

She flushed when he said it like that. She toyed with her new one, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “Well…” she said. “I have something of you, now you can have a symbol of me.”

Rick let out a small laugh. Beth was pretty sure if this were anyone else he’d say it was stupid, so she couldn’t help the surge of pride when he nestled her necklace around his own neck.

“How does it look?”

It was actually twisted. She flattened it so it would look the way it was supposed to over the collar of his shirt. Rick didn’t complain, but it was bright and cheery and clashed with his entire self. Beth bit her lip, withholding another laugh, and took pity on him, changing her mind to tuck the necklace underneath. “Perfect now.”

“Beth, I hate to interrupt this moment but you will be late for school if you don’t leave the Pit Stop in the next five minutes.”

Chuck broke them out of their weird double transfixion. They both found themselves smiling shyly at each other, neither truly wanting to move.

“Come on,” he said after another few moments of them smiling at each other without moving. “Put your bike in my trunk. I’ll drive you.”

Quality Time

When Rick stopped by at Beth’s locker, she was talking to Charity, a new close friend she made over the summer volunteering at the Blue Valley Community Centre.

“Hey,” Rick greeted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting for Beth to visit.

“Hey,” Charity said back. She swept her blonde bangs out of her face to continue their conversation.

“Charity had a great idea that we should enter for the sustainability case competition,” Beth filled in.

“We’re going to need at least a month to prepare. I was thinking we could meet Tuesdays and Thursdays after school?”

Rick stuck a hand in his pocket, sullen. Thursdays were their days, unofficially. Not that they’ve ever said so out loud, but with JSA training afternoons the rest of the week, Beth working on a case competition their days off basically meant not getting to see her. Which was fine. It happened. Rick just wishes it didn’t have to.

“I can’t on Thursdays,” Beth told her. She glanced up at Rick to give him a smile. He straightened up, meeting her gaze with obvious surprise. “Those are our nights.”

Charity paused, watching the two with curious eyes.

“We can cancel,” Rick found himself saying and actually meaning it. “You don’t have to stay on my account.”

Beth’s nose scrunched up as she shook her head, mind already made. “Nah. Sorry Charity, Thursday doesn’t work for me. Take out your schedule, maybe we have a shared free period somewhere.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! Okay!”

Rick ducked his head to hide his smile as Charity fished through her bag for her agenda.

Touch

When Beth stumbled out of the cell she’d been bound in, she hadn’t realized just how long she’d been gone. She was hungry and exhausted and felt horrifically dirty in her soiled Dr. Mid-Nite suit, but then she got a glimpse of Hourman nearly pushing the others in his rush to get to her all she could feel was relief.

Rick cupped her face, eyes squeezed shut as he held her close, his thumbs brushed along her cheeks, under her dry eyes. She felt the buzz of adrenaline rushing through him just by being so near, but the way he touched her was gentle, so gentle.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered, a startling unfamiliar word to fall in succession like that, coming from Rick. His hands flew to the crown of her cowl, tugging it down to kiss her forehead again and again. “Thank you.”

I’m okay now, she tried to comfort him, though her words were choked, smothered out by the crushing weight of it all. He was crying as his lips brushed over her face. It wasn’t his stamina. The buzz, she felt. Rick was shaking. It hit her then, that maybe he wasn’t sure Beth was ever going to come back. Beth had scared him. He was scared.

Beth vaulted with her tired, numb legs, reaching to wrap her arms around his neck. Her mind went calm for the first time since before they left home, muscles relaxing as she let Rick scoop her up.

She was safe. She was home.

Beth was loved.

#hournite week #hournite #hournite week 21 #hournites fic #love languages #fluff #hurt/comfort #i'm proud of this one

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avversiera-writes · 3 years

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touch your heart [senju tobirama/you] - chapter 3

Summary: Hashirama might go down as the worst matchmaker in history, but he thinks he might be on to something. Tobirama sees through his brother's schemes and is determined not to fall for it. Or fall for you.

Word Count: about 3k

AO3 LINK TO TOUCH YOUR HEART

AOR SERIES LINK TO ‘TIL DEATH DO US PART

[<<<CHAPTER ONE] [CHAPTER TWO]

With the thought of Tobirama being upset over the stunt you pulled the other day at the forefront of your mind, you decide to buy him breakfast. You are not really sure what he likes, but you decide to go to a vendor near the mansion to buy him some sweet pastries and hot black tea. You hope you’re not fired, though you’re sure that Tobirama cannot do that.

You sigh, hating how impulsive you can get. Madara had always told you not to get carried away.

You make your way to the library that is now your current workplace, but you do not find Tobirama in his usual spot. You set his food on his spot, and you get back to work, doing the things that he asked you to do. You will yourself to stay on task, but your focus is broken when Tobirama walks in, carrying more books and scrolls with him.

He places the pile in between the table to divide your spaces, and you find that the stacks of books and scrolls act as a shield for him.

You roll your eyes, thinking of commenting on how petty this is until Tobirama hands you an ancient, thick book that is about to fall apart at the seams. You hold it gently, afraid that the pages will fly away the moment you open it.

“What is this?” You inquire, unsure of what to do with the book. “Something you want me to throw away?”

Tobirama scowls and you give him an awkward grin.

“Or...recycle?” You suggest uneasily.

“I want you to study it and take notes on what you deem is important,” Tobirama answers, going around the table and sitting down so that he disappears from your view.

“Alright,” you acquiesce. “Also, I completed the list of skills I thought were important to have for young shinobis based on the information that you’ve given me from the past several days.”

“I see,” Tobirama says and he leaves it at that without saying anything more.

You give him a few moments, and you hear papers shuffling behind the wall of books that is keeping you from seeing him.

You push a column of books aside to give yourself some more space, but it proves to be detrimental because suddenly, you hear books and scrolls falling and a chair sliding back violently.

You come around the table and you find the tea you meant to give to him knocked over with its contents spilled.

Tobirama gives you a withering look, and he looks like he is about to yell.

“I said to not eat near me for this very reason,” Tobirama scolds.

You cringe. Luckily, the spill only got to the bottom book on the pile near yours. “I’m sorry, I was only trying to make up for yesterday.”

“What?” Tobirama says scathingly.

“You know, the sword...grabbing thing,” you reply as you move the books aside to get the wet book. “But in my defense, you did not need to stack such a tall pile of books to avoid me.”

Tobirama looks at you with disbelief and he crosses his arms together. “I am not avoiding you.”

“Right.” You do not believe him. “I will go clean this up. Sorry for the mess.”

You take up the book with you and you turn towards the exit to look for towels to clean up the spill.

“What you did,” Tobirama suddenly grunts out.

You turn around in surprise. He averts from your gaze.

“It’s good to take the enemies by surprise,” Tobirama comments almost under his breath and you stare at him, bewildered.

“...Alright,” you say awkwardly, waiting if he’s going to say something more, but that is it.

Is he actually complimenting you?

You press your lips to stop yourself from smiling.

Almost two weeks have passed and you found that the two of you have settled into a routine. The atmosphere between the two of you have eased so far, but few words are exchanged between the two of you unless it is about work. Tobirama is very good at breaking down things when you do not understand something, and you also find that the two of you agree a lot on the ideas that the two of you have come up with so far. Getting to know his students is a joy, and you actually do not mind him tagging along when you go to the Academy grounds to teach children who are eager to learn how to sword fight.

This is a skill you are most confident in.

Tobirama does not do much but watch, and then he leaves without saying a word if he is getting pulled elsewhere, which is a common occurrence.

In the days that you spend with him, you notice that Tobirama is always working. You have never seen him take a break in the hours you spend with him during the day, and when he is not with you, he is with his brother, his students or going around the village helping people and solving their menial problems.

You try to let him be, but it is a little concerning when you leave him to go eat lunch and still find him frowning at the things he has to do.

So you find yourself buying extra snacks for him, and you avoid anything liquid just in case another spill happens.

“I don’t like this kind of pastry,” Tobirama says after you set down a warm bread with melted cheese inside.

“Well, you have to get something in your stomach,” you counter.

You decide to just leave it near him, just in case he changes his mind.

More days have passed and it is starting to bother you how he just does not seem to take a break. This man can be doing this for hours without stopping and you are starting to wonder if he is human. You are jealous of his unmatched focus and his ability to delegate and organize everything, so you try to take notes and copy what he does. You want to improve yourself and Tobirama seems like a good role model to follow and obviously, his students are a testament to that.

You keep leaving him snacks, but he always says the same thing.

“I don’t like the filling in this mochi,” Tobirama says without wasting time. Like he is automatically programmed to dislike whatever you give him.

“That is popular right now,” you almost say in a defensive tone.

“It’s too sweet,” Tobirama cuts in a sharp tone.

“Then what would you like, my lord?” You are a little fed up now.

Tobirama lets out a deep breath and stops what he is doing. He leans back on his chair and his eyes meet yours for a moment before looking away. “What are you doing?”

“Wasting my money on you, obviously,” you roll your eyes.

“I did not ask,” Tobirama says, but you note that he looks taken aback by your words. A slight wrinkle forms on his pale forehead.

“Right,” you sigh and you move to your seat.

Tobirama’s eyes track you, his stare boring on your skin as if you are an unknown device he wants to tinker with. You ignore him, and after a few moments, he finally looks away and goes back to his work. His actions leave you mystified, but you let it go. You are probably bothering him by giving him snacks that he does not like.

Tobirama takes a book and opens it, but you hear his nose flare and he slams the book closed immediately.

You look up, and then you see the book in front of him. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from laughing.

“What is this?” Tobirama barks, his ears turning pink.

You raise an eyebrow, not wanting to confess what you did yet. “Well, if you have not noticed, that is a book, my lord.”

“Where is my book?” Tobirama demands, and a vein pops out of his very pink neck.

“Relax, it’s right here, I just switched the covers,” you say to try and calm him down.

“With such indecent pictures?!”

“I was just trying to make you laugh!” You have exchanged one of his books with pornography that you got from the market this morning.

Tobirama grits his teeth. “On what plane of existence is this ever hilarious?”

You sigh. “ You have no sense of humor. A smile or a laugh on that handsome face of yours would not hurt.”

Tobirama’s left eye twitches. “Get out,” he grits out.

Suddenly, you feel bad and you raise your hands to show him defeat. “Okay, okay, I am sorry. I was just trying to cheer you up.”

Tobirama stares at you incredulously. “Then I will leave.”

He starts to gather his things, and you jump up from your seat and you step in front of his way.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you sigh. “I really am sorry.”

Tobirama glances down at you, and you are suddenly aware of the small distance between the two of you.

You step back to give him room. “I am just concerned, okay? You are always working, and I never saw you once take your time to get something to eat.” You open your palm towards him to show that you really mean peace. “I also noticed that you look very tired.”

