Baby Wolf Cub (Davidxreader) Part 2

I don't know about anyone else, but this stopped being about ASMR a long time ago. Redacted's storytelling ability and world-building skills are fantastic. I would 100% read a book if he wrote one.

Here is part 2 of the first fic I have ever written.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: dad vibes, blood, gunshot

"Hello?" I picked up my ringing phone "what! Who is this!" David picked his head off the floor, ears perking up. The little pup yawned and stretched against David's fur.

"Where? Tonight?" Click. 11:14 pm. David shifted back into his human self which prompted the sleeping cub into a sleeping baby with its butt in the air. "What's going on?"

I dialed another number without answering him."Milo, hey I need you to come over. It's an emergency. No, no one's hurt but we need your help. Yeah, thanks"

Click. "They followed me from Chicago, they want the kid back." I walked to the little one one and bent over to pick him up. David stuck his hand out in front of mine.

"Don't touch him, let him sleep. Shifting takes magic and doing it as often as he is would be exhausting for a full grown adult. He'll figure it out, but he needs sleep. Now what the hell are you talking about? Who called? Stop! don't put your jacket on"

"I don't know who, all I know is that there's a lead on the corner of South and Maple and I'm going to figure out what's going on." I did put my jacket down but only to grab a light blanket off the couch and draped it over the baby's legs.

"Angel, that's too dangerous, they could be vampires or murderers or..."

"They're most likely kidnappers, which is why we need to stop them"

"Listen to yourself! You're not Sherlock Holmes, you're not Batman"

Angel put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes, "you're just a fragile human and you need to stay here and be safe."

"It's not your job to protect me"

"Actually it is. As soon as you became my mate you became part of the pack. As the Alpha and your mate it is my duty to take care of you" he backed up from me and rubbed his hands over his face. "I love you Angel! I would give my life for you without question"

"I would never ask you to!" I said that a little louder than I should and the baby turned over before it started crying. I went over to pick him up but David got to him first and subtly bounced him on his hip.

"Why are you putting something so special to me in harm's way? You are a fucking danger to yourself and the more you get involved in these messes the more likely you are to put me and my pack in the line of fucking fire. There are things about the magic world that you don't understand and there are more threats than you can see. Let's ignore that call and just take this trouble maker to the department."

I put my head down to the floor. It was late and I was tired. Almost a half tempting offer. But there was a mystery to be solved here and possibly a larger crime.

"Sitting in bed and watching tv does not help anyone," I told him. "I am the mate of one of the most influential wolf pack's alpha. You know I'm tough or else you know I wouldn't last long. I was made of something durable and built for being more than a fucking house wife!"

David put the baby on the couch and laid the blanket out next to him. Carefully, he wrapped the little one up into a burrito and scooped him up to cradle him.

"Before you go and get your life sucked out by a damn shade or something. Throw a cup of milk in the microwave for a few seconds" David said, sitting down on the couch.

"Uh sure" I said. "I am not a complete dumbass, I know I shouldn't go alone. If you won't come and back me up then I will ask Milo." I handed him a lukewarm glass. "How did you get so good with infants anyway?"

Silence from David. I hate it when he just shuts down. He propped the baby up against his chest and titled the cup up until the little one could drink.

"Instinct, basic life skills, common fucking sense. All things you don't possess, clearly" he put the cup down on the table. And took a deep breath. "My dad… he would make me help out new moms in the pack. He used to say I needed to spend time with women since my mom wasn't around. It was a way of helping the pack feel more like a family"

I sat down next to him. Coat on, shoes on, ready to jump out the door.

"Angel, I have lost so damn much. Just from life already being as fucking dangerous as it is. If something happened to you... I just... I don't know what I would do... I fucking..."

I cut him off, "I know. I love you too. Unmistakable fact of life. I love you."

A knock at the door, "hey guys it's me." I got up and opened it to Milo's anxious face, "What's wrong, that's the emer.. Holy shit! is that yours" Milo stared in disbelief.

"Yes, it is, in the 48 hours I was gone I went and had a werewolf baby and now you're the designated sitter so we can go make another one" I was monotone in my sarcasm. I stepped out the door, "you coming Davey?"

David carefully slipped the baby into Milo's arms, "support the head and neck here," I heard him say. "Yeah, remember when we used to do this with Ginny's baby a few years back?"

He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and followed me "of course I'm coming you dumbass." He yelled down the hall at me, "Oh Milo, if he starts whimpering just shift and lay with him, he's docile. There's warm milk on the table and more in the fridge if he's crying. He didn't mind the couch but feel free to lay him on the bed"

"Let's go!" I yelled to David down the hallway.

"What the fuck is going on" was the last thing I heard Milo say before David shut the door.

South and Maple was a quiet intersection, although most are at the ungodly hour of 2am. Surrounded by three or four story buildings with alleyways and parked cars. There was no shortage of places to hide or spy down on the intersection. David and I stepped onto an alley between two buildings to discuss a plan. Unfortunately we didn't get the time.

"Where is he?"

We both turned to a tall lanky woman at the end of the alley. She was dressed in a pantsuit, real realtor vibes. Two men ran around the corner and took their place behind her. David growled but I put my hand out in front of him, "hold back" I whispered.

"Who are you and what do you want? Where are the parents?" I yelled down the alley.

"Where? Honey probably at the bottom of the the lake considering the rocks tied to their ankles"

David started growling again but I told him again to wait. This conversation was not violent yet.

"You stole that baby!" I accused

"Baby?" She laughed, "that was not a baby, what you have hidden somewhere is a freak circus animal that many are willing to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for."

"You bitch!" I yelled

"I have bids lined up" the men besides her both shifted in werewolves which prompted David to do the same. The sudden magic and chaos of growling and barking filled the air. David was significantly larger than the other two but he was outnumbered. There was a mix of growling, barking, and biting. I was bewildered that I didn't even hear the shot. The lady whistled and both the other wolves ran to join her. They walked around the corner.

David shook himself off and ran to follow. Water fell down the side of my leg. Water? I looked up trying to find a leaking gutter or rain. No rain. I looked down and saw a red stain on the side of my shirt growing. I balled up a chunk of shirt and held it against my side.

"Davey'' my voice cracked. "Davey!" I couldn't get it to be as loud as I needed. My left ear started ringing loudly. My head was full of sawdust and my vision became the static of an old tv. I felt a hand over my own behind me. Fuck, Davey. Where did he come from?

"Can you ..." was all I heard before I felt my knees give out. David picked me up bridal style and ran to the end of the alleyway. I heard the car door open and the next thing I saw was the ceiling over the back seat. David climbed in the back with me and shut and locked the door.

"Just.. drive" fuck, talking hurt.

"Classic triage Angel, stabilize then transport." He tried to move my hand away from the wet spot I was holding.

"It doesn't hurt that bad! Just drive" I was using whatever I had left to keep him away.

"That's cause you're going into shock" he grabbed my denim jacket from the front seat, "hey, Angel look at me. I'm going to lift your hand up just for a second and put your jacket under it ok?"

I winced and nodded. It actually didn't hurt that bad. I couldn't feel anything and everything had a vague cold numbness. He drapped his leather jacket over my shoulders.

I took a deep and painful breath. I closed my eyes for a moment but then I felt David snapping his hand over my face. When did he get in the front seat? When did he start driving.

"Hey! Keep your eyes open"

"I'm fine, I'm ok. I just blinked"

"You're pale. Are you nauseous?" David put his eyes back on the road, "if we go back to the apartment they'll follow us and find the kid" he said, "but if we go to a human hospital they'll ask too many questions. So we're going to.. Hey Angel! Open your eyes and keep holding that jacket down. We're going to Milo's mother's place. She'll be ready for us. Angel! Are you listening to me? Asher and Milo have the baby. Christan is leading the pack to hunt down that woman."

I was barely making out the words. Davey was the alpha for a reason, that's the only thing I understood. Cool under pressure, rallying the troops, delegating orders. I nodded, at least I think I did. "I love you" were the words that I tried to get out of my mouth. I felt the engine of the car rev louder.

Cowboy Like Me

Read Cowboy Like Me on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 5 - Last Time

Now I know, I'm never gonna love again

Marinette was a terrible sentimentalist. After such a bad breakup it might have been cathartic to tear up the pictures of them, but Marinette just couldn't do it. No, she could bring herself to destroy the evidence of her six-year relationship. Marinette kept all the pictures, all the movie tickets, all the handwritten notes and put them in a shoebox at the top of her closet, somewhere that she couldn't reach without the help of a stepstool. Maybe the pads of her fingers could brush against the smooth cardboard if she stood on her tiptoes. But Marinette could never open it again. Inside that shoebox were the memories of being in love, kept safe, locked away, just out of reach.

As Marinette boarded the plane, she looked back on everything that had gone wrong. Though the cause of all the destruction in her life was uncertain, Marinette could pinpoint the effects exactly. There were a few things Marinette knew for certain: Marinette would never fall in love again, the city Marinette once loved now only held bad memories, and once the plane took off, Marinette would say goodbye to Paris for the last time.

Never wanted love, just a fancy car

The socialite scene of Gotham was dreadfully boring in the winter, Marinette learned. The weather was so brutal that anyone who could afford a second house in Key West or Malibu left as soon as the first snow-fall hit. Marinette stayed inside her penthouse apartment for weeks, designing her wardrobe for the next few months. It had been so long since she had been able to design for herself, without input from anyone else. It was freeing, to work with the colors, the patterns, the styles that she wanted. Marinette had forgotten what freedom felt like. For so long, she had worked for the whims of others, crafting to someone else's design.

Marinette made her first friend two weeks after the move. Silver St. Cloud was Marinette's neighbor in the apartment to the left. Silver was a model and influencer, and a self-proclaimed expert on all of the rich single men in Gotham. Upon their first meeting, Silver offered to show Marinette around Gotham and introduce her to the socialite scene. Marinette, hesitant but hopeful, accepted.

"Bruce Wayne is the best that Gotham has to offer," said Silver as they leave Starbucks, lattes in hand. "But there are plenty of men who are worth your attention - women too, if that's what you prefer."

"Bruce Wayne is the best?"

Silver nodded. "The Waynes have owned this city for as long as Gotham has been on a map. I wouldn't set your sights on him completely, though. Bruce Wayne doesn't date anyone, not even a former member of Kitty Section."

Kitty Section was known around the world, the biggest band to come out of France in the last decade. Their songs topped charts. Their albums won awards. Their well-crafted image of reclusive, mysterious artists led to a media sensation over the members of Kitty Section. Everyone wanted to know them - Luka Couffaine and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the lead vocalists whose relationship enchanted their fans. Rose Lavillant, the backing vocalist and keyboardist, and Juleka Couffaine, the bass guitarist, who were unashamed of their love for each other. Ivan Bruel, the mysterious drummer who had the name Mylène carved into his drumsticks. They were famous. They were at the top of their game. They were unstoppable.

Marinette ruined it all when she left the band. Her split had been big news, exposing a dark side of Kitty Section that their fans were never supposed to see. But after their breakup, Marinette quickly realized that she never loved music. She loved Luka, and once that love faded away, she loved nothing.

"I guess I'll find someone else," said Marinette, but it was a lie. There was Luka Couffaine, and after that, there was no one else. She might be able to love fancy dresses and expensive cars, but Marinette would never love a person again, not the way she loved Luka. When it came to love (deep, true love, not just the infatuations of childhood) Luka was her first time, Luka was her only time, and Luka would be her last time.

Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Marinette quickly learned the art of charming everyone she met, either through her impressive resume (founding member of Kitty Section) or through her newfound ability to flirt. It turns out, once you turn off your feelings it becomes very easy to pretend that you can still love.

Marinette and Silver became thick as thieves. The girls became a popular pair, charming every birthday brunch and charity dinner. For Silver, it was all about networking. As she explained to Marinette, "I'm trying to create a brand. I'm trying to turn my own name into something that can be sold, and for that, I need connections.

For Marinette, it was something to do. As long as she used her money wisely, Marinette had enough saved to comfortably live out the rest of her days. The real problem came in finding something to pass the time. Marinette rarely felt joy in living her life, the way she used to back when she was a child, the bright-eyed girl who aspired to be a designer. Now, everything from charming a billionaire to designing a new dress felt like a chore.

"Come meet Bruce Wayne," urged Silver as she grabbed Marinette's hand. "He just got back from Nepal. It's his first time in Gotham in six months. He skipped his own New Year's Gala to go soul-searching in the Himalayas. It's my job tonight to convince him to stay in town for longer than a week."

There was a determination to Silver's voice. From everything she had heard about Bruce Wayne, Marinette doubted that Silver could make him change his ways. However, that wouldn't stop Marinette from helping her new-found friend.

Silver's whole body-language changed, shifting from a determined march to a delicate float as she made her way over to a dark-haired man in a well-fitted tux. "Hello, Bruce. It's so nice to see you again."

"Silver." Bruce acknowledged her, sounding bored. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was the lead singer of Kitty Section before the band split up a few months ago."

"Kitty Section... I might have heard of them before. The band was... French?"

Marinette nodded. "Yes. All the members were born and raised in Paris. Have you heard of any of our music?

"I'm certain now that I have. It was very... commercial."

Marinette ought to have slapped him across the face right then and there. Not only was commercial not a compliment, but it also wasn't even true. It was the biggest criticism of Kitty Section, their reticence to work with popular music trends. Despite her overwhelming desire to assault the most wealthy and influential man in the ballroom, Marinette instead steeled her face and gave Bruce a pleasant smile. "Thank you. So what do you do for a living, Mister Wayne."

"I travel."

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He spoke two words to her. The conversation was anything but interesting. "How interesting. Have you ever been to Paris?"

"I'm not a tourist, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I travel to much more interesting places."

Marinette officially gave up on the conversation. She would let Silver (who looked to be itching to have her turn to talk to Bruce) try and fix the train-wreck of a conversation that Bruce created. "You sound like a man with a lot of stories to tell. I hope you can tell me them over lunch someday."

"Perhaps."

Marinette gave Bruce her politest smile. "I have to excuse myself. Silver, why don't you tell Bruce about your new sponsorship from Lululemon."

Silver lit up. "Oh, you have to hear about this email I got last week. It was amazing, it's so good for my brand..."

Marinette walked away, letting her distaste towards Bruce leave her. Secretly, a little part of her hoped that Bruce would leave Gotham, as he was well-known for doing. Though Silver was her friend, Marinette didn't think she could pretend to like Bruce.

"He's intolerable, isn't he?" joked a voice from beside Marinette.

Marinette turned to face the stranger, a beautiful woman, taller than Marinette by quite a few inches, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. She wore a dress of royal blue silk, so elegant it reminded Marinette of the sort of thing she always dreamed of making. "Who?"

"Bruce Wayne. Who else would it be?"

Marinette let out a quiet laugh. "He is quite unpleasant. I take it you know him."

"I accompanied him on some of his travels. Bruce is a good friend of mine, but these parties tend to bring out the worst in him. He hates this city and he especially hates the wealthy of this city." The woman grabbed a glass of wine off of a server's tray and handed it to Marinette, who gratefully took it.

"Then I doubt Silver will have any luck convincing him to stay." Marinette tried to keep the satisfaction out of her tone, but the woman laughed anyways, an indication that it didn't work.

"You're quite funny..." The woman paused for an introduction.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And you are?"

"Diana-"

The sound of shattering glass interrupted Diana's introduction. The crowd started to get frantic, and Marinette was pushed one way while Diana was pushed the other. The glass of wine was knocked out of Marinette's hand, staining the fabric of her dress. Marinette struggled to stay on her feet, desperate to not twist an ankle in her four-inch heels.

"Listen up!" shouted an oddly-dressed man. "You're all going to listen to me, and no one will get hurt."

Marinette had a very odd feeling that this would be a moment she remembered for the rest of her life.

Never thought I'd meet you here. It could be love

"They're calling him a supervillain. Apparently, his name is The Riddler," reported Marinette, looking up from her phone, where she was reading about the events of the night before.

Silver glanced up from her seat on the sofa across the room where she was painting her nails a delicate shade of pink. "It's about time Gotham got its own supervillain. Metropolis has had Superman and all the villains that follow him around for years."

Marinette snorted out a laugh. "You think that a supervillain is a good thing?"

"Sure. It means that Gotham will be getting a superhero of its own soon." Silver brightened up. "Plus, the hostage situation from last night meant that I got to spend a whole two hours with Bruce."

Marinette groaned. "I can't believe that you two are going on a date. Bruce Wayne is one of the most insufferable men I've ever met."

"It's not a date. Bruce specified it as just dinner between friends. You should come too, Marinette. I'm sure that once you spend some time with Bruce you'll warm up to him."

Marinette gave Silver a skeptical look. "You want me to come with you on your date with Bruce?"

"Again, it's not a date. Bruce said that he would be bringing one of his friends along as well."

Marinette finally understood Silver's intentions. "You want me to come with you so that I can partner up with Bruce's friend, and you can get some alone time with Bruce."

"Well it doesn't sound very nice when you put it that way," huffed Silver.

Marinette giggled. "I love devious plans. We'll just have to make it look natural."

It took a little time to get all the details, but Marinette and Silver got their plan in order. Silver would arrive first and meet Bruce and his friend. Marinette would arrive later, strike up a one-on-one conversation with Bruce's friend, and spend the night engaging Bruce's friend in conversation so that Silver could flirt with Bruce. Marinette's only concern about the evening was that Bruce's friend would be just as unbearable to talk to as Bruce himself.

The restaurant that Bruce picked out was very fancy, but Marinette didn't mind. It allowed her to wear her new dress, a pale blue and silver creation meant to mimic the shimmering quality of ice. Marinette thought it might be a little too experimental for the old-fashioned Gotham society, but Silver approved of it, and Marinette trusted her friend.

As soon as Marinette walked through the doors her eyes caught sight of Silver's white-blonde hair. Then she noticed Bruce sitting beside her friend, his eyes trained on Silver with an odd intensity. Finally, Marinette noticed Bruce's friend. She was shocked to see that it was Diana, the very woman that Marinette had met at yesterday's gala, the very woman whose introduction was interrupted by the untimely arrival of the Riddler. For a second, Marinette was shocked into stillness. The chaos of the night before had overshadowed her meeting with Diana to the extent that Marinette had forgotten how very charmed she had been by Diana. Now, it seemed Marinette had the perfect opportunity to get to know the charismatic woman from the night before.

"Marinette," the surprise in Diana's tone told Marinette that she was just as blind-sighted by their meeting.

"Hello, Diana. Fancy meeting you here," said Marinette with a smile.

Bruce raised one eyebrow. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We met last night," explained Diana. "I wanted to let her knew that you aren't usually so insufferable."

Bruce looked affronted. "I wasn't insufferable."

"You lied about having listened to Kitty Section," piped up Marinette. "There are a lot of valid criticisms of Kitty Section. However, our music being too commercial is not one of them."

Bruce had the decency to look guilty. "I apologize, then. I'll make sure to take the time to give your music a real listen."

For Silver's sake, Marinette was willing to forgive him. "Maybe next time you can give me some real criticism."

Bruce nodded graciously. "I'll do that."

Diana took that moment to bring back up their introduction the night before. "So Marinette, I don't believe we got the chance to finish our introductions last night. I'm Diana Prince, newly a curator at Gotham's Art and History Museum."

"I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, former member of Kitty Section, currently taking a soul-searching sabbatical."

"Soul-searching for what?" asked Diana.

"I suppose I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. When I was younger I was so passionate about fashion. I made my own clothes, entered my creations into design contests, spent years creating a portfolio. I'm trying to rediscover that passion."

"Maybe you could show me your designs some time," offered Diana.

"I would like that," agreed Marinette.

"Actually," chimed in Silver, "Marinette made the dress she's wearing right now."

"Really? I would have assumed that it was professionally made. It's a gorgeous dress," praised Diana.

Marinette blushed, a warm fluttery feeling stirring deep within her. The rest of the night passed in a blur, with Marinette hanging on Diana's every word. It was easy to talk to Diana. She was so naturally charming that Marinette couldn't help but enjoy herself. As the evening winded down, Marinette felt only regret that they would have to part so soon.

As Marinette stood outside the restaurant, waiting for a taxi, she felt Diana's hand settle on her shoulder. It had been a while since Marinette had felt such an intimate touch. "I had a nice time talking to you tonight." The feel of Diana's fingers gently trailing down Marinette's arms was almost more than Marinette, touch-starved and hungry for more, could bear.

Marinette smiled. "I did too. I hope to see more of you."

"I'm sure you will." Marinette took comfort in the certainty in Diana's voice.

And in the back of her mind, Marinette began to rethink her policy of never falling in love again. Something about Diana made Marinette think that Luka wouldn't be her last time after all.

And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

Marinette could not believe he did this. After everything they had been through together, Marinette's one final request to Luka was that he not release a song about their breakup. But there it was, top of the charts, the lead single of Luka's new solo album, Different Cities. And if it wasn't bad enough that Luka broke the only promise she asked him to keep, included in the song was a snippet of the last voicemail she sent to him. She left it for him weeks after they broke up, as an explanation to him, to let him know she was leaving Gotham.

In the last few seconds of the song, Marinette's voice is hesitant as she speaks. "I know that you wanted me to stay so that we could work things out, but I don't think that our relationship is fixable. So I guess I'm calling to tell you that I give up. I'm leaving Paris next Friday. I've already bought the plane ticket. You can't change my mind. Goodbye, Luka."

It was the rawest emotion Marinette had shown since the breakup, and Luka exploited it for his own gain.

Marinette spent the day joylessly deleting emails from various news outlets begging her to tell her side of the story. As if she would give Luka the satisfaction of giving free publicity. Everyone loved drama, so Marinette was going to make her reaction - or lack of reaction, in this case - as boring as possible.

Every time her phone rang, Marinette ignored it. The voicemails started to stack up, and eventually, Marinette found herself going through them one-by-one. One from Alya, letting Marinette know that she was there for her when she wanted to talk. One from Adrien, more joking in tone, trying to cheer Marinette up. One from Ivan, directly threatening to punch Luka in the face if Marinette wanted it (and that was the only voicemail that actually brought her spirits up). One from Juleka, an apology.

In the voicemail, Juleka's voice was rough, like she had been crying. "I'm so sorry, Marinette. I begged Luka not to release it, but he wouldn't listen to me. He said- he- he said-" Juleka broke off into a sob, and Marinette couldn't help but sniffle along with her. "I can hardly recognize him anymore. Rose and I aren't on speaking terms with him now. He's no longer my brother."

Marinette wished that she could pick up the phone and tell Juleka that it was okay to forgive Luka, but Marinette couldn't. The wound was still fresh, still bleeding out.

One step forward, one steps back. Two days after Marinette considered the idea of loving again, and she was right back where she started - in too much pain to even consider friendship, let alone love.

Speak of the devil, Marinette's phone rang, Diana's name lighting up on the screen. Part of her wanted to throw her phone across the room and curl up under her blankets. The other parts of her answered the call. "Hello?" spoke Marinette, wiping away the moisture at the corner of her eyes.

"Marinette, are you okay?" Diana's voice was soft. It was the most comforting thing Marinette had ever heard.

"Not really. I can't decide if I want to punch Luka in the face or if it would hurt too much to ever see him again."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Marinette sighed. "I met Luka when I was fourteen. He was my classmate Juleka's older brother. Luka had his own band, so all the girls in our class thought that Luka was so cool, but he mostly ignored us. Then one day his backing vocalist got bronchitis and he needed someone to fill in. I was a soloist for the school chorus, so I volunteered. Luka was hesitant to let me join his band until he heard me sing. He told me I had the voice of an angel. Two days later he kissed me, and I fell in love with him so hard and so fast I didn't have a chance to consider if he was really the one."

Marinette took a deep breath, then continued, "It was a whirlwind after that. We started dating. We started a new band and named it Kitty Section. We started writing songs together. The weird part was, he never asked how I felt about any of it. He never asked me if I wanted to date him, he never asked if I wanted to join the band, he always assumed that I wanted what he wanted."

"And what did you want?" asked Diana.

"Back then, I thought I wanted a future with Luka. Now, I guess I just want to feel passion again. I've felt so empty since I left him."

"You might feel better with some company. Do you want me to come over to your place?"

Marinette looked around at her empty apartment, at the way the shadows filled the room, at the way seemed to lurk in every corner. "Sure."

"You could show me some of those designs you were telling me about the other day," suggested Diana.

Marinette glanced over at her sketchbook, which had laid empty for months. "That sounds good."

As she hung up the phone, Marinette realized that talking to Diana had made her feel a bit better. The knife wound that Luka had left in her heart had begun to close up at the edges. Marinette took a deep breath and picked up her sketchbook. If she wanted to rediscover her passion, she needed to work for it.

Now you hang from my lips, like the Gardens of Babylon

Marinette let out an appreciative noise as Diana re-entered the room, modeling one of Marinette's creations. "Give me a little spin."

Diana turned herself around, letting the red fabric swirl around her legs. Something about the way that the dress looked on Diana made it so much prettier in Marinette's eyes. Suddenly the fabric wasn't just red, it was carmine. The dress wasn't just being worn, it was being modeled. It didn't just move, it flowed. "It's a gorgeous dress," complimented Diana as she looked over her shoulder at the mirror behind her to admire it.

"It is nice, isn't it." Marinette had been so caught up in her head she had forgotten to truly admire her creation. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. "You should keep it. One of Bruce's charity galas is coming up in a few weeks. You could wear it there."

"I couldn't," protested Diana.

Marinette shook her head. "It looks best on you. I could never pull off such a vibrant shade of red." There was a second part to the sentence that was left unspoken. If Marinette made the dress knowing that it wouldn't look good on her, she must have made it for another reason. She must have made it with Diana in mind.

Diana smiled, seeming to have caught those unspoken words. "Well if I'm going to wear the dress, you'll have to put up with me gushing about how talented you are all night long."

Marinette flushed. "It's no big deal. It's just a dress."

"It's not just a dress. It's your passion." There was truth in Diana's words that Marinette couldn't deny. It was so much more than a dress. It was the passion for design that Diana had helped her rediscover. It was the newfound friendship with Diana that chased away the loneliness and despair that had taken over her life. It was the glimmer of hope for a future with Diana.

Takes one to know one, you're a cowboy like me

Diana looked beyond gorgeous in that carmine dress. Marinette could keep her eyes off of her as they mingled around the ballroom. Marinette's dress was nice, made with the same passion that Marinette had in her younger years, but it paled in comparison to Diana. However, Diana made up for this disparity by gleefully explaining that Marinette was the creator of the dress every time it was complimented. By the end of the night, Marinette had spent so much time blushing over compliments that she worried her face would become permanently flushed.

The gala was a complete success for everyone involved. The charity, which happened to benefit Gotham Child Protective Services, raised twice their goal amount. Marinette got to spend time with Diana. Even Silver had spent the night looking very pleased with herself, her hand resting on Bruce's forearm as they walked through the ballroom together.

As the night winded down, Marinette and Diana found themselves walking out of Wayne Manor towards Diana's car. Diana had offered to drive Marinette there and back, and Marinette had eagerly accepted. Marinette hated driving in Gotham, as Gotham was known for its aggressive drivers and high rates of automobile accidents.

Marinette sat down in the passenger seat with a sigh, kicking off her heels. "Tonight was nice."

"It was nice," Diana agreed. "We'll have to attend galas together more often."

"You just want an excuse to get your hands on another one of my dresses," teased Marinette.

Diana laughed. "I wouldn't say no to another dress. But really, Bruce's rich friends are much more bearable when I have someone to make fun of them afterward with."

Marinette shuddered. "And to think I thought that Bruce was bad. His friends are intolerable. I never want to talk about golf again in my life."

The two women chatted as they drove through the dark streets of Gotham, back to Marinette's apartment.

"Thanks for driving me home," said Marinette as the car pulled up in front of her apartment building.

"It was no problem." Diana hesitated, before continuing. "I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Dinner sounds good," Marinette replied, strapping her shoes back on.

"I'm asking for this to be a date." Diana finished.

Marinette looked up at her, surprised. Her friendship with Diana had been so easy that Marinette had forgotten that it could be anything else. She had half a mind to decline, to stay in the familiar, but that little bit of hope in her heart urged Marinette to take a leap of faith and accept. "I would like that. What time will you pick me up?"

Diana smiled, her whole face lighting up. "How does six sound?"

Marinette smiled back, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. "Sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow."

And as Marinette got ready for bed, she realized that all of the sadness that lingered in her heart since the breakup had gone away. All that was left for her to feel was hope for the future.

@maribatmarch-2k21

hiraeth (i).

hiraeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

yandere! don! giorno giovanna x f! reader. collab with @dear-yandere​. read part two here! do not re-upload or use our writing without permission. › warnings: isolation, detailed panic attack, emotional manipulation, and implied sexual relation. › word count: 10k. › art credit: spearthymint.

“You can come out, you know.” 