Tobirama frowns at you, and he takes a deep breath. “The Hokage has been very busy these days,” he says.

You wait for him to elaborate, and you study his face. He looks like he is thinking about what to say next.

“But I am fine,” Tobirama finishes after a minute. He glances at you, barely meeting your eyes and then he glances away. “Let’s get to work. We’re meeting the Hokage soon to present to him what we have so far.”

You let out a breath of relief, and you think about how pink Tobirama’s ears were and you store that detail in the back of your mind.

Tobirama stares as his brother guffaws out loud for a minute. He just told his elder brother about your several pranks on him, and he even admitted–he admitted, something that he has some trouble doing at times–being uneasy anticipating your next act of micro-terrorism on him.

And his brother laughed. His brother, who is always kind and understanding towards him and knows how to ease his mind, laughed.

Everyone just seems to laugh at him these days. Since when did he become the brunt of many consequent unsaid jokes?

“Tobirama, it seems like she is just trying to be nice,” Hashirama admonishes and wipes a small tear from the corner of his eye.

“Nice?” Tobirama snaps, overwhelmingly offended by this. His lips form into a small pout unconsciously.

Hashirama sighs. “Look, I know it’s not easy getting along with other people that are not family and seeing them every day, but it’s normal to clash with different personalities.”

“Not like this,” Tobirama immediately juts in. “She has it out for me.”

“You said that the two of you agree mostly on everything, why would she have it out for you?”

Tobirama steps forward, suddenly determined. “Elder brother, I have some suspicions that–”

A knock interrupts his sentence and Tobirama immediately halts.

Hashirama shoots his brother a look. “Come in!”

The door opens, and to Tobirama’s horror, you appear behind it.

“Am I late?” You ask cheerfully.

Tobirama’s mind starts to ring alarm bells. Who smiles like that this early in the morning?

“No, no, just in time,” Hashirama reassures and beckons you to get closer.

Tobirama feels your glance on him, and everything in him starts to twist tautly. Your presence disturbs the atmosphere around him, and the only thing you did was smile at his brother.

“Okay,” Hashirama begins. “What do you two have so far?”

Tobirama clears his throat and steps forward, wanting to get the first word in. He wants his brother to be impressed by what he has done so far.

“We have compiled a list of skills that must be met before graduating from the Academy and we tested it on my students,” Tobirama says. “I also decided to break up the ranks even more, adding a special jounin rank, and added more skills that need to be mastered in order to move up from genin.”

Tobirama steps forward and hands Hashirama a copy of the said list. “Aside from the skills, we also added several electives that the students can take, such as history, arts and science.”

Hashirama nods and then he turns to you.

“Well, in addition to that, we have enlisted many people to commission as soon as possible to help us achieve this,” you start. “This is the estimated budget that we may need to do so, and I would like that this is done as soon as possible–to your utmost convenience–of course, so that we can have drafts to work with and reform before the new school year.”

Hashirama grins as you hand him the paper with the names and the figures you have written out. “This is brilliant, and way better than I have imagined. To be honest, I thought this was going to be a disaster.”

Tobirama’s head snaps up at this, and he hears you laugh.

“Oh, Lord Hokage, you are so hilarious!”

Tobirama’s eyes snap to your face, noticing that you are smirking with mirth in your eyes. His brother waves a hand, clearly fawning over you.

“Oh please, you do not need to call me Lord Hokage every time you see me,” Hashirama chuckles. “My name will do.”

“Oh no, that is too much, my lord,” you smile and Tobirama feels his head grow hot. “Maybe we can agree on Lord Hashirama? People may talk if I suddenly start calling you by your first name.”

Tobirama sees you wink at his brother and he reels. What is this ? You have got Madara under your spell, and now his own brother is also enthralled by you. He remembers you asking cattily for compensation and he jumps to the assumption that this may be a ploy by you to get just that, by getting closer to the founding fathers of this village.

Not on his watch.

“Anyways, are the two of you getting along well?” Hashirama inquires.

“Of course,” you lie easily and Tobirama almost loses his cool.

But he does not, because he knows self-control.

He wants to cut this conversation short and tell his brother to stop entertaining you like this. It is indecent.

“And I think he’s a great teacher,” you continue. “I am learning a lot from him.”

Tobirama frowns and thinks about the times that you have tried to copy him.

“Yes, he is very bright,” Hashirama glances at Tobirama. “Well, I think that will be all. Thank you.”

You nod, and Tobirama stares daggers at his brother.

You rush out of the office, noting how Tobirama seems to react more around his brother.

The door opens, and Tobirama quickly catches up to you. His hand reaches for you to stop you, but he catches your arm and whirls you to face him.

“What is wrong with you?” He demands.

“What?” You snap, and you shake off his grip on your arm. “What now, Lord Tobirama?”

Tobirama glares at you vehemently. “You do know that my brother is married.”

You stare at him, confusion twisting your face. “What? What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

Tobirama stares at you even more, and he opens his mouth. He is unable to form words.

“What are you trying to say?” You enunciate slowly and you squint your eyes at him. You fold your arms and Tobirama notes that this is the first time that you look genuinely pissed at him.

Tobirama is still staring at you, and the silence prolongs and it becomes awkward.

“Okay…?” You prompt, and Tobirama hears the vexation on your tone. “You know, your brother has been so kind to me, I am just trying to be friendly. Not that you know what that is.”

Tobirama’s face twists uncomfortably. He stands there, his hands open and closing, and he abruptly leaves you hanging, unsure of what else to do or say.

It is becoming a common occurrence for him to be disarmed by you. His mind has come up with so many assumptions about you, but you knock them out one by one. He cannot figure you out, not just because he does not know your background. He does not know how your mind works, but he can tell that you are smart and very skilled in what you do. Despite his attempts at probing you, you give him nothing. For once, he is clueless on how to act around somebody.

Tobirama digs his nails into his palm.

Your act will fall sooner or later, and he will be the one to uncover it.

[CHAPTER FOUR >>>]

#avversiera writes #angelica writes #'til death do us part #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #tobirama x reader #senju tobirama x reader #tobirama x you #senju tobirama x you #tobirama x y/n #naruto fanfiction

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winchest09 · 4 years

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Life for Rent - Chapter Twenty Seven

Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x Escort!Reader

Universe: AU

Summary: Y/N can be anyone for a price. Her life is ruled by contracts, men and money. It’s all she knows; countless identities, seedy clients, and strict regulations. She has to obey the rules, but her past is full of secrets and her future is resting in the wrong hands. But will her next client be the same as the rest?

Rating: 18+ W/C: 5216

Warnings: (spoilers) Angst, violence, threats, death threats, talks of death, imprisonment, suicidal thoughts, violent outbreak, swearing, blackmail, deceit, double crossing, guns, trafficking.

PLEASE HEED THESE. IF ANY OF THEM ARE TRIGGERS, DO NOT READ.

A/N: So...three chapters left after this one...are you ready? ;)

Special thanks to this absolute babe @katehuntington <3 My worldie, my bestie, my beta whose reaction to this always has me beaming, without her, i’d go insane. She’s my cheerleader <3

I hope you guys enjoy this add! Thanks everyone for sticking with me and this fic <3

Love you all.

xox

– I absolutely adore your reactions to this, so please if you do read, reblog, comment or send me an ask and let me know how you feel! It means the world to me.

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<– Chapter Twenty Six

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Do it.

Those words echoed around Dean’s head as he stared down at the woman who had managed to fool him entirely. Not again, not her, not Y/N. After everything they had been through, after what he had done for her; what he felt for her. He didn’t understand how she could do this to him. He’d given her everything, he’d allowed her to be a part of his family and yet here she was, on her knees waiting for him to end it all. Never in his life had he come across someone that was so accepting of death. She wasn’t pleading her case or begging to be spared. Neither was she making excuses for what she had done.

His hand shook as he felt the weight of her forehead pressed against the muzzle of his gun. Her eyes closed as she waited for him to pull the trigger. Dean had always been so collected in these situations, taking the shot without hesitation, but staring down at the woman who had invaded his heart, he lost that impulse. Turmoil rolled through his mind as he fought with his instinct, with the way he had been raised. A traitor’s life is ended. No ifs, no buts, no maybes.

Dean didn’t move to swipe at the tears of regret that stained his cheeks, he didn’t blink away the pain that was captured in his green orbs; he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the escort who had threatened his entire family. She had pulled the wool over his eyes, had been the wolf in sheep's clothing this entire time. He’d let her into his home, into his bed; he’d allowed her to fill his head with an endless stream of unachievable dreams through her sweet words. Dean thought she was different, that he could finally break down the wall around his heart and allow himself to be happy. He was a fool.

There was no excusing what she had done, not now his family was in danger, their lives threatened. She was a traitor, and traitors needed to be put down. His lips curled in a slight snarl as his jaw clenched, tears of frustration coming together at the end of his chin. His thumb steadily made its way to the hammer of the gun, pulling it slowly back, hearing the chilling click of the readed shot. The pad of his forefinger twitched over the trigger, the tip pressing harder against the metal ring as he made his decision.

No ifs, no buts, no maybes.

With a loud echo, his shot rang out. The noise ringing through his ears as fresh tears caraded down his cheeks, his weapon hot in his hand. He didn’t make a sound, his eyes now hazy with unshed sadness as a vice gripped at his heart. He really wished it hadn’t come to this, maybe it had just proved to him that he wasn’t allowed to give himself to anyone, that he would be better off on his own. With a short sniff, he moved to tuck the gun into the waistband of his jeans. The sight in front of him was getting too much for him to bear, he needed to get out, he had more important matters to attend too.

The broken Winchester marched out of his room, slamming the door shut behind him before he turned to lock it with his key. Shutting out his darkness, his shame and the woman who had been the cause of it all. He frustratedly slammed his fist against the wood, his angered roar tearing from his throat before he pushed himself to storm down the hall, trying somehow to formulate a plan in his mind to protect the people he cares for most.

Hurriedly pulling his phone from his pocket, Dean’s shaking thumb quickly dialled Sam’s number as he put his cell to his ear. He paced down the hall, one hand combing through his hair as time seemed to slow.

“Pick up, dammit,” Dean growled down the line, his heart pounding in his chest as the dial tone echoed in his ear. Each ring longer than the last. “Pick the fuck up, Sammy.”

“Dean?”

The relief that flooded his being at the sound of his brother’s voice felt like ice on fire.

“Turn around, get home. Now!” he barked, rushing down the stairs towards the foyer, his eyes scanning every doorway in case of a possible ambush.

“What’s happened?”

“Just do it, Sam,” Dean snapped, “It’s a trap.” As soon as the words left his lips he felt the anger surge through his veins.