Giorno’s words are meant as a small but necessary push, but at the moment, his encouragements just come off as chiding and impatient. You know that’s far from the case, as he’s always been tolerant of your missteps and reluctancy when it came to anything involving him, but your nerves on edge right now. This goes against all you’ve been forced to learn, all you’ve been forced to adapt to during your time on this island. Time has always been at a standstill behind these walls, with countless doors you cannot cross and an expanse of ocean that reveals to you nothing for countless miles. In such a situation, most people wouldn’t be standing before their closets in dismay, scolding themselves over what outfit to wear for a date with their captor; but, you supposed you aren’t most people, considering the Don of Passione has taken such a liking to you as to keep you to himself. It’d become commonplace, and looking through the expansive closet almost felt normal, designer outfits tailored perfectly to your measurements, awaiting to be picked. Growing up in a country renowned for its exquisite tastes in fashions and its constant supply of talented designers, you’ve seen clothing like this in fashion magazines or in the windows of boutiques you could never hope to afford; but now, these pieces are entirely yours, free for your choosing whenever you so desire. Under different circumstances, you would’ve felt like a successful model, one that would make your younger self proud with your fine jewelry and expensive makeup.

What would she think of you now?

Giorno has reassured you that you’re welcome to help yourself to everything here, that it’s all meant for you anyways, that your happiness is his. You know he meant it as something romantic, more akin to saying that your happiness would make him happy by extension, but considering your unwillingness to be here in the first place, his sentiment made it seem as if your happiness is something to be taken, something you cannot control. His actions are no different, despite his solemn assertions that keeping you here is in your best interest.

You don’t bring that up to him. It’d… it’d break his heart, considering how far your ‘relationship’ has come. You used to hate him with every fibre of your being. Now, you feel almost giddy to have a rare moment alone with him. A morning date by the beach, something romantic, something personal. This is a first for you both. There was a time you’d dread being alone with him; that time is long past, it seems.

You’re not sure if it’s for the better.

Running your hands over extravagant fabric, you wonder if the day will come when you feel comfortable enough to try these outfits on. It’s a world that goes beyond your limited understanding, too luxurious to feel real. Out of everything in this walk-in closet, you’re drawn to the plain outfits, clothing entirely unbefitting a woman who lives on an island villa with her influential husband. Turtlenecks and long skirts or pants used to be your first choices whenever he’d visit, wanting nothing more than to keep his eyes off of you. You thought it’d make him want you less, view you as undesirable of his money and affections, but Giorno isn’t so easily swayed. He does love you, you can tell that much from everything he does, from the way he touches you like fine art to the way he puts your happiness and safety first, even at the expense of your freedom. Even still, the inclusion of such plain outfits in your wardrobe shows Giorno’s thoughtfulness towards you, considering the little things. While he wants nothing more than to shower you in expensive gifts, your comfort comes first. He loves that about you, how you can find happiness and comfort in the simpler things life has to offer.

But… will he be disappointed at your lackluster selection? You almost chuckle at your own worries, at how natural it all feels and at how foreign it feels at the same time. Choosing a proper outfit is what someone on their first date would be concerned about, not someone stolen from their life and thrown into lavish isolation. He hasn’t gotten under your skin that far, has he? And, do you even mind anymore? 

Shaking your head at the thought, you chastise yourself. Now’s not the time to be thinking about such hurtful things, you’ve had plenty of time to wallow in self pity. Too much time, when he isn’t here. It’s gotten to the point where his presence is enough to quell your lonely thoughts — you no longer dread being at his side. Not nearly as much as before, anyways. Because now, you want to move forward. One step at a time. It’s the only way to live right now, the only option he’s presented to you.

“Is everything alright, amore mio? Do you need help?” He calls out past the foyer, breaking you from your self-deprecating and conflicting thoughts. 

“Y-yeah, just a moment.” You clear your throat, heart racing at his concern. Even the way he speaks… the worry in his voice that shows even in the smallest of actions, you can tell he’s trying. He’s been trying to make your stay a comfortable one, even if it’s always been against your will. What frustrated you at the start now elicits fluttering within your heart, his care borderline touching. Every detail of your daily life has been considered, intended to make you feel at home, going so far as to be mindful of the way he conducts himself around you. He must think you haven’t noticed, but isolation has taught you to be observant. Observant of where he keeps the keys, observant of the pattern in which he visits, observant of what information he’ll let slip when you lower his guard just enough. These thoughts used to plague you day in and day out; they’d become your only hobby, at some point. And yet, beneath it all, he’d found a crack to seep through, someplace just wide enough to make himself at home.

His voice no longer brings dread.

“Sorry, I’m fine. I... I just don’t know.” You continue, aware of how much time has already passed. You’re still hidden in the closet of your chambers, so your voice is muffled, and he hums in response, perplexed by how long you’ve been taking to doll yourself up. You’ve never taken this long before, not with him; you’ve always been content to throw on whatever catches your fancy, even if it hardly matches, and leave your hair undone and your face natural. He never once minded, but the difference in your behavior is stark. It’d be concerning if you weren’t so easy to read, so he settles against the banister with a small, knowing smile. 

You choke back the spit that had been pooling under your tongue in your daze. You’re keeping him waiting. You’re keeping the Don of Passione waiting. You used to relish in the thought, but today, it feels wrong. He’s waiting for you as patiently as he always does, but today is something special, something special to you for once. Today is the first time you’ll go outside, past the doors of this villa. Today is the first time you’ll go outside with him, willingly. Today is the first time you’ll enjoy it. 

You clear your throat, pushing those shameful thoughts asid. The fabric of your tailored sundress feels foreign against your skin, featherlight and airy. The silken skirts feel too short all of a sudden, now that you were one step closer to being under his gaze. He’ll…. he’ll like it, right? It’s a silly question, considering he likes whatever you wear, but you can’t help but dwell on it. You almost want to cancel this date and throw up instead, the butterflies in your stomach feeling more like a swarm than a gentle fluttering. You lean against the closet door and ashamedly sigh. “Giorno, this… this feels embarrassing.”

He always knows exactly what to say to make your heart flutter, so his answer is quick.“Amore, I’m sure you look lovely. You always do.”

His tone is lighthearted, amused even. To anyone overhearing, they might think this is a conversation between infatuated lovers. A husband assuring his wife she’s just as beautiful as the day he met her, as lovers would. No one would be none the wiser. No one would know that this is the first time you’ve been past your chambers in weeks. No one would know that he’s kept you here for months. No one would know.

The ring on your finger feels heavier than usual.

Moving on is such a tricky thing. A minefield you’re forced to navigate, stumbling and failing at times. You wish it was as simple as offering forgiveness, but both of you know it isn’t that easy. He upended your life entirely, turned it on its head, and no amount of remorse or forgiveness can bring back what was lost. All those months spent away from your family, your friends, your job. And yet, today, he’s extending a loving hand to you, giving a second chance. A chance at true happiness, or the closest thing to it in this situation. After all the suffering you’ve endured, it’s only natural to seek some form of solace. You’ve denied yourself long enough, having shed enough tears to last a lifetime within the span of a few months. Forgiveness won’t return what you’ve lost, it won’t excuse what’s been taken. Forgiveness won’t change anything, but neither will hatred.

Now, more than ever, you want to feel normal again. You don’t think of it as giving up, at least… you try not to. Instead, you like to think you’re making good out of a dire situation. Anyone would do the same, right?

You step past the threshold, back into what’s rightfully yours.

“Ah, amore. There you are.” He looks up from his little reverie, a soft smile gracing his features upon spotting you. He chuckles and pushes himself from the railing, setting himself straight to properly greet you. “I was right. You’re even lovelier than the last time I saw you.” He says, laying a gentle kiss atop your hand.

You clear your throat awkwardly, trying to draw attention away from your blush. “You’re too much, Giorno. You saw me just moments ago.” You’re grateful there’s no stutter this time. You’ve grown used to his suave mannerisms, kissing your hand being one of the most common, but it still sends your heart into a slamming against your chest. He has a way with charming you, despite everything he’s done. “And surely, you say that to every woman you meet.” Your eyes flicker away from his, a brief moment of jealousy upon realizing how many beautiful and intelligent women he must meet during trips abroad. It’s a silly presumption, really, considering he’s only kept you on an isolated island, to your knowledge, but the brief bout of jealousy refuses to subside.

“My words hold no such lie. You are lovelier than the last time I saw you, as you always are. Your beauty knows no bounds, amore mio.” He cants his head to the side, his smile knowing, and tilts your chin upward. You’re forced to look into his eyes as he says such sweet words as easily as breathing. “And, I assure you, I only have eyes for you. There is no one I love more in this world, not even myself.” His lips travel downward to place a gentle kiss against the ring on your finger. “And there is no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, tesoro mio.”

The ring doesn’t feel nearly as heavy.

Gently, he places your hand back at your side and straightens himself. You give him a once over, secretly admiring his ethereal beauty. He’s well-dressed as usual, one of his many opulent and tailored suits hugging his figure in all the right places. The designs are immaculate and fine, grey pinstripes on darker grey fabric creating an elegant and put together look. It strikes you as odd to wear a suit for a beach date, but you don’t dwell on it. He’s a busy man, no doubt having had to clear his schedule just for a quick morning date with you. He’ll leave soon after, you’re sure, and for better or worse, the thought of being without him for another day hurts. You’re left without him for days at a time, and while you don’t always prefer his company, it’s been… comforting as of late. Nights spent by his side have become the norm, your head nestled against his chest as you sleep off the fine wine in your system. Pillow talk is something you never thought you’d indulge in with someone like him, but you’ve looked forward to it these past few weeks. At first, it was another tactic to gain information on him, but somewhere along the line, you began taking solace in his company. It’s all you have. He is all you have.

“That dress looks wonderful on you.” He compliments, enjoying the way the sunflower patterns on your sundress brighten your already-resplendent features. He extends his arm to you, which you accept without hesitation. The skin of your bare arms rubs against the coarse fabric of his suit, sending shivers down your spine. You must look like an odd couple, one dressed for an outing in the sun and the other dressed from a rendezvous at night; a reminder of how different your worlds truly are.

Once he feels you’re settled, Giorno begins leading you down long, empty halls decorated to the brim with tasteful vases, flowers, and paintings. You pay them no mind, their placements and features already burned into your mind from countless days wandering these very corridors, wishing for freedom. And now, what you’ve earned is starting to turn into a tangible reality. You’ve walked this path numerous times, having to stop when you reached a set of locked doors. Doors that lead to the outside world, doors you’ll finally walk past, hand in hand with someone you’re not quite sure you love just yet.

The pep in your step comes to a halt when you’re met with the familiar sight, the roadblock imposing. You almost forget that you’ll be walking past those double doors in a few moments, your body so accustomed to standing in this very spot and looking on in yearning. The shifting of fabric pulls you to reality as Giorno reaches into his suit, procuring a keycard and wordlessly unlocks the door. It’s a silent series of actions, the air growing heavy with tension. From how you tense, you assume he knows what you’re thinking, but doesn’t want to comment on it. If it’s for your sake or his own, you’re unsure.

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you. The sunlight is blinding, your eyes squinting and arm rising to lessen the impact. It feels prickly against your skin now that there are no windows to block the bright rays. While your eyes adjust to the unfiltered light, Giorno patiently holds the door open. This has been the desire of your heart, coveting the freedom to experience nature as you used to. 

You look over at him, for once grateful for how well he can read you. Even if you had the words to ask what’s on your mind, your tongue would be unable to form them. He offers a slight nod, encouraging you to take your time as you anchor yourself, a bitter tug at his heart that he’s put you in a situation where you need to ask in the first place. Inhaling silently, you gingerly step out, the ground growing softer. When nothing happens, you take another step, as careful as the first. Testing. Praying that this is indeed real life and not a cruel dream that serves to taunt you. How often you’ve dreamt of leaving this place, and it’s become a reality within a few days… even if the path does not lead to your freedom.

Sensing your inner dilemma, he takes a hold of your hand. The touch is light, not meant to constrict you for his own purposes. Should you feel the need to pull away, as if you had been touched with fire, you’d be allowed to. Months ago, you would’ve done just that. To spite him, and for your own satisfaction. 

You intertwine your fingers with his. 

When your eyes flicker back to him, you notice how his soft lips part as if in shock. Did you manage to surprise him for once? He must have never once thought the day would come where you’d willingly touch him rather than flinch away from his touch. But any cracks in his composure are immediately melded, Giorno giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. Without thinking, you return his smile, your sincerity as clear as day. 

“If this is too much for you, then—” 

He cuts himself off when you shake your head firmly, lips set in a straight line. You’d never forgive yourself if you backed down now, not after all the effort it took to get here. Now it’s your turn to gently squeeze his hand back, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “Let’s continue, okay?” 

Giorno doesn’t press the matter further. You allow him to lead you to a spot he mentioned earlier, though you can already guess where he’s going. The hypnotizing sound of the ocean draws you in, growing louder with each passing step. The loud calls of seagulls fill your ears along with the crashing of the waves against the shore, a sight you’ve missed from your time in Naples. You’ve seen it from locked windows, but it’s not the same. The gentle sea breeze, the tantalizing draw of an ocean without horizon; it’s a beautiful sight, even more so in person. 

Childlike glee fills you, nostalgia of trips to Italy’s many beaches flooding back. It’s different compared to then, no families enjoying their time together under umbrellas or vendors selling their goods. It’s far more private, as if the two of you are the only people left in this world. In your sheltered world, that sentiment holds some truth. Instead of filling you with the loneliness it normally does, you feel connected to him. Closer than you ever allowed yourself to be before, as if this small part of the world was carved out specifically to let you two meet. To let you two fall in love, a handcrafted Eden sealed off from the rest of society. 

Giorno watches, admires the way the sunlight hits your skin for the first time in weeks. You’re beautiful, the wind tousling your perfectly-styled hair, but you don’t seem to care. Your eyes are bright. You’re glowing, the same way you glow when you’re truly happy, the same light he’s grown addicted to over these past few weeks. You’re happier these days, more often at least. He’d begun doubting himself at some point, wondering if your sudden change of heart was a ploy to gain his trust or lower his guard. Countless nights spent watching you sleep after a few hours of intimate touches, wondering if what you feel for him is true. He knows he deserves none of it, not in any sense of the word, but the thought of betrayal hurts far worse than never receiving your love in kind.

But watching you now, he can’t seem to let those thoughts fester. Your happiness is genuine.

While you soak in the carefree atmosphere, Giorno bends down and picks a seashell from the sand, an idea forming. Imbuing the fossil with life, the texture changes to a softer one, bright yellow petals forming into a hibiscus flower. Gently, he nudges you toward him and places it behind your ear, admiring how it compliments your beauty. You blush, but don’t shy away as you normally would. Your eyes are still bright, curious and gleeful, and your lips upturn into a smile that rivals the ones you’d wear before he’d stolen you away.

“You should make one for yourself.” You speak, free of worries and with a hint of amusement at the thought of a great mafia don wearing flowers at your behest. “So we match.” You add teasingly, knowing full well how much of a sappy romantic he is. Matching with you should be sending his heart fluttering right now. Or at least, you hope you can ever have that effect on him.

Giorno chuckles at your suggestion. “I wouldn’t hold a candle to how you look.” 

Your face flushes further at how easily compliments flow from him, always from a true place in his heart. Any and all attempts to catch him off guard end like this, redirecting to praising you in some way. Not one to accept defeat so easily, you absentmindedly place your hand against the newly formed flower, thumbing the petals. The fibers feel so real against your skin, as if this flower was pulled naturally from the earth itself. 

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to see you do this… what else can you make, exactly?” You inquire, tucking your hairs around the petals to keep the flower in place. Giorno has always been keen on giving you vague explanations of his ability, likely so it’d be easier for you to understand. From what you can tell, his ability — a stand, as he’s briefly explained — is one of beauty, able to create life at the slightest touch. Gold Experience brought out curiosity from within you, one of the few reasons you started talking to him again. He’d turn random items into different creatures, earning your attention when you’d ignore him. Your favorites have always been things you can’t naturally find on this island, not without importing it from the mainland. Things like hibiscus, such as the one in your hair, or animals such as fireflies. Things you miss.

Before he can answer, you propose an idea. “Why not make like, a bunch of dolphins? Or great white sharks? Ooh, maybe even a blue whale?” Your voice rises near the end, like a child asking their parent for a new toy, and you collect your chin in your hand for further contemplation.“What else, what else...” 

His hand covers his mouth, hiding how his smile widens at your pondering. Giorno doesn’t stop you from thinking out loud, letting you ramble to your heart’s content. He’s never seen you this talkative before, the sight alone is too cute. Any thoughts about his work scheduled later that day are replaced solely and wholly with you. He’s never seen this side of you, yet, and he’s careful to take note of and admire your little mannerisms. How you talk with your hands excitedly, how your eyes light up and your smile reaches your eyes. It’s the first time he’s noticed you have a dimple, even, as he’s yet to see you truly smile. It dawns on him that there is a side of you he has yet to truly see. A side of you where you’re happy. But, does he deserve that sort of joy? Does he deserve you?

“What? Too much?” You smile and tilt your head innocently. “How about something smaller, more manageable? A... frog, maybe?”

He has his answer; he doesn’t deserve you at all. You’re too precious, too innocent. “A frog? Really?” He sputters out an indignant laugh. “I could make something much more interesting, you know. What about a butterfly? Some birds? Or...” He trails off, noticing the pleading gleam in your eyes.

“Please?” You whine. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen one. They’re so cute…”

“Frogs aren’t even native to this island, amore. Where would he go?”

“He can be my pet.” Your answer is so quick it nearly makes him burst out in laughter. You… you do have a point, actually. It’s not like you have any other company besides him, the rare occasions he does get to visit.

“Fine, but I’ll make it later. Something tells me you’ll be too preoccupied with him if I do so now…”, he laughs at the thought of you gushing at a small animal rather than him. It’s to be expected at this point, but he wants to be a bit selfish today. Just for a few hours.

You puff your cheeks out but eventually relent. The topic of a pet has been on your mind before, now seeming like the best time to approach it. You’ll hold him to his promise later, choosing to occupy yourself with possible names for your promised companion. It’ll remedy the loneliness you feel when he’s not around.

As he’s grown skilled in doing, Giorno redirects you. “Do you enjoy the ocean, amore?” 

Humming lowly at the question, you walk closer to the inviting waves, Giorno following close behind. “I mostly like the atmosphere. It’s fun in the moment when you’re swimming, but then I have to spend hours getting all the sand out of my hair.” You say, and he takes note that you’re quite rambunctious when it comes to beaches. Most people wouldn’t get that much sand in their hair, not unless they were practically rolling in the shallow. It’s a cute thought, but he doubts he’ll get to see you do so anytime soon. Maybe… on the next date, but he can only hope. It’s a miracle you agreed to this one.

As you approach the ocean, the sand slows you down, your feet sinking into it. When the water draws too near, you kick your flip flops off, embracing the grainy sensation under your feet. The sand is calming, a natural exfoliant against the soles of your feet and between your toes, sticking to your skin like sweat. It’s been so long since you’ve gone the length to take care of your hygiene past the basics, and coupled with the relaxing sound of waves hitting rocks, it’s calming. You feel at peace, finally. Your eyes close — content, the moment serene, as if you’re in a little paradise. You realize now is an opportunity to learn more about him, with his guard being lowered. 

Turning your head around, you mirror his earlier question. “What about you, GioGio?” 

He blinks at the unexpected usage of his nickname. You must’ve overheard Fugo calling him it sometime, but even that couldn’t compare. The way it sounded in your voice was intoxicating, compelling him to tell you more if only to hear you say his name again. He hopes you’ll say it again, his pulse quickening at the domestic implications. He gives some thought to your question before answering, pushing away the adoring thoughts. 

“To be honest, I never visited the beach often.” 

Even with all his mysteries, you were expecting an answer like that. In the time you’ve known Giorno, he doesn’t take time to relax. His mind is full of burdens and expectations, jobs that need to be done and the best way to complete them. From what you gather, it’s paid off. You overheard him talking to one of his men before, someone you noticed to be close to him. The nickname “GioGio” rolling off the man’s tongue felt almost laughable in the moment had it not been coupled with reserved praise for how far Giorno had extended Passione’s reach in only six months. Still, you don’t know if pity is what you feel, but it’s an emotion close to that. The only time he’s taken for himself is when he’s with you, and even then, you’ve always given him a hard time. It must be a difficult path, but it’s one he chose nonetheless. 

“We’ll have to change that then,” you assert with a smile, appreciating how the breeze kisses your skin. “I’d… I’d like to come out here with you more often.” 

The confidence you were hoping would accompany the words wavers, unsure if you’re pushing your luck. It’s a miracle that Giorno saw it fitting to bestow this freedom upon you even a single time — asking for more might be too greedy. But your fears melt away when his turquoise eyes soften, not interpreting your plea in a negative light. It could have been your imagination, but you sense a hint of guilt in them. Perhaps, regretting how often he has to leave you alone to tend to his own matters.

“I’d love nothing more than to do that, if you’ll have me.” He slightly bows his head, as if in meek shame.

You eagerly nod your head, accepting the extended invitation. Anything is better than being cooped up for ages, like you’ve grown used to, and if you’re being honest, his company isn’t nearly as bad as you once thought it to be. In fact, it’s almost calming. You used to fear how much power and influence he holds, as if the world itself is in grasp; but now, you seek it out. His presence no longer incites paralyzing, but rather feels like a warm embrace, beneath the composed mask he dons. And even then, you’d hate to give up this newfound freedom, however minute it may be. The ocean feels divine against your warming skin, Italian summers renowned for their heat. Venturing further into the water, now up to your ankles, you look around for any pretty seashells. Giorno lets you do as you please, watching over you with a content air from the shore. 

Crouching down, your hand runs across the sand to continue your search. You hum to yourself as the cold waters splash against your ankles and up your thighs, the sensation welcoming in this heat. The waters are bright and crystal clear, a benefit to your search as you gingerly pick up the shells that stand out to you the most. Maybe you’ll ask him to make one of these into your future pet, the thought an exciting one. The best seashell will be the one you hand to him. Or maybe, you can convince him to turn all of these into frogs… 

You look over your shoulder to find him standing just nigh of the incoming waves. It’s a sweet sight, how he draws as close as his outfit allows him, just shy of the waves touching his expensive loafers. He really is an uptight fashionista at heart. At that, a mischievous idea pops into your mind, a plan rapidly forming to enact your vision. Acting as you normally do, your hands continue to brush against the ground, and you let a dramatic gasp leave your lips. Feigning hurt, you draw your hand close to your chest, a muffled whine pushing past your lips almost unnaturally. Your acting has never been the best, but you hope it’ll do...

Giorno’s eyebrows furrow at the pained noise, and he steps forward without care for his outfit. He’s by your side in record time, bending down and reaching to inspect your supposedly injured hand. “[First], are you—” 

You can’t help but snicker, your free hand brushing against the top of the water and splashing it towards him. It takes a moment for him to process the unfolding events, suit dripping from your playful assault. More giggles leave your lips at his miffed expression, having never seen him look like this before. Not towards you, at least. It feels far more human than how he normally acts around you, that stoic and knowing mask gone for once. You’ve caught him off guard — a feat in and of itself. Not even his enemies can accomplish that much. Then again, you have the advantage of never being on his bad side even when you do things like this.

Giorno lets out a long sigh, muttering quietly to himself as the uncomfortable sensation of salty seawater settles into his otherwise expensive suit. “Sei fortunato sei così carina.” (You’re lucky you’re so cute).

“Hm? What was that, GioGio?” You inquire, too preoccupied with snickering at his expense to notice his words. He can’t allow himself to be upset with you, not when he gets to hear the angelic sound of your laughter. When was the last time he heard it…? It must’ve been a time before, a time long past. Maybe when you were interacting with your friends, or looking at something entertaining on your phone. Not even his little flirtations and tricks using Gold Experience have elicited such a carefree response. If this suit going to the dry cleaners is the cost to pay for hearing it again, it will always be worth it. 

He shakes his head, freeing himself from the heavy burden these thoughts bring. “Nothing. You’re not hurt, are you?” He already knows the answer, at this point, but it’s become a habit to ensure your utmost safety and happiness.

You don’t respond immediately, instead looking over his shoulder in a dreamlike stupor. Giorno is about to repeat his question before it clicks what it is you’re looking at with raw wonder. In the heat of the moment, believing you were in danger, Gold Experience Requiem had been summoned subconsciously. The Stand represents himself, his care for you that seeps into every aspect of who he is. It makes sense why he’d summon his Stand, even if he didn’t realize it in the moment. 

That’s not the problem here though. You’re staring at the exact spot Gold Experience is, it’s no coincidence. 

You look at the Stand with wide eyes, lips parting as you stand up to inspect him closer. He’d be a horrifying sight if Giorno hadn’t told you about his power beforehand. So this is... the personification of his soul? He’s never summoned his Stand in its entirety around you, only using its ability to imbue things with life. The realization that you can actually see it makes him purse his lips, uncertain of what to make of the new information. That means that you’re...

“W-woah,” you stutter out, reaching out towards the floating creature in pure awe. Your hand goes through it, like fog in the air. The Stand looks at you, perplexed despite its lack of proper facial features or musculature, its eyes glued to you as if in similar awe. “What is this, Giorno?” 

Giorno clears his throat, suppressing his worries as to what this could potentially mean for later. A question he’ll have to pose to Jotaro or Polnareff, he’s sure…. 

“It’s what allows me to create life.” He explains carefully, still unsure about how much information to reveal. Gold Experience looks down at you with similar curiosity, inspecting your person thoroughly. You’d be lying if you said it isn’t intimidating, eyes wide blown and seemingly staring through your soul. For some reason, you feel like it wouldn’t dare harm you. 

It draws close to you, gathering some stray pebbles from the sea. Wordlessly, the lifeless rocks turn into an array of colorful flowers, a circular vine holding them together. The Stand places it atop your head almost gleefully, careful to not hurt a single hair on your head. You hear Giorno draw a sharp breath at the display, perhaps not realizing his stand was capable of acting on its own like this. Gold Experience’s gesture is meant to be an act of kindness, a display of love. There’s no denying the pure intentions, even despite how terrifying he looks. Now knowing you’re capable of seeing it, the Stand looks at you almost expectantly, like a child waiting to be praised. Still beside yourself at the unfolding events, you gather yourself enough to offer it a beaming smile and soft ‘thank you’. He seems content enough with your reaction, returning to its user. Its eyes never once leave you, looking at you as if you’re the center of the universe, before it disappears completely from sight.

“I think he likes you,” Giorno clears his throat and hums, calling his Stand back to him. It’s a pleasant display, if not a tad embarrassing. What takes priority now is answering the numerous questions this brings to the table. “Do you feel anything… out of the ordinary, [First]?” 

His inquiry feels out of place, like you’re missing a vital piece of the puzzle. He knows something you don’t. It’s not often he uses your first name either, preferring to praise you with affectionate nicknames. Assuming he must mean your hands, you hold them up for him to inspect, showing all sides are without injury. When his expression stays the same, you wonder if he meant something else. Any other possibilities escape you, so you make do with what little you know.

���Not really, no. I’m just hungry.” you answer in honesty, squirming under his unflinching gaze. Your answer feels out of place, hanging from the air like loose threads, unwoven from its source. Giorno takes a few more moments to consider you, looking for dishonesty and finding nothing but confusion. You swallow thickly at the tense atmosphere, hoping you didn’t mess up in some way. Anxiety captures your hammering heart, and you shrink under his piercing stare. Giorno, quickly sensing your concern, returns to his typical expression, a soft gaze with an equally soft smile, only ever reserved entirely for you. 

“Ah, of course. You haven’t had anything to eat today. Come, I have food prepared.” 

Grateful at the change in conversation, you rush over to his side, warm sea water sticking to your skin in droplets. You don’t know what he’s hiding from you, and at the moment, you don’t care to find out. Nothing could be a worse fate than being locked up again for a transgression you didn’t even mean to commit. As long as that’s not the case, it’ll be okay. Lower lip trembling, you subconsciously take a tight grip of his hand. He looks down at the desperate touch, seeing how your smaller hands fit perfectly into his. Sensing the nervous air in your actions, he gives your hand a light squeeze, calming your nerves ever so slightly. Smitten by your actions, how willingly you still choose to touch him, he lifts your hand up and places a chaste kiss to your knuckles. You’re relying on him. He’s not sure what spurred the sudden change, but he’s going to enjoy it. It’s a modest showing that soothes your distressed mind. 

He’s not upset with you. You won’t be left all alone again. You won’t have to go days without human contact, sobbing and pleading for anyone to save you, to talk to you, to notice you’re gone—

“[First]?”

You don’t notice the tears that sting your eyes until it’s too late. The force makes you choke on thin air, searching for breaths that won’t come. The walls of your lungs are constricting into itself, your heart hammering so hard against its rib cage that you fear it’ll break through the skin and bone. Giorno watches with wide eyes as you unravel in front of him, your hand shooting up to muffle your mouth, the other latching onto his chest like a desperate prayer, begging him to make it stop, to make the thoughts stop, to make your heart still for once. You try to call out for him, to call for help, but the words lodge in your throat like bile and vomit. You choke on each syllable.

The weight of the world is crushing atop your shoulders, its jaws closed around your heart. Something is wrong — this is wrong. Your fingers tighten against his chest, wanting to beat against it, to hurt him, to make him feel the pain you’ve felt. You’re so close. He’s let you get close to him, close to his walls — let you tear them down. Weeks ago, you would have rejoiced in this. Would’ve used his weakness against him, would’ve fought back. If you were stronger, if you just weren’t so weak, you would have been happier. You wouldn’t be in this situation, clinging to a man who took you from life, clinging to a man who makes you question your own sanity. Everything — he took everything from you, and he still can. No matter how slowly you forgive him, no matter how slowly you give into him, he will always have control over your life. There will always be a disparity, a power dynamic — you will always be weak. 

You will always be trapped here, always wondering if you’ve taken a wrong step. If you’ve angered or bothered him. If you’ll see your family again.

Will it always end like this? Whenever something goes wrong, something trivial, something most people wouldn’t dwell on for more than a few seconds… will this keep happening? Will you break down each time? Will you always be this fragile, like glass?

Will it always be like this?

“[F-First],” he nearly chokes, gripping your waist to keep you upright. His heart breaks at the pitiful sight of you, like the air is knocked from his lungs just watching you suffer. He doesn’t understand what caused this, and his stomach sinks at the realization that this must be the norm for you. An underlying fear that things will fall apart with the slightest misstep, an underlying paranoia that incites the bitter bite of anxiety — because of him. Is this how easy it was to break you? Have you always been this fragile? How… how many nights were spent buried against tear-ridden pillows, crying until you doze off and wake up to another day with him? The guilt is overwhelming, the thought of you curled in your bed, surrounded by material things and yet nothing at the same time.

“You’re not alone. Not anymore. Let me help you.”

For all the times he couldn’t before, he comforts you, holds you like a lost child, soothes you in a way only a monster can soothe its prey. And you let him, desperately clinging onto the validation that you haven’t messed up in some way.

His arms close around the small of your waist, holding your trembling form tightly, scared you’ll fall if he takes one wrong step, scared you’ll shatter if he doesn't hold you together. Your sobs are choked, muffled against his chest, but the time of silence lets you regain yourself, the ringing in your ears dying down only to be replaced by the gentle lull of the ocean you adore. Your head is resting against him, those atrocious and lonely thoughts dying down for the time being, lulled into a sense of dubious security. They will plague you again, as they always do, but for now… for now, you’re grateful. He’s the source of your pain, and yet, he’s become the only remedy. It’s only when you pull back, hesitantly, that he releases you, his hand cupping your face. The pads of his thumb wipe away your glistening tears, worry etched into his face.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur with a pathetic sniffle, eyes avoiding his own. “I didn’t mean to ruin our outing. I’m not sure what came over me… I just, the thought of—” 

He shushes your self deprecating tandem, lips ghosting over your forehead in a gentle, brief kiss, stalling there with momentary doubt that he of all people shouldn’t be comforting you. He’s always had the patience of a saint with you, now is no different. Even when you cursed and belittled him, throwing crashing objects at him, he remained unshaken. This unshakable composure is a part of who he is, and, as much as he hates watching you fall apart for his sake, he is meant to comfort you. To console you, to make this new life he’s given you something you’ll come to enjoy. Your mind has been full of thoughts, self-deprecating and hateful, no matter how close he gets to you. It’s to be expected….

“You’ll feel better once you eat.” He suggests, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

You’re grateful that he doesn’t press the sensitive subject, whether it be out of shame for his actions or pity for your current state. Slowly, he leads you to a shaded area surrounded by hand-crafted flora, set up the earlier in the morning by his own hands. On the ground is a blanket, a picnic basket set in the middle. He helps you sit down, and takes his place next to you. This serves as a welcome distraction from the embarrassing display earlier. 

Giorno opens the basket, pulling out sandwiches that look different than what you’ve had before. They’re put together with care, ingredients dribbling out over the edge. A rather simple selection compared to most of the gourmet food you have here. When asked about it once, Giorno told you that your food is prepared by fine chefs. The quality of the food you had on a daily basis confirmed the fact. This looks different, more intimate somehow. 

He picks up on how you eye it. “I’m not the best cook, but I wanted to try it. If it’s not to your tastes, I’ll have something else brought out.” 

Your fingers brush over his as you gratefully accept it, a quiet thank you leaving your lips. His tone can almost be described as sheepish, and you swear his face looks a tad flushed. Waiting to see your impression of his food, he gazes at you with expectant eyes, trying to play it cool. 

Biting into the sandwich, you’re met with the taste of tarte jelly and savory peanut butter intertwining on your tongue. In a few seconds, you finish it in its entirety, much to Giorno’s internal satisfaction. His shoulders relax at your acceptance, not realizing how much your opinion truly means to him. He had to take care of himself growing up, learning the basics of food preparation for that reason. Much of it had been forgotten now that it was no longer required from him. 

You can’t help but giggle at his serious expression, instantly earning his attention. To hear such a divine sound so many times on the same day, was God smiling down upon him? It’s the only plausible explanation at how well this outing has been going. It’s more than he ever allowed himself to hope for, more than he deserved. 

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he tries to get to the heart of your sudden carefree attitude. “Is something wrong?” 

“N-no, it’s not that,” you hold the back of your hand to your mouth, attempting to stifle the incoming bout of laughter. “It’s just… I was picturing you making this, looking all professional, with a chef’s hat and apron. Heh.” 

Another bout of faint giggles, your earlier panic slowly dying away with each laugh. Giorno’s never given much thought to such things, it falls more into the territory or something Mista would point out. He doesn’t mind being the object of your amusement, not when he gets to see you radiating joy like this. Is it too much to ask for this moment to never end? Duty will call him away eventually, the thought enough to threaten his moral. He knows he’s in deep when he starts debating whether or not the meetings today really require his presence. Unfortunately, they do, as much as he’d prefer your company over greedy and corrupt men.

There’s a lull in the conversation. Unlike him, your thoughts are much less hurried, your thoughts full of thoughts of him who sits beside you, content to stare at the sky and admire the shape of fluffy clouds. Pointing out the ones that remind you of animals or other silly things, explaining to Giorno how they might somehow be connected. A story of your own in the making. Every last drop of your arbitrary rambling, he soaks in as if it held the secrets to humanity’s existence. His intensity in stark contrast to your lackadaisical approach, hands intertwined by your side. A connection between light and darkness. Your head rests on his shoulder, the scent of his cologne mixed in with the ocean air intoxicating. 

Perhaps… perhaps this is what Heaven is like. No. This is better. Sitting here with you, the early morning sun shining down on you both, lifeless and still in the sky — he never wants this moment to end.

“I’m actually a pretty decent cook,” you pipe up, your thoughts still touched by the tasty picnic he’d put together himself. Your sentiment interrupts his thoughts, a proud gleam in your eyes as you toy with the plastic covering that used to hold your sandwich. “Or at least, I never gave myself food poisoning. That must mean something, right?” You giggle, brushing it off. 

The thought of you cooking sends his mind spiralling. Flour smeared against your cheek, hands messy with the remnants of eggs and spices, a cute apron tied around your torso… since when did he become so sappy? It’s unfitting of someone in his position, not that he cares all that much. His enemies don’t know that you’re his greatest weakness as much as you’re his greatest strength, and hopefully, they’ll never know. He’s always thought highly of you, your recent lack of resistance serving to amplify the feelings; he wants to know more, to learn more, naturally, without the need to check in on you through the countless cameras scattered around the estate.

“I’d offer to cook for you, but I think whoever already makes the food is better than me.” You blush and play it off, noticing how intently he’s looking at you. Biting your lip, you begin to wonder if divulging this information to him was for the best. He seems awfully curious now. “Surely you’d prefer meals made by a professional.”

Giorno doesn’t think before responding with unfiltered thoughts. “You’ve made me curious now, amore. I’d love to try your cooking.” 

You look down at the ground, playing with the frays on the edge of the blanket. The difficulties that would accompany cooking didn’t come to mind until he gave credence to your words.This feels too domestic, like a loving wife cooking for her husband after he returns from a long day at work. Would he enjoy your meals? What kind of dinners and breakfasts would he prefer? What kind of treats? Does he want you to make meals each time he visits? Does he have a favorite, something he’d prefer above all else? You said you were decent at cooking, but you don’t have many recipes under your arsenal, at least not from memory. Surely he’d get you some cookbooks at your soonest behest, but with the way he’s looking at you now, you’re certain he’s expecting something much more homemade, something made entirely on your own. He’s never tasted your cooking, after all…. and with how long it’s been since you’ve cooked for yourself, you’ve forgotten if it tastes as good as you remember.

Not to mention, how many tools would you be allowed to use? Giorno’s taking care in proofing the estate of anything you could use to harm him, like knives and forks, which are only provided to you during meals. All the complications alone give you a headache. It serves to showcase how impossible it can be to fully relax in Giorno’s presence, your mind always in fight or flight. A survival instinct to preserve yourself under extreme circumstances. You’d like to think those restrictions would be lessened considering how close you’ve gotten with him recently, but you know him better than that. Always calculating, always prepared, always composed...

Absorbed in your flurry of thoughts, you fail to notice Giorno is closer to you. He’s always given you appropriate distance, stuffing down his own desires in favor of keeping you comfortable. You must have made for a pitiful sight if he’s approaching you like this, brows knitting together in worry over your darkening expression. By the time you notice the stark lack of distance, you welp and nearly back away in fright, startled to find that he’s only an arm’s length away.

“I’m not… really that good, y���know.” you let out a humorless laugh, gnawing on your lower lip soon after. The words can be interpreted in a myriad of ways, far extending past the context of this situation. Your hands ball into tight fists by your side, self-deprecating emotions overflowing. Yet again, you’re on the brink of tears, in what should be a lighthearted outing. 

He doesn’t look down on you, offering nothing but an overflowing well of understanding. Giorno’s touch is light, so light you wonder if you’re imagining it in the first place. His pointer finger goes underneath your chin, the pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles as he lifts your face up. His face is so close to your own, you feel his warm breath fan against you. Loose golden hair tickles your face, which flushes at his close proximity. His other hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the touch. Accepting any form of solace is your internal justification, but even that feels like a weak excuse now.

What this is… is starting to go beyond that. And it frightens you. 

“You speak so lowly of yourself,” he frowns, not chastising you but pointing it out nonetheless. “To me… I see all your potential, your strengths. You have weaknesses, yes, as do we all. Where others fall short in this regard, you excel. Bettering yourself.” His smile grows weaker by the moment as he recalls more bitter memories. “Even in a situation like this, you have the courage to smile and laugh, to see the beauty in things.” — to see the beauty in him.

He doesn’t mention that.

He takes a deep breath, not having intended to ramble this much. You’re in awe, having never heard words pour from his lips this fast. Giorno’s always given diligent thought and calculating into every aspect of his persona around you, actions and words alike. Everything was meant to higher your opinion on him or to lull you into a false sense of ease. This confession feels authentic, without ulterior motive. Like the confession a boy would stumble through toward his crush, not the love declaration of a man with power beyond your wildest imagination.

He speaks of what he believes, unfiltered or obscured by a hidden agenda. And, despite yourself, you accept it. You embrace it, having never been spoken to in such a way, not by someone who loves you so wholeheartedly. While you might not believe his sentiments on a fundamental level, it’s enough to still your weeping heart. The ache dulls under his words, pacifying you enough to steady your erratic breathing.

His lips hesitantly brush against yours, emerald eyes asking for your permission through golden lashes. When you don’t retaliate or relent, he closes the small gap between your bodies, lips fully pressed against yours. Despite allowing it, your eyes widen at the sudden contact as his flutter closed. Quickly, you melt into the gesture, tempted to bury your hands in his loose golden locks like you have time and time before. The feeling of your lips against his is still foreign despite having spent countless nights in each other’s arms. Those kisses have always been born from passion crafted by the heat of the moment, but this was genuine. This kiss is filled with love, with adoration, and with a sense of longing and belonging he’s never felt before. His composure unravels like loose threads, his hands tangled in your hair, urging your lips impossibly closer to his. 

You lose sight of yourself. Giorno is all that exists to you at this moment. His soft lips, delicate touch, and reassuring words. When your head starts to spin, lack of oxygen becoming apparent in the thralls of passion, you attempt to pull back. He seems hesitant at first, as if not wanting this sweet moment to ever end, but gives into your qualms. You always come first to him. 

Everything feels so warm and tingly. Subconsciously, the tips of your fingers touch your parted lips, in slight disbelief at the whirlwind of events. He kissed you so gently, so passionately, but your lips are reddened and throbbing with excitement and… trepidation. What… what is this feeling? What does this mean? The look in his eyes just now, the gentleness in his touch, the passion in that kiss… it was unlike the rest. Long, sweet nights spent in each other's arms had never been this serendipitous, this loving. Not… not on your end at least. Is that what changed? He looks at you the same way he always does, but has the way you look at him changed? And… to what?

Your head is spinning with the implication of it all. You know the answer; you know you know the answer, but you shoot up from the blanket, unraveling yourself from the embrace of his arms, and dig your feet into the sand. You need time to think.

“[First]? Is everything alright?” He pipes up from the ground. “I didn’t do anything, did I?”

“N-no!” The words lodge in your throat again. Did he do something? To make you feel this way… did he trick you somehow? Is this all a lie? It has to be. There’s no way you could be… “I just… i-it was sudden. I’m sorry, I just need time to think….”, you trail off, breathless. You see his eyebrows knit with worry, and a brief lapse of regret passes over his features, but you don’t stay long enough to dwell on it.

He watches as you start to pace the beach, never once throwing a glance in his direction. He knows better than to assume the worst, always having been patient with your frequent withdrawals whenever things get too… much. Today is a day of fresh starts, and it’s wishful thinking to believe months of trauma could be fixed in the span of a few hours. He’s willing to wait, as he always has, but the sensation of your lips against his is mind-numbing. He wants more, truthfully. He wants to feel that way again, to feel your lips melded against his, like they belong there. Like you belong here, with him. Seeing you react like this is jarring, a cacophonous jolt to the doubt he’d banished to the far shores of his mind. The betrayal and worry on your face is hard to miss despite your attempts to hide it behind a curtain of hair. You’re biting your lip, and even though he can’t hear it, you’re muttering to yourself, unquestionably reprimanding your actions and everything that led up to that moment. You shouldn’t have kissed him, you shouldn’t have let your guard down, you shouldn’t have given into him like that — sentiments you’re no doubt thinking.

And yet, he is happy. It’s a start… but he hasn’t the right to rush you into something you may never truly want. You have no options — to push or guilt you into a relationship, no matter how desperately he may want to, is unfair. So, he exhales inaudibly, stuffing those selfish thoughts to the back of his mind as he always does. Avarice has no place here, not when he’s already taken so much. Keeping his desires to himself, while never a simple task, has grown more difficult. Now that he’s indulged in you once, he wants to come back for more. To experience love as he’s heard described to him countless times. The kind where two souls grow old together, their love never once wavering; a concept he was never keen on believing, considering his childhood which left bitter feelings that tainted his views on love time and time again. All of that changed when he met you.

You are worth the wait.

“Alright, so tonight is going to be fairly standard. Arkham is silent, and there’s no solid leads on what any of the free rogues might be up to. Harley is sick and Ivy is stuck at home taking care of her, so they aren’t going to be up to anything on either side of the law for a few days. Catwoman is the only person we’d have to look out for right now, but her kleptomania has taken her out of the city for a change,” Barbara was typing away at the large Batcomputer keyboard as she brought all of the Gotham vigilantes up to speed on what to expect for patrol that night. “So, Red Hood and Black Bat will take the Narrows and surrounding area patrol route like usual. Nightwing and Batgirl, Upper east side and fashion district patrol route. Red Robin, you’re taking the route that passes city hall and through Old Gotham and Diamond District, and if you don’t throw a fit maybe you can take Robin with you. Batman, crime alley and Newtown patrol. Robin or no Robin, pick your poison,” the redhead offered, finally spinning her wheelchair around to look at everyone. “We’ll be pretty spread out tonight, but like I said, there’s nothing. No whispers of anything planned on the dark web, no news from any of the rogues, Blackgate and Arkham are, dare I say, peaceful right now. But if you see anything, I’ll redirect you guys so you can get backup ASAP.”

This was a rare night. Usually there was at least a plot or red flag to investigate, but not that night. For some reason, it seemed like Gotham had gotten a dose of sanity that it had been desperately missing.

“Actually,” Alfred took that moment to walk in, a slight pep to his step that seemed to catch everyone’s attention. “I do have news. Batman, you of course know that I have been keeping a close eye on Paris’s situation as per your orders, yes?”

Bruce, who had already been inching towards the batmobile none too subtly, suddenly stood stock still and slowly turned to look at his father figure. He could feel the eyes of his many children honing in on him, silent questions behind those orbs.

“Of course, I remember,” he confirmed cautiously. “You haven’t had an update for me in years.”

Years? Tim furrowed his eyebrows. That meant this had to be something that stretched very far back, because everything that Batman tried to keep secret from him since he became Robin had already been outed. Right? Well, he supposed there was always the possibility that Bruce could have snuck something by, but not a large one. Between him and Oracle, any new secrets he tried to squirrel away were unearthed pretty swiftly. So, most likely this was something Bruce had asked Alfred to keep an eye on at least back when Jason was still Robin. Maybe even further back than that.

“Yes, well you wouldn’t have appreciated any prior updates, sir,” Alfred said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. He always would be the one to understand Bruce Wayne and Batman the best out of all of them. “But this is a big one. I used our inside contact to check up on the Paris situation like I do every month, and this came up,” Alfred pulled out a remote from his pocket and clicked it at the computer, triggering it to bring up an article that likely had been hidden and only accessible via that remote signal. If Barbara had had any reason to check for hidden files she would have found it easily, but Alfred was good at never giving any hints as to when he was hiding something.

But what was on the computer was far more interesting than the all-too-familiar, cryptid ways of Alfred Pennyworth.

Because it was a news article from an online Paris newspaper. It was still in untranslated French, but nobody in that room had any trouble reading it. It was dated to have been published two weeks earlier.

On the cover picture for the article was a man that everybody also recognized, being high-profile and extremely influential in the fashion industry. Most of them had even met the man at least once, the aging Gabriel Agreste. In his early seventies, it was odd to see the man being herded into a police vehicle. He didn’t seem all that threatening, though he still struck an oddly intimidating figure with his cold glare and straight back. Being herded behind him was a woman of around Bruce’s own age, with long brown hair in several elaborate braids. Her dark, almost muddy green eyes bore into the camera and a snarl was on her face. Lila Rossi, the model that had been employed under Agreste for quite some years now and had turned into a sort of reality TV celebrity after she got too old to be hired for as many modeling gigs. She was known as highly untrustworthy, a lie monger and the most infamous gossip in the celebrity world. The headline for the article was;

“THE PARISIAN NIGHTMARE FINALLY OVER! AFTER THIRTY YEARS OF TORMENT, THE HAWKMOTHS OF PAST AND PRESENT HAVE BEEN ARRESTED.”

Underneath that title picture was another, this one detailing the Parisian heroes to stop Hawkmoth, who had been replaced years ago by his female counterpart Monarch, a play on the Monarch Butterfly. The Heroes, on the other hand, had remained mostly the same after the infamous confusion of the early years of Hawkmoth’s reign of terror, where Ladybug had temporarily started adding hero after hero to the team before mysteriously and suddenly retiring almost all of them.

On the right was Ladybug, who stood proud with her arms crossed and a somber gaze directed towards the two unmasked villains. On the left was Chat Noir, in a weird black leather costume that was like a bizzare yet fashionable meld of DiscoWing and the classic Batman uniform. Minus a cape or cowl, of course. Standing behind them, all fanned out, were the last four members of their team. Viperion, in a dark teal snake-themed costume. Ryuuko, standing next to him in a black and red ensemble with her elemental symbol proudly on her chest. Bunnyx, in her bright baby blue and white, and lastly the imperious Stinger behind them in her black outfit with gold accents.

As everyone but Alfred and Bruce read the article and examined the photos as quickly as they could, the eldest vigilante in the room slowly removed his cowl. His eyes were wide, disbelieving as they stared only at the two pictures on the screen and didn’t pay any heed to the article itself.

“Thirty years,” Jason remarked, turning to face Bruce angrily. “Paris has been under attack by magical madmen for thirty years, and you never told us? We knew nothing about this, and this has been going on since before us. Since before you, even,” he waved a hand at the screen angrily. “You know that they have been under attack since before Batman was even a thing, and you never said anything? We could have helped! The league could have—“

“Been a liability,” Bruce interrupted, but it was the uncharacteristic softness to his tone that ultimately shut Jason up and attracted everyone else’s rapid attention. “The league knows. The founding members, anyway. It was something I briefed them on back when we first founded the League, but we were careful to keep any mention of it off of any electronic system. The magic behind the attacks stopped any word of the terrorism from getting out through normal means. We pretended to put the JLE in Paris, when really they are centered miles out of city limits and never set foot inside Paris’s boundaries.”

“Why?” Dick asked, his own mask off so that he could glare into Bruce’s eyes without it obscuring his expression at all. He wasn’t explosively angry like Jason, but it was clear that Dick wasn’t happy either. “They all look to be your age, Bruce. Which means they’ve been fighting HawkMoth since they were teenagers, on their own, since before there was any Justice League or very many other established heroes at all to provide backup. And I get that HawkMoth and Monarch seem to have controlled or fed off negative emotions and a lot of us would have been liabilities, but there are Leaguers who have extreme control over their emotions. You could have gone. Or J’onn, you could have even sent Tim. Anybody to help even a little.”

“Paris isn’t my city, it’s Ladybug’s city. The League and most metahuman heroes stay out of Gotham because I asked them too, but I am not the first to have the idea that keeping other heroes out of a volatile city can be beneficial for damage control. Ladybug herself told me not to allow any interference in the situation,” Bruce braced himself against the back of one of their metal debriefing chairs, leaning forward so it could take most of his weight. That, and the way he never looked away from the photos displayed on the computer, tipped off everyone else that Bruce might not have stayed uninvolved willingly. That he had a deeper connection to the whole Paris mess than just keeping a shrewd eye on a possible issue.

“You know Ladybug?” Tim decides to speak up, leaning back against the desk that housed the batcomputer keyboard. His voice was decidedly softer than that of his elder brothers’.

Bruce nodded, still in an odd partial trance. “We met when I was on a trip to Paris, before I became Batman. It was twenty-three years ago, I was eighteen and found out the hard way about the situation that the rest of the world was somehow oblivious to. I was able to meet Ladybug during one of her patrols, and confronted her. Even after I became Batman two years later, she refused any help. It wasn’t until about a year before I adopted Dick that I finally decided I couldn’t keep worrying about a situation and people that I wasn’t being allowed to help, so I told Alfred to use the sources that Ladybug had given me back when we first met to check in on the situation every month or two. I know that it was not the best decision, making Alfred do what I couldn’t bring myself to, but by the time I adopted Dick I had mostly forgotten about it. I was too worried about trying to figure out how to raise a kid and then deal with raising a vigilante kid after that, for the first time.”

Silence reigned for a while. This was, essentially, news that Bruce had been waiting to hear for over twenty years. An outcome that he had been barred from being a part of. Talk about bittersweet, especially when Bruce seemed so passionate about wanting to have helped. Probably too guilty about not being allowed to.

In the end, it was Damian who made the connection between this news and his father’s foreign mood and behavior first. Or at least, he was the first to vocalize it. Cass probably noticed it sooner.

“You have feelings for Ladybug,” Damian somehow managed to make the declaration sound like a reprimand. “I admit, she is likely much better of a suitor for you than that mangy cat, but I hardly think that trying to start courting her again after so long apart is reasonable. She could have changed from—“

“I know, Damian,” Bruce’s knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the chair. “Trust me, I have spent more than enough hours contemplating calling her again to catch up, but I knew it was best to stay away. I had grown busy with Batman and the League anyway, and adding the time difference on there was no way any relationship between us would have been feasible.”

“So you cut yourself off from even being her friend. Which, might I remind you, I heavily advised against,” Alfred finally cut back into the conversation, hands clasped behind his back. “The two of you had maintained a perfectly stable long distance friendship for over five years, and I still consider the day you cut her off to be one of your stupidest mistakes, master Bruce. On an unrelated note, I received a call from the designer that you always commission your more high-fashion suits from, sir. She is coming to Gotham for a time, and I gave her an invitation to come visit for dinner tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind.” With that said, Alfred turned on his heel and walked away.

“That man never raises his voice, but somehow still makes you feel like absolute shit when he gets mad,” Stephanie mused aloud when the butler had left, earning silent nods from everyone else.

“How are you still alive, Father?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow over one vibrant green eye. “If you cut off Ladybug only to continue to commission the person that I assume is her civilian identity on a regular basis, how has that idiocy not blended into the rest of your life?”

“It has,” Jason added in, always up for a game of Rag on Bruce. “He’s just always had this annoying ability of surviving even the shittiest situations he ends up in. It’s like he has plot armor or something.”

Bruce only grunted, pulling his cowl back on. “Patrol. Robin, you’re with Red Robin today. Don’t kill each other.”

“Oh no, I want to live to see the girl you’ve apparently been crushing on since you were a teenager,” Tim said as he ambled over to his motorcycle. “Seeing THAT reunion is gonna be way better than picking another fight with Demon Spawn.”

“Tt.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Your tie won’t get any straighter,” Barbara teased Bruce, watching as he fiddled with the tie around his throat for the millionth time in just the past ten minutes. Alfred had made sure that he couldn’t escape this, even going so far as benching Batman for the night.

And to make matters worse, it was still far too early for patrol so all the Wayne kids were present. Stephanie had other obligations to see to, unfortunately, but other than her even Jason had come over to the manor to see the fallout.

“Master Bruce, she is here,” Alfred’s voice cut through the almost palpable nerves emanating from the usually stoic or charismatic man. Batman was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but neither was Playboy Billionaire Brucie Wayne. No, this was Bruce Wayne, as genuine as anybody could see him. And more nervous than his kids had ever witnessed.

The door was opened, and in stepped someone that defied any of the Batkid’s preconceptions. They were expecting someone suave, sophisticated, with hard-earned muscle trying to hide under her skin. Like a Wonder Woman type of person, bursting with strength except for when they made an effort to disguise it. But that was not what they got. No suave, sophisticated bachelorette of a businesswoman and reputable fashion designer. No goddess-masquerading-as-a-human. Not even a femme fatale like Selina Kyle or most of Batman’s exes.

But there was a distinct observation that the kids made the moment they saw her.

Black hair, so dark that it seemed to reflect blue in the light, and clear blue eyes that were dark, vibrant, and seemed to glow with intelligence and humor, with just the slightest gray tones that hid in them grim experiences and disillusion.

She had a smile that was eerily similar to Dick’s when she laid eyes on the family and let it spread across her face. It was like the warmth of the sun, and instantly made the impersonal foyer feel cozy and welcoming. But the sharpness in her eyes as she scanned over all the people gathered, more than she expected if her eyebrow raise was any indication, was just like Tim. Too much like Tim.

She came to a stop a few feet away from the Wayne clan, and rested one hand on her waist as she popped her hip out. Jason’s attitude.

Her hair was up in a simple but elegant bun, with a braid curling around the base of it. She was small, about five foot four if their estimates were correct, and the sleek sleeves of her midnight blue dress simultaneously emphasized and disguised the lithe, corded muscle mass that seemed to flow smoothly down her arms. Not a brawler’s muscle, but an acrobat or gymnast’s. The delicate silver embroidery along the sleeves and trim of her dress, and curling around her waist like a belt of thread, was in actuality a string of bats in various flight poses interspersed with silver swirls and tiny ladybugs. Her own playful personality, it seemed, something innocent and daring and subtle all at once that didn’t quite fit any of the kids, it was solely hers.

“I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the woman finally introduced herself, holding out her hand even as her radiant smile stayed firmly in place. When her eyes found Bruce again, they stayed there. “An old friend of your father’s. And by the way, Bruce. If you ever cut contact with me again without ever explaining yourself, I will not stay twiddling my thumbs in some other city again. I will hunt you down and get you to tell me what exactly possessed you to freeze me out, and only if it is some really good reasoning will I let you off without giving you a remedial lesson in the importance of dodging.”

Damian’s fire.

Dick looked over at Bruce, then at Marinette. She caught his eye, nodded and winked, and looked back to her old friend.

“But I do have to say, this looks suspiciously like a family we might have had if you had ever gotten up the courage to ask me out all those years ago instead of not realizing that I never specifically forbade you from visiting Paris, only heroes in general. You’re lucky I’m patient. I spent thirty years waiting to get back the Butterfly Miraculous and lock those two up for good, but making me wait twenty years to finally confess to you is a bit much, don’t you think? And adopting kids with only blue eyes and black hair is a bit on the nose, even for you.”

Scratch that, Damian’s loyalty.

Bruce really had adopted kids that reminded him of Marinette in some way, and the way he would grin or smile at Damian when he was displaying his usually subtle but steady loyalty, or the way that Bruce had almost unending tolerance for Damian’s stubbornness, it all started to make sense.

Bruce had tried building a family around the one he imagined he could have had with Marinette.

“Mari—“

“Nope. You’ve made me wait this long, you don’t even get a hug until after dinner. Then we can catch up, and you’ll take me out to dinner in a few days,” suddenly what was happening seemed to creep up on the woman, and she fidgeted. Sheepishness rose to her face, and she winced at her own words. But damn, she had imagined this day for so long, she couldn’t help but get assertive! “I mean, if you want to. I get it if you lost interest in dating me, but—“

“How about I set up a private dinner on the top of Wayne enterprises, day after tomorrow. We can even do a patrol afterwards if you’re up to it.”

His sons all facepalmed, some inwardly and some outwardly. Barbara groaned and Cass pinched the bridge of her nose. But, to their astonishment, Marinette’s smile just came back full force.