The older Winchester made his way to the windows next to the front door, gingerly using his fingers to peel back the voils in the windows, peering to see if anyone was coming for him.

“We know.” Those two words that Sam uttered made Dean frown, his gaze breaking away from the outside, “Charlie figured out it was a ruse a few moments ago, we’re setting up a diversion so they don’t follow us home.”

“Good,” a silent sigh of relief left him, his eyes squeezing shut briefly as he was thankful for his brother's safety. Dean strode into the living room, his mind trying to formulate any kind of strategy to keep his family safe from harm. “Watch your backs, go the long way home, keep your hand on your gun at all times.”

“What’s going on?”

Dean bit his bottom lip, his tongue running over his teeth as he resisted the urge to spill everything there and then. “Just get back in one piece,” he instructed, “both of you.”

Immediately ending the call, his next thoughts were on Benny and Cas, the two of the best soldiers he had in this raging war of dominating gangs. With his phone back to his ear, he listened to the agonisingly slow dial tone as he walked around to the pool table, his fingers running slowly along the wooden frame.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, another long ring echoing in his ears. “Come fuckin’ on,” he growled, his eyes pinched closed as he tapped his digits against the wood. “Dammit Benny.”

He couldn’t prevent the worry that ate away at his stomach, the way his heart thumped harder in his chest and the panic that tightened his torso. Dean needed to keep a rational head, his friend may have not heard his phone plus there was always Cas. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he dialled another number and waited impatiently for him to answer.

“Answer the phone, answer the phone,” he chanted, his fist curling into a tight ball tighter at the sound of each ring.

I’m sorry, this caller is unavailable. Please leave your message after the tone.

Before he could react, his phone pinged with the sound of an incoming message, one that his thumb was quick to open when he saw it was from Benny. Even though he thought he was prepared for whatever was in the message, he still felt like he had been punched in the gut when he opened the text. There, tied to two chairs, blindfolded and gagged were his men, his best friends. Their faces were beaten and bloody, their shirts stained with crimson.

“NO!” Dean screamed, throwing his phone to the floor in a blast of rage. He was too late, Nick and Alistair had gotten to his family and he didn’t know how long he had until they were dead.

He couldn’t contain his anger as his torment roared from his chest, his hands breaking and destroying everything in their reach. Picture frames; shelves were ripped from the walls, Dean was on a destructive warpath and nothing was safe. He surrounded himself in glass, in broken porcelain and tainted memories, the noises that left his lips were nothing short of animalistic. He didn’t stop to take a breath, he didn’t falter as he tipped over a bookcase and sent many works of fiction scattering across the floor. He spotted the rows of pool cues resting against the wall, and one by one tore them from their fixtures and beat them against the table, splinters of wood flying through the air. He broke every single one of them, leaving his bloody hands holding nothing but the broken remains of his rampage. His eyes burned embers as his face wore a snarl, his nose flared as he looked for the next perfect thing to destroy. Because that was all he was good for.

“What the hell happened here?!” Sam’s voice cut through the red mist that had descended over him, his head snapping over to where his sibling and Charlie were standing, visibly confused.

With his chest heaving, Dean dropped the broken pieces of wood to the floor as he walked over to where the two were standing, pulling his little brother into a crushing hug. He could feel Sam hesitate for a moment before he returned the embrace, the action calming his enraged spirit, relief flooding the fire. Thank god he was safe.

After a few drawn out seconds, he pulled back, clapping the shoulder of the taller Winchester before he headed towards the one thing he didn’t destroy, his alcohol. He needed the burn of whiskey in his throat for the news he was about to tell them, the liquor in his system to numb the sting of the past hour.

Dean’s bedroom was still. The dust had settled on the broken scene; on the shattered glass, the split wood and the broken body that was still rooted to the spot. There was not a sound to be heard, the screams were long gone and so were the uneven sobs from the woman who had torn his world down around him.

It was then that Y/N heaved in a shaky breath, her eyes still clenched tightly shut as she hadn’t dared to open them. She had never expected to still be kneeling in this spot with air in her lungs and a beat to her heart, yet here she was. Her ears ringing with the sound of the gunshot, her body tense with fear as she didn’t know whether she should be grateful that she was still alive, or dreadful because of it. When she had heard Dean pull back the hammer of the gun, she was at peace. She accepted that this was the end of her story, but he chose not to finish it. He chose to aim the gun and shoot it in another direction, leaving her in dismay.

Y/N didn’t understand his actions. She deserved the bullet that Dean was going to shoot into her head. As far as the escort was concerned, she shouldn’t be here right now, she should be long gone and away from this world, away from the torment and this horrendous life. She hadn’t expected him to keep her alive and she would never forget the look he gave her when she fed him the truth. The way his eyes grew cold upon the realisation that she had betrayed him; it solidified her view that there was no coming back from this. Her thoughts were chasing their metaphorical tail as she went around in circles. There was nowhere to run, no way to forget what she had done.

Her body was still shaking as she gained the courage to open her eyes, bracing herself to cast her gaze over the damage she had caused. The room was a mess, his belongings destroyed and it was all because of her. Her lips trembled as a warm tear dropped onto her pale cheek. It was then that she looked upon his bedroom door, the barrier she heard him lock with a faint click as she was dazed on her knees. Y/N knew there was no point in trying to escape, she wouldn’t get very far even if she tried. Dean would most certainly see her leaving his manor and if on the slightest chance she did get away, The Master would find her.

The Master.

She couldn’t leave this house, she didn’t want to subject herself to the hours of torment she was going to face in isolation. The humiliation, the beatings, the assault. Her body was fractured enough as it was, her wings had been snapped and her spirit had been broken long before Dean had found the light in her again. But like a long burning candle, her flame had burned out, she simply had nothing left to give.

With quaking legs she stood, her cheeks still warm from the overflowing shame she felt, as she turned around in the spot she was standing. On the floor she spotted Dean’s clothes from which he had changed out of, the clothes in which he was teaching her how to defend herself from the horrors of the world. If only he had known then, he wouldn’t have wasted his time or energy on her. Taking a sharp breath, the defeated woman took an unbalanced step towards the mobster’s bed, her forehead slightly creasing as her mind plagued her with a question. Where did the bullet go?

She knew it didn’t matter, it was just a piece of metal to anybody else, but to her it meant something, to her that was the thing that was meant to end her life. So, with curious eyes and a determined head, she calculated the shot. Casting her vision over the room as she scanned every possible place it could be. It was then that she saw it, the small, circular entrance that had been created on the side of Dean’s luxury mattress.

Y/N took a deep breath, her feet taking her the small distance needed to clamber onto his bed, eyes fixated on the hole that was meant to be in her. With slim fingers and a bit of patience, she located the small metal casing and pulled it out. Bringing it up to her eye level, she rolled it between her forefinger and thumb. She could just throw it to one side and be done with it yet, instead, she allowed it to fall into her palm as she curled her hand around it, squeezing tightly. It was a stark reminder of what her life had led too.

As the day bled into nightfall, Y/N was going under fast when she was desperate for somebody to hear her. But she came to realise that there was no one left to change the course of action. She didn’t mean for any of this to happen, she didn’t want to break his trust or his heart, she was just so terrified of any consequences. For a month, the escort had been living a life that she had longed for since she was six years old, a life without rules or chains, a life where she was free to breathe. Dean eased her suffering, yet he could only mask her agony for so long.

Flickers of faint moonlight caught her attention, her face slightly angling towards the broken glass on the floor next to the bed. Y/N almost felt as though they were calling to her, one shattered object to another. She gracefully bent down, her fingers tracing the shards that were scattered amongst photo frames. It was then she saw Dean’s warm smile staring up at her, his eyes crinkled and light as he stood next to his family. Her hand hovered above it, the pads of her fingertips gently caressing his face on the picture. He had already given her so much more than she could have dreamed and for that she would be ever thankful. Now, it was about time she took matters into her own hands. If he couldn’t stop the horror that she had been living, then she would.

It was bound to end in blood and tears.

“Sammy, sit down.” Deans instruction was calm, one finger lifting off the glass of his whiskey filled tumbler to point at the couch. “You gonna join him, Charlie?”

“I think I should leave you guys to it,” the redhead mumbled, hooking her laptop bag over her shoulder before turning to move out of the room. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need me.”

“I need you to look into The Hemlock, Alistair and Nick. I need everything that you can find. Surveillance, movements, birthdays, I don’t give a fuck. I want it all.” Dean didn’t bark his orders but the authority in his tone made Charlie instantly nod in submission.

“I’ll get right on it.”

Sam scoffed as he watched their technical right hand walk away, his head shaking causing his brunette locks to frame his face. He was visibly perplexed by his brother’s sudden change in demeanour.

“What the hell is going on, Dean?” he questioned, one large hand gesturing to the rest of the room. “You’ve snapped every single pool cue we own, the room is a complete mess and where the hell is Y/N?!”

His voice rose at the end of his burning question, one that made the older Winchester’s burning eyes snap to his. With a shake of his head, the defeated mobster took down the rest of his liquor in one hit, hissing as it stung his throat.

“Benny and Cas have been captured and Y/N... She’s locked away,” was his simple response as he turned to grab for the whiskey bottle, the remainder of the alcohol calling to him.

“How?!” Sam's brow knitted together. “And what the fuck do you mean ‘locked away’?!”

The news Dean was about to share felt like a hard pill to swallow. He still couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to, but it was the bitter truth. “She betrayed us, Sammy. betrayed me...that’s how.”

He scoffed harshly as he brought the liquor with him, sitting opposite his little brother on the couch. “Lied to our faces, just like fucking Cassie.”

Sam watched as Dean refilled his glass before placing the bottle on the still intact table, the gears turning in his head as he tried to understand. “You’re not making any sense. Wh--”

“- You were right, okay?!” the mobster snapped, rubbing at his forehead frustratingly with his palm. “I shouldn’t have hired her, I should have never stepped foot in that bastard’s place.” With a deep breath, he took a moment to calm the rage that was flowing through his veins like molten lava. “Nick, Y/N... They have been working together to bring us to our knees.”

“What?” Sam urged, not quite believing what he was hearing. She was part of The Hemlock, how could she be working for the enemy?

“That’s right, she told me, Sam,” Dean disclosed, a disapproving tone laced in his words. “Judging from what she said, I can only assume that the plan for today was meant to be our undoing.”

It was that statement that caught the younger Winchester’s attention, “What did she say?”

“What does it matter? Benny and Cas are in danger, Sam. That’s our priority right now,” the mobster stressed, his voice gruff with emotion.

“We have other men, we’ll send them ahead to scope the place out but we don’t even know what we’re walking into right now. We’ve got to be smart about this.”