“Aww, you know I can’t resist the offer of a patrol. But just one, I want to enjoy some time off now that I’m not perpetually on-call as Paris’s main hero.”

Bruce finally grinned back, his eyes soft for the first time in a while that wasn’t directed at his kids. In way that they had never been soft towards Selina or most of his past flings.

“Just one patrol, then.”

“Sounds like a date.”

First attempt to upload this goofed and deleted the first part, so here is attempt number two! Again, Brucinette has been invading my dreams.

Apparently there is a part 2 now.

Hello love! I’m the one who wrote to you about the potential inspo for a story. Again you can throw it away or use it, it doesn’t matter haha. I just truly enjoy your writing so I thought that if anybody could make something out of nothing, it would be you. Anyways, I was inspired by the picture above. Oh and I was going to send you this anonymously, but then the picture wouldn’t have been saved (and I’m super shy about this lol, seriously I’m blushing).

Story Begins:

The world holds its secrets, and I hold mine. Deception is never formed by intention, it’s mere collateral damage based off promises and dreams of distant futures.

My dreams were based off my family at first. Based off my brother and mother. Based off the memory of my sister.. But that’s all in the past, and now that I’ve awoken from the imagery of delusional hope. I’m left to deal with the cost of my deception.

—————————————————————

“Mr.Kim, I see you’re yet to finish you’re meal. Oh my! You couldn’t even have a bite?!” The petite young woman shrieking at the untouched meal moved forward to retreat the “warm” mushroom soup that was meant to be in the belly of her boss by now.

With a heavy sigh “Mr.Kim” turns around in his chair. Face still in concentration from whatever is in his hands, he reaches toward his cup of coffee (the only thing for consumption that didn’t occupy too much time).

His secretary stood in front of him speechless at his lack of response. Yes Mr. Kim was young for his profession, his grayish blueish strands contrasting from the dark wool of his turtleneck, his glasses modestly framed to his face, and shiny gold watch that clung to his wrist all precedent to what would be considered a young bachelor -but no, instead this demeanor belonged to a top detective in the field of criminal justice.

From what Jisoo, his secretary knew of him, he was a very bright and professional detective. She was aware of his battle with prostitution rings in South Korea, who’s successful case landed him a job in the New York station of private affairs and criminal justice, where he also succeeded in bringing down one of the most influential law firms for the involvement of illegal transactions and drug smuggling. His work on the field had provided him with a private, yet comfortable life. Not long after his station in the New York City department of justice, he and a couple of team members were asked to work for the The General Directorate for Internal Security in France.

“Jisoo, I know we both were born in Korea, but could you please drop the formalities? I’ve known you for 3 years now “, said the heavy voice in the chair.

At this Jisoo felt a pang if guilt for her earlier charade. Mr.Ki-Na..Namjoon’s voice sounded tired. ‘Of course he is’, she thought to herself. He had spent the last 2 years and a half perusing an unamed organization whos’ motive was unclear, but actions centered around the illegal transaction of money.

“Jisoo? Are you even listening?” The young secretary looks up, “Sorry what was that?”

“I guess I’m not the only one who has had a rough day. I asked you.. am i not a nice person?” At this Jisoo meets the eyes of Namjoon without hesitation.

“What?”

“Have I been mean to you in anyway? Have I thrown your sandwiches out or made fun of those ridiculous pens you bring to work?” He asks with his eyebrows comically lifted.

Jisoo, finally understanding where he is getting at responds, “Not until this point you haven’t”.

“See! We even banter for crying out loud! If that doesn’t scream friendship I don’t know what does!” Namjoon is practically out of breath delivering his sermon on how good of a friend he had been throughout the past three years until it gets to the point where Jisoo has listened to it twice.

“Okay, okay! Enough... friend”, it’s not that she dislikes thinking of Namjoon as a friend, but more of the fact that she doesn’t perfer to associate herself in that aspect with any of her coworkers -much less higher ups. Her lack of attachment also has to do with the fact that back home, in the same position she stands today, she had seen a handful of her beloved coworkers in caskets in no less than 5 weeks of knowing them. However, despite all of this, she can’t deny that Namjoon has acted out the role of a bigger brother during her stay in France, especially in the sense of bringing her Korean food from one particular restaurant on the outskirts of the city. Their relationship has always been comfortable and despite his undeniably handsome features, there was no physical attraction between them... it was nice.

“Okay now say it with enthusiasm, as if you actually like me. Come on FRRI- “ all the sudden the phone rings. Jisoo turns to quickly take her exit, but not before she hears a curse from the man who was a second away from singing the friends theme song.

‘Namjoon i really hope you don’t come close to catching these guys’ she silently prays. She knows the consequences of bringing justice, she’s seen the red splatter that the name decorated itself with.

—————————————————————

“Joon this just turned from a fraud to a murder scene. We are not just talking about big investments, but the murder of two prime ministers and the chief of justice in Germany.”

Namjoon looks at his fellow detective and reaches out for the stack of papers near his desktop. “What did Germany say?”

Yoongi, his literal partner in (fighting) crime answers with a simple, “jack shit”. “They don’t believe it’s connected”.

“Then why do we?” Namjoon at this point is at a dead end yet again. This same secret organization has plagued his office walls, desk, and even bed for almost three years. It’s normal for a case such as this one to take time, but when your teammates and you are specifically placed in an international office for one specific case, it gets a bit frustrating.

“Because.. both the German officer and the Prime Minister in Bordeaux had their tounges taken out.”

“What!?” Had this been any other criminal investigation, this piece of information would not have surprised Namjoon. This however was not just any case, for the duration of his stay in France, and the additional years he was not assigned to this area, this was the first similarity between the crimes. Whoever these people were, made sure to not leave a single message, nor fingerprint, nor act of pride that would give them away. It was almost as if these crimes were committed themselves, and the world was forced to accept it for the time being.

OKAY IT IS GARBAAGGÉÉ, but hey if it works as inspo I’m all for it. Oh by the way, the first part is from jungkook’s perspective. When I initially started I thought about there being a mysterious “sister” aka y/n (didn’t plan out how or why she disappeared yet lol), and because I’m a garden hoe for yandere, I thought about making jungkook slowly progress into a ridonculous yandere. As you can see it’s a bit all over the place. But anyways, I freaking love your writing and throw this away or change it up or use it as it is, it’s all yours.

Ps. Love ya

Hello my lovely!

First off, I am so proud of you for being brave and sending this off of anon! I know how vulnerable that can be, so thank you really for feeling comfortable enough to do so!

Secondly, omfg you have skill! Like I was getting into it and I legit screeched when I realized there wasn't more to read! You did so well sweetie!

Moving on, I really enjoyed this, I don't think you realize just how much skill and potential you have as a writer. I want to read more please!

I do really like this as a concept, although I am coming off of an investigator Joon fic so I think I would need to take a break from that theme lol.

I would like to talk about this more if you're up to it, I think you should pursue this idea because it has great foundations. Let's talk more please you little genius you!

P.S. (ILY TOO 💜💜💜)

Challenge 74

Thanks for voting @winter-131! One easy thing you can do to encourage your friends to vote is just post that you voted on social media. It reminds people to vote, shows them that it can be fun, and makes them want to be one of the cool kids like you ❤️🤍💙 I hope you enjoy this Maxerica fight!  

America knew that she was Illéa’s darling. The nation, rocked by tragedy in the wake of the rebel massacre that stole their King and Queen from them, took almost feverish delight in the freshly-crowned King Maxon’s brand new marriage to a humble girl from Carolina. The tabloids made it look like a dream from the outside, but inside the Palace all America saw were threats. Advisers sneered at her naive policy ideas, etiquette lessons with Silvia took on a desperate tenor as it suddenly became America’s responsibility to gracefully represent Illéa to the world, and there were always more rebels lurking somewhere in the shadows.

Now that Maxon wasn’t dating dozens of other women at the same time that he was courting her, America’s relationship with her new husband was better than ever. Still, they didn’t see much of each other. Now on nights when he didn’t take her on dates, it wasn’t because he was making out with Kriss Ambers, it was because he was still at work. America loved him with her whole heart, which made it all the more frustrating that she still didn’t know him very well.

One of their first major galas as a husband and wife took place in the gardens, because the Great Room was still being repaired from the rebel attack. The celebration was full of politicians who wanted to talk to Maxon and look at America, but even though America was only expected to stay quiet and pretty, she used the evening as an opportunity to practice the skills Silvia had been teaching her.

America moved on her own from cluster to cluster of important people, welcoming them to the Palace and thanking them for all of their “hard work in this difficult time”. She was both bored by how easy her job was and convinced she was doing it completely wrong all at the same time.

It felt like she’d been at it for hours, moving around the gardens like a bland, bejeweled ghost repeating herself over and over as if her unfinished business in life had been thanking people for coming to her party. In reality, maybe 45 minutes had passed, and she only had to make it a little longer until dinner would be served and she could take a break. Then, out of the corner of her eye, America spotted a familiar face and made a beeline toward her.

“Georgia, I can’t believe you and August decided to come.” America smiled.

Georgia offered America a perfunctory little curtsy and then looked across the garden for her husband, standing and talking to a few interested-looking military-types. “And I can’t believe all the times we risked out lives for the chance to be able to live openly in society, and this is what we get.”

America laughed, “Not worth it at all.”

“Not even close.”

“Hey, maybe we should start a new underground rebellion.” America offered.

“People who hate parties?” Georgia smiled wryly.

“We just run away, hide somewhere pretty, and periodically release manifestos about how boring this is.” America giggled as she gestured to the scene around them.

“I’m in.” Georgia immediately agreed. “Except, uh-oh, that’s interesting…”

“What?”

Georgia stepped closer to America and tilted her chin up to point at something happening over America’s shoulder. “Emiliana Chrystie found Maxon.”

“Who… the actress?” America blinked, turning to look back at her husband slowly so that the people around them wouldn’t notice the new direction of her attention.

“She married her way into one of the most influential families in Illéan politics, a complete caste climber…”

America cast a sidewise glance at Georgia, “Is that supposed to be bad? What do you call me, then?”

“I call you the wife of the man Emiliana is flirting with right now.” Georgia replied casually.

America didn’t see it at first. Maxon wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, really. He was smiling, laughing at something Emiliana had said. She was playfully running a finger along the shoulder of his jacket, but just to show him something. They were probably talking about fashion. It was a little familiar, sure, but Maxon was just being friendly. And were they standing a little close together? Maybe. But standing around isn’t exactly a scandalous activity.

Then America saw it. Maxon placed a hand on Emiliana’s upper arm, leant in, and whispered something that made Emiliana blush and giggle. Not only did America feel embarrassed that her husband would flirt like that with another woman in front of so many people, but she felt stupid for not seeing it right away. She felt taken advantage of, because she’d made all of those excuses in her mind for Maxon about why his behavior was probably perfectly appropriate.

America was used to seeing him treat women that way because that’s how she’d seen him treat everyone in his Selection. Meaningless, shameless flirting from morning until night. Had the Selection groomed her to accept this kind of behavior from Maxon unquestioningly? Was that one of its darker, more sinister functions? She wouldn’t even have noticed what was happening if Georgia hadn’t pointed it out to her.

“Look America, I know that Maxon will be the first king in Illéan history not to take a mistress—“

“What? They all took mistresses?”

“All of them.” Georgia nodded grimly.

“Not Clarkson—“

“All of them.” she repeated emphatically. “I know Maxon’s different, but this is a party full of the old guard: important figures from Clarkson’s reign. They might not know Maxon’s different yet, which means the women are probably already jockeying for their position in a secret, second Selection to become the King’s lover.”

The look on America’s face must have been obviously pained, because Georgia was quick to reiterate, “Obviously Maxon would never do anything like that to you—“

But America wasn’t so sure. They’d never talked about anything like this before. She knew he loved her, but how could she stop him from taking on a mistress if that’s what he really wanted? He was the King and she was just his pretty little wife. She excused herself early from the party, claiming she had a terrible headache, and she let her maids pamper her when she returned to her bedroom.

America curled up in bed in her fluffiest robe and hugged a pillow to her chest, thinking hard about the last occupant of this bedroom, Amberly. The whole room had been remade after the royal wedding, but these were still the walls that had once contained her. Had she known that Clarkson had a mistress? Had Maxon known? Was this something very normal for the royals, like seven-course dinners and having a vault full of crowns? Had Silvia simply forgotten to put this in her etiquette lessons? Had she just not gotten around to teaching America about it yet?  

By the time Maxon made it to his bedroom next door, America had been alone for long enough that she’d moved from sadness to righteous indignation. She wasn’t here to be an ornament on Maxon’s arm, like a pair of cufflinks with a cute backstory behind them. She got dressed, put on her running shoes, and went next door to confront her spouse.

Maxon’d had just a little too much to drink that night, enough to make him giddy and make the hard edges on the world around him blur softly so that everything felt safe. Now he was in a pair of silky pajamas that felt especially inviting after the long day he’d had. He was tired in a pleasant way after a productive day with lots to show for his efforts. When America wasn’t waiting for him in his bed, he’d assumed it was because she’d wanted to sleep off her headache without being awoken by him when he returned upstairs. When she opened the door to his bedroom fully dressed and not at all sickly, it took him a sluggish moment to realize what was happening.

“My love? Are you alright?” Maxon asked.

“No.” America crossed her arms defensively. “We need to talk.”

“Oh dear.” Maxon sensed that she was unhappy, but his first thought was that someone at the party had said something rude to her. “I had thought, in light of the recent massacre, that the guests would comport themselves with appropriate sensitivity. What happened?”

America didn’t understand what he was talking about. She scrunched her eyebrows in confusion and replied, “You spent the whole night flirting with that actress.”

Maxon was taken aback. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. “Wha… the whole night? America, I most certainly did no such thing. I spent the evening currying favor with important dignitaries.”

“Emiliana Chrystie is an important dignitary now? So what does it take to win her favor?”

“America!” he was scandalized at the vulgar implication her tone carried. “This is entirely unbecoming behavior from you—“

“From me?! Maxon, you were flirting with another man’s wife right in front of me!”

“I was not!”

America cast him an incredulous look, which only made him more angry at the accusation, “America, I am not permitted to ignore the women at my parties. Yes, I spoke to Mrs. Chrystie, but I made absolutely no inappropriate advances toward her. How could you think I would do that to you?”

“Seriously? That’s all you ever did to me when we were dating!”

He frowned, “That’s entirely different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, America! You weren’t the only one I was dating at the time. Now you’re my wife, in case you haven’t noticed, and our circumstances have changed.”

She didn’t appreciate his sass. “How would you feel if I started flirting with the men at our parties? What if I leaned in and whispered scandalous secrets in their ears, touching their arms, laughing while making eye contact? Should I try it?”

Maxon grew sullen, an acrid tone in his voice, “Didn’t you already do that with Aspen?”

America knew that was still a sore spot with him, even though he and Aspen had been good friends ever since the massacre. Still, the idea that Maxon deserved to flirt to his heart’s content because America had snuck off with Aspen a few times during his Selection was the height of arrogant hypocrisy, and America needed to nip it in the bud right now. “You chose between 35 women, I chose between 2 men, and you’re the one who gets to have affairs now?!”

“Affairs?! America, this is absolutely insane. I have to be allowed to talk to women without being accused of having an affair.”

“Maxon, you weren’t talking to her the way you talk to men. You embarrassed me, it was completely obvious that you found her attractive—“

“So now I’m allowed to talk to women as long as they look sufficiently plain?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, you’re twisting my words on purpose.” America accused.

“I have to twist your words to make any sense out of them.”

“Maxon!”

“I’m sorry that you feel embarrassed, America, but I didn’t do anything wrong.” he said in a tone that told her that the conversation was over.

America narrowed her eyes at Maxon and made the last move available to her, “I’m going to spend the weekend with my mother.”

“Good idea.” Maxon said, though it was the last thing he really wanted. He hated being alone in this enormous Palace. “Maybe she can make you see reason.”

America couldn’t stand that tone in his voice, the one he used to deliberately communicate that he didn’t care what she did as long as she stopped annoying him. She turned around, left his room, and closed the door behind her.

***

America awoke the following morning in her bedroom at her mother’s new estate. Though Maxon had gifted the place to Magda, and America had never truly lived here, Magda kept a bedroom specially for each of her children at her house, even Kota. Downstairs, America could just make out the sound of baby Astra loudly “talking” to her mom and grandma, the cutest delighted baby sounds in the world.

America only knew one thing for certain, she would not let Maxon have a mistress while he was married to her. She refused to be humiliated like that. She didn’t really know what options she had, because divorcing the King was illegal and Gregory Illéa had probably made the punishment something stupid like execution. But she could probably run away, either live here with her mother or take up residence in one of the monarchy’s many properties scattered all throughout Illéa. Or maybe she could flee to Italy and spend the rest of her days as a refugee with Princess Nicoletta. That didn’t sound horrible. There were amazing concert halls and museums containing the most gorgeous art in history in Italy. It was enough of a backup plan that America felt good enough to crawl out of bed and stumble downstairs for some breakfast.

When Astra spotted her from her place on Magda’s hip, she reached out her chubby baby hands and said, “Ayayayayayah!”

“That’s pretty close to America.” James smirked. He wore one of Magda’s flowery aprons, spatula in hand, standing near the stove where he was monitoring the progress of a fluffy, golden pancake.

“Our baby can talk!” Kenna cheered, smooching Astra on the cheek. “She’s a genius!”

“Ayayayayayayah…” Astra replied, now focused on the flowers in the vase in the middle of the table.

“Well, she’s working on it.” James allowed.

“Do you want to visit Aunt America?” Magda asked Astra, but really she was offering America a turn to snuggle with the wiggly toddler. America held out her arms gratefully and accepted her cute little offering.

“Ames, let’s go let her crawl around outside before breakfast.” Kenna encouraged. “She’ll be less squirmy while she eats if we do.”

America was happy to oblige. It was a gorgeous, misty summer morning out there. Gerad was already playing hard all the way across the enormous yard, but he paused to wave to America and Kenna when he saw them step out.

America lowered Astra to the soft grass and the baby took off.

“The groundskeepers do a good job of keeping ants and biting bugs away, so all I really do is follow behind and make sure she doesn’t try to eat any sticks or something.” Kenna rolled her eyes at her sweet, stick-eating baby.

Baby Astra was already off on her own adventure, wobbly, unsteadily creeping and crawling through the short, plush green grass.

“So… you showed up unannounced in the middle of the night…” Kenna said, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Mhmm.”

“Is it rebels?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if it was?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…” Kenna didn’t press for more information. They just quietly strolled lazily behind Astra, watching her explore the world. America didn’t know how to tell her big sister that Maxon, who was beloved by their whole family, was also a shameless flirt who didn’t care that his actions hurt America. It was embarrassing, really. Why wasn’t she able to hold her brand new husband’s attention? It would only get harder the more he got used to having her around, right?

“No, baby—“ Kenna hurried forward and took a small rock from Astra’s hand, where it had been halfway to her mouth.

Astra made a noise of upset at being robbed like this.

“Dangerous.” Kenna told her daughter sternly, “No eating.”

Astra disagreed, clearly. She loudly vocalized her dissent until she caught sight of Gerad kicking around his soccer ball. Rock entirely forgotten, she changed course and started off on the long journey to the far side of the yard to play with her young uncle.

Kenna sighed, “It’s a miracle the human race survived this long.”

“Only because of moms like you.” America smiled at her big sister.

Kenna smiled back, proud of herself for joining a long, ancient heritage of women pulling rocks from babies mouths. Emboldened by her lineage, she encouraged America, “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ll never ever judge you, I’m always on your side.”

America frowned, frustrated, “I just—“ she shook her head, wishing this didn’t feel like such a big deal. “I don’t know, it’s probably stupid! But also—“

Kenna shook her head, “If it’s got you this riled up, it might be a lot of things but it’s not stupid.”

America started from the beginning, telling Kenna all about how Maxon had flirted with that actress at the party, how Georgia had warned her that Kings always took lovers, how there was probably a shadow Selection happening right now, full of gorgeous women vying to become the King’s favorite. How Maxon completely brushed her off the night before. Said her concerns were crazy. Refused to apologize or promise to change his ways. And how she needed a backup plan in case he took on a mistress, because America refused to share him in that way ever again.

America was surprised that Kenna giggled when America was done.

“That doesn’t sound like you’re on my side, Kenna.” America accused.

Kenna put her hands up as if in surrender, “I just can’t imagine sweet, awkward Maxon taking on a lover.” she said the last word with all the scandal it deserved.

“Well, he’s not just sweet, awkward Maxon anymore. He’s the King now. Things are different.” America frowned.

“Ames, did you tell him that this is what you’re scared of? Does he know that his behavior gave you bad flashbacks to his Selection?”

“Yes! Well, no, not the first part. But he knows how it made me feel, he just doesn’t see any problem with flirting like crazy all the time.” America was exaggerating. It had only been one woman at one party, but it was the start of something that could spiral out of control really quickly.

Kenna thought it over for a moment and then said, “Huh. I wonder…”

“What?” America peeked over at her big sister curiously.

“I just wonder if maybe Maxon doesn’t know how to be around women… I mean, you told me that he hardly knew any girls before his Selection. That means by far, most of his interactions with women took place while he was dating them. Maybe he really doesn’t see anything wrong with being flirty, because that’s the only way he knows how to be around women.”

America scowled. So now, thanks to Maxon’s sheltered upbringing, she’d have to share him with a harem of women? Would there be a race to see who could provide him with a male heir fastest? What if America only had girls like Anne Boleyn? She’d read about her in the Palace library, and her story did not end well! Would Maxon execute her so he could marry one of his mistresses?

“Ames?” Kenna brought America back to the present. “Don’t spin this up into something that’s bigger than it is.”

“I’m not.” America lied.

“Maybe Maxon doesn’t even know about the whole… royal mistress thing.”

“How could he not know?”

“Well maybe he doesn’t think you know? You guys are changing a lot about the monarchy, maybe this was just something he wanted to quietly let go of…”

America sighed and tilted her head back. She already knew she was going to have to go back to the Palace after breakfast and talk this over with her husband, even though all she wanted was to hide here with her family and snuggle baby Astra all weekend. She loved Kenna, but sometimes talking over her problems with her big sister was too helpful.

***

America found Maxon looking glum on their bench in the gardens. It was a warm Saturday, and since summer was the slow season for the government, Maxon had the day off.

“Ames?” he was surprised she was back, and she didn’t miss how he seemed to perk up just from the sight of her.

America jumped straight to the chase, still totally prepared to turn around and head back to her mother’s house if this didn’t go well. “Did you know that kings are expected to have affairs?”

Maxon blinked, surprised, “I beg your pardon?”

“Georgia told me. Illéan kings are supposed to take mistresses after they marry.”

Maxon shook his head mutinously, “Northern rebels don’t know everything, Ames.”

“So it’s not true?” America challenged him.

Maxon paused a little too long.

“So it is true, and you know it.” America sank onto the bench next to him. “It’s pretty messed up that you made me feel crazy last night since you knew full well that all of those people expect you to take a mistress soon.”

Maxon looked stunned. Finally he confessed, “I didn’t… what I mean to say is, I had no idea it was some sort of rule. I knew… I knew my father…”

America turned to him, jaw dropped, realizing what he was saying. He’d caught his father having an affair, but he hadn’t realized that was expected for Illéan kings.

“Oh, Max.” America placed her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Ames, I would never do that to you.”

America smiled, but she wasn’t entirely convinced, “Not even with a gorgeous young actress? I’m still eighteen, but what about when I’m old and wrinkly?”

He smiled wanly and pressed two featherlight kisses to the outside corners of her eyes, “I should be so lucky as to share a life with you that’s long and happy enough to lead to wrinkles…”

America’s stomach swooped at his honeyed words, but then she realized that that’s exactly how Emiliana had felt the night before.

“Maxon, you need to treat women the same way you treat men.”

“I’m sorry?”

“If a woman is a good friend of yours and you want to touch them, whisper to them, tell secret, risqué jokes with them—“

“I wasn’t—“

“Let me finish.” America insisted, and he fell silent. “I’m telling you that’s fine. But stop for just a second before you do it and make sure you’d do the same thing with a man. I think, maybe, you just don’t know how to socialize with women you’re not dating. You’ve never really had to do it before.”

Maxon let her words sink in, this time doing his best not to dismiss them out of hand. After all, the only woman outside of his family that he’d had much of a friendship with before his Selection was Daphne, and she’d walked away from him heartbroken because she’d thought he was in love with her. “America, you may be right.” he realized, appalled. “What do I do?”

America smiled at his lost little confused look, a startled princeling in a king’s crown. “Just like I said, try to treat them the exact same as men. It’ll take a lot of thought at first, but I’ll bet you’ll get used to it fast. Especially if you start adding women to your roster of advisers.”

Maxon looked down at his shoes, then squeezed her hand gently, “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Ames. I should have listened. I didn’t put it all together… the fact that those guests expect me to take a mistress, and the fact that I don’t behave the same way around women as men…”

“I know you won’t be perfect overnight, and I’m glad you haven’t secretly been planning to move your mistresses into the second floor—“

“God, no!”

“I didn’t know.” America blushed. “I just… after everything I’ve learned since your Selection started, I… I didn’t think you’d do it, but I just didn’t know…”

Maxon nodded grimly. He could understand how such a thing might just be believable to her. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Then trust me when I say that I will never, ever have an affair. You are my wife, and I am perfectly content with my choice. I’ll do my best to make that clear to everyone else, too.”

America smiled, truly feeling the sun on her shoulders for the first time all day.

you are still the sun that shines for me

part 8 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc | G | 3593 | [ao3 in bio]

Life couldn’t get any better. You enjoy what you do here, spending your life without regrets with the person you love the most. That is, until you meet her. The woman who still loves Theo.

CHAPTER 2

The remaining days of the exhibit pass by in a blur. Or rather, neither of you really feel quite like any of it is real, after that first day.

Theo had been so excited on the opening day, as he always is. Opening days were the most thrilling, after all: setting up the canvases, perfecting the gallery, letting people in, seeing the wonder in their eyes—Theo had hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning in excitement. The both of you left the mansion long before dawn broke just to prepare the exhibit space, to carry off the paintings out of the atelier to the gallery, hidden by pre-dawn darkness from the academie’s prying eyes.

And oh, the Academie! The time spent making sure everything was done right, that no one was going to let this out, to check the location, to clear the area of any possible Academie goons looking around… it was time well spent, now that the exhibit was opening! Months and months of hard work encapsulated into five exciting days for the organizers—the both of you—and the artists. Just like that, the rolls and rolls of gauze and a lot of hidden first-aid sessions from fistfights in the alley and the piles and piles of syrup-drowned pancakes and late nights organizing and reorganizing things to perfection has finally come to this.

It wouldn’t stand long–five days is the expected run time–but what matters is it stands. Five days was already longer than the not at all that used to be the norm when he started in this new life of his.

All of this—the excitement, the worry, the nervous satisfaction—had left Theo’s hands nervous and shaky. The sun was still out and he was fixing his tie in the candlelight, behind you in front of the mirror, with no avail. You took the chance to laugh at him (“Don’t laugh at me.” “I’m not laughing at you!” “You’re not laughing with me, either.”) before tiptoeing and pressing a kiss at his creased forehead.

Standing in front of him, just close enough to kiss, you carefully re-did his tie, humming gently. You were already mostly dressed up, with just your hair left to be done. He wanted to press a kiss at the crown of your heard and say you look so beautiful, but instead he held the words in with a thin crescent-moon smile he can feel all the way down his heart. The soft light in his eyes his unsaid I love you.

He trusted in your mind, your skill of reading him, of seeing right through his pretenses.

(He shouldn’t have.)

Because now, on the next day of the exhibit, he wishes he did. He watches you tie a ribbon onto your hair at the dresser, not meeting his eye even if he stares at you hard enough to bore a hole right through. He wishes he did, now that you barely spoke a word to him this morning, even if you’d shared a rather intimate night the night before night. He wishes he did, now that you don’t have even the heart to look back and see if he’s done his tie right today. He thinks of the way you’d pulled him down yesterday morning, his tie in your fist even though you’ve carefully tried to keep it unwrinkled at first, as you tiptoed to press a kiss on his lips, grinning wide when you got away.

Instead, the door creaks open, your hand on the doorknob; you’re not even looking at him. “I’ll just drink some water in the kitchen; I’ll see you in the entryway,” you say, rather blandly, and then leave the room.

The weight of his unsaid oh what would I do without you is painful and bitter on his tongue.

-

You feign sick on the day of the exhibit’s egress. Theo tucks you into bed and leaves. It feels way too easy, like Theo was also avoiding you.

You don’t know how long it’ll take before you finally get the courage to ask him—to talk to him about this. You know—the rational part of you knows things will be better, resolved faster, be easier if you’d just told him—but when your stomach goes into knots just seeing his eyes because you see them mirrored in the irises of a boy named after his brother, you are powerless to your fear.

You let the sight simmer at the back of your mind. You had thrown yourself into the business of the exhibit proper to actually think about this for the past few days, but today… today, alone in his bedroom, in the century you’d decided to stay in for him, you have all the time to think.

When he left this morning, you lingered in that goodbye embrace, not really wanting to let go.