Dean knew his sibling was right, yet the feeling of losing his blood brothers because of one stupid mistake was more than he could bare. “I can’t lose more family, Sammy. I just can’t.”

“And we won’t, not if we play this smart,” his little brother advised, sincerity lacing his tone. “Now I need to know what Y/N said. Her exact words.”

“I helped plan it,” Dean fired back, shaking his head as he clicked his tongue against his teeth. “That it wasn’t just her but The Master and Nick.”

“Wait,” Sam held up his hand, “The Master?”

Dean threw his head back against the couch and sighed deeply, his forefinger and thumb pinching across his eyes and nose. He still felt like his head was swimming with information, that he couldn’t focus on one particular thing. When he woke up that morning, he was happy and was ready to take on the world. Now he was back to square one, on the break of losing the family who he loves yet again by his own stupid actions.

“Alistair,” Dean sighed, his focus on the ceiling. “That’s the name his girls call him.”

“That’s seriously messed up.” Sam grimaced, shaking his head as he stared at his brother.

“So he’s into pet names,” Dean shrugged while he lifted his head off the couch with annoyance. “You’re missing the entire point of this.”

Sam just huffed, his tongue poking in his cheek as he looked over at his older brother. It didn’t take him long to look at the bigger picture here. Unlike the man in front of him, he could see the situation clearly as he wasn’t being driven by his raw emotion like Dean was. There was a lot more to this situation, it went a lot deeper than just Y/N double crossing them. Sam had suspicions about her behavior since he had spoken to her after playing pool, and especially after the previous night when a phone call had interrupted them, but his doubtful thoughts were never about her dedication to her job and his family, it was about her past and what she had been experiencing.

“I don’t think I am, Dean,” Sam announced, lacing his fingers together in front of him as he rested his arms against his knees.

“Y/N betrayed us all.” Dean’s face turned into one of exasperation, his mind not fathoming how he couldn’t understand exactly what the escort had done to them.

“How?” Sam questioned, his tone still steady and reasonable. “By saving us?”

“She sent you to your death, Sam!” the mobster snapped, his deep voice bellowing off of the walls as he stood from his seat brashly, his right hand throwing his glass against the wall. His green eyes darkened, his lips twitching as he held back a snarl. “I was the one that pulled you out of there!”

“Because she told you too,” came the younger Winchester’s reply, not even flinching at Dean’s actions, which he had gotten used to by now. He raised his eyebrows as he watched the pacing man in front of him, sucking in a deep breath as he ran a hand through his long hair. “Look, calm down for a minute and let’s talk this out, yeah?”

“Why are you on her side in this?!” Dean fumed, his hands running through his hair as he continued to pace the broken mess of the room.

“Dean, I’m not. Believe me, if I’m wrong in all this, I’ll be handing you a loaded gun,” Sam assured, his dark eyes that were trained on his big brother full of conviction and promise.

It was then that the frustrated man stopped in his tracks, angling his body to look down at the voice of reason. “You wanted me to murder Cassie the first chance I got, hell you still do. So what’s changed?”

“She’s not Cassie,” Sam’s reply was almost instant and it basically winded the head of the family, the darkness in his gaze fading as he collapsed back onto the couch. “Dean, Cassie did what she did maliciously, off her own back. Y/N’s held her hands up and told you before it got too far,” he began to explain, his hand rubbing at his jaw. “Look, when I brought Azazel back here, and I kept Y/N company whilst you did your thing, she opened up to me slightly. I didn’t like what I had to hear.”

At that, Dean frowned, his anger subsiding slightly to make way for the uneasiness in his stomach to break through. “Which was?”

He watched his little brother, how he rubbed his hands together before he spoke. It did nothing to settle the anxious feeling that was resonating in his chest.

“She said that you were the first man that had treated her like a person and not an asset,” Sam began to explain, his voice soft and compassionate as he judged for a reaction. “She tried to cover up her words but I know how to read body language, Dean. She was uncomfortable, she was lying to me. Even when I challenged her about it, she couldn’t tell me the truth, so what does that tell you?”

“That she’s a liar,” the mobster seethed, pulling in his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Or that she’s trapped in a corner with nowhere to run,” Sam implored, causing the older to halt his actions, the words resonating through him.

His anger faded, the red fog clearing slightly, causing him to think carefully over his brother’s comments. Maybe he was right; all the evidence that he had gathered so far had already pointed to a not so normal life. So could it be that she was forced into this situation? That she was truly trapped, or was that an easy excuse to make?

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean sighed, shaking his head slightly as he pursed his lips. “But you don’t know everything.”

“What do you mean?” Sam enquired.

“Charlie found some information. I asked her to look into Y/N and report back to me,” the mobster admitted, rubbing at his chin as he edged closer to the edge of his seat. “Her records were dodgy, Sam. There was nothing past the age of six. It was like her life had ended there. I was convinced she had taken on someone else’s life as an alias.”

“But that’s not true?” His little brother's question made Dean shake his head slightly, his lips pursing.

“No. She told me a bit about her past, she confided in me and the woman I saw was so damn vulnerable. But Hell, that could have been an act too right?” A scoff past his pink lips as he reached for the bottle of whiskey that was on the table in front of him. “I don’t know, Sammy. Something isn’t sitting right. The woman I returned to The Hemlock yesterday morning was not the same one I got back. Something changed in her while she was there and then I noticed a tattoo on her neck.”

“A tattoo?”

Dean nodded, walking over to where he’d thrown his phone earlier. “I don’t just think it’s just any kind of ink, Sam,” he doubted, picking the device off the floor and hoping it still worked. A slight wave of relief washed over him when he noticed that all his cell had suffered was a partially cracked screen.

He pulled up the picture that he took, zooming in slightly on the detail before handing it over to the younger Winchester. “I just need to work out the numbers.”

Sam took a moment to study the photograph, the image fanning the flames of his suspicions with a heavy heart. “That’s because it isn’t normal ink, Dean,” he started, swallowing hard as his gaze went back to the awaiting green orbs. “I think she’s been a victim of trafficking.”

Dean’s face changed, his expression slack as his eyebrows twitched. “What?”

“It makes sense, right? The way she acts, the fake personas, the change of personality, the way her walls fell down around you when you took her to do perfectly normal things.”

Did his brother have a point? The mobster took another long gulp from the glass bottle in his hands, his mind racing as he tried to pinpoint his thoughts. Surely he would have noticed it, he’s a mob boss for fuck’s sake, surely he would have seen something. How could he not know? But then even if he did, would it change how he felt about her now? Y/N had still deceived him, lulled him into a false sense of security before aiding the capture of two of his men. If Sam had been caught too...

“I still can’t trust her. Not now, not after this,” Dean admitted, the morbid thoughts of losing his family taunting him.

“She’s just been a pawn in this war, Dean,” Sam tried to reason, sliding his phone back over the table. “And the fact that you’ve left her alive in your bedroom speaks volumes for itself. You need to talk to her.”

The older Winchester huffed a breath before he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “And what is that going to solve, huh?”

“I know what she means to you, and she means more to you now than Cassie ever did,” Sam spoke truthfully, his eyes full of empathy as he stared at the stubborn man across from him. “You need to speak with her, maybe now she’s in a position to tell you the full truth.”

“But Benny and Cas--”

“- I’ll deal with that. You need to do this, Dean. You need answers.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the pair, neither of them breaking their gaze on the other, a psychological standoff.

“Fine,” Dean relented, closing his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, pushing himself back off of the coach. His legs felt heavy as he made his way towards the staircase, his palms sweating, his throat dry, even though he tried to drown his thirst with liquor. He hadn’t got the time he needed to process the series of events that turned his world upside down, Benny and Cas were in danger, the woman who had captured his soul laid on his bedroom floor. A possible victim of trafficking. Could she have really been forced into this? Why couldn’t she have just told him the truth? Did she not trust him?

Making his way along the long corridor towards his room, he brought the bottle of whiskey back to his lips, his eyes slightly glassy as he thought about how he had left her. Broken, defeated, at his complete mercy on the floor. She was so accepting of punishment, so willing to welcome any harm that was coming her way. Casting his mind back to the first time he truly spent time with her, he remembered her not knowing how to shop. That memory bled into the one where he told her she could keep the dress he had made for her; the look of childish glee when she tried pizza for the first time, the eyes full of wonder when she tasted chocolate covered strawberries. It was all flashing in front of him like it was a damn show. The need to do well continuously, to be the best of the best. The fear in her eyes when she thought she’d failed him. It all made sense now.

With a partially shaking hand, he pulled the key to his room from his jeans pocket, the metal shaking in the lock as he slowly turned it to open. The click echoed through his soul, causing him to inhale deeply as he readied himself to face Y/N once again. With a forceful push, he opened his door, words spilling from his lips before an unexpected sight greeted him.

“You need to explain yourself.”

——————————————– Chapter Twenty Eight --> ——————————————– A/N: *screams* Guys...three more chapters...that’s it! *sobs into a pillow* We’re so close to the end of this story. I hope you’re enjoying these last few stops.

I love you guys so much for reading this…so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Tag list is open!

If you fancy jumping on the Life for Rent train with me and enjoying the rest of the ride, let me know HERE :)

Forever Babes:

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Dean Queens: @x-waywardaf-x / @adoptdontshoppets / @roonyxx / @squirrelnotsam / @ellewritesfix05 / @hardcoresupernatural / @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart / @noneedtoknow789

Life for Rent: @fandom-princess-forevermore / @deans-baby-momma / @tftumblin / @rainflowermoonlibrary / @icedemon1314 / @thewintersoldierswife / / @taetaewonderland / @jadesupernatural / @anaelyreads / @spnfamily-thewinchesters / @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce / @deansgirl-1968 / @1000roughdrafts / @becs-bunker / @scarlettwitcher / @shamelesslydean / @imsuperawkward / @lessons-of-red / @picturesinjuly / @atomicloverdonkeyperson / @moodycastiel / @holylulusworld / @rosey1981 / @waywardsistersandpie / @the-is13 / @sister-winchesters99 / @babypink224221 / @superlockedtimelord / @internationalmusicteacher / @spnarrowfan / @divadinag / @ign-is / @pleasantly-average / @chaldei / @tryin2lovemyselfagain / @deanmonandnegansbitch / @socalgem1124 / @closetspngirl / @gh0stgurl / @kickingitwithkirk / @cookiechipdough / @unicornqu33n17 / @mrsbluesmize226 / @lilred254 / @dxftprettyboys / @sandlee44 / @claitynroberts / @vickyfarley / @sirod-30 / @kaz11283 / @lbyers28 / @theholyfoxface / @keepcalmandbeajunkie / @jbbarnesgirl / @shelbylazarus / @for-the-love-of-the-fandom / @voltage-my2dlove / @monkeymcpoopoo / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @simplycheyenneautumn / @kat-daddy99 / @kbl1313 / @focusonspn / @one-little-anon / @teddybeardoctorr / @daydream3r-xo / @deans-sweets / @indrarose / @doctor11ms / @i-am-a-mes / @dawnie1988 / @savagemickey03 / @briagallen / @poshpinklace / @faithfullcompanion / @kyjey / @collette04 / @imaginemyboys / @indecisive20something / @mayaslifeinabox / @marvelranger / @kcrews74 / @we-are-band-sexuals / @cheyentjj / @lidibug / @swinchester27 / @lyarr24 / @urmbecky / @bagpussjocken / @phoenixdoll / @winchestersmark / @nathaliabakes / @winchestergirl82 / @missafairy / @sharabp / @supersassyprobablysad / @starchildwild / @dancingalone21 / @kalesrebellion / @padfoot11 / @wish-i-had-something-better / @i-make-questionable-choices / @komekoro / @animegirlgeeky / @elsenthal / @nothing-else5 / @xrosegoldwolfx / @peachyafshawn / @tenaciousnerdbucket / @fatalcrossbow / @vicmc624 / @teresa-67 / @thevanishedillusion / @lady-pswrld / @gabavaldman / @msmarvelouswinchester / @mrsjenniferwinchester / @midnight-dreams-23 / @beachy2014

#au dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x you #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester series #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester #mafia au #mafia dean winchester #mobster dean winchester #dean winchester au #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #spn fanfic #life for rent #winchest09

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countessren · 5 years

Text

STAR WARS DIALOGUE PROMPTS

1. “You can’t always do everything on your own”

2. “That’s not how the force works”

3. “Everything I have built, and you would dare to betray me?”

4. “Don’t look at me like that”

5. “How very romantic of you” “I try my best, sweetheart”

6. “Are you capable of saying more than one word?”

7. “Let’s make a deal” “No thank you, I prefer living”

8. “Don’t do this”

9. “You’re more than a man behind a mask you know”

10. “Could you give me a hand?” “I could, but will I?”

11. “You don’t know me”

12. “I love you” “I know”

13. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you”

14. “I would do anything for you, you know that right?”

15. “Can you stay, please?” “Of course”

16. “You can’t be serious right? You expect me to do the impossible”

17. “I need more than one drink to put up with your crap”

18. “We are stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive”

19. “I’m too tired to deal with all your negativity”

20. “Who did this to you?”

21. “What do you mean that ‘you broke the ship’?”

22. “In this profession, you get used to people leaving you”

23. “Why are you so insistent on me wearing this?”

24. “You need to sleep”

25. “Don’t. Move.”

26. “Don’t you die on me”

27. “I’m sorry...I’m so, so sorry”

28. “I know you hate me, but this is taking it too far”

29. “I don’t care what you think of me, I only care about what others would think of us”

30. “I want you to promise me that you will come back to me alive” “You know me, I’ll try”

31. “Stay close to me”

32. “If we get caught, just know that I will blame you”

33. “You are mine and mine only, understand?”

34. “Move” “Make me”

35. “You will regret ever hurting her, that I promise you”

36. “You never cared about me before, so why start caring now?” “...because I love you”

37. “Give me a chance to make it up to you” “I did, and you blew it”

38. “Why should I trust you” “Because I just saved your life, and showing some respect would be nice”

39. “You’re injured” “I’m fine”

40. “Tell me something, why is it that you always come to me to fix your problems?”

41. “H-Help me...please”

42. “I can’t...you’re asking too much of me”

43. “If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that you don’t underestimate me”

44. “If you move that blaster an inch closer to my face you are going to lose that hand”

45. “If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body”

46. “My life would be so much harder without you”

47. “You almost died, you...you stopped breathing”

48. “If we are going to work together, can you at least have more than a one-word conversation with me?” “No”

49. “I can’t let you do this alone”

50. “Thank you for opening up to me, I’m proud of you”

51. “Tell me what to do” “Don’t leave me”

52. “I’ve definitely seen more stranger things than this”

53. “Don’t move too much, you’ll hurt yourself”

54. “I can’t believe you”

55. “Tell me something I don’t know” “Your eye twitches when you get annoyed” “Only because it’s you that annoys me”

56. “Just...don't do anything stupid” “I’ll try but I can’t guarantee anything”

57. “Let. Her. Go”

58. “Don’t tell me what to do” “Well someone has to otherwise you’ll likely get yourself killed”

59. “Would you like me to be honest or would you like me to sugarcoat it for you?” “Sugarcoat it” “Okay then, well...I can’t do this, we’re screwed”

60. “Is that my shirt?” “You can’t prove anything”

61. “I think he likes you”

62. “I’m the best damn pilot in the galaxy” “I think you missed putting the word ‘second’ in there somewhere”

63. “Where are you taking me?” “You need to relax more. You need to see the world around you, and find some sort of peace within yourself...even if it is just for a little while”

64. “Tell me why I should stay” “Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff”

65. “Under no circumstances are you to leave this ship. You’ll hurt yourself even more”

66. “I’ve collected many bounties, but you are by far the strangest” “I’ll pretend not to be offended by that”

67. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner” “I’m alive, aren’t I? You had perfect timing”

68. “Don’t leave me alone, please. Not after...”

69. “Sleep, you’ve done enough for today”

70. “It’s pretty cozy in here” “We are in a holding cell” “I was trying to lighten up the mood, you just had to ruin it didn’t you”

71. “People assume that I’m not easily approachable. They are right, but still, they assume”

72. “These children adore you” “All you have to do is listen, and be attentive instead of using brute force half of the time” “Brute force is all I know” “That’s not what I see when you are with the kid”

73. “If I have to listen to one more damn excuse, I’m walking out of this room”

74. “The force works in mysterious ways”

75. “I can...I can um...give you hand...if you would like”

76. “What do I have to do in order for you to see that everything that I have done, I have done for you”

77. “That doesn’t go there” “Then where does it go?” “Not there! Put it back where you found it” “I found it right here!”

78. “I could be lying in a nice, warm and cozy bed right now. But no. Instead, I am stuck shivering in the freezing cold snow with you”

79. “Black doesn’t suit you” “It’s my uniform” “I meant what I said”

80. “One day. One day I’ll see who is behind that helmet” “In your dreams” “Maybe”

81. “If you lay one more hand on her, I swear I will tear you apart”

82. “It’s only a few bruises” “A few bruises too many”

83. “I’ll be fine. You need to focus on the mission at hand”

84. “I would rather die than tell you anything” “Well, don’t make my job any easier”

85. “I can’t lose you” “You won’t...you never will”

86. “All I want you to do is listen to me...I just...you always manage to get hurt and I...just please”

87. “I need you to know that you mean everything to me”

88. “You’re freezing” “I’m fine”

89. “How is it that you always manage to get me to defend your impulsive actions?”

90. “Pretend that there is no one else here but us”

91. “A lightsabre is one of the most dangerous weapons in the galaxy, you shouldn’t wield it around like its a toy”

92. “Put that down!”

93. “I’ve never felt like this before” “Like what?” “Like I’m going to be suffocated by your arms around my chest”

94. “You’re lying to me” “About what?” “About the compressor. It’s not broken, you just want me to ‘fix it’ so you can spend time with me”

95. “Don’t drag me into this, you dug this hole yourself”

96. “When this is over, I’m going to marry you” “I would certainly hope so, you dragged me into this in the first place”

97. “I love you more than words can say”

98. “Promise me one thing: that you will stay by my side no matter what is thrown our way. I promise, I will protect you from every threat, every danger, and from everyone that wishes to harm you”

99. “Don’t drop that, if you do you might blow up the planet”

100. “I’m not leaving you here...not this time. I love you”

Characters I write for: Cal Kestis, Han Solo, Kylo Ren, Artimage Hux, Poe Dameron, Cassian Andor, Anakin Skywalker, The Mandalorian, Luke Skywalker, Finn, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

DM or comment the number of the prompt/s and the character you want then with and I will have the prompt up as soon as I can.

#star wars #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker #the mandalorian #cal kestis #han solo #kylo ren #artimage hux #poe dameron #cassian andor #luke skywalker #finn #obi-wan kenobi

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jaggedlittleteacup · 3 years

Text

Three Acts

Note: @call-me-moo Here goes nothing…

Epilogue

(From this point onward, the chapters will not be illustrated. I attempted to illustrate them, but it diverges from canon so much that I couldn’t find a single scene that worked. I’m really sorry about it. But still, I hope you enjoy the epilogue…and whatever that entails.)

I’m in a wheelchair at Mary’s funeral. The doctors told John I was too weak to leave the hospital, but I insisted on going. Their concerns were warranted, after all- the last time I left, I nearly bled out in an abandoned building. But having my best friend…

Perhaps maybe more…?

I shake the thought away.

I can’t ruin this.

Being with John is the least I can do, and the most I could ever ask for.

I don’t deserve him.

Everyone that was there to pay their respects have already left- not that many people came to begin with. Most washed their hands of the whole situation when they found out who Mary truly was, and what she had done to us. Only John and I stayed afterwards.

Together. Once again, together.

We remain at the grave, respectively sitting and standing in companionable silence. Neither of us are sure what to say- to each other, or to Mary, I’m not sure. It’s fairly overcast, and I can see the beginnings of storm clouds rolling in above us.

How appropriate.

I exhale and tentatively steal a glance at John. He looks calm, but I can see a range of emotions flashing in his blue eyes as he stares at Mary’s gravestone. One of his hands is balled into a shaking fist, and the other loosely holds a bouquet of white lilies.

“Sherlock,” he murmurs, his voice cracking with emotion and painful, unsaid words. “Sherlock, what…what am I supposed to say…?”

He killed his wife.

I swallow hard. I’m not sure what to say, either, but anything I could do…“Do…would you like me to speak first?”

He killed his wife for me.

John nods stiffly and stands back, before hesitating and pushing my chair a bit closer. He looks as though he wants to say something to me, but he bites back the words and keeps them to himself.

I take a deep, shaky breath. “…Mary. I…I…want you to know that…Even if- if you shot me. Even if you…with Rosie…Even after all that, I- I think…I forgive you. You were selfish. And you- you lied, and you hurt everyone. But…you were also kind. And you were selfless, sometimes. And I saw some of the love you had f-for everyone, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Where is this coming from? I hated Mary, I hated her, I really did, I hated her smile and her words and her subtle manipulation throughout the entirety of our fabricated friendship-

“Sherlock…” John says softly, urging me to stop getting lost in my mind. It’s funny how he can do that with a single look…

I can’t stop. Not now.