The thoughts hang over you like storm clouds. Not wanting to be alone with your angry, paranoid inner voice, you settle for helping Sebastian throughout the day. You let yourself overthink when you’re lost in the rhythm of a chore. While hanging the laundry, you think, honestly? You’re not surprised to know that Theo had a family of his own when he was alive. As you’re scrubbing the dishes, you admire—you lament—how he’s capable, and steady, and charming, and has great passion for what he was doing. While smoothing bedsheets, you recall how quickly you loved him—you knew how easy it was to fall for a man like that.

Something green begins to seethe inside of your chest.

-

Theo is surrounded by patrons, in the middle of conversation with other art dealers who have come to visit (having heard of his prowess), but he doesn’t really feel like part of it. He feels like you should be there with him instead, knows you will be able to provide more interesting insights, but that was a luxury he could not bring himself to ask for.

“Monsieur van Gogh?” one of the businessmen call out to him, and Theo’s mind snaps back into place.

One of the older patrons laugh. “Tired? Forgiven, but only because we see your hard work right here.”

“Pardon, messieurs,” Theo says, fitting an awkward smile on his face. It doesn’t feel right. To smile. To act like he’s okay. “Where were we?”

“Monet, Monsieur Theodore,” a dealer named Desrosiers says. “We were talking about endorsing Monet.”

Theo nods, but only half-listens.

-

One of the better-kept secrets of the mansion is Sebastian’s collections of history books from the future.

Between that fateful conversation where Comte had offered to bring him back and ask him to work at the mansion and the door actually opening, Sebastian decided to do his best to prepare himself for the long-haul. A good move on his part, considering he was uprooting himself for good, into a world far into the past. Having been assured that all of the essentials will be provided to him in the mansion, all Sebastian really needed to bring with him was luxury items from the present: and he decided that a collection of history books on various topics would be the best option for a history nerd such as himself.

It was a secret (to everyone besides him, Comte, and you) because Sebastian felt like he would ultimately alter something inevitable if he had left his collection in the library, to the others’ prying eyes. The last thing Sebastian wants to do is mess with the history even more than the timeslipping of all these great figures already has.

For a moment, you consider tasting what it means to change history, returning to the sight in the gallery, but then you shut that train of thought down.

Not wanting to ask Sebastian himself about your relationship problems (as he was definitely more nosy than you’d want), you ask him, instead, if he has anything on hand about the van Goghs from the 21st century, where you both come from. At first he’s a little taken aback–you had said, “van Goghs”, and not, “Theo and Vincent”–but he quickly recovers and scribbles chapters and volumes and titles onto a sheet of paper.

(“You have it memorized?”

“Not completely, but those of relevance to the residents in the mansion, yes.”

That’s definitely more than just mere relevance, but you settle on thanking him and go find the books.)

You pore through the books with a dedication you’d never found before; the passion so strong you hardly really notice you’re doing it nearly entirely out of spite.

A book about the turn of the century has a short paragraph about the artists of the period. Gauguin (you flinch), Vincent, Toulouse-Lautrec. There’s no mention of Theo at all, much less his life. Relief floods you, but only momentarily. You put the book down.

You move to something a little closer to home: a book of influential artists across history–make a mental note to read this cover to cover the next time you have a chance to, just because of how useful it might be–and thumb to the end of the book to ‘v’ and find a short biography of Vincent. There is a mention about his having sold only a single painting while he was alive, thanks to his art-dealer brother—but then nothing else. There is no mention of his brother’s wife. You put the book down.

The last book is a biography of Vincent, lovingly annotated by Sebastian in pencil and with post-its from the future, its adhesive already giving away; you’re careful, making sure not a single one loses its place. The history fanatic has gone and marked the bits where history as you knew it diverges from the history this vampire Vincent knows. You thumb the post-it where Sebastian has written “gunshot” in his neat handwriting, carefully skimming through the page until you reach the arrow pointing at a paragraph that describes Theo’s death by what might be syphilis: worsened by the loss of his brother, weighing heavy on his shoulders, having been Vincent’s primary benefactor for the length of their lives.

The following text sears itself into your eyes.

His wife, Johanna van Gogh, worked after their deaths to establish the legacy of the van Gogh name.

You don’t really know what you’d expected to find, what you’d expected to feel when you found something, but you still are not prepared for the blow that hits you the moment you read her name.

She had no photos, no indication of anything else, but you see the beautiful woman in the gallery, so smart and proud and put-together, and you want to shrink into a small ball.

Would he be better off with her?

Well, no, because he’s left the Theo she knows, and now I have him, and she has no hold on him, you tell yourself, but your brain reminds you that you saw Theo’s expression in the young boy’s eyes and you’d caught her and Theo talking at the other end of the gallery, you just couldn’t bear to look more than the two seconds you’d seen them.

What did she tell Theo?

Did she recognize him?

What did Theo say?

What did he feel?

Why didn’t he bring this up to you?

Maybe… maybe for the same reasons you don’t bring it up to him.

Your hand, nearly on instinct, makes a move to close the book and put it away, but your heart is banging in your chest and you keep reading. Sebastian has no notes to supplement the text, just a curious “different?” written on the side; Theo has always been secretive, and it is unsurprising that the butler has been unable to unearth anything about the man’s wife. But you keep reading anyway, cautious as your mind blurs the space between history as you know it and the history you are currently living in.

You read about a night train home, Theo in a straitjacket.

You read about flowers she’d brought as a gift, and how he’d destroyed them instead.

You read about visits where he doesn’t recognize her.

You read about exhibits in Paris homes they no longer could occupy.

You read about graves.

Your heart is concrete in your chest, sinking deeper and deeper and making it hard to breathe.

You read the entire latter part of the book until there is no longer anything left to read.

Instead of full of the knowledge, the discovery, the things that make reading fun to begin with… you instead are empty, hollow. Like the text had instead carved something out of you; had taken it away.

With the vacuum of confusion sitting in your chest, you put the books back into their original places, making sure the wood keeping the wooden shelving hidden from sight is right in place.

You take the note from Sebastian and burn it on the flame of a lamp. You watch the paper slowly turns black, and drop it just before it sears your fingertips. Then you go to the garden to think.

-

Theo wanted the ability to say he didn’t go looking, but it was an urge he couldn’t really do much in resisting. Much to his—relief? delight? disappointment?—however, Johanna van Gogh-Bonger did not show up at the exhibit’s following four days. He confirms this fact with the logbooks, leather-bound and heavy, carrying his secrets, like how he inspects it so carefully now that you’re not around, when no one is left in the gallery, artists carrying out chairs and tables. It feels like a crime, the way he runs his thumb over her signature at the first page. It feels like going back.

And just like that, the exhibit closes without any other incident.

(Except it doesn’t really feel finished, not when Theo’s feels a hollow in his chest.)

He wonders what you’re doing back at home.

-

How long were they married? Was that their kid? Did Theo know? Did he choose the name? He must have, knowing him, but–

Does it make a difference about how much he loves me?

You know for a fact that the first person you should have gone to was Theo.

But you don’t, because you were too afraid to do so. Too afraid to hear the truth from him, and then maybe find something else out. Something worse. You don’t even know what that could be but it eats you up on the inside, clawing underneath your eyelids like a saltwater monster.

“Why are you looking so down, zusje?”

You hadn’t noticed Vincent coming out to the garden, lugging with him his usual art materials when he’s going out to paint. Perspective frame, canvas, a small seat, toolbox (with his brushes and paint), sketchpad, and some rouge. He also has a little gas lamp with him–so he must plan to stay out long. You’ve still yet to get used to Vincent calling you his sister.

It comes out of your mouth before it registers with you. “Can I come with you?”

“Of course,” Vincent answers after a short pause of surprise. You hadn’t answered his question, after all–and this was all so sudden. Everything is so sudden.

You take five minutes to sprint back to the mansion to tell Sebastian and to pick up a book to read before you’re walking next to Vincent. You volunteer to carry the little stool and his canvas (“it’s heavy!” “no, I swear, its not—Theo and I carry paintings all the time!”) and the two of you walk side by side. He’s on the way to the overlook, he says, to paint the city in the twilight, as night begins to fall. Now that you’re a little more knowledgeable about the art world, you get to have discussions with Vincent about art techniques, styles, and even other painters–you spend the walk to the overlook talking to each other about this and that.

It’s always lovely to lose yourself in art.

Until… you lose.

Vincent tries to steer the conversation toward talking about the exhibit, but noticing your dull half-answers, he decides not to push. He pats your head in comfort–his big-brother I’m here to listen if you need–and then returns to talking about anything else.

The both of you get to the overlook with just enough time to set up before the beautiful flaming red of twilight begins to cover the streets of Paris in a warm glow. You help Vincent set his painting materials in order and when that’s done, he helps you lay out the picnic mat he brought with him and–oh! Sebastian packed him sandwiches he eagerly offers you.

You like to watch Vincent paint. The time you’ve spent with Theo helping out with his art dealership work has definitely sharpened your senses about painting and art—and, naturally, you’ve cultivated an undeniable adoration for Vincent’s painting style as well. You’ve learned so much of art history—the Classical painters, Renaissance, the Impressionists… and you’re sure Theo is right in saying that Vincent is the genius of a new generation. Rough, and hurried, as if the moment he’s painting will disappear any second now. You’re entranced by his work. You’re entranced by him working. You don’t dare interrupt him during the process.

But when he pauses to let his paint dry a little, putting down the palette and the brush and the paint, you let your curiosity get the best of you.

“Have you ever fallen in love, Vincent?”

Like waking up from a trance, Vincent’s voice is hazy. “Me?” He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Not me, you hear, in your mind, filling the blanks.

Vincent turns to you, blond hair tussled in the wind, sky blue eyes wide in concern. “Why?”

You purse your lips.

Maybe you should have gone to Theo instead. Taking it out on his brother, this is just unfair of you, isn’t it?

“Did something happen at the exhibit?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

Vincent watches you pensively.

“Is it Theo?”

A tear slides down your cheek without permission, without you noticing, right to the ground. Your eyes hurt.

“I don’t want to know,” you start. “Knowing makes it harder. I wish I didn’t know.”

Confused, Vincent gets off his stool to sit on the picnic mat with you, wiping his hands on his apron. “Know about what?”

It takes all your strength to look up at Vincent.

“Tell me about Johanna?”

-

The sun’s long out of the sky when the exhibit’s egress finally finishes, paintings and chairs and tables stuffed into rented carriages and wagons to be brought back to their home in the atelier. Some of the artists are cheering and laughing, talking about planning to drink in celebration afterwards. One of them slings an arm around Theo’s shoulders, inviting him to join them.

And Theo knows—Theo knows at that exact moment what he should have done. He should have said no, I’m going with you, should have said we’ll go drinking some other time, you baiseurs. They will forgive him; they know how in love he is with you. They respect your relationship, and they will tease, but they will let him go. Theo knows he could have done better. Theo knows he should have gone home and asked to talk to you. Should have sat you down in his room, held you in his arms, and attempted to put the constricting feeling in his throat into words.

Theo knows, but he doesn’t.

Because he doesn’t have the courage to face you yet.

So instead, he goes drinking with the artists. Tries not to think of you alone to the mansion, sinking deep into the la thermae under the light of the stars, staring at yourself with that empty gaze in the mirror in his room. If you could even stomach being in his room, anymore.

He focuses on the sight in front of him: reveling in the artists’ conversations, brightened by the successful exhibit, their dreams of the future; their ambitions glimmer a fierce gold so opposite to the flickering light of the shady bar they’d landed in.

Being able to follow his own aspirations with you next to him has felt like that, so similar, to strikingly familiar in its brightness, that he’d lost himself in its light so easily, finding himself easily tripping on wisps of darkness he hadn’t imagined were growing from the source of his light itself.

And by god, I will stumble, but I will not let that stop me.

That’s what he always tells himself.

But how does one pick oneself up after this?

What does one do?

Why did this happen?

The alcohol burns a hot stripe, like a punishment, down his throat.

-

Theo comes home late that night, smelling like whiskey. You smile at him as if you hadn’t spent the better part of the day nursing the bruising parts of you. Theo kisses you goodnight and rolls over to his side, facing away.

(He hadn’t left you in your bed tonight, but with his back turned to you, you feel as hollow as that night he did.)

You let your eyes wander to the moonlight leaving streaks on the bedroom wall. You think of the woman who Theo kept coming home to. You think of children.

(“Be happy, even in somewhere I don’t know,” he had said.)

You close your eyes and dream of fireflies.

---

you are still the sun that shines for me is a 5-chapter fic that will be posted daily for the next few days! catch what else is in the atelier later on in this fic. :)

“Sesshōmaru, you could at least make an effort to not look like you hate to be here.”

His father’s voice had this uncanny ability to be both as sharp as a blade, yet warm like a gentle touch. It was a quality that his son had never been able to emulate. Not that he wished to, but a part of him wondered if in a few centuries he wouldn’t start to sound like that as well.

Sesshōmaru really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Less than three centuries old, he was in the full, fiery stage of his ‘teenager’ life. His desire for rebelliousness and to detach from his parents grew stronger with each passing season.

This also came alongside a lot of attitude. “Should I not say the same of you, father?” He asked quietly, not turning his head to make eye contact. The two just stood beside one another, standing on the perimeter of the large ballroom with the rest of the nobility that had been invited to the debutante ball held in Austria that year.

Many daughters and sons of the most prominent families in the world had come of age this century, including Sesshōmaru himself. They had been invited, and accepted to come under insistence of his mother. He knew she was hoping he would be betrothed to someone here, to reinforce the family’s influence in their home country.

He also knew that his father absolutely loathed each and every person in this room. And in all likelyhood, the feeling was mutual amongst the guests. Rumors spread quickly... families who advocated amicable relations with humans were frowned upon by the most conservative aristocrats of this world.

And individuals who indulged beyond that, mixing their pureblood with the humans and tainting the purity of these lineages, were absolutely loathed. But this was the nobility, and even hatred turned into something a lot colder and passive-aggressive...

... Such as, inviting said individual to a debutante ball with the very intention to get his only offspring engaged to another pureblood. Sesshōmaru had figured this was all a very political ploy. By giving him a consort, the demon society would basically make a statement against his father, “Even if you mix your blood with humans, your legacy will not. Your obscene morals will be rectified by the new generation. Your effort will be in vain.”

He very much did not like being used as a political tool. Yet, he did not support his father’s choices either. Even though he had never actually been with a human woman, the mere fact that such rumors could surface meant that his contacts with the weaker species had been too many and too friendly as is. How long before these speculations became true?

“The Duke will not be happy with us leaving until you’ve at least given his first daughter a chance.” Tōga scoffed, hands clasped behind his back while he watched the dances with the same detached golden stare as his son. “I’m sure you’re aware, she’s been trying to make eye contact with you for the good part of the past half hour.”

It was true, Sesshōmaru had noticed. But he had absolutely no intention to touch that woman with any of his fingers. The formal european clothes he had been given to wear to match the ceremony were far too exquisite for that kind of filth.

“I have no interest in a succubus.”

“Then perhaps you should tell her.”

That made Sesshōmaru actually side glance with irritation at his sire. Under furrowing silvery brows, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “If you wish to cause a diplomatic incident, please do so yourself.”

“Your mother would forgive you. Me, on the other hand...” The Lord of the Western Lands exhaled softly, shaking his head. He was about to say more, when another aristocrat approached them to engage into what seemed a boring conversation.

Alone with his thoughts again, Sesshomaru returned to observe the many pairs dancing at the center of the room, struggling to not just turn around and leave. By pure accident, he happened to look in direction of the Duke’s daughters, all cooped on one side of the room, giggling and chatting, while their eldest still stared at him with greedy eyes.

...It was then that he noticed her. In the back, just past that group, was another girl. A deb just like them, judging by the gown she wore. Yet she was different... for one, she looked like she was just as bored as he were. The way she avoided to make eye contact with anybody, often glancing for the doors to escape that place, gave away her wish to leave.

Her appearance was eerie... she appeared so frail and weak compared to many others. One could almost mistake her for a human servant, were she not dressed like that. But others like him could tell more, just by the scent that came from her. Blood.

She was one of those creatures of the night, that many feared and respected here in Europe. One of the most powerful bloodlines still surviving.

That was when the idea clicked in his head, to cross the room, walk through that sea of swirling gowns and jingling jewels, to proceed past the succubus who craved him so much, and instead stop before this unknown young woman.

He didn’t need eyes behind the back of his head to know that the female he had just so boldly ignored was glaring in absolute shock and livid jealousy while he addressed the brunette.

“... Will you dance with me?” He asked, calmly offering his hand to her. @roleplay-abiogenesis2​

Seconds,    ticking    off    the    clock Counting,    down    to    when    I    walk It’s    easier    to    go    than    to    stay Just    me    watch    take    that    flicker    to    flame Sometimes,    things    aren’t    what    they    seem Reckless,    that’s    just    what    I    need I’m    sick    of    the    habitual    games So    I    won’t    play

╰⊱♥⊱╮╰⊱♥⊱╮    Dainty    appendages    danced    on    the    glass’s    rim,    displaying    some    apathy    she    felt.    Did    she    want    to    be    there?    No.    She    didn’t    like    that    kind    of    convention.    Bordeaux's    optics    glanced    everywhere    except    at    the    influential    persons    there.    Ai    was    attempting    to    find    an    escape.    The    environs    were    asphyxiating,    carnal    appetite    profaning    the    oxygen    she    breathed.    ❛Futile    beings.    ❜    Thought,    an    exhale    leaving    her    half-open    lips,    pleading    for    air.    The    only    thing    that    seemed    to    entertain    her    was    the    grotesque    performances    that    some    people    were    making    in    front    of    her.    Refusals,    body    language,    everything    was    worth    to    obtain    decent    nuptials.    

❝Why    don’t    you    attempt    to    meet    someone?    ❞    Kaname    inquired,    addressing    his    daughter    &    placing    a    palm    upon    her    shoulder.    ❝Do    you    really    think    I’m    going    to    find    a    spouse    here,    my    beloved    father?    ━━━━━    The    way    people    behave    nauseates    me,    besides,    no    one    seems    compelling    enough    to    enthrall    my    noble    attention.❞    Returned,    looking    at    the    luna    from    the    lattice    that    was    next    to    her.    What    if    she    jumps?    Run    freely    in    the    luminescence,    without    shackles    to    keep    her    there.    ❝I    understand,    but    I    have    faith    that    someone    will    prompt    your    curiosity.    ❞    The    King    asserted,    watching    the    salon    for    a    brief    instant.    ❝Are    you    going    to    compel    me    to    marry    someone    I    don’t    love?    ❞    No    one    could    fall    in    love    in    one    night.    Convenience    matrimonies    were    often    a    failure,    leading    to    the    unhappiness    of    many    families    despite    economic    prosperity    &    perks,    despite    the    dominions    that    were    formed.    ❝I’ll    not    force    you    to    do    anything.    I    just    ask    you    to    open    your    heart.    Love    arises    over    time,    but    you    have    to    start    somewhere.    ❞    The    monarch    left,    leaving    the    princess    submersed    in    some    meditation.

❝Absurdities!    How    will    I    find    someone    appealing    here?!    ❞    The    house    she    represented    had    a    stupendous    prominence    in    Europe,    so    her    appeal    &    symmetry    hadn’t    gone    unnoticed    in    that    chamber.    Some    tried    to    approach,    to    entice,    but    to    no    avail.    The    suitors’    interest    fell    only    in    her    status,    in    the    capital    &    the    imperium  �� her    family    had.    One    of    the    purest    breeds,    one    of    the    ancientest    families,    forebears    of    the    vampiric    race.    Who    wouldn’t    crave    a    wife    like    her?    Forever    young,    opulent,    knowledgeable,    magnetic,    heir    to    a    huge    LEGACY.    The    immortal    maiden    was    the    last    pureblood    vampire,    consequently,    Kaname    craved    to    unite    her    daughter    with    another    equally    pure    man,    hoping    to    preserve    &    fortify    the    power    of    his    own    lineage.    It’d    be    a    significant    advantage    for    both    sides.    Some    people    respected    her    clan,    others    defied    their    lethality    &    ended    up    dead,    others    feared    their    presence.    The    stratified    society    of    which    Ai    was    a    member    wasn’t    cohesive.    Purebloods    were    at    the    hierarchy’s    summit,    followed    by    aristocrats,    fruits    of    relationships    between    vampires    &    humans.    At    the    pyramid’s    end    were    common    vampires    &    level    E,    creatures    worthy    of    being    eradicated.    Often    pure-blood’s    plasma    was    employed    to    slaughter    such    beasts,    along    with    silver,    magnificent    weaponry.

Elegantly,    the    vampiress    sat    in    an    unused    chair.    Her    hues    were    now    crystallized    in    the    crimson    liquid    inside    her    cup.    She    waved    the    vessel    to    see    the    fluid    move.    It    looked    like    wine,    but    it    was    just    water    blended    with    a    powder    that    helped    to    assuage    her    appetite.    A    guest    interrupted    her    thoughts,    impatient    to    pursue    her.    She    could    inhale    his    intentions    miles    away.    ❝May    I    have    a    word    with    you    Ai-sama.    I’d    love    to    have    your    company.    I’m    sure    we’re    going    to    have    a    good    time.    ❞    Orbs,    now    flaming    red,    faced    the    audacious    individual.    ❝Your    tender    words    tell    me    nothing.    Your    presence    isn’t    craved    by    me.    ━━━━━    Please    leave    me    alone.    ❞    A    sharp    resonance    was    implemented.    An    endeavor    to    ward    him    off.    Dissatisfied    with    her    reply,    he    left    her    alone.

For    a    few    minutes,    the    immortal    tried    not    to    make    eye    contact    with    anyone.    Ai    didn’t    want    people    to    interrupt    her    peace    while    she    waited    for    the    event    to    end.    However,    her    attention    fell    on    a    person    who    seemed    to    walk    towards    her.    It    was    a    tall,    well-dressed    man    coveted    for    what    it    looked    like    some    women.    Young,    imposing    and    with    an    uncommon    nimbus.    Ai    wondered    who    he    was?    And    why    he    rejected    the    succubus.    Wasn’t    she    decent    enough?    Intriguing.    

Before    replying,    she    remained    hushed    for    a    while,    blinking    &    admiring    the    Dayokai    in    front    of    her.    His    amber    hues    possessed    so    much    MYSTICISM.    What    intention    did    he    have?    Should    she    reject    him    too?    Cerise    gaze    dropped    a    little,    glancing    at    his    clawed    palm,    while    ashen    digits    put    a    lock    of    hair    behind    her    dainty    ear.    The    sovereign    was    a    little    hesitant.    What    if    he    was    like    the    other    man?    Repugnant    &    vainglorious.    He    was    asking    her    to    dance,    something    that    no    one    had    done    since    she    got    there.

❝Hai,    I’ll    dance    with    you.❞    Soft,    mellifluous    timbre    broke    the    taciturnity    like    a    zephyr.    Gentle,    pale    palm    fell    smoothly    on    his.    His    dermis    was    so    hot    in    comparison    to    hers.    Ai    felt    a    little    envious.    ❝Take    me    with    you.❞    Added,    bowing    &    letting    her    locks    conceal    part    of    her    countenance.    She    had    nothing    to    lose.    With    splendour,    she    raised    her    grimace    again.    ❝Demo,    If    I    may    inquire,    why    did    you    reject    the    duke’s    daughter?    I    feel    she    might    try    to    kill    me    at    any    minute.    ❞    A    giggle    left    her    lips.    She    wasn’t    frightened    at    all.    Most    people    in    that    room    knew    what    she    was    capable    of.

azula redemptive

so this isnt a full redemption more of a setting her on the path. azula is a character i kind of identify with. i grew up in a chaotic environment and learned to “play the game” manipulate lie and occasionally throw people under the bus. at first it was just a way to get through life but then it kinda just became who i was. i have gone to counseling etc but still occasionally wonder if my feelings are real or if theyre just what theyre supposed to be. i was lucky to have people in my life. my uncle irohs but she didnt seem to. here it is.

Azula was never the type for brooding, that was more zuzu’s territory. Tonight was different. She was tired. It had been a few years since the avatar ended one hundred year war.  she had barely kept track of the actual amount of time. In the time since however; she had not grown complacent. she couldn’t. 

Zuzu had become the fire lord and seemed to be decent enough at it. At least he was capable of not destroying the fire nation with incompetence. While they were never close there was a hint of something in her that could almost be considered pride. No. Pride was the wrong word the feeling was more that of acknowledgment. He and the avatar won and that was the end of that story. 

For a time azula was unsure of her place in the universe. She had lived her life to be the true heir, to be ozai. He was a wrathful and petty god and she was his disciple. 

“ Why was that again?” She pondered. “Well what else could i be? Zuzu?” She knew she was smarter than that.

Zuko was soft and too stupid to play the game, so she used him. Every misstep, every weakness was a way to save herself from being him. Did she ever feel bad about it? Perhaps a long time ago, not that it mattered. You do something long enough you get used to it and when you get good at it you start to enjoy it. Every maneuver, every manipulation was a victory and nobody played the game like her. 

“My shadow lord” a shaky voice called from behind. The cult of ozai must have sent him. They had been useful to be sure, but she hated that name. It reminded her of the darkness within her, the same darkness her mother saw. 

“Yes?” Azula spoke finally in an exasperated tone. “What is it? i have no use of any of you right now.”

“F-forgive me. I-I have come to warn you.” he stuttered as though he were shaken by the earth itself. 

“You? Warn me? I may not be the fire lord anymore, but i am still one of the most powerful firebenders of this generation. What could be coming that I need worry?!” That was a bit more intense than she intended, but anyone who knew her knew it was her default state.

“N-nothing that i'm sure you cannot handle, b-but as your loyal servant it’s my duty. The ozai followers t-they doubt your intentions. They believe you don't intend to restore ozai to power.”

That was a fair thought seeing as she had no intention of restoring ozai to power. She had used them to challenge zuko and make him grow into the strong leader the fire nation needed. He was soft on enemies, azula being a perfect example, and not wary of friends that could turn on him as they do. 

“Hmph, well I suppose i owe you thanks. Tonight you will leave and discard any sign of joining the movement. Live a life well or not it doesn't matter to me” she hated being in debt to someone. Azula could manage some over privileged fanatics, but knowing she’ll have to get her hands a bit dirty is nice.

“M-my lady i-i-i apologize i meant no offense.  please i-“ 

Azula cut him off. “ you misunderstand. Tonight there’s going to be a … discussion, between the rest of the group. Take this and go do whatever it is you people do.” She flipped a gold piece. She couldn't be bothered to remember if he was one of the wealthy members and what's one gold piece. It was his duty to her to report and that should be rewarded. Flies and honey; perhaps if she did that back then those two. NO we are not going there azula scolded herself. Focus.

The man was still sitting there mouth agape like a fool. Was he processing what just happened? Regretting exposing his comrades? If he betrays her and lets them know she's coming she will live up to the darkness that earned her the title shadow lord. 

“I don’t know what you are waiting for, but go. I have an appointment.”  Azula walked past him. Ordinarily any threat of a stanger betraying her and leading her to a trap would be subdued by their fear of her. Azula learned that was not a guarantee the hard way. Her shoulder aches like an old woman from ty lee’s strike. That wasn’t what azula had heard about chi blocking, but maybe this hit was deeper. 

“FOCUS” azula chided herself “her of all people.  Yes, I did use fear to keep them in line but I was good to her. I tried at least. There weren’t many who’s tears could get to me. Fuck, enough. You need to deal with these fools”

Azula had reached the door to where the cult of ozai held their meeting. A Modest wooded shack near where Azula was. It benefited them to be out of the way and not get attention. Azula paused and thought “alright put on the scary eyes” before making her entrance. You could hear the conversation screech to a halt.

“My lady! Welcome, what brings you? New plans rid us of your brother?” One finally broke the silence. The fool that was their leader before azula had seized control. 

The gaul to pretend like they werent just talking about turning on her. Did they know who they were dealing with? She was no longer princess azula daughter of ozai; she was the god now. 

“Its come to my attention that some of us feel breaking my father, ozai out of prison. Let me clear ozai was a fool who bit off more than he could chew trying to conquer the world. He’s weak now spoiled by everyone's fear of him he lost to a child.”

“You speak out of turn little girl. You wouldn’t be so brave as to say that in his presence!” One of them burst out. 

“Ah, yes the withered old man that has been in shackles for how many years?” Azula genuinely could not remember anymore. “I am a prodigy trained by the finest benders this nation has to offer. The bender that conquered ba sing se. Even with his bending he lost to an avatar that I beat. “ 

Azula wasn’t bragging. This was the fight. Subduing them without having to lift a finger. What happens when azula needs to lift a finger? Well, let's say azula would oblige in earnest. She could tell most of them had already seemed to understand. Any of them try something it’ll end one way. She’d won the fight before they could even try; perhaps she should write a book azula mused. “Azulas art of war”. 

The only one not to flinch was their leader. His smile from when he greeted her did not waiver. He must have something in mind, as he would have no way of defeating her in single combat.

“My princess, perhaps you’re right there is something unclear about our partnership.” He started, as calm as can be. “ you are a talented bender to be sure, but without your father’s backing you’re simply an unstable little girl. Your usefulness is only in name and furthering our reputation.” 

Usefulness? This commoner did not just reference her as a prop in their machinations. This was when azula began to get heated, literally. Around her the air began to warm until the air around her blurred like that of the air around an open flame. The room had become unbearably hot for the others, but azula the dragon she was, could handle much more.

Azula let out a sigh. “Unstable?!? Lets be clear you work for me! Not the other way around. I have seen and done more in life let alone for the fire nation than you will in what is about to become a shortened life!” 