“-And…and I know I should be…the last person who tells you about love, because…because I’ve only truly…truly known what it meant after meeting John.” I don’t look at John. I’m too afraid of how he’ll react. “And…and you. I don’t…believe in the afterlife, you’re aware. But…I- I hope…” I feel hot tears burning my eyes. “I hope you’re at peace, Mary.”

John rests a hand on my shoulder as I choke back tears. I flinch at the sudden contact. He doesn’t say anything further as I take deep breaths to regain my composure.

I shouldn’t be this emotional. I shouldn’t care.

“Sherlock,” he repeats again, the barest trace of a smile on his face. “How- how do I compete with that?”

I laugh and lean into his touch. It feels warm, comforting, loving.

It feels right.

I smile weakly back at him. “Just say what's on your mind. You’ll be all right.” And I mean it. He will be all right.

He sighs and walks forward. A moment passes before he finally builds up the courage to begin speaking- and once he starts, it all rushes out of him like an unblockaded river. “Mary. You were my wife. Once. And…and yes, I shot you. But you shot Sherlock, so I think we’re even. You were a liar. And a killer. But I suppose that’s my type, yeah? I can’t help going for the crazy ones. It’s…it’s my addiction.” He glances towards me, pain in his eyes, before looking back. “I just…I don’t think I could forgive you, normally. But…if…if Sherlock could- if my favourite bloody sociopath could find it in his heart to…I…I think I can, too. Goodbye, Mary. I think I’ll be happier now.”

He deserves it. John Watson has been through far too much heartache, he deserves to have a bit of happiness.

“John, are you all right?”

His expression lightens a bit, as though he’s gotten a lot off of his chest.

I suppose, in a way, he has. Catharsis can be a wonderful thing.

“Yeah, Sherlock. I’m all right. For the first time…in…in a while. Come on. I’ve got to finish moving my stuff back to Baker Street, and I’ll be damned if you use being shot as an excuse not to help.”

I smile softly. “No excuses?”

“None,” he agrees, before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss against my lips. “I think we’ve been making excuses for far too long.”

I know we have. Things will be different, at first. It’ll take a bit of getting used to. But I think we can do it.

Sherlock Holmes…and John Watson.

¿?MThIeSS?MEnd¿???

“R, sweetheart, do you have eyes on Sherlock Holmes?” A smooth voice- just like honey- creeps into R’s ear like a particularly cunning virus.

R swallows bitterly as her lips curl into a snarl. “Yes, sir. He’s at the grave,” she growls, her American accent feeling much more natural than the British one she had been faking for so many years.

“Excellent,” the voice says, which isn’t the most original comment, considering how many criminal masterminds have said ‘excellent’ in regards to evil plans before. “Ugh, isn’t he boring?”

“Who?” R asks reluctantly.

“John. So plain, so obviously in love- oh, I think he finally kissed his little boytoy! Bravo, John, it only took you five years!” The voice is taunting, emanating energy as though it would never again have a chance to play. “I’m sorry, that’s a bit of a sore spot, isn’t it?”

“Of course not, sir,” R says curtly, ignoring the previous musings. “Would you like me to eliminate them?”

“No, no, no!” the voice shouts viciously, making R flinch. “Don’t you dare touch a single curl on that pretty thing’s head! I want Sherlock to recover and be healthy for our next round.” He says ‘round’ as though it’s such an intimate thing- it’s altogether rather surreal.

As much as R would like to put a bullet in each of their heads, she controls her impulses. God knows what he would do to her if she did. “Yes, sir.”

The voice groans. “Stop with the formalities, Mary. It’s so dull, and you of all people should know how much I despise dull people.” He lowers his tone to something dark and deathly soft. “Refer to me as ‘sir’ one more time, and I will string your bloody corpse up in Regent’s Park for the birds to have at you.”

Mary swallows, her gun shaking violently from her sniper’s post. “With all due respect, Mr. Moriarty, Mary is no longer my name,” she whispers.

“Ah, well, it suits you!” Moriarty exclaims over the comms, his voice back to its regular gusto. “Head back to the car, Mary. We need to discuss your punishment.”

Mary pales. “Punishment, Mr. Moriarty? But- I haven’t-“

He laughs. It sends shivers up her spine. “Mary, Mary, quite the contrary,” he quips. “You nearly killed my favourite pet. Shooting him near the heart- tsk, tsk, I expected better of you. The little joke about saying ‘hi’ to me was clever, too, but I can’t have this go unnoticed. We’re both professionals, I’m sure you understand!”

“But-“

Moriarty interrupts her with a shout. “BUT I suppose I’ll be lenient, just this once.” He seems to be barely holding back deranged giggles. “Instead of taking your hand, I’ll settle for a finger. Off you pop!”

The line cuts off abruptly as Mary feels a needle plunge into her neck, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t worn a bulletproof vest when confronting Sherlock…

(To Be Continued!)

Act One linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656892650818011136/three-acts

Act Two linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656968775195934720/three-acts

Act Three linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656990419321864192/three-acts

Act Four linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/657145687996301312/three-acts

#bbc #john watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #johnlock #jim moriarty #post reichenbach #mary is not good #she’s actually pretty evil #sherlock fanfic #mycroft holmes #miss me #moriartipocalypse 2021 #moriarty is alive #Moriarty was real

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marvel-mistress-padawan · 3 years

Text

Lady Fair

Darcy Lewis was more than a little nervous for her first day working as Tony Stark’s assistant. She had only met Mr. Stark two weeks ago for the interview and it had gone terribly, or so she thought, and then she had been hired. Maybe Thor had influenced his hiring decision or maybe Tony Stark just wasn’t thinking so clearly without Pepper there to assist him anymore. No one was thinking clearly after Thanos...Darcy only hoped she didn’t mess this up. This job was the only hope she had of getting her life back together.

Darcy parked her car at the big parking lot next to the complex, shouldered her gypsy style oversized purse, and made her way to the double doors. She swiped her security badge, entered the code that she had written on a post-it note, and entered the building. Her instructions said to take the elevator to the third floor and look for the room marked 3-C. She stepped off the elevator, passed 3-A then 3-B. She could see 3-C ahead when a noise further down the hall got her attention. Darcy followed the sound to an open doorway and found herself on a balcony overlooking a gymnasium. Below her, several of the Avengers were training. She watched them for a few minutes and then turned and went back to the room that was to be her office.

The office was sparsely decorated. She tossed her purse into and empty desk drawer, plunked down into the wheeled chair which she spun in a circle a few times before turning her attention to the DVDs on the desk marked, “New Hire Orientation Packet.” With a sigh, Darcy put the first disc into the player.

By lunch time, Darcy slipped out to watch the Avengers train yet again.

“Darcy Lewis!” Thor caught sight of her a called out. “I was not aware you would be here today! Come down and I will introduce you to my friends!”

She found a set of stairs to her left and soon crossed to where Thor stood. It was good to see him again. It was good to see someone familiar, and safe. The past few months had been anything but safe and that had nothing to do with Thanos and everything to do with Ian. After everything she had suffered in childhood Darcy had always had a weakness for men who would “rescue” her. Ian had not been what he seemed, not once he got drunk. Taking a job in another state had been the simplest way to leave him but she hadn’t officially broken it off yet. She’d been too afraid he would show up at her door drunk when she did. The anxiety of knowing what was coming had been following her for three days since she moved out. Now, as she approached Thor, she felt safe for the first time in months.

“Darcy this is, Steve Rogers, Nebula, Rocket, Bruce Banner, Natasha...Darcy used to work with Jane Foster. Now she works for Tony,” he told them after he had listed off their names. Then he turned to Darcy. “I thought you would not arrive until next week. It is good to see you here today.”

“I wasn’t gonna be here until next week,” Darcy admitted. She had done everything she could to get there sooner, or rather to get away from home. “But I made some calls and Mr. Stark let me come early.”

“Well I am glad he did. It is good to see you,” Thor said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s good to see you too,” Darcy leaned into his touch just slightly and had to force herself not to start crying. “You changed your hair. It’s a good look.”

“Are you moving into the complex?” Natasha asked her. “Or are you commuting?”

“I’m moving in. I have a few bags in my car and the rest of my stuff is getting sent at the end of the week.”

“Then let us assist you with carrying in your bags,” Thor offered. It was not a request.

“Thor she’s gotta eat lunch,” Nat protested. “We can help her with her bags this evening.”

“Or I can order lunch while you guys grab the bags,” Bruce offered.

Darcy led the way out to her car, followed by Thor. He could manage her four bags easily enough. She reached her car and realized she had forgotten something. “Shit. I don’t have my keys. They’re back inside at my desk.”

“Then I will go get them for you,” Thor said.

He took only one step away before Darcy grabbed his arm. “Wait!”

Thor stopped moving and looked down at her with concern and curiosity. “You seem on edge,” he commented. “Is everything alright or do you have something to fear?”

“I don’t really know,” she said. She was on edge every moment wondering when Ian was going to realize she had left for good and knowing there was a very good chance he would take up stalking her. He fit the profile anyway. Then she looked down at her hand and realized she still had a tight grip on Thor’s arm. She made herself let go. “I’ll go with you to get the keys.” She headed in the direction of the facility entrance but Thor didn’t follow her.

“Darcy?” he called after her.

She stopped walking but didn’t turn to face him for fear that if she did she’d just fall apart. She wished she had a bag of skittles about then. A candy rush might be enough to get through the next few hours without a meltdown. Thor approached her and stood at her side. He reached over to her arm and pushed aside her long bell sleeve revealing a bruise she had been careful to keep hidden, apparently not careful enough.

“Who gave you this bruise?”

“My boyfriend,” Darcy admitted.

“You have left him behind and you fear he is searching for you?” Thor asked, understanding her situation more quickly than she had expected.

Darcy nodded again, this time unable to stop a few tears from escaping.

“If he finds you, he will not harm you,” Thor said firmly.

Darcy let out a sob and then impulsively she turned and threw her arms around Thor, hugging him tightly. He quickly got over his shock and hugged her in return. She didn’t really cry. Darcy wasn’t one for tears very often. Life had been too hard for too many years for her to be bothered with crying. But she did hold on tightly. Thor could protect her but more than that, he wouldn’t hurt her. Not ever. He couldn’t have been worthy of the hammer of he had been that kind of person. The fact was that for the first time since she was eight, she was hugging someone who truly wouldn’t harm her. It made her unwilling to let go anytime soon. It wasn’t that she was attracted to Thor. Sure, he was hot, but she had set aside her crush on him when Jane started dating him. No this was something more basic, a need for a protective family that she’d never had before. Or maybe it didn’t hurt that he was hot. She couldn’t be sure. She only knew that they needed to go back inside and get her keys, and she just couldn’t let go.

“Darcy?” Thor spoke up after what must have been three minutes.

She shook her head, still holding onto him. “Nope. I think this breaks the record on the longest safe hugs I’ve ever had. Can’t let go now.” She rattled off the words.

“Safe hugs? Are there other kinds?” Thor asked, a little confused.

“Sure there are. There are hugs from your creepy stepfather who only wants to hug you because he’s a pervert. And hugs from your real father only when your mom is watching just so he can prove he’s not a deadbeat. And hugs from three boyfriends as an apology for beating the shit out of you.” Darcy told him more than she’d meant to but she couldn’t help it.

She felt Thor sigh on hearing her words and his arms tightened around her a little more firmly. “Then stay a while longer. I have plenty of time.”

Darcy only stayed another minute and then she made herself pull away from Thor and return to her office for her keys. They went back to her car and carried her bags to her new apartment within the complex.

“Yours is right across the hall from mine,” Thor pointed out as she unlocked the door.

“Are you gonna be one of those neighbors I can like borrow baking ingredients from because I always forget to buy stuff?” Darcy asked him as she dropped the smallest of her bags, the only one she had carried, into a nearby recliner.

“You may borrow from me whatever you wish if I have it.” Thor offered generously. “If there is something I should keep a supply of…”

“I don’t actually do that much baking. The only supplies I need are stuff like gummy bears and skittles.” Darcy said, leading the way back out of her apartment to join the others in the lunch room. They had almost reached the others when Darcy stopped once more to say something to Thor. “If you could...not say anything about what I said about Ian and hugs…” she began.

“I will not speak of it,” Thor told her.

***

The knock on her door at well past 11PM startled Darcy. She put aside her pint of ice cream and went to the door. Thor stood on the other side.

“Your light was on. I brought you this,” he held up packages of gummy bears and skittles.

“Wow,” Darcy said. “The god of thunder is bringing me gifts now?”

“Even gods can use a few friends. Besides, you know I am only an alien and not truly a deity.”

“I know...you wanna come in? I’m just watching My Fair Lady for the fiftieth time..”

Thor entered a little hesitantly and then joined her on the sofa, surprising her by taking the seat in the center so he was sitting next to her. Darcy couldn’t say that she minded that. “I am not familiar with this, My Fair Lady. Is it an important movie that you’ve watched it forty-nine times?”

“I don’t know how many times I’ve watched it really. Only that it was a lot. It’s probably not that important to most people but it is a classic. I just happen to like it a lot.”

As the film wore on, Darcy leaned a little closer to Thor, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Some part of her hoped that he would put an arm around her. He didn’t. Even so, it was enough to sit as they were.

“Why did Eliza return to Higgins in the end? It seemed he was rather harsh with her while he taught her,” Thor said as the film came to an end. “Or what I mean to say is, why do you like this film?”

“You think I like men who are controlling?” Darcy asked, a little defensively.

“I did not say that,” Thor replied.

Darcy sighed, “You didn’t have to. It’s probably true. It’s not like I do it on purpose though. But it’s like Eliza. She cared for Higgins because he offered her new possibilities. She got to wear fancy dresses and not have people look down on her anymore. She got to dance at the most beautiful parties. People can say that’s shallow but a life of poverty with a dad who would sell her out is pretty crappy too. Higgins was an upgrade. Maybe I just look for guys who have something better to offer.”

Thor remained silent for a short while and Darcy was afraid it was going to start getting awkward.

“I am sorry Darcy, that I frightened you on the day I arrived on earth. I frightened you enough that you felt you needed to use your taser on me. I had not realized the significance of that until now.”

“And what exactly is the significance?” Darcy wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

“Only that you have not been treated with the kindness you deserve and I did nothing to help you when I could have.”

“I don’t...I don’t know that there’s anything you could have done…” Darcy said.

“I might have at least checked in on you when I was with the Avengers these past few years. You were Jane’s closest friend and it never occured to me that you could be in danger.”

“If I was in danger it was my own fault because I make stupid decisions,” Darcy said bitterly.

Thor turned towards her just slightly. “Darcy, you bear none of the blame for what others have done to you. None. The fault is theirs alone.”

“Thanks,” she said in a near whisper. “Maybe I needed to hear that...and maybe if it’s not too much trouble I’ll need to hear it again sometime.”

“Then I will tell it to you again and if you wish it, I will offer you a hug from time to time.”

“Yeah…” Darcy said, emotion in her tone. “I wish for that.”

He moved his arm so that he could put it around her and she leaned closer and rested her head against his chest. The hour was already late enough that she might have fallen asleep alone but this time Darcy was more than thankful that she didn’t have to. Thor stayed where he was and let her sleep in his hug.

#marvel #darcy lewis #thor odinson #fanfiction #fluff #crush #hugs hugs hugs

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mittelfrank-divas · 3 years

Text

Dance of the Black Heron chapter 3

In which Dorothea attempts to sort out how to teach Hubert to dance and words are exchanged.

AO3 link here!

===

"No, no, no." Dorothea dropped the spoon that she'd been using to tap out a steady rhythm on the side of an overturned crate, letting it clatter onto the sun-bleached wood. "Are you dancing, or are you attempting to recite chapter five of our tactics textbook to Professor Byleth?"

Hubert dropped his stance to fold his arms together. Twenty-five minutes into their dance lesson, and he already felt sweaty and overly warm in his uniform. The afternoon sun beat down on them despite the mid-autumn season, making him regret his preference for black. His long hair was already starting to stick to his cheek on one side, and he was pretending not to notice this. "I do not understand the question."

Dorothea advanced on him across the small room. Well… "room" was a generous term for the location of their private lesson. Hubert had spent weeks sniffing out the more abandoned corners of Garreg Mach when they first arrived at school. The monastery grounds were a maze of ruins, both above ground and below, and many of the abandoned locations appeared to never be included on the guards' regular rounds. Of course, he had always imagined that when he utilized such hidden spaces, it would be for much more nefarious purposes than practicing for a dance competition.

The size and dimensions of this particular building were reminiscent of the knights' hall, but whatever use it had seen in centuries past was long since lost. The wood roof had long ago rotted and caved in, and no door remained in the doorframe. But the tile floor, once cleared of debris, made for a smooth enough surface to dance on without risk of tripping, despite weeds pushing up between a few of the cracks, and the brick walls offered some amount of privacy while they practiced. The open door faced away from the monastery, and the path here was overgrown enough to dissuade anyone from choosing to wander in this direction, so he could be confident that none would be nearby to witness his humiliation. In essence, they had their own private courtyard in which to stage their lessons.

Dorothea took him by the shoulders and gave him a shake, even though she had to reach up to do so. "You're too stiff! You look like a waiter in one of those fancy Enbarr restaurants where they fold the napkins to look like doves."

Strictly speaking, Hubert had hardly visited any restaurant, in Enbarr or anywhere else. Restaurants existed for those who were socializing or traveling, or who did not already dine in the actual Adrestian Palace, served by the royal family's own chefs. But he had a vague impression of what she was describing. "And I am to understand that that is a bad thing."

Dorothea's hands flew to her head in a dramatic fashion. "Yes! The point of dancing is movement! You cannot move and be rigid as stone at the same time. The scowling doesn't help, either."

Hubert felt himself flush. "I was merely concentrating."

Dorothea pursed her lips sympathetically, but her voice retained some of its impatient edge. "Concentration is important, but you'll need to learn not to let that show on your face. The judges want to see a smile. Can you do that, Hubie? Do you know how to smile?"

With some effort, Hubert conjured the most pleasant smile his face could allow.

Dorothea visibly recoiled, her hands leaving Hubert's shoulders so she could step back. "Never mind. You look like you intend to flay me alive. Don't smile like that at the judges, alright?"

Hubert tried to ignore the sting that her comment induced. "I was not intending to be sinister." Not at this exact moment, anyway.

"I've never met someone who could be threatening by accident, but somehow you manage it." Dorothea threw herself back onto her seat and took up her spoon again. "Fine! Let's start from the top!" With that, she began drumming out a beat for him. With a groan, he went back to it.

It surprised Hubert how quickly the dance came back to him. He had not even thought about waltzing for years, let alone put it into practice. His feet still remembered the steps, his shoulders still remembered how to set themselves as though preparing to cradle another in his arms. The basic mechanics of it were really quite straightforward.

And yet he could feel Dorothea's eyes on him, evaluating his every movement. The steady drumming of her spoon on the crate provided a simple enough beat for him to keep time to, but it was a grating sound, one that reminded him with every strike that he was not simply one dancer among a crowd. He was alone on an empty floor, foolishly dancing along to cutlery. Could the entire school hear the noise? Would a face appear in that open doorway any moment? He felt horribly foolish and woefully exposed.

"Augh, just stop!" Dorothea suddenly snapped, the spoon slamming down on the crate. "Honestly, could you look any more miserable? You act like you don't even want to be here."

Hubert bent over to catch his breath, hands on his thighs. There was a reason that he devoted most of his energy toward magic, something that allowed him to stand perfectly still while still fighting with deadly force. "This may come as some shock, but no part of this experience delights me. I am here for my duty, nothing else."

"Really? You think I love being here, pretending to be happy about you getting chosen over me?" Something in Dorothea's voice broke. Hubert tilted his head up to look at her through the sweaty bangs hanging in his face, and realized that she was on her feet, hands clenched at her sides.

He stood upright, hands still clutching at the stitch in his side. Hellfire, was he out of shape. "Is that what you think this situation is?"

Dorothea snorted. "At least have the decency to be honest with me. You and Edie just couldn't have your class represented by a commoner, could you?"

Hubert would have laughed, if he had the breath for it. Instead he merely stared at her in confusion. "Where in Cichol's cursed name did you get that idea?"

"Come on, Hubie. We both know I'm the best dancer in our class. And you come to me with the flimsiest of excuses for why I wasn't chosen? That you need me to concentrate on learning magic? Dancing is a magic class! There is no reason I couldn't do both." Furious tears were pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill. "I'm not an idiot, Hubie. I know there are plenty of people who think I don't deserve to be here. And maybe that would be enough to sully our house's reputation, having someone like me represent us. I just thought you and Edie were above that sort of thing."

Hubert tried to work out where exactly this situation had gone horribly wrong and saw that he'd mishandled it from the start. He should have seen how this would look to her. He straightened his jacket and laced his hands behind his back, feeling that he owed her at least some proper manners. "On the contrary, the thought of watching you outmatch those pitiful nobles and inflict upon them the shame of failure that they have too rarely encountered in their wretched lives fills me with a joy that I rarely know. Yes, you are in every sense the ideal candidate for this competition, and the Black Eagles would be proud to have you represent us. Not despite your origins. Your unique experience is exactly what makes you so adept at what you do. You know what it is to hone your skill for professional use, not as some parlor trick. It was not I who argued against your candidacy, nor was it Lady Edelgard. It was the professor's preference."