Parts of azula began to catch fire as her rage seethed. Zuzu may have been a lame turtle duck of a brother, but he did show her the usefulness of adapting different bending styles. The fire on her crawled across her body into a sphere in her hands. Though the leader had prepared for a direct strike; azula had something else prepared. She slammed her hand on the floor and allowed the fire ball to be pressed on the ground exploding out in a circle around her. 

The cabin had caught fire and many of the cultists were sent flying into the walls and scattered like the insects they were. Azula had practiced that move for some time and understood why strong earth benders would use an impact like strike like that. It was an effective way to combine offence and defense, and not to mention oddly satisfying. 

Azula may have been willing to kill if necessary but leaving them broken was the better choice. She snuffed out the fire leaving the smoke cloud to cover her exit. That should be a clear message to anyone. Princess azula is done.

Fire lord zuko did not need his shadow lord anymore. Azula hated to admit zuko had become a passable fire lord. The land prospered, and while zuko is about peace hes is firmer on asserting influence in world. The fire nation is still a force to be reckoned with and she was as influential in it as the avatar or that slob of an uncle. There wasn’t much to do here. Azula wasnt sure what the next move was, but there were things that needed to be drawn before action could be taken. 

The palace at the fire nation capital. It was much like she remembered less a gaudy statue of her father. The way the paths lead by lantern fire flowed like a living flame. It was soft enough to have a cozy warmth like that of the hearth. If she missed anything the most of the old princess lifebit was how home loosened tension. This unfortunately was not a vacation.

Her brother liked to sit near the water where the woman and him sat. Only two kyoshi to guard him, I suppose if azula was an average attacker that would do. Azula could already feel the exhaustion this is going to come from this

She waited seated at the spot he typically stops at. 

“AZULA” ah that raspy broody voice is never, not funny. He growls like a cub caught without a mother. “What are you doing here?! Trying to cause more trouble for me to clean up? Trying to take the throne?

“Oh zuzu all I’m doing is sitting here. Come I wish to speak to you, as civilly as possible. I’ll even allow one of your fangirls chi block my arms.

A laugh broke the tension “that's even funnier the second time around azula” that cheery pitch could only be one person. Azula perked up in her seat.

“Ty lee, im glad you’re here too. Wait that sounded ominous. I mean the sight of you is pleasant.” Not exactly how she thought things would go they were supposed to be separate. “Well that’s best anyway it’d make the noodle arm treatment feel less awkward when it’s someone you know.” 

“Hey that makes this easy”  with two jabs azulas arms and therefore lightning wre off the table.  “I just want you to know. I am still scared of you, but that fear makes me want to stop it.”

“Ah-um ty lee… i don’t expect you to and ill understand if you say no but i'd like to speak with you after.” Azulas voice was gentle when it reached ty lee.

Ty lee paused to glance back. She was shaken at the thought. Of course she would be what else should she be? Happy? She said it herself she was scared of azula and you cant have friends with that or they betray you. 

“Lets try this one first.”

Azula was impressed at how ty lee could not only give a non answer and still leave someone hopeful. After the war, thinking through things during training sessions, azula had a new perspective on ty lee. Azula never doubted her prowess for a second, but being such a skilled people reader and least suspect of manipulation. She was everything azula was not and then some. Where azula scanned for weakness ty lee scanned the person. Where azula would use fear to bend to her will ty lee was playing the long game with positive reinforcement. Azula needed her to know that and more.

“There.” Zuko barked. “Now state your business.”

“Zuzu, you’re not meant for impressions, that was the worst ‘father’ i've ever heard. I'm leaving the capital and maybe even the fire nation. “

“Why?” Zuko was confused, what would be her next move. other nations aren’t helpless and its not like Zuko would leave them to her.

“What is there for me here? Zuko, youre the fire lord ive made my peace with that. You were too soft when you first got the throne, and while not all of my actions were always so benevolent; after a while it was about keeping you on alert dealing with the changing world. Making sure you had fangs. Father, ozai, had beat you to submission for so long and only at the end of the war did you begin standing.

“You think you were helping me? Training me in some insane way?!” Azula knew he’d be this way.

“Heavy lies the crown on the head of the ruler zuko. I should know i had it for a couple hours and lost my mind.” Azula chuckled at the memory. A foolish child who had nobody left to manipulate and nobody she trusted, of course shed crack. “You don't have to believe me. Im not sure I believe me. If i couldn't be the fire lord, I'd help mold him, I thought. You're still too soft with other nations in my opinion but you can manage. You’ve proven that.”

“And why tell me instead of just going?” Zuko had began to calm down, perhaps the avatar was rubbing off on him.

“The very reason i had to have my arms chi blocked. You fear me. Sure, you could fend me off with your friends but you know i am not something you would want to face. Now you know you dont have to look over your shoulder, at least not for me.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Zuko lowered his tone. If azula were plotting it could’ve worked here.

“No. I expect the next few weeks you’ll be on high alert. You’ll be upping security in cities and in constant communication with smaller settlements. Most importantly, you will be training. You Want to know that if we cross blazes, you will win. That is why i am leaving that response to an unseen threat? Exactly as a fire lord should be.” He won't look at it practically, at this point what is there for azula to be here. the only reason to keep this up is to take that throne, the one that broke her, it may be rightfully hers but she was not rightfully its. It was owed to her but she was not owed to it.

“Listen zuko, we’ve both seen ozai for what he is. The man who needed his teenage daughter to take ba sing se because he never could. The shortest reigning fire lord who faced an avatar that had only one year of training on the day he was at his peak. He called you a loser, and always asserted dominance because that was the only way to get people to not see the pathetic incompetent man with good enough luck to have me. Looking at you now he missed an opportunity at a useful tool.”

“People aren’t tools azula.” The father talk began to itch at zukos emotional scabs. 

“That was the way of the house, and you never learned that. You were too blind or stupid to think ‘whats the right answer’. That is why i was favored. Not luck, i played the game. Not unlike my friend ty lee, there did with me. She saw me.” It appears that azula had some scabs still too. She felt like her skin was raw and each word was hard to spit out.

“It doesnt matter” she took a breath “it would shame the fire nation anyway having to change leaders every few years. Just take my words and do what you will with them.”  Azula was done, this had already been more a spectacle than she cared for. 

“Ok, now what you stroll out the front door? We should take you in. That’d interrupt your trip. What now?”

“Oh zuzu, you are so on guard still. Good. I’ve an exit lined up out if the way so nobody questions my presence. If you take me in? Why? So i can escape THEN leave? Just extra steps. I dont mind waiting however. I think we both got something from this conversation.”

The air was warm. Unseasonably warm, its him. Azula wondered if this was coincidence or if he made hes own version of her technique. Now azula was tense. Impressive brother, but these are your options. 

Finally, a high pitched intervention. “Uhum, fire lord zuko she also wanted to have a talk with me too. Maybe while you think about what to do with her I can see what she wants to say.” 

“Are you sure? If she tries something.” Big brother of the year hm. Hopefully mai watches her back azula mused. 

“Zuko im a big girl. Plus you’ll be in holler distance. Just keep an eye out.” Ty lee turned to azula. “Im going to sit next to you now, and if you try to bend at me or kick me i will be very upset.” There it was. Azula looked in awe at how she managed to channel a determined child while making it clear there will be consequences for any transgressions. Azula truly was a fool like her father before her, failing to see what’s right in front of her.

“Hi azula. You wanted to talk?” She tried to keep the pep but ty lee couldn’t help but be nervous. Azula was one Of the most dangerous people in the fire nation. 

“I did. Thank you. Even though you know there’s a chance i could actually be up to something leading to you or something or someone you care about because all youve ever seen from me is wrath. So, thank you.”

“Ppft, im sorry azula I really am and you’re right i wasnt sure but that awkward rambling reminded me of that day at the beach.”

“ARE YOU MOCKING ME?! I came here and let you chi block me. Do yoy you know what this feels like? Limp noodles where my arms should be.”

“No, no, azula i swear it just shows there's still some of the good in you. Your aura is less vlack more a...deep watertribe navy blue. Theres also the temper still i see” ty lee tried not to give azula a reason to get heated. 

“Oh. I see. Well regardless of the context tgat was rude”

“Yes it was, sorry.” She gave azula the eyes that always got to her. 

“Its fine. I may have also been a tiny bit intense there.” Azula hated this. She was a prodigy. Which meant apologies and social interaction were unnecessary. 

“Ok. Lets try again. ‘Now state your business’” imitating zukos growl of a voice. It got a genuine laugh iut of azula. It had been a while since she laughed at all. 

“How do you do that? Just lull people into a state of placation and lowering their guards.” Azula regrouped.

“Its not a trick like you said. Well, mostly not. I do watch people and learn what i can, but its so i dont do anything to start upsetting people. And the rest is just i have a calming aura” 

“So you’re just a pure sweet roll in this terrible world?” Azula was proud. She made a quip that didnt sound threatening. That practice wasnt for nothing at least.

“I dont know about that. All I do know is that if we try the world doesn’t have to be terrible.  You’ve changed azula. I can see it. Not just your aura either. You meant at least half of what you said i can feel it.”

“Half? That's more generous than i would be in your shoes. I appreciate that and would love to girl talk i think time’s coming so ill jump to it. I want you to know the same as zuzu. I dont have plans for revenge for the prison. I also wanted to say… im sorry. You may have noticed my opinion of my father has changed and as his heir, his duplicate its making me think i need to redefine me. Clearly our way didnt work. I held you and mai by a leash and when it came down to it who do you side with the leash wearer or holder. I’m sorry it happened that way and what it’s probably done since, but there it is. 

Ty lee remained silent.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me or even believe me. I just thought, you of all people deserved that much even from a monster like me.” The silence coming from ty lee was worse than any words she could have said. Each second of waiting for any kind of reply was tourture. Ty lee was never the silent type, so as expected she probably won’t accept it. That's fine azula didnt need her to; she didn’t need her or anyone for that matter. Beasts dont always have packs, especially the most vicious ones. 

Ty lee stood up and took a few paces. Azula watched and simply thought ‘there she goes. She may be giving azula an out as a courtesy, ehich is more than she expected.

“You're not a monster.”  Ty lee's silence finally broke. Her tone was quiet and somber. 

“Youre not a good person. Youre Probably one of the worst friends I’ve had, but we were friends. I dont know how much to believe you, but you’ve apologized for hurting my feelings before in more casual moments. The time away may be good for you. I tell you what, I’ll accept your apology for the both of us. I’ll know i gave you one last shred of trust and if how things ended truly bothered you it can stop now.”

Azula was stunned. She shouldn’t have been. That reaction was as textbook as azula threatening a subordinate. Azula should be a little more at peace now, but she isnt. It hurts. Here was a kind strong woman who managed to make something of herself and azula was nothing anymore. A vagrant who couldn’t do what she was raised to do for a few hours. Kindness and compassion were underused thongs for azula but clearly they’re good for something. 

“Ty lee” azula choked on the words. How pathetic. How embarrassing. On the verge of tears because she was not a monster to ty lee. 

“ thank you ty lee. I didnt and still don’t deserve your friendship, but i think you did something to me. I dont know what, but something. You may go if you wish. I think i want to wait and see what zuko has to say”

“I’ll put in a good word for you. You called him ‘zuko’ most of the time you talked to him. You're a bit confusing right now but I think that might be a good thing.”

“Ha, oh ty lee you have too much faith in people. I could still be the monster in your closet. Don't ever change that.” Azula needed everything in her to not cry, not in front of them. Not again. Never again

Ty lee turned back to face azula. “And you have too little faith. That's ok though, i may not need to change but I really hope you are.” She smile md at azula. It was a soft smile like the glow of a candle in the night and just as warm. How she could manage a real smile towards azula was beyond her. It was beautiful and it had a way of crushing azula. 

Ty lee was gone. Not far, as zuko still had to be in the garden somewhere. Azula was glad for that she could breath and focus on the next hurdle. Getting out with noodle arms would be difficult but not impossible. They were so put at ease about the arms they didnt think of any attacks she could do with her legs. If it came down to it she would set enough of a blaze to keep them occupied and run to her escape location. 

Zuko and the others returned. He had a stoney look on his face more grim than broody. Azula cant be surprised its bad news, but it was less than ideal. Ty lee stood next to him. Had she kept her word and gave her a chance? Or was that just to encourage me to stay. She had been bitten once and was twice as shy nowadays.

“Ty lee mentioned your talk went well. Im glad you didnt try to kick or bite her.”

“Zuzu, what do you take me for a platypus bear or something?”

“Or something” zuko remarked. It was a fair enough jab azula decided. 

“She told me you seem lost in the world. If this is true, we can help. Theres the beach house so you dont have to interact with people unless you want to. We can get you treated like someone in our family should be. You can help us do good for a change.”

“Where do you people get this faith?! I do not intend on being a ward or high end prisoner. I do not belong here, and cannot promise you I’ll be what you want. For all we know i'll turn on you like i have a dozen times over.” Azula could not tell if he really was that foolish or if she should be offended at the patronizing proposition. “No, if im to become something, someone, else it has to be away from here.

Zuko stood silent for a moment. “Very well, but i want you to know that any action against a fire nation citizen is an action on me. the way you and i have been going for years seems to only have one end so i hope you mean all of this. You may go on the condition a kyoshi warrior shadows you for a while.”

“The ones in the elaborate dresses, white, make up and golden fans? Im sure theyll be like a shadow in the night. Though I suppose it could be worse. If i get left alone they will be left alone, just so we’re clear.” Azula hated being followed, but if its just for a while she can put up with it. 

“They’ll watch and see if you're just up to old tricks. You'll get a head start and they'll catch up so you won't be sure they are present. If they determine youre no longer a threat they will leave you.”

“Interesting proposal Zuko spoken like a benevolent leader. I accept.” Azula stood up, and was a little off balance because of the arms but they began to come back to her. “I… suppose that's it then brother. I’ll do you a favor and make it so my way in cannot be used again. We may not see eachother again, so farewell. remember, you are the dragon not some toothless herbivore. Dont embarrass us.” There was an awkward melancholy to azulas voice. They were never siblings in the traditional sense and she did try to kill him. A lot. Still, it’ll be sad to not get under his skin anymore even just a little. 

“Goodbye azula. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for. If all of this is true my offer will stand.” 

Azula had nothing to say. She couldn’t. She fully intends to be gone, and yet he leaves the door open? It’s embarrassing, its offensive, and somehow its cruel. Azula living the rest of her days in a place designed to make her complacent? No. She may not want the throne but she will not be a pet.” 

Azula nodded and walked away. He was as good a brother as you could get in this family and she was as bad a sister as you could get in this family. That bridge is burned whether he realizes or not. 

Now all that was left for azula was to decide where to go. That entire exchange left her raw and exhausted. Zuko may have had a point, the beach wasn’t far and a small coma would be nice. A stop off there get some nation neutral clothes and see where the wind take her. It was as good a plan as any for now. 

When she finally reached the shore and looked up the stairs to the childhood beach house the exhaustion set in. How long had it been since she slept? More than 24 hours to be sure. Azula dropped to her knees and felt the sand beneath her. Soft, like ty lee's smile. 

“No.” Azula dismissed. Now was not the time to reminisce. This sand was once a rock. It could have been a rock that punctured war ships sinking them to their doom, or a smaller rock cutting the food of an unwitting beach goers foot. Azula was that rock. Was she being worn down into sand? Was that ok? Everything in this world wears down, so why not her? If she could be half of what this sand was, pleasant soft and comforting perhaps that wouldn't be so bad.

And It All Came Tumbling Down Part 2

Request: Reader getting people out to safety gets hurt really badly and trapped, and Bruce has to save her

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Female!Reader, Dick Grayson

Word Count: 2400

Warnings: Explosions, graphic injuries, drowning, angst

Summary: During a work party a call comes in that the Joker has planted a bomb somewhere in Gotham. You’re tasked with clearing your building when the unthinkable happens.

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely comments on part 1, and I hope you all like this part too! It’s a little different since it’s all from Bruce’s POV!

Part 2 of 3

Part 1   Part 3 

He should've seen it coming. He should've known Joker would target the Tower. But when he'd looked at the list it had seemed like the least obvious. There'd been two others on the list that had Joker written all over it. One was the biggest in Gotham with a current occupation of near a thousand. The other was slightly smaller but currently hosting a party for some of the most influential politicians in the state. Either would cause chaos, make the rest of Gotham feel even less safe than they did already. He'd gone to one, sent Robin to the other, certain they'd find it and stop a catastrophe. 

He'd been halfway through his hotel when he heard the explosion. Moments later it came through the comms that it was the Tower. Top two levels were near destroyed. 

Bruce had tried calling Y/N but it only went to voicemail. Nothing to worry about, he'd told himself. In the rush and mayhem, it would be easy to miss a call. 

He'd just reached the Batmobile when the second bomb went off. He was the opposite end of the city but he saw the flames explode, bright against the darkness. It was hard to tell what floor it was, but it was lower, and it decimated it. Time had seemed to slow as he watched the hotel almost collapse in on itself. If anyone was still inside…

He'd kept trying to call her, but nothing. She could've left her phone behind or dropped it, he told himself, but there was a stone settling in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

The fourth time he tried the line connected. "Y/N?! Are you out? Are you safe?" Logic said he should've waited for her to speak first, just to make sure it was Y/N answering, but he needed to ask. 

For a few, too long seconds all he could hear was the ragged gasps of someone trying to breathe. A woman if his instincts were correct. Then, finally, "Bruce…stuck…" Her voice was quiet, words spoken at the ends of harsh breaths. 

His fingers tightened around the leather of the steering wheel, foot pressing down on the accelerator as he swerved down the streets, cursing silently as he glanced at the GPS on the display screen. The chaos of needing to rapidly evacuate several hotels had led to multiple areas being cordoned off, meaning he was forced to take a nondirect route.

“I’m on the way. Ten minutes and I’ll be with you, okay? Just hold on.” He kept his voice steady, calm. He was the Batman. And Batman was always cool and collected. The creator of fear not the feeler of it. It was a practice he’d become an expert at over the years, but not something he’d ever hoped to implement when it came to Y/N. But right now he needed to, for both their sakes.

“...’kay.” The word was so faint it was barely audible. She was fading. Bruce mentally cataloged every injury he’d acquired over his many, many falls over the years, too many too serious despite his suit. Y/N had nothing but an evening gown to protect her. 

“Stay with me, Y/N,” he said, needing to keep her attention. “Where are you hurt?” It wasn’t ideal, but it’d keep her focused and let him know just how quickly she’d need medical attention. 

“Dunno. My head. It hurts. Something...something on my legs. Pinning me.” The head injury explained a lot of her behavior, the confusion, the words that were starting to sound slurred. That was his main concern for now. Then she was talking again. “M’side...I don’t…” 

Her scream turned his blood to ice. “Y/N!” Nothing. He called again. All he could hear was agonized whimpers, small, high-pitched things that sounded more like a wounded animal than a human. “Y/N!”

The third shout seemed to get her back. “Fell...on something. Lots of blood.” The Batmobile squealed as it rounded a sharp corner, swerving slightly before straightening out again. He knew from experience that was the exact opposite of good. He ran through the options. If they could keep whatever she fell on in place, she’d stand a chance. The trouble was going to be getting her out of a destroyed building without disturbing it. Chances of getting paramedics in were slim, and if it was too long or big or attached to something…

"Bruce…" the fear in her voice was unmistakable, the word cracking even as she whispered it. 

In all the time he'd known her, never once had she been scared. She'd been caught in one of Two-Face's campaigns to cleanse the city, and as Batman, he'd watched from the rafters as she'd volunteered herself to be the next to face the judgment of his coin. Had looked death in the face with a head held high and squared shoulders, her voice never wavering or faltering as she spoke. She'd been brave, bold and beautiful. He didn't know her name back then, but he was sure he fell in love that day. 

And it was all because she'd had complete faith that Batman would save her. She'd looked Dent straight in the eye and told him so. He'd proven her faith true that day, and she had rewarded him with unerring confidence ever since. 

On the darkest of days when even he wasn't sure he could save the day, she'd been there, telling him with complete and utter surety that he could, and, that he would be coming home that night. Never once had there even been a tremble in her voice, nothing that would have ever suggested fear. 

To hear it now, to hear Y/N so scared and defeated, it hit harder than Bane ever could. 

The leather on the wheel creaked as Bruce’s grip tightened to an almost crushing point. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m getting you out.”

A whimper. A sniffle. Another whimper. The sharp jerk of the inhale hurt her. He should be the one hurting, not her. Never her. “N-no...dangerous,” she managed to whisper, and his control nearly snapped right then. 

“I’m not leaving you, Y/N. I’ll fix this.” Because he had to. This was his fault. Y/N was hurt because of him. Because he’d decided to take advantage of her position as COO and start skipping work events he didn’t want to attend. If he’d been there when the video came in, he would’ve evacuated the hotel before disappearing into the night. He would’ve made sure Y/N was out. And if the bombs had gone off? Then at least he’d be trapped knowing she was safe. 

It went quiet, and Bruce was about to call out to her again when she spoke, words quiet and more slurred together. “Br’ce...m’srry…” His heart twisted and shattered, crumbling into a million tiny pieces. No. No. She shouldn’t be the one apologizing. Not for this. Not for anything that had happened tonight. That was him. 

He couldn’t keep up the pretense anymore. Not when she sounded so...so broken. He took a breath and hit the button on his cowl to disable the voice modulator. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. But if the Bat wasn’t assuaging her fear, maybe Bruce could. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, baby.” He spoke softly but kept his voice steady. 

“Do...was s’lfish. Shouldn’t’ve b’n.”

It was all wrong. He’d been the selfish one. And when she was safe, when he could hold her in his arms, he’d tell her. He’d whisper ‘sorry’ a million times over and hope for a forgiveness that he probably didn’t deserve. “We’ll talk about this once you’re safe, okay? I’m nearly there.” He was seconds away now, the cops around the perimeter jumping out of his way when they saw the car. 

Y/N didn’t argue. “L’ve you.”

“I love you.” The words sounded too much like a goodbye.

He reactivated the voice modulator in the same instant as he jumped out of the Batmobile, activating the lens in his cowl to scan for heat signatures in the crumbling building. Gordon was there immediately, telling him that at present everyone was accounted for. He shook his head. There were small fires scattered throughout, but there, on the eighth floor, a body. Y/N.

“I’m picking up a heat signal. Someone’s still trapped inside. Have paramedics on standby.” With that he grappled up to the roof of an adjacent building, perching on the edge as he looked for a way in. “I’m here,” he said to Y/N. “One minute and I’ll have you. I’m just working out my route down.”

There was an opening on the fourteenth floor he could use for access, but after that, it was difficult to see what was stable and what wasn’t. Time was of the essence, but if he moved too quickly, he could end up doing more harm than good. He’d have to be careful. 

He was about to grapple to the opening when Y/N spoke, “Bruce-” the rest of her sentence was cut off by a thundering crash and a scream. The line crackled and went dead.

Without thinking, he launched himself off the roof. He could see her falling with his lenses, nothing stopping her more for than a second. He breached the building and dived down after her, safety be damned. She was below him, about three floors further ahead. He could see her now even without the heat source.

“Y/N!” 

Chunks of rubble blew past him. Something sliced along his jaw. It didn’t matter. He had to get her…

The realization that he wouldn’t be able to catch her in time hit him like a train. The world slowed down around him, each second lasting an eternity as he watched his own outstretched hand try in vain to grab onto her. But she was too far below him. Out of his reach and he was helpless to change that.

A fall from eight floors up? With who knew what injuries already? It was impossible.

He was going to lose her.

He’d failed.

The thud and crack of a body breaking against a hard floor never came. 

In its place were a series of splashes and a shower of icy cold water spraying upwards. The hotel had a spa on its bottom level. A pool. If she’d gotten lucky and rubble landed in it before her...

There was still hope.

He’d been ready to plunge straight into the water, but a spark caught his eye and he grabbed onto a broken beam at the last second. There was a snapped electrical wire, dangling just above the surface of the water, and seemed to be slipping down closer and closer to it. If it hit before he got Y/N it would kill her for sure. A split-second decision later, he was lunging for it, grabbing the wire just before it touched the surface and throwing it up to hook onto the edge of something, out of harm’s way.

In the same breath, he turned and nosedived into the water, a brief thought at the back of his mind saying to thank Lucius for the waterproof tech later. It was black under the surface, the water-filled with bits of debris that made navigating difficult. But there. Y/N was lying at the bottom of the pool. Trapped under a metal pipe. Bruce gripped it, heaving it off of her, before circling an arm around her waist and dragging them both back up to the surface. 

He emerged with a gasp of air, but Y/N lay limp against his chest, glassy eyes staring into nothing. No. Not now.

Later he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone exactly how he got them both out of there. It was all a blur of grappling up and up, using the nearest semi steady surface, until he was pulling them both out into the night. He landed back on the adjacent roof, laying her gently down on it. 

"Y/N?" He called, feeling for her pulse at the same time as he scanned her. His stomach dropped. She'd gotten lucky with the lack of serious injuries but that meant nothing right now. 

He signaled for Gordon to get medics up there ASAP and started CPR. Five breaths. Thirty chest compressions and check. Nothing.

What was once a pale blue dress was now soaked dark, even darker around her middle where blood was seeping into it. He could see it spread along the ground in the streetlight too. At this rate, she'd bleed out before he could get her heart beating again. 

Dick appeared on the rooftop, his sure steps fumbling when he took in the sight and collapsed onto his knees the other side of her. Bruce risked a glance up, seeing the boy staring back at him. He couldn't see his eyes behind the domino mask, but he knew the sight of fear. 

"Use your cape and put pressure on the wound. Both sides." 

Dick obeyed immediately, use the bright material to try and staunch the wound through Y/N's side as best he could. Bruce didn't miss a beat with the compressions. It was only the years of training that kept him from breaking rhythm in his increasing desperation. 

Fresh blood was sliding down Y/N's face and neck. In the low light, he could make out at least one head injury. 

"B…" Dick only needed to say a single letter for Bruce to know what he was asking. He wanted to know if they should call it. If they were too late and Y/N was beyond help. 

"Keep the pressure," he growled, his eyes never leaving her face. He daren't look anywhere else, lest his own feelings show. 

He could hear the medics nearby. They'd be on the roof soon. He just needed Y/N to be breathing when they did. 

"C'mon, baby," he whispered quietly enough that even Dick barely caught it. Another two breaths into her mouth, his rhythm breaking a second when there was still no response. 

He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not like this. 

Gritting his teeth he redoubled his efforts. Not today. 

"Please."

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better.

[[ tagging @benes-diction​ for mentions of her lovely characters! ]]

It’s bitter, to try to pen these words that sit in the back of my mind. It makes me feel ungrateful, or worse, jealous, but... Maybe. Maybe I am. All I can think of as I sit in this foreign palace, with the eyes of people who wouldn’t care if I died constantly watching me, is that my oldest sister would know what to do. She would know exactly how to fix everything, to ease tensions - whether or not we should extend hands of friendship, like Theodosia says, or to keep to ourselves, like Celia says we should. 

Laelia would know. And even if she couldn’t fix things, she would find a way, at least, to make them better. Celia is a good and capable, but mal Benes’ condition doesn’t look good. I can hear Laelia’s voice in my head each time Celia goes to tend to her father.

‘You can’t effectively treat someone you’re close to.’

And Celia is doing an amazing job, but... would it better, easier, if Laelia was here to help her? I don’t know what to do. I looked at her medical textbooks, her endless writings in journals crammed with handwriting that I couldn’t read, and didn’t understand anything. The best I can do is put some antiseptic on a wound and bandage it up. It’s a horrible, helpless sort of feeling. Cassia knows more, learned more from combat training, but even still...

It feels like the Caelius family is more of a burden than anything else, with how... Mother acts. And talks. How she never quite stops talking. And Emperor help us, the Au Ra with the sword that prowls around the prince and princess clearly wouldn’t hesitate to cut any of us down if she was given a reason. I can’t look at her without feeling afraid down to my core, but... Laelia would have been able to. She would have been able to look that woman in the eyes and not cower, like Theodosia can - like my mother can, but with less foolishness. 

It’s become abundantly clear, in these past few moons, just how much I have lived in Laelia’s shadow. It was clear our entire life, but it’s only been with her passing that I understand just how thick and heavy her shadow really was.

Our parents cared about Laelia’s grades. They expected the best from her, no matter what. My mother wanted her to pursue music, and she was expected to excel in the theater while studying to enter medical school, while carrying the social burdens of being a Caelius on her shoulders because I was too young and because Cassia isn’t a “pureblood.” Laelia was everything a Garlean should be - she was beautiful, and brilliant, and rational, and... useful. 

If I came home with grades that weren’t perfect, that was alright. And maybe I should have been grateful for that. Maybe I should have been grateful for the way that our father smiled at me and kissed my forehead in contrast to how he shouted at Laelia and demanded more, more, more. Laelia bore the brunt of his rage, without our mother ever bothering to intervene. I was his pride and joy. Cassia was the one he barely ever spared a glance.

Where Laelia had her piano smashed to bits when she insisted that she wanted to pursue music rather than medicine, I was gifted a new harp the very next day. Laelia smiled when it arrived and told me she was happy for me, praised me for my abilities, but... I knew I would never be as good as her. My voice would never be as beautiful, or my playing as skillful, or my acting as believable, and my dancing wasn’t even close to being as graceful. But my father gave me what Laelia wasn’t allowed to have - a life in the theater, because...

Because it didn’t matter what I did. It mattered what Laelia did. It mattered that she carried on the family name. I could have my life in the theater and then marry rich and that would have been good enough. I’d have done my duty while my oldest sister worked without end to be considered anywhere close to good enough for our parents’ - but especially our father’s - expectations. She had to be perfect, and I think... she took it too seriously. I could see it wearing on her. I could see the exhaustion she hid with makeup, and the way her shoulders wanted to slump, but she never let them. She always stood straight, with grace and with poise, even when I was weeping over nothing.

Laelia carried everything on her tired shoulders, even my problems that I ran crying to her about - this boy said this, I didn’t pass this audition, and... I never thought how it might affect her. I could court whoever I liked, as long as they were wealthy and influential. I could perform. I was living her dream and rubbing it in her face and she never once said a word about it hurting her. Even though she lived her life non-stop, hardly ever getting a break, she always had time for Cassia and me - a shoulder to cry on, advice to give, smiles and praise. 

Did we ever do the same? Did we ever support her when she was suffering the most? Did she ever show when she was suffering, truly? Or was she too afraid of how it would affect us? Laelia was the glue. She was the smart one, the tough one, the responsible one, and so... she didn’t let us see her falter, if she ever did. She knew we needed her to be tough so that we could be weaker. 

She had to be better, better, better, so that Cassia and I never had to pick up her slack. All that ever mattered to her was our happiness. I know that. I know that’s why she went to fight a war she didn’t believe in - to protect us, so no one suspected that the Caelius family was not loyal to the Empire. 

Laelia died to protect us. She gave her life to make sure her family didn’t end up executed or in the sewers. Every thesis, every research paper, every surgery, everything... It was for us. And we never repaid her. 

I often wonder if she was scared when the Castrum came crashing down. I wonder if she cowered and hid and tried to find safety, but... somehow, I doubt it. That wouldn’t be the Laelia that I knew - the one that walked into her going away party in a dress meant to scandalize, more beautiful and more dignified than anyone else could hope to be.

If I know Laelia, she died trying to help people. If I know her... Then I know that she was the best of us - unafraid and ferociously strong, kind and gentle to those who needed a big sister or a friend, endlessly trying to make the world a better place, no matter what she needed to sacrifice. 

I try not to feel as though I live in her shadow. It’s not what she would have wanted. But her shadow feels so thick that I don’t know if I can escape it. I can’t carry on the legacy she created. I can only be Julia, and I know she would tell me there was nothing better to be. I can hear her chiding me, and I can see her small smile, feel her hands as they smooth back my hair. 

‘The world is better for you and Cassia,’ is what she so often told me. ‘You are stronger than you think you are, Julia. Your softness is a strength. You light up every room you walk into. You put people at ease, my beautiful baby sister, and I only set their teeth on edge.’

I want to believe that’s true, Laelia, but... It’s hard. It’s hard to believe I could ever be anywhere as good as you were. Not as smart, not as talented, not as formidable or hard-working or level-headed. But I’ll try, big sister. For you. For you, I will try to be the person our family needs. 

Your shadow stifles, but... sometimes, it comforts, too. 

Psycho Analysis: Hol Horse

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

So last year I thought it was a good idea to try and review all of the enemy Stand users in Stardust Crusaders in a totally random order. The results were… mixed. Some of them I think came out okay, but others? Not so much. One of them was just an entire backhanded attack against some guy who decided to say “No one likes your analyses” because I think ProJared was a creep. It was, quite frankly, a mess, and I never bothered to revisit it and never thought I would, even though I still hadn’t covered the glorious, wonderful human being who is Hol Horse.

Well, now, after playing Heritage for the Future and All-Star Battle as well as just becoming a bit more knowledgeable on JJBA, I’ve decided to not only give Hol Horse his dues, but also at least briefly go back over or cover the other Stand users and give them a rating or an updated rating, as the case may be. So buckle in, this is gonna be a long one, and it’s all gonna start with everyone’s favorite incompetent henchman.

Hol Horse is probably one of the most amazing characters Araki has ever created. Hol Horse is in possession of a powerful Stand, The Emperor, which is literally a magical gun that fires bullets he can control the trajectory of. By all accounts, Hol Horse should be the single most dangerous foe that the Crusaders face, more than even Vanilla Ice. This guy should be able to shoot them all dead without a second thought! There’s just one tiny little caveat:

Hol Horse is a fucking moron.

This man is cowardly, incompetent, and just the punching bag of cruel misfortune as all his plans constantly go awry and he is constantly knocked on his ass. And yet, Hol Horse is still the most beloved enemy Stand User of Stardust Crusaders, and it’s not hard to see why. Because despite all of his bumbling, Hol Horse just oozes a sort of cool you just don’t see every day.

(For best results, listen to this the whole time while reading the following).

Motivation/Goals: Hol Horse is one of the few henchmen of DIO who is motivated purely by his own greed… at least, at first. Eventually he has his ass handed to him one too many times, and he decides to try and assassinate DIO. This goes about as well as you’d expect, and Hol Horse – not just part of it, the ENTIRE Horse – is so scared out of his mind that he decides, yep, loyalty to DIO is the way to go! It doesn’t work out, but hey, he tried, right?

Performance: Imami Williams gives Hol Horse that raspy, American charm he needs in the anime adaptation. With his voice and the animation combined, we get to see our favorite smarmy sharpshooter who can’t shoot for shit shoot his shot and miss every time, and it is simply glorious.

Final Fate: Hol Horse kidnaps Boingo and forces him to work with him to finally get his revenge! With the prophetic skills of Thoth and the raw damage that can be done with Emperor, there’s no way they could lose! And yet, as is always the case with Thoth, things go horrendously awry and Hol Horse, despite having the ability to control the trajectory of his bullets, ends up shooting himself and knocking him out of part 3 for good.

Best Scene: Really, just the entirety of the episodes where he teams up with Boingo, especially when he tries holding up Polnareff. Considering what comes after and what came before it, it’s just the dose of lighthearted fun needed before you watch all of your favorite characters get brutally murdered by DIO and Vanilla Ice,. 

Best Quote: There is only one line it could be, and it’s Hol Horse’s response to Thoth’s suggestion he kick a woman in the neck: “Listen, Boingo... I am the nicest man in the world. I have girlfriends everywhere. I might lie to a woman, but I'll never hit them! It doesn't matter how ugly they are! Because I respect women!”

That’s right, everyone. Hol Horse drinks Respect Women Juice.

Final Thoughts & Score: Hol Horse is simply astounding. The character is such a colossal screwup that he shouldn’t be as good as he is… yet he is. The dude is gifted with the most incredible power imaginable, and yet somehow he is never able to do a goddamn thing with that power! You control where the bullets go, dude! How can you not hit anything?! It’s interesting how his cowardice and lack of motivation makes him a perfect representation of the inverted Emperor tarot card, but hey, tarot motifs are par for the course with the Stand users.

But there’s something charming to how pathetic Hol Horse is. He’s always plying second banana, he’s a dirty coward who turns tail and runs when things aren’t looking good for him, he never wins a single battle, he didn’t even kill the one guy it seemed like he killed… but throughout it all he still has this sort of smarmy charisma to him that makes him impossible to hate. It’s no wonder this guy has girls all over the world, because he is a world-class charmer. There’s also how Hol Horse is just a character who really, really lives by his own personal philosophy – that is to say, he always likes to be #2, never going into a fight without backup. It’s kind of refreshing to see him always stick by this, even to his own detriment; it’s hard to hate a man who’s principled to that degree. And, of course, this man respects women. Good on him.

It helps that Hol Horse’s inexplicable popularity has led to him getting his time to shine in outside media. Heritage for the Future has two versions of him, his regular form and one that partners him with Boingo, and in skilled hands his Emperor finally gets to live up to its deadly potential. And he’s no slouch in his return appearance in All-Star Battle, and what’s more impressive is in that game he is part of the base roster while Joseph and Iggy, two of the main heroes, are relegated to DLC! You heard me right: the bumbling cowboy who did not win a single fight or even come close to it and spent a lot of time shooting himself managed to beat out out two iconic heroes from the same part onto the roster! Horsey Man must be doing something right.

As this video shows, Hol Horse is one of the most influential characters in the JJBA franchise, having helped to shape the franchise going forward and helped to inspire the traits that made beloved characters like Guido Mista, Gyro Zeppeli, and Yoshikage Kira as legendary as they are. Hell, Hol Horse is just so awesome he almost got to be a protagonist, but Araki decided that Horsey was too similar to my favorite big-titty Frenchman, Polnareff. This means Hol Horse never got his time to shine as a hero, and so stayed a villain til the end… but hey, can he really be that sad if he gets a 10/10 on Psycho Analysis?

Actually, maybe he wouldn’t like that. He likes to play second fiddle to others, after all. But I guess that’s just the curse with these JoJo villains who want to not stand out; they always end up being the best and most memorable characters.

Anyway, now that we’ve got the best of the best out of the way, it’s time for...

Psycho Analysis: DIO’s Other Henchmen

I’m just gonna give my brief thoughts on these guys. Most of them are pretty one-note oneshots, but there are a few who rise above that and manage to be something else entirely. These guys were a learning experience for Araki, and his enemy Stand users of the week definitely improved with later parts, with Vento Aureo really cranking it up to 11. 

But for now, we’re stuck with these guys.

Gray Fly: I actually stand by my opinion from my original review of him; he’s nothing incredibly memorable, but he’s a solid start to the adventure and he is directly responsible for diverting the journey onto the course it ended up going on. Without him, things would have likely played out far differently. A 5/10 is still a good score for him.

Fake Captain Tenille: He actually gets bumped down to a 2/10, due to my changes in how things are scored. He’s not amusing enough to be in the “So bad it’s good” category of the other 3s, he’s just really lame and forgettable, and he still somehow manages to lose when he has the advantage. What a dweeb.

Forever: If you think the monkey boat fight is dropping in score, you’re mistaken. Forever remains at an 8/10 for being such a delightfully weird curveball that helps set the tone for the franchise to follow.

Devo: One of the weirder playable character choices from Heritage for the Future, and certainly not one I like too much; he’s also a random event that is pretty useful in All-Star Battle’s online campaign, so that’s a good mark for him. If nothing else, he gave a good showing of Polnareff’s skills when under pressure, so… yeah. I think a 5/10 is good enough.

Rubber Soul: This review I regret because I was backhandedly responding to that guy who weirdly decided to bring up my distaste for ProJared in a review of Arabia Fats and Kenny G. I do mostly stand by what I said; Rubber Soul is one of the more amusing minor foes, if only because of his ridiculous performance as Kakyoin. Still, it really sucks he was just a clone character in Heritage for the Future… put he gets points for  having the iconic cherry-licking as a taunt. 6/10 is where he remains.

J. Geil: Again, my opinion hasn’t changed: J. Geil is a mountain of wasted potential, but at the very least he makes for a good antagonist for his brief appearance and hey, he’s the one who helped bring us the beautiful hunk of man that is Hol Horse, so I’d feel bad giving him less than a 7/10.

Nena: I honestly think Nena is one of the most boring Stand users of the part, which is sad because her episode gives Joseph the spotlight. She’s just really gross and uninteresting, and you’ll likely forget her after her episode is over. 2/10.

ZZ: ZZ is not particularly great, and his design is just there to be a joke, but it’s hard to totally hate a guy who manages to roll references to Christine, Duel, and the album cover for Eliminator by his namesake into one. I think he’s more of a 4/10, but probably on the higher end there. He’s not great, but he has enough going for him to keep me from hating him.

Enya: So if I thought that J. Geil was a waste of potential, I feel this even more so for his mother Enya. Despite being hyped up as this big, intimidating right-hand woman to DIO early on, she gets one appearance where her Stand is defeated by Star Platinum pulling a power out his ass and then is unceremoniously killed by Steely Dan of all people. I will give her this: her interactions with Polnareff are absolutely hilarious. But when all you have going for is some jokes, don’t be surprised when you end up with a 6/10, which you’re pretty much only getting because even despite the mountains of wasted potential you’re really not that bad.

She do be looking hot in the OVA tho.

Steely Dan: My opinion is unchanged; he’s a solid 7/10 oneshot douchebag. Nothing more, nothing less. His level in the PS1 game seriously blows, though.

Arabia Fats: I was too hard on this guy. While I meant everything I said, and his episode is boring filler, does it really make him a bottom of the barrel all-time worst villain? No. It just makes him a crappy joke character. 2/10.

Mannish Boy: I regret not getting to this guy last time, because aside from Forever he’s probably one of the most insane Stand user of the part, seeing as he is an infant. Like, he’s just an evil baby who can kill people in their dreams. And he gets defeated by being force fed his own crap. Much like Forever, it’s fun to speculate where exactly DIO found this guy; did he just go to a nursery and start jabbing babies with the Stand arrow? Did he meet this guy at a Cairo night club? What exactly is Mannish Boy’s origin? He’s just so utterly and hilariously inexplicable. He’s definitely a 7/10; he doesn’t quite have the shock factor that Forever did before him, but let’s not pretend an evil talking baby Stand user isn’t one hell of a weird twist.

Cameo: This guy really lives up to his name; his Stand is the one that gets the most screentime, with the actual Stand user being relegated to a – you guessed it – cameo appearance at the end of the fight. Thankfully, his Stand is an enjoyable take on jerkass genies and gives a pretty sad and disturbing episode that not only features my man Polnareff, but also marks the point where Avdol returns and brings “Hell 2 U!” I think he deserves at least a 7/10, even if this is mainly for Judgment. Still, a Stand is a representation of the user’s soul, so I think it works out.

Here’s the Stand:

And here’s the man behind it:

Midler: Midler is one of the single most interesting characters from the pre-Egypt half of Stardust Crusaders, and is the point where Stand users really started to get interesting. Her Stand, High Priestess, has a really funky and unique design, and her battle serves as the final roadblock before the Crusaders arrive in Egypt. Despite never appearing onscreen, with only her unconscious body being shown at the end of the fight in a way that obscures her, she got to appear in Heritage for the Future with an awesome sexy belly dancer design and a badass moveset that makes her a really fun character to play as. Taking everything into account, I think she just barely scrapes into the bottom of the 8/10 pool, though really this is mainly for her playable appearance.

N’Doul: My opinions really haven’t changed on him. He’s still an 8/10.

Oingo & Boingo: These guys are, in a word, hilarious. In between the grueling, brutal fight with N’Doul and the later fights in the part, these guys bring some much needed levity to the proceedings. Oingo gets an entire episode where he just completely bumbles about as he attempts to impersonate Jotaro to assassinate the Crusaders, failing at every turn and only managing to blow himself up in the end. Boingo fares a little better, eventually getting roped in to Hol Horse’s scheme to get some revenge, which leads to one of the funniest episodes of the entire series as Hol Horse and Oingo hold up Polnareff. I think they collectively get an 8/10 for being two of the funniest Stand users in the part. They even get their own unique end credits in the anime (with Hol Horse joining in on the fun when he teams up with Boingo)!

Anubis: Again, my opinion is unchanged, though I must say him having technically three playable appearances in Heritage for the Future does make me have at least a little more fondness for him. Black Polnareff, Chaka, and Khan are all amusing characters to play as and all have some awesome theme music. Introducing the concept of Stands being able to exist independently of their Original user is pretty neat, as well as the idea of a Stand that can switch users like it does. 7/10 is still what I’d give it, but I think that it’s pretty telling that this is probably the “weakest” character in the Egypt arcs in terms of being a villain, and yet he’s still pretty cool.

Mariah: Completely unchanged. She still deserves an 8/10, because her episode is hilarious, her playable appearance in Heritage for the Future is a blast, and she’s just really frikkin’ hot. I’m not gonna lie, she’s probably my second favorite enemy Stand user out of the Egyptian ones. I may or may not want her to step on me.

Alessi: I’m going to be honest here: Alessi is my favorite of the Egyptian Stand users. He’s an ax crazy coward with pedophile undertones who is just an utterly demented and sick individual with a seriously intriguing Stand that de-ages its victims. It’s a damn shame he never crossed paths with Joseph and de-aged him, but when he’s just such a hilarious and hateable lunatic with an incredibly fun playable appearance in Heritage for the Future (complete with awesomely creepy theme music!) it’s hard for me to give Alessi anything less than a 9/10. Attaboy!

Daniel J. D’Arby: My opinion is honestly unchanged, but I think I’d bump him down to an 8/10.

Pet Shop: Again, unchanged really. It’s hard to give a character as busted as he is in Heritage for the Future anything less than a 9/10 any way you slice it.

Telence T. D’Arby: Opinion unchanged, 8/10. I don’t have much else to say here, besides Xander Mobus rocks.

Kenny G: See Arabia Fats above. I got irrationally mad over a dumb joke character. He’s not going above a 2/10, but he’s not worth really getting mad about.

Vanilla Ice: I still think he’s the only enemy Stand user besides Hol Horse who deserves his 10/10. My opinion of him remains unchanged, but I would like to say he’s easily one of my favorite characters to play as in All-Star Battle.

Nukesaku: Ok, he’s not an enemy Stand user, he’s just some weird vampire… zombie… thing. Still, I feel he’s at least worth briefly mentioning, if only because he’s probably the only easily-defeated joke villain Araki did from the first three parts who is particularly memorable. Wired Beck and Doobie are really not all that memorable, but Nukesaku at least elicits a few chuckles – he even gets cameos in Heritage for the Future as well as getting to be a stage hazard in All-Star Battle. For what he is, I think he deserves a 5/10.

And with all these enemies taken care of, that just leaves one more Stand user to talk about.. one whose Psycho Analysis has been sitting in my drafts for a year now...

Masking - Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939147/chapters/68451419 You take a deep breath. It’s always hard to ride out your heats alone. Past lovers haven’t been able to handle you during a heat, because you’d rather take care of your own needs than worry about unpracticed hands further frustrating you. It’s all over now, though. There’s an electronic hum from the dresser, you only have a few moments to fix yourself. The mirrored surface is swept away by the display interface of an EAC agent. It reminds you of Minority Report; one of the few non-Mission Impossible movies you adore because it has Tom Cruise. Yes, maybe it was Minority Report that made you want to work for EAC. The Boss’s voice comes in, polite but betraying a mild impatience, “How are you getting along, Nagisa?”

Hearing Boss's voice call your alias switches you into work mode, your posture stiffens.

“The same as usual, all going according to plan.” Your reply is automatic, like your muscle memory, it’s part of your routine.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that, last night was a lot of fun.”

Your mind wanders, thinking about the woman he was dancing with. Did he go home with her?

The Boss continues, “I almost can't believe how quickly you completed your mission. You never fail to impress me.” You detect a hint of sarcasm at the end.

This is not our Alpha. He is jealous.

These thoughts are not helping. Usually your hindbrain is leashed after heat, but it’s stubbornly keeping part of your attention. Reminding you that there is an Alpha who wants you to burn for him. You are thankful for being exhausted enough to leave a towel on your vanity seat. The Boss clears his throat. Oh shit, you’re expected to respond.

You manage to get out, “Thanks, I couldn't have done it without you, Boss.”

It was honestly sheer dumb luck you got it so fast. Remembering his touch gets your heart racing. Remembering you didn't have control boils your blood.

But we met Alpha. Alpha will take care of us.

No, you think, you should use your frustration at your unusual lack of control during the mission to reign in your rebelling hindbrain. That inner voice quiets again, for now.

The Boss continues, “I collected more information on Mr. Soejima, I'm sending it to you now.”

Kei Soejima’s curriculum vitae appears on your monitor. He went to Oxford. Still doesn’t explain how an Englishman ended up with a Japanese name. Oh, his family name is Romley. Huh.

“He is descended from a line of English nobility. His grandfather is an Earl. Earl Romley is a powerful figure who owns some of the most valuable land in England. Mr. Soejima is following in his footsteps. He's a special diplomat working for the British Embassy.”

You have your own ideas about long-time diplomats, and remember the feel of his strong arms. He must work out a lot despite being a diplomat.

Your mouth races ahead of your brain. “Does he have any enemies?”

The Boss frowns slightly. “That's the strange part, he doesn't seem to have any enemies to speak of.”

That explanation feels odd. He's an Alpha. Alphas make enemies everywhere. They literally can’t help it. He definitely didn’t smell like he was suppressed.

Your employer continues, “He's an influential man not only in Europe, but around the world. He helps out with his family's foundation in addition to being a diplomat.”

It’s your turn to frown. “It sounds like he's... perfect? Literally, too good to be true. There has to be some reason he's one of our targets, Boss.”

Any excuse to drop this case. You silently plead with the universe to give you a break.

He continues in a lower pitch, “This is off the record, but there's a snap election coming up - parliament is being dissolved ahead of time and obviously the prime minister position will be in play. Given that's just around the corner, why is he in Japan on unofficial business? Your next job is to monitor him and find out why he is here. Perhaps ascertain whether or not he has political ambitions.”

Inwardly you groan. Your heat only ended this morning. Being around that Alpha is likely to awaken it again. Okay, you don't have to steal any information or prove wrongdoing. That's a plus. You look down at your planner while replying.

“Understood, I already have his contact information, I sent it to you earlier this afternoon,” You look up to see him nodding, “I've already been invited to afternoon tea hosted by Mr. Soejima. I'll work on getting closer to him there.”

This is what you’re known for, and he gives you a smile. “Impressive, you've already made arrangements with Mr. Soejima… I knew I could count on you.”

You used to live for compliments like this from the Boss, but it doesn't give you the glow you used to get. He only asks you to do one thing after all: be an excellent agent. And now it’s simply what is expected because in many cases, you have arrived. A long time ago.

“Sounds like you're well on your way to success as usual. Mr. Soejima was quite taken with you.”

Your heart rate quickens involuntarily. Oh dear. His spicy, woodsy scent lingers in your mind, as well as the only warmth he had -- the warmth of his lips on yours.

“...What makes you say that?” Smooth… just barely saving face while your mind was racing.

“You looked like you were enjoying...the dance with him.” His pause to watch for your reaction offends you. You are a professional.

You scoff, "I better have. It was part of my job to make it seem like I am having fun. You were the one who taught me that.”

He doesn't sound convinced. “Just a part of your job? Hmm. I wonder if that's the whole story. There were times when you weren't even looking at me.”

He is jealous because we found our Alpha and he knows it.

Oh, was he jealous? You feel a little relieved he was keeping an eye on you, but now you wonder about his intentions. Maybe he saw you had a crush on him previously. Maybe this was why he insisted on having you, despite marking your calendar for private time to deal with your heat, to perform this mission. Disgust rises in your core.

“I wouldn't have let him touch me if it weren't for the mission,” you hiss.

“I'll believe you this time. Just be careful prince charming doesn't sweep you off your feet. I'll be looking forward to your success.”

His smile seems genuine, but you know this is a test of your loyalty. Same old song. Same old routine. There’s only ever one correct answer.

“I won't let you down.” He ends the call.

You sigh. Being tense at the start of the mission is normal. You're just edgy staying at home. Especially when the dress you wore the night before still smells like him. You even used his lingering scent to help you get off during your heat. Now that the smell has mostly worn off, and your heat is over, you are eager to scrub the rest of his scent from your memory.

While there may not be as much obvious danger, you remind yourself that you'll need to stay on your guard. Soejima is an Alpha, and your Omega reacted very strongly to his scent. Suddenly, his smile invades your mind. It’s upstanding and refined, but there's darkness underneath.

Was it just your imagination? You're unsure if you want to see it. You’re going to have to keep close to Mr. Soejima and his associates to gather as much information as you can at Raven Resort.

You take a deep sigh. Well, at least you still have most of that tub of your beloved Lady Borden French Vanilla to polish off. You walk out to your living room and decide that you need to spend some time centering and getting your id back under control. Preferring to disassociate by having a movie marathon, you know the perfect man to get your mind off of Prince Charming incarnate. Waving your arm across your DVD collection you stop on Minority Report. Time to put it in and get comfortable.---It’s the weekend, and you make sure to dress far more conservatively than you did for the masquerade, an off-white lace dress with a high collar and three-quarter sleeves. The pencil shaped skirt of the garment comes down to your knees, but it does hug your curves. You’re ever aware that part of you hopes he’ll like it.

You step into the hotel lobby at agreed-upon time, and you see Soejima is already there, waiting. Seems like he always has his own bubble, separating him from the crowd. There’s no hint of the devilishness he displayed at party. You start wondering if you imagined it. The Boss’s warning echoing in your brain - he may look like prince charming, but you’re sure you’re prepared this time.

You want his attention, on your terms. You turn towards him, taking a step and loudly clicking your heels on the floor. He immediately notices the noise and spots you. His eyes widen in recognition and he breaks out into a gentle, welcoming smile. It's only the second time you’ve met. Mirroring facial expressions will make him feel closer to you. You smile back. He maintains eye contact as he walks to you. It doesn’t feel quite the same as it did at the party. Back then, he was a predator stalking an easy kill. Now, he is a living embodiment of charm. But his eyes darken, drawing you into their warm depths. You curse at yourself for falling for those damn eyes again. Time for grounding your senses. You’re wearing work perfume with suppressants. Your comm device is in your ear. You’re insistent that today will go by your terms today. His steady pace toward you is producing an almost hypnotic rhythm. You struggle with trying to ignore the smoke and spice of his scent.

“I’m so glad you would make it, Nagisa.” His voice sends gentle rumbles straight to your core.You bow deeply and reply, “Thanks again for the other night.”

“Don’t mention it. And if I may say…” He takes the opportunity to look you up and down. “You look absolutely stunning.”

A blush crawls across your cheeks. No mask to hide it today.

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, “No matter how bewitching the mask, it's just an unnecessary decoration on a woman like you.”

Your hand slips from his cold grip as you reply, “You’re too kind. By the way, thank you for inviting me today.”

He smiles. “You’re a welcome addition to our little get together. Now if you’ll come this way...”

 He directs you to an elevator that goes directly to the upper floors. Although he makes no further contact, it nonetheless feels like he is escorting you on his arm. The perfect gentleman. You think back to your intel -- he owns the floor where he’s hosting the afternoon tea. Considering the masquerade, you brace yourself for this being far beyond the average get-together. You have no idea what to expect, and Soejima doesn’t seem keen on letting go of all his mysteries. You wonder if you can peel off his Prince Charming veneer and expose him for who he really is. Overcome with a feeling of exhilaration, you step on to the elevator with him.

Growing Pains - Chapter Twenty Five - The Ghosts of the Past

“You should move in with me.” Victor stated casually, while sipping his morning coffee.

I almost choked on my toast.

“W-what?” I stuttered. Where was this coming from, all of a sudden?

“Haven’t had enough coffee yet?” He teased, smiling, peeking inside my mug. “It’s only reasonable, you barely sleep at your apartment anyway, you spend all your time here, you might as well save the rent money and just come live here.”

“Well, if it’s the fiscally responsible thing to do.” I said, ironically. “Besides, the reason I sleep here all the time is because you keep insisting that I do. I wouldn’t mind spending a few nights at my apartment.” I argued back. “You probably could use the break.”

“I didn’t say I want you to spend more nights at your apartment, I was saying I want you to spend all nights here.” Victor sounded frustrated. “Do you really stay the night just because I insist?”

“I did not say that.” I answered softly while taking the dirty breakfast dishes away. I wanted to avoid that conversation so bad.

And Victor apparently caught up on that, seemingly dropping the subject altogether, his eyes trained on his phone. However, I could see his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and that usually meant he was churning some thought in that thick head of his. I sighed.

“Look, this is all very new and it’s a bit weird.” I tried to make him see my perspective. “There’s so much we haven’t even discussed yet… I mean, for now, it’s casual, if we get tired of each other we can go spend some time on our own. If I start living here, you’ll have me in your hair all the time. Besides, we don’t even really know that much about each other, never discussed how we will split the bills…”

“What bills?” He looked confused. “You mean utilities? We’re not roommates, and I don’t need you to pay for those.”

“Well, I want to contribute too. You shouldn’t be supporting me just because you’re rich. See, we really should be discussing these things before acting rashly.”

“Where do you see yourself two years from now?” Victor asked out of the blue, in all seriousness. I blinked at him.

“What, is this a job interview?” I joked. He didn’t laugh.

“Where do you see yourself two years from now?”

I couldn’t see why he was asking, but I was sure it was important. I tried my best to answer.

“I don’t know, honestly.” I said, softly, hoping I could calm some of the inner turmoil I could feel in him. “If someone told me two years ago that I would have gone through all of this… The abuse, the coma, coming to Loveland, my new job, my doctorate, you… I wouldn’t believe it.”

Victor watched me carefully, poker face in place. And for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t read his eyes.

“Alright.” He said, getting up and walking to the door. “Do you need a ride to the University?”

“Thanks, I’m taking my car, I need to-” And with that, I heard the door close behind him, leaving me talking to myself. And I wondered if we had actually been fighting. I simply couldn’t tell.

My routine at the university was a very simple one. During most mornings I would teach, and the afternoons were reserved for the research and occasional meetings with partners. I was thankful for the quiet morning, because I couldn’t focus at all, remembering every single sentence of our discussion, trying to see where things could have gone sour. Eventually, not able to find an answer, I stopped altogether.