Dorothea processed this quietly, her green eyes fixed on something behind him, her arms crossed defensively. "I really thought they believed in me more than that."

"They do," Hubert said flatly, not wishing to obscure the message with what might seem to be insincere reassurance. "Enough to ensure that you do not deviate from your aspirations. Dorothea, why exactly did you come to the officer's academy? Gaining admission while working full time as a Songstress could not have been an easy task."

Dorothea sniffled, giving a dismissive shrug. "Oh, you know. A school filled with Fodlan's wealthiest young noble bachelors? How could I pass up an opportunity like that?"

Hubert rested his chin on his palm, letting his gaze drift to the tall, sun-dappled grass outside the door. "If that is your goal, then it's certainly not the worst plan for going about it. In fact, I would call it downright shrewd. But of course, the fact that you would also be learning skills here that could be used in any number of positions in the future must have crossed your mind. A backup plan, as it were."

Dorothea snorted, though it came out more as a sniffle. "I mean, what gal wouldn't want to learn how to strike a guy with lightning whenever he gets a bit handsy?"

"Indeed, but you could have learned that in Enbarr. There are other schools, easier schools to access." Dorothea said nothing, impulsively reaching to fix her long hair, as if it were ever anything less than perfectly coiled about her shoulders. Hubert persisted. "I have read your application."

Her gaze snapped back to him, wide-eyed. "But that's--"

"Highly confidential, of course. I don't trust just anyone to have such free access to Lady Edelgard. I need to know just who is sitting behind her chair every day." It had not, in fact, been a remotely easy task to gain access to the academy's records. Hubert was still trying to puzzle out where the bishops hid their archives. Fortunately, Professor Byleth was not quite so paranoid about the files they were given, and so he had managed to leaf through the documentation on the Black Eagles. Would that the other two professors could give him such ready access to their own classes.

"It's also very rude," Dorothea muttered.

"I do not tend to concern myself with what is polite." Hubert felt a faint smirk tug at his lips. "Quite an impressive application, actually. Your test scores were average, but your essays were most engaging. You have a practicality that many others lack. You do not allow the big picture, as it were, to blind you to facts. You have valuable insights that our class needs."

Dorothea flushed, looking away from him. For someone who seemed to thrive on attention, she did not seem to know what to do with this sort of praise. She sighed impatiently. "Is there a point to all of this, or are you just heaping compliments on me so I'll drop it?"

"My point, Dorothea, is that you did not come to the officer's academy just to be a Songstress by a different name. The professor fears that making you a Dancer would send a signal that you are valued only for your appearance. That it would lead you to limit yourself. Frankly, I would be inclined to disagree, had I not seen you in action."

"They said that?" Her voice hitched a bit when she said it.

"That is what they told me. That they want to see you succeed as a gremory, a class that very few ever manage to achieve. Though I do not agree with our professor on every front, their instincts on our class composition have been largely accurate. Do not think I haven't noticed you studying the chapter on Meteor, a spell so complex that I doubt even Linhardt would be bothered to learn it."

She gave him a startled glance, but did not deny it.

Hubert nodded to her. "So I ask you again: why did you come to the officer's academy? If you are happy remaining as a Songstress, if you would be satisfied only to become a Dancer and nothing else, then I will gladly end this farce and accompany you to persuade Professor Byleth to change their mind. But if you came here to prove something, as I suspect you did, then I would be remiss to allow you to make such a sacrifice."

Her eyebrows arched disbelievingly. "Hubie, that almost sounded generous of you."

He chuckled. "Lest you mistake my actions for kindness, allow me to remind you that I seek only to ensure that Lady Edelgard's people are maximizing their potential."

"Right, of course. You could not possibly be trying to help your friends achieve their dreams the way you're always talking about helping Edie with hers." She was smiling now, even as she wiped at the corner of her eye with her sleeve. "To answer your question, I... I don't know if I have just one answer for you. But I do know that I have been around simpering nobles my whole life. And I would give just about anything for the chance to wipe the smile off their faces. And beating them at their own game? Learning the spells that all their fancy tutors and expensive libraries couldn't teach them? I'd like that very much."

Hubert smirked in triumph, and offered her a low bow. A proper bow, the likes of which he normally reserved only for Edelgard. "Then, Miss Arnault, I suggest a trade. I will help you reach your goal if you help me reach mine. Teach me to survive this blasted competition and I promise that all I know of magic is at your disposal."

Dorothea laughed. "Okay, okay, no need to turn this into the opening of an epic drama. Though... hmm. I think I have an idea of how we're going to present you now. You are actually quite charming in your own way, Hubie. There's no reason to try to cover it up with a fake smile."

Now it was Hubert's turn for skepticism. "Somehow I doubt there is much charm for you to find."

Dorothea waved him off. "Oh hush, you'll see what I mean soon enough. Anyway, we're focusing on your stance right now. Here, take my hand." She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder and held out the other for him to hold.

He surveyed her in confusion. "Does the contest not require each contestant to be performing alone?"

Dorothea huffed. "Yes, despite the waltz being a couple's dance. It's a silly requirement, really. But right now you're letting your nerves get in the way of your movement. You need to stop being so embarrassed about me watching you. So let's take out the audience factor entirely. There is nobody left to watch if we're both participating, right?"

Hubert sighed as his gloved hand took hers, the other resting lightly on her waist. "Perceptive, as ever."

She grinned up at him. "That's why I'm your teacher. Now, you lead. Teach me to waltz as though it's my first time. I'm a lowly commoner who's never been allowed to join in on such a high class dance before."

Hubert chuckled at her, pulling them into a slow, steady rhythm. Dorothea followed smoothly, exposing her lie for what it was. "Does that work on the brainless nobles you seduce? Pretending to be clueless?"

"Some of them." She smirked, unapologetic. It was harder to match each other's steps without music, but Dorothea was a professional. She adjusted to Hubert's pace, reading his body language well enough to anticipate his steps. "Good. Loosen your grip on my hand a bit. You're directing me, not pulling me like a dog on a leash."

"Quite the analogy."

Her head quirked in an approximation of a shrug. "You'd be surprised how necessary that comparison is. Far too many noblemen can't tell the difference."

"Not as surprised as you might think." He complied with her instruction, letting her hand simply rest in his rather than gripping it.

"Better, but you're still too rigid. You're worrying too much about what I'm doing. Dancing with someone is about trust. Which I know is in short supply with you."

"What gave you that impression?" Hubert tried not to stare down at her feet, certain that he was about to tread on her toes.

"I can't believe I have to tell you this, but my eyes are up here." She laughed at his startled look. "Trust, Hubie! You need to trust me that I know how to keep up with you. And you need to trust yourself. You know these steps, right?"

Hubert studiously kept his eyes on hers, realized his hand had tightened around hers again, and pointedly loosened it. "Knowing and doing are not the same."

Dorothea sighed. "Alright, stop. New plan. I'm cashing in that magic lesson right now."

Hubert let his hands fall away from hers as she stepped back, and tried very hard to keep pace with Dorothea's shifting moods. "I did not realize you were in such a hurry to learn."

"I am now. The wall makes a good enough target, right?" She moved to stand beside him so that they both faced the same direction, with only a wall of bare brickwork ahead of them. "So? What's the most basic Dark magic you know? What's the spell you can cast in your sleep?"

Hubert regarded her. "You are aware that Dark magic and Black magic are quite different, I'm sure. Black magic utilizes the elements, while Dark magic draws on something more internal and primal."

Dorothea sighed impatiently. "I have read chapter one of the textbook, yes, thank you Hubert. Show me anyway."

Hubert puffed out a breath. At least this would be a respite from his stumbling around. "Alright. The simplest Dark attack is Miasma Δ. It goes like this." It was easy. So easy to gather the dark magic in his chest. To draw his hand across his body as he muttered the incantation, feeling the cold sting of power spreading its tendrils down the length of his arm. To flick his fingers outward just as the magic reached them, casually lobbing a sphere of crackling darkness at the bare wall. The impact resonated with the magic's hollow sound, leaving a blackened scorch mark on the bricks. How strange that trying to dance had felt like wading through waist-deep mud, but casting this spell felt like stepping back onto dry land, as light and easy as walking on a summer day.

"Hmm." Dorothea experimentally moved her hand across her chest. "Like this?"

"Palm inward. Arm parallel with the floor." He reached over and tilted her elbow up a few degrees. "You want to draw the magic in toward your hand before you expel it. If you allow your arm to droop, you risk casting at the floor rather than at your target."

Dorothea imitated his movements, right down to a small flourish in her wrist that, strictly speaking, was not a necessary addition to the spell, but that Hubert habitually added on principle. "And your feet? Do you step forward with your right or your left?"

"Always lead with your casting side."

"Right. Of course." She practiced the motions again. Hand across the chest, elbow out, step forward, flick of the wrist. Again and again she repeated the steps, imitating him perfectly without the actual orb of magical darkness firing from her hand. And then she tried it again using the other hand.

"Dorothea, what are you doing?"

Dorothea flicked one hand in front of herself and then another. "What's it look like?"

Hubert crossed his arms. "It looks like you are being very smug."

She grinned, but did not stop her impromptu dance routine, working in much more hip sway than the original spell called for. "Don't I have a right to be? I'm finding all your secrets, Hubie."

He could not help the amused smirk that crossed his face. "I very much doubt that."

"Well I've found one, anyway. You are a good dancer when you're not getting in the way of yourself. We just have to draw it out of you. What is spellcasting other than a very precise dance routine with a purpose?" She did a careless twirl, her hair fanning out around her. It looked so effortless.

"Ah yes, deadly magical force is naught but prancing about." Hubert watched as Dorothea spun the movements he had taught her into an intricate routine that grew with each new iteration. Here he was, betrayed by his own lesson.

She came to a standstill, grinning in triumph. Whereas Hubert felt bedraggled and exhausted by dance, she looked invigorated, her peach skin glistening radiantly. "From now on, we'll warm up our sessions with a magic lesson. It's something you're already confident in, so it'll get you into the mindset you need. Come on now, let's get back to it. We've got lots of time yet before the sun goes down."

Hubert groaned, casting his eyes up at the treacherously clear blue sky, still shining bright with the low evening sun. If only he believed in the Goddess, he might be tempted to beg her to nudge it towards the horizon just a bit faster.

#hubert von vestra #dorothea arnault #black eagles #fanfic #dance of the black heron #indigo's ferdibert got me hyped to finish this part!

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