After lunch, I went to my office to make a few phone calls regarding the new partnerships we were having at the moment. Unexpectedly, there was a knock on my door. It was Olive Carson, the Dean.

“Andrea, may we have a word?” She said, peeking from the door.

“Of course, come in, sit down.” I said, putting my phone down. “How can I help?”

“We have to discuss this new media exposure you’ve been having, regarding your relationship with Victor Lee.” She started, choosing her words carefully.

“Media exposure?” I frowned.

“Look, I know this is a very sensitive issue, and evidently you are not to blame for what happened to you, but no matter how unfair that exposure is, it is still exposure. And since your name is connected to the University’s now, it is our duty to make sure your exposure doesn’t reflect badly on us. As you understand, sooner or later we’ll have to make our professional relationship official and look for patrons to invest in your research, and any bad publicity will be prejudicial.”

“I’m sorry, Olive, I really don’t follow. What exactly are you talking about?” By that time, I was more than confused, I was starting to get scared.

“You haven’t seen it yet?” Olive asked. “That gossip magazine, Loveland’s Juiciest, published a whole article about you and your boyfriend. Apparently, you caught their attention at that fashion show. I personally choose to steer clear from that kind of literature, but when one of my researchers is involved… I have to pay attention.”

“Wait, Loveland’s…” My mind was reeling. “Ok, yes, me and Victor are in a relationship. Why would the patrons care for that?”

“Well, Mr. Lee spoke on your behalf when you defended your thesis. Some people may think his opinion was… biased.”

“And the results may be discredited.” I concluded, rubbing my forehead in distress. This was not happening. It simply couldn’t be happening.

“And affect our funding exponentially.” She added. “The abuse story is not helping either. I know your boyfriend is a very influential person, and he’s known to be extremely protective of his privacy… Maybe you can talk to him, see if you can make this matter go away, or at least contain it.”

I froze at her words. Did she say abuse? Did that magazine do a background check on me, and shared my abuse with the world? I got up in a hurry, preparing to leave.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I said, quickly gathering my things. “Do you mind if we finish this conversation later? I need to leave urgently. Please close the door behind you.”

Not waiting for her reply, I bolted to the closest magazine stand and bought a copy of the damn magazine. I held it with shaky hands, in my car, too scared to find out what was written.

I should have realized that the moment the paparazzi saw me with Victor, I would be a person of interest. After all, he was known to be the most desirable bachelor in Loveland that never gave any woman a second look. Obviously, they would be all over us. I was bound to end up under the limelight.

The article was titled Ice King or King of Hearts, and it spoke of how honorable and romantic Victor was, choosing to give his heart to true love, disregarding social status or background. And, to make it even more compelling and thorough, there was an entire page dedicated to me, with incredibly accurate facts. The author knew everything about me, my parents, my hobbies, and wrote a tear-jerking story about my abuse, including a picture of Daniel and the exposure it all had in the media back in Portugal, since he was the son of one of the most notorious bankers in Portugal.

My trauma, my darkest part of my life was right in front of me, printed in an elegant font, with pretty pictures to illustrate it. All that I had run from when I left Portugal had followed me to Loveland.

Unsure of what to do, I decided to go to my apartment to try and calm myself down before I did anything else. I couldn’t stay in that parking lot, making a scene. But I still had to fix this mess, and only one person could help me. But before I even considered talking to him, I needed to ground myself.

Victor seemed to have sensed my trouble, because as I drove home, he called me. At the time I was still a bit shaken, so I silenced my phone and dropped it on the passenger seat, deciding I would talk to him when I got home.

By the time I left the car, although a bit shaky, I had a plan. I would calm myself down, try and talk to my mother, and then call Victor and see what could be done. I had achieved so much already, I just needed to face this. Maybe now the world wouldn’t see me as just a victim. I just needed to be strong. I just needed a plan.

But no plan in the world could prepare me for what was coming next.

As I got to my floor, I saw a very familiar silhouette leaning on my door. And when that voice spoke to me in Portuguese, I knew my nightmare was far from being over.

“Hello, doll. Long time no see.” It was Daniel.

I went to my purse to get my phone. Shit! I had left it in the passenger seat. In my car. Downstairs.

Ok, Andrea. Calm down. Be smart.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in English, hoping someone would overhear me. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yet you speak English, our love language.” He answered in English. Daniel always insisted that I spoke English with him when we dated, it gave him a sense of… status. I hated that. “I told you, love, I had to see you. I missed you.”

“I have no interest in seeing you.” I tried to assert, although my heart was tight with fear. “Go away, Daniel.”

“Why? Why deny something so beautiful? Our love is cosmical, karmical, Andrea! No one can get in between us. Not even that boyfriend of yours.”

“So that’s how you found me?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Some reporter told you where I was?” I paused, taking a deep breath. Still, I couldn’t help but grit my teeth hard in anger. “Our cosmic love, as you say, ended the moment you beat me to a pulp and left me in a coma.”

“No, no.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not being fair, my love.” His sweet voice, his Let me patch you up after I beat you voice made me sick to my stomach. “You were trying to end it long before that, and you know it. I know I made a mistake, and no day goes by that I don’t think about it. But I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

I remained silent, trying to calculate my next move. I couldn’t go to my apartment, risking Daniel coming inside and hurting me in the secrecy of closed doors. I couldn’t run away either. No. Running away was not an option.

“My love for you is so big, can’t you see that?” He continued. “I sacrificed myself, I set you free. I gave you what you wanted, a chance to see how life would be without me. But I always knew you’d come back. When that reporter came to talk to me about our past, I knew that was your way of coming closer, you still want me. Why else would you send for me like that?” Daniel took a step closer. I reacted, taking a step back. “Come on, love, you know you missed me.”

“Are you high on something?” I laughed bitterly, not believing what I was hearing. This was another taste of crazy. “Listen to me carefully, Daniel, I don’t want you here. In fact, if you were living in another galaxy, you’d still be too close to me for my liking. Get out of here, before I call the police.”

Daniel’s sweet expression dissolved into an angry one. That was the real Daniel I knew, the one he only showed to the people he wanted to subdue. He gave me a snarly smile.

“Go ahead. It isn’t a crime to visit a friend. You’ll just make me want to come back for more.” Suddenly he was a lot closer, grabbing my arm. “You’re mine, Andrea.” He had a threatening look. “You belong to me. Don’t think you can run away from me just like that.” He whispered in my ear. “Wherever you go, I will always find you.”

“Do not touch me!” I yanked my arm from Daniel’s grip, but he was faster. Before I had any time to react, he grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against my door hard. I lost my breath for a moment.

“Now, why don’t we go inside? Be a good pussy and serve me some coffee, maybe with some ass on the side.” He whispered in my ear, his disgusting breath and maniacal voice making something break inside me.

“I said.” I threatened, calmly. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

“And what if I don’t? What’s a weak pussy like you going to do to stop me?”

Back in the day, his words would make me shrink, and act in repulse or disgust. But I was flooded with a sudden clarity I had never felt before. Not wasting any time, I punched him hard on the jaw, slamming my foot hard on his chest afterward, making him fly back and slam against the floor hard. He instinctively assumed a fetal position on the floor, trying hard to catch a breath. My kick must’ve cracked a couple of ribs, at least.

Suddenly, my vision was blocked by someone else’s body. Strong steady hands held my shoulders. And suddenly I realized that, when I was smacking Daniel, I had heard someone call my name.

“Did he hurt you?” Familiar grey eyes met mine. What was Victor doing here?

“I’m fine.” I said, releasing myself from his protection. “Daniel was just leaving, weren’t you sweetheart?” I asked, my voice dripping sarcasm.

“Just remember, doll.” Daniel threatened again, as he wiped some blood from his lip. “I broke you once. I can do that again.”

Victor turned to face him, his expression one I had never seen before. He looked like he was about to commit murder, his eyes fiery with anger. I grabbed his arm, squeezing it gently. He looked at me, and seeing me calm, he relaxed a little as well.

“You know, I thought you did break me. And I hated you for that.” I paused, and noticed the smirk Daniel gave me, pleased to have had such an effect on me. “But it turns out, I was wrong. You didn’t break me. I started over again.” I came a little closer, feeling Victor’s watchful eyes on me. “And I overcame all that you did to me. I created a bigger and better life for myself, and discovered I am stronger than I think and wiser than I look. But most important of all, I realized you can’t break me, not really. The only power you have over me is the one that I give you.”

Daniel’s expression was both of surprise and anger. He wanted to see me scared and helpless. He would find none of that in me. Thanks to my friends, my family, and Victor, I was strong again. More than I ever was. I felt unbreakable.

“I used to be terrified of you. You used to haunt my dreams, make me wake up in a cold sweat. And now that I can see you, the real you… You’re not scary anymore. You are pathetic. Trying to make people love you by using torture, because you don’t feel worthy of love. Trying to break them because you feel inferior, because, deep down, you know how pitiful you are.”

Daniel was a pathetic mess on the floor, blood mixing with tears of rage. I walked to my door, getting the key from my purse to open it. “Go back to Portugal. We’re done here.”

“I decide that! I decide when it’s over!” I heard his voice coming towards me. I turned back to defend myself if necessary, but saw nothing but Victor’s back, who had come between us.

“Listen to me carefully.” Victor warned. Daniel and Victor were about the same height, and still Victor towered over him dangerously. His eyes were menacing and full of rage, his expression feral, his tone clearly indicating he was not one to mess with. “You should be very careful. You may think your deeds will go unpunished, but I am watching you. I have been watching you for a while. And I know exactly what kind of scum you are.”

Victor paused, watching Daniel’s reaction. Daniel immediately shrunk another two inches under his hostile stare.

“If you come near her, if you even dare to be in the same city as her, I will make sure that your existence is pure torture, to say the least. I will find out about all your crimes, and I will make sure you pay dearly for them, bringing you agony ten times worse than what you caused. I will be your judge and executioner. I will make sure that, after I’m done to you, you are simply too weak, too helpless to hurt anyone else. That is my promise to you. And I always keep my promises.”

Daniel’s face was bright red, tears rolling down his face, his fists clenched in anger. But Daniel was a coward, so he would not dare face someone that would actually fight back. He slowly backed away, mumbling some empty threats, leaving us alone.

Without a second look back, I opened the door to my apartment and went in, Victor following me. As soon as I heard the click of the door closing, I found myself caught in a tight and warm embrace.

“He didn’t hurt me.” I whispered. “I’m fine.”

“I will be the judge of that.” I heard Victor’s hoarse voice close to my ear.

“Thanks for being here.” I released myself from his embrace, my hand running through his tie. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer any of my calls. I went to the university looking for you. Something happened.” Victor hesitated.

“The article about us. I already know. That’s why I came home.”

“I will take care of this.” Victor’s hands held my shoulders tight, as if to steady me. “This reporter… She’s out of a job, I guarantee.” The fury in his eyes almost made me feel sorry for those who would meet it. I almost feared for that reporter.

“The Dean says that this may hurt my research. The exposure… The fact that you and I are dating… may discredit my work.” I said, my voice hoarse.

“It won’t happen.” He looked me in the eyes, silently making the promise. “They are going to collect all the unsold magazines tonight. And we’ll take legal action against the publisher. We have a meeting with the lawyers tomorrow.” He looked at me, taking me in his arms again. “This won’t hurt you any more than it already has, I promise you. You can tell the Dean it has been taken care of. I’ll call her if you want to.”

“No…” I said, rubbing my forehead in distress. “I’ll talk to her. Thank you.”

Victor grabbed my hand and put it down, leaning his forehead against mine instead.

“We’ll get through this. Don’t worry.” He looked at me with soft eyes. “I’m here.”

I ran my hand over his cheek lovingly. Yes, he was here. I just couldn’t muster the happiness for it at that moment. I felt tired and numb. Victor looked at me with worried eyes.

“Let’s go home.” He said, holding me closer. “You need to rest. This was a stressful day.”

“I…” I sighed. “I prefer sleeping here today, if you don’t mind.”

Victor looked at me with a pained and confused expression.

“I’m not rejecting you.” I said, placing my hands on his chest, like I could somehow placate him. “I need this time to myself. I need to gather my thoughts. I am so thankful for your help, and I love you, but I need to be alone. I can think better when I’m alone.”

Victor seemed to relax slightly, although he didn’t look exactly pleased. He clearly didn’t understand it, but he was trying. He took my face in his hands and kissed me gently.

“Just remember, you don’t need to do things alone. I’m right here. I will always be here.”

༺ ⁝ 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁,  𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. ⁝ ༻ Shades upon shades of pastel pink passed by my eyes in multiple different fabrics. Lace? Overused, still sexy, but overused. Velvet? Perhaps but it would need to be [real] if [I] was going to place this piece in my line. Felt? Fuck no. God, what a travesty that shit would be. Leather? There were two competitors, that I knew of, who were planning to incorporate leather into their “signature” lines, and if anyone knew me? They knew I was bound to blow their lines out of the water, and drown them. Not to say it wasn’t a difficult task; I wouldn’t be sweating over it. Deep blue eyes wandered over all of the fabrics that were sitting right at my fingertips, and slowly I let that gaze rise up to each person that held these panels. With a swift flick of the wrist I dismissed two fabrics from the room, and nodded to the remaining four. A smile of absolute certainty casted in against my features, and I nodded the four of them to take their seat at the designing table for this morning’s meeting with Christian Dior. “Go. Now. I want each of you seated at that table in [ten] minutes. Fabrics and swatches, no exceptions. You mess this up — even the [slightest] mistake? You can gather your belongings and leave,” I called out over my slender, black-clad shoulder. Of course, everyone knew how I operated by now, and if they didn’t? There would be someone in this studio that would brief them before I laid eyes on them. That’s the way I liked it. When you’re at the top of the hill, you get other people to do the minuscule things for you, and Lord knows I wasn’t one to train a rookie. Not in this lifetime, at least. Those days were long gone, and I would rather be shot square in the temple than to backslide into that pathetic existence, again. The familiar sound of their feet shuffling behind me, making their way to gather all of what was needed, caused a knowing smirk to form in where the smile had once been. Time to get this year’s line underway, and ready to go for the September release. For years now, I had been in close cahoots with Mister Dior, and I wasn’t about to waste that type of talent, or let some other company attempt to yank at his sketchbook. That was [my] job. In an ease of motion I began to thumb through my mother’s old sketches before I settled at the one I’d been saving for the right time. For the right artist. Dior was my prized penny in a stack of bent up nickels and dimes. Gentle fingers swept against the old tattered pages of this book for a moment as I thanked my mother for this gift I’d been given twelve years prior. Eyes fell closed for this second in time before I nodded, folding the book back to hide this page even though I knew it would open right back up. Perhaps with old wounds. Perhaps with a whole lot of hate. Who knew? Ringlets of Chestnut and Dark Chocolate locks framed my shoulders, and fell against my back as I made my way towards the room surrounded with glass walls, and a priceless view of Seattle. I could feel the eyes of all those who sat in the studio focus on me, and instead of acknowledging their angst, I simply flashed a brief smirk. Some young girl held the door open for me as I entered the room and an immediate smile washed into play as Christian stood to hug me. Small embrace, and that was it. Nodding, I stood at the head of the table, setting the book on the table and turning my attention to all who sat before me. “This year I want things to change. I want to create a line that screams to be pleased. That begs those who wear it to be taken at their weaknesses, but in that, to be [used] but only if [they] say to do so. Now, you all probably assume that will have to follow suit with bondage, submission, and dominance. To that I say — you are [wrong]. This has to do with vulnerability, and you might wonder what in the hell does that have to do with lingerie? Everything. You have to open a new side of you to place these clothes on you. To present yourself as a present for whomever, and that is our ticket in. That is how we are going to wipe our competitors off the slate. This is the year of Provocation by Pistol. Welcome Mr. Dior, and feel free to take a look at everything we’ve got in store for you. There are fabrics there that many wouldn’t dare to place in a lingerie line, much less as a primary focus, but I would. I want to see Velvet made completely of Silk, Dupioni Silk, Lamé, and Embroidered Organza. I want [you] to incorporate each of these into my line this year, and I want you to do so making new renditions of my mother’s sketches. Make them your own, but more importantly, darlin’ — Make me love them.” 𝑶𝒉, 𝒚𝒆𝒔. I could tell by the way he raised a brow towards me that his interest had been piqued, and I had ultimately won signing Christian Dior onto this year’s line. Too bad Daddy was wrong when he told me a, “bullshit little lingerie line won’t get you anywhere big.” I loved him, but he underestimated the power of a woman’s sex appeal far too much. Though I supposed it had to be hard for such an ‘upstanding, tight-lipped’ man such as himself to ever think of his daughter in that dedication. Shame. He could’ve had a hand in being a partner, but he’d lost that right many years back. Perfectly manicured fingers used the glass table as leverage as I pushed myself back, coming to stand just as I flashed Dior with a sardonic little smile. Nodding once towards him as to let him know I would see him in my office as soon as he had briefed my team on what he would like to do. I wasn’t about to show my entire team the works of my mother; too many eyes are too many chances to be betrayed. Christian stood just as I made my way from the room, and sauntered up the nearing stairs to my office. The only room on the entire top floor of my studio, though there were many upon many floors beneath. Twenty, to be exact. I bought this building on my nineteenth birthday, my third year of unrivaled success as a model in New York City. Coincidentally; my first year as a designer was my last year as a model, though I could easily reclaim my spot on the runway if I wished. I decided long ago that I wanted to be the name on the clothes rather than the name in the clothes. By trade, this is how I came to know [many] of the talented and entitled designers, artists, and models. So I used my time on the runway to aide into my own fashion empire. Much as I had used my father’s colleagues, friends, and social tree to find all of those to invest not only in my company but in me. To believe in [me.] Worked like a charm. Daddy, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Being a model was one thing, but being the face and name behind a billion dollar luxury lingerie line? Fuck me, I might as well have become a prostitute on the corner of Monterrey Square in Historic Savannah. That would’ve been less disgraceful to my father’s eyes than what I was currently becoming. What I was [creating] for the whole world to view, and part of me hated his self-righteous bullshit. Mama never would have done that. She wouldn’t have done all to me as he had; she wouldn’t have allowed her friends to lay their hands against her only child. Her only [daughter]. These thoughts echoed throughout my mind as I felt my fingertips dig down into the denim fabric of my Marc Jacobs denim jacket, almost far enough to pierce through the mastered stitches. Anger didn’t begin to cover the searing pain that etched in against my heart. This was why I worked so goddamn hard. To be able to say I had become more than John Hale. The most influential man to walk the streets of Savannah since Jim Williams. A man who took the world for granted, and treated people like disposable resources. Yes, Daddy, use everyone who ever loved you, and throw caution to the wind when it comes to their feelings. How smart. Ocean inspired eyes rolled back at the thought alone, and I tilted my head to the side just as I opened the leather bound sketchbook. A small, subdued smile coming into play as I let my fingers glide in against the drawing. It was almost as if my eyes had glazed over in a daze as I felt the familiar strokes of my mother’s pencil, and I simply sat back in my seat. Wonder filled my mind as I let my mind drift off to the thought of where she was. Where my father had placed her when I was twelve years old. The year he found out that I was ‘afflicted’ with lusting for others. That I wanted to be in an industry so highly controversial, and that his little girl wanted to walk the runway. He saw it as my mother’s fault since she spent most of her days that turned into nights, and back to day, piecing together her drawings. Making them come to life in her tiny ass attic apartment that was our secret. He knew of her dream to become a designer. What he didn’t know was that she had found the little silver key to the attic the same year I was born, and from then on? That was where she went to find solace. To comfort herself in her darkest days, and where she taught me how to be something he never could —ｓｔｒｏｎｇ. “𝙰 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍.” I could still hear her sweet voice speaking to me from behind her wire mannequin as she pinned the dress in place. She would always make sure to peek around whatever masterpiece she had been working on, just to make sure I heard her quote Congreve but with her own touch. Maybe she didn’t realize it then, but I always paid attention when she spoke. Little did I know then, but I would always wonder if I subconsciously knew Daddy was going to throw her away the moment he found out. I did always have a knack for being able to predict certain outcomes, and perhaps a piece of me did know that particular fact of life. After all, by the age of fifteen I knew all the plays in my father’s playbook. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑶𝒏𝒆: Create a “lasting” relationship. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑻𝒘𝒐: Mind fuck them to the best of your abilities. Find out their weaknesses and their quirks. Figure out why they are in their position of power, and [how] they got there — that’s arguably the most important piece of information you can have against someone you plan to overcome. Once you know how they built themselves up to where they now stand; you’ll be able to see how to tear them down. Stone by stone. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆: Take your time throwing the stones of their lives away. You do [not] want to rush this, if you do they will catch on. They will see that you aren’t a friend after all, and that you are only in this for yourself. You are using them as your next step in the game. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓: Keep a distance, but not too much of a distance to raise suspicion. Make sure they know you “care” about what they’re going through. Hell, even offer your help if you feel it’ll help you step up your game. Build trust quicker than you tear it down. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆: Be still and know. Make moves behind closed doors. Nothing leaks to the press. Nothing leaves the table of which pages are signed [until] whomever you are fucking is already too far buried to fight back. Make sure anything you have done has been covered. There are no tracks. Be still in what you have finalizing. Know that there is nothing to unravel your own work. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑺𝒊𝒙: Bury that motherfucker quicker than a lawyer who has something to hide. These are the six quintessential steps to overcoming [anyone] who dares to challenge a Hale. Especially if there is a threat involved. My father instilled these rules of the game from the time I was old enough to play a decent game of chess, with the logic that if I could outsmart a grown man at the age of thirteen; I could overcome any business tactic with a little grit and grace. Too bad I never liked to follow the rules. I play at my own expense, with my own rules, and at the hands of no mercy — for a mercy rule is a weak man’s way out. ⁝༺༻⁝ The familiar sound of knuckles against my office door quickly grasped my attention from the previous thoughts, and snatched me back to reality. It took a moment to fully refocus myself on the task at hand, and I nodded to the man who stood six foot three in the doorway. “C’mon in, Dior. I’ve got somethin’ to show you,” I called out in a clear, concise southern draw. Letting my gaze settle against him as he made his way over, straightening out his suit as seen fit. Once he had taken a seat across from me, and I flashed a small but noticed smile in his direction before I turned my mother’s sketchbook towards him. Taking a moment before I thumbed through to fourteen different designs. All a completely different style; all equally as challenging as anything else he had ever created. After I let him take the book into his own hands, to study the drawings, I began to speak once again. “What I want [you] to do is to take these and make them your own, but with remnants of her. My mother. She was quite the artist, without a platform, without a voice into the world of fashion alike. It’s time to break the ice. I want you to use only four fabrics to create something unimaginable. Bear in mind, every one of these looks will have to be transformed into lingerie, and every look will pair with leather boots made by Christian Louboutin; you’re free to contact him to work amongst yourselves on the scheme. However, I will want restraints to match, and perhaps whips. Something to keep the edge alive, to fight the competitors on their ‘love me leather’ pursuit. Like I said — make me love them.” His emerald eyes stayed fixated on me for nearly five minutes before he nodded a very slow nod of understanding. Perplexed; to say the least, I’m sure. Though his smile lead me to believe he was more than happy to do as I had demanded, and instead of speaking he began in against the sketches once more. Studying each detail in their design just to look back up at me, and finally he broke the silence, “These are beautiful. Such a elegant touch she had to the designs; I wouldn’t touch that. There are things I will refuse to change, and others you will never recognize as your mother’s — they will be my own. You will be proud Miss Alice, and you [will] love them. I am a man of my word.” The certainty of his voice made a smirk creep in against my lips despite the satisfaction I got out of knowing he was pleased with my idea. Then and again; who wouldn’t be? With a nod to him, I moved to my feet to shake his hand as if to non-verbally seal the deal, and just as he went to tuck my mother’s sketchbook beneath his arm, I shook my head. “I think not. Her book stays in the studio. It does not leave the premises; there will be no exceptions. However, my assistant can and will make any and all accommodations you need to be comfortable here. There is a whole extension to this studio that comes off the fifteenth floor — in the back. It should be big enough to fit your needs, and if not? You come to me. We will work something out.” With that in the air, he smiled rather warmly towards me before sliding the book back onto my desk. Without a word he stepped into me, gracing my cheek with a gentle peck to show respect for my wishes, and as a friendly goodbye before stepping away. I waited until he had made his exit to slip my mother’s most prized work into my locked drawer, though once secure I made my way from the office. Smiling at the familiar clink of my heels against the marble floors — Oh how I loved that sound. I waved a hand in the direction of those who were still at work on the floor before thanking them briefly, and explained deadlines to the few who were in the meeting. For a moment I had to double check myself to make sure there was nothing I was forgetting to say or do, but ultimately I turned on my heel and headed for the elevator. Tucking my phone into my purse as I walked, a somber smile came into sight as I stepped onto the glass box, pressing in the ground level button, and once the doors slid closed? I ran a hand back through my thick locks, nodding to myself as I knew where I had to go next. What I had to do. Who I had to go see. Ding! The doors slid open in what seemed like no time, and I sauntered through the lobby and directly for the car that awaited my arrival just to dismiss my driver instead of taking my usual ride to my temporary home on Bainbridge Island. With a heavy breath falling from my lips, I followed back to retrieve my Bentley where I slipped comfortably in against the leather seats before bringing the car to life. It only took a few seconds before I was pulling away from my studio and heading to the outskirts of Seattle to Northern State Sanatorium. After an hour and a half later, I found myself pulling into the dreary confines of this institution’s parking lot, and for a moment? I couldn’t help but to wonder what kind of horrific shit might linger deep within the walls of this building. There wasn’t a smile to be had here, and that much was evident. Nodding to myself, a silent confirmation that I needed to do this because if I didn’t do it now? I never would. Minutes passed as I sat in the car, breathing...just breathing before I slipped away from the car. My purse hung from the crook of my elbow just as I sauntered towards the door, and much to my surprise? It was a mechanical door instead of something wretched as I assumed it would be. That’s reassuring, at least I noted to myself just as I made my way to the front desk where a sliding window opened and a blonde woman of about sixty years sat. She looked over me for awhile before finally asking for my name and for the name of whom I was coming to see. 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈. “Alice Katherine Hale, I’m here to see my mother; Josephine Alice Hale.”

Just The Two Of Us Pt.7

Pairing: Kamilah x Mc x Adrian

Disclaimer: The characters don’t belong to me

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

Prompt: After the last night fighting against Gaius, before his fall, he puts his plan into execution, changing the lives of Adrian, Kamilah and Mia forever. Friendships may end, a heart may be broken and a new love may arise. In the end who will win the girl's heart? 

Tag List: @gavryllo @spacecarrousel @scarlet-letter-a0114 @zoe6111 @ilovekamilahsayeed @delphinusbae @galaxyside-0 @thecleveridiot09 @rocket-scientist07 @shanuuh @sleeping-with-her06 @rubyheartjane @pizzapyjamas @deereboy97 @jellymonster @justejuste727 @thepotatobleh @iam-the-fuckin-queen @ilovetaylor13m @incorrectbloodboundquotes @whoinvitedalx @bucket-harrington @soundtrackforlife @desiree-0816 @sunsaint @tigerbryn11 @zerozone-80 @jen825

“Mia, come on. It's not that bad,” Lily said as she ran her hand through the girl's golden hair — Which the girl’s head was buried in her best friend's lap. "It's gonna be okay. Everything works out in the end.” Lily said trying to be optimistic.

Mia didn't answer, the girl was crying softly, sobbing for minutes since they both arrived at Mia's and Kamilah's penthouse. It was around midnight when they both got home, Kamilah was not there, the only thing Lily could hear from the big apartment was the blonde's cries.

“Hey, don't be like this. You know I hate to see you cry, it's not the end of the world.” Lily tried to cheer up her friend.

“How is it not ?! Tell me Lily… In what possible situation is this a good thing ?!” Mia lifted her head, hot tears streaming down the girl's face. “I'm twenty-three and I'm pregnant! Pregnant with an unplanned child, this was not supposed to happen! I'm still trying to believe that this is real, that this is happening to me, like Kamilah and I... Oh god.”

"But happened! Somehow, some way, Mia whining won't help anything!” Lily held her best friend's hands, wiping a tear that was running down. “If you were still in our previous situation, sharing an apartment and living on an assistant's salary, that would be a much bigger problem. You were bankrupt. But now... My God, you are expecting a child of not anyone, you are expecting a child of Kamilah. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Cleopatra's cousin, the biggest rich CEO we know! Your kid has royal blood.”

"You're not helping, Lily!" Mia stood, shaking her head in denial.

“Hey, I know it's a lot to assimilate. This is great news for all of us. I mean, I'll be aunt! Can I be the godmother ?!”

"Lily!"

"What? I can dream, can't I ?!”

“Lily, do you know the size of the problem I got myself into ?! This is much bigger than any other confusion. Do you have any idea what will happen when Adrian finds out I'm pregnant ?! Kamilah and he were almost at each other's throats at the gala party! Imagine what will happen when he knows!” Mia exasperated ran a hand through blonde hair.

“Yeah, when you put it that way the situation seems to be even worse than I thought.” Lily said contemplative.

“ What I’m going to tell Kamilah? Like, hey, what’s up? I know we haven't been talking about feelings during these months, but guess what? I’m pregnant with your child!” Mia laughed with irony, just thinking about her reaction. “Kamilah can't even tolerate children’s! She won't want this child, I know that!”

“You know you'll eventually have to tell her, don't you? I mean, you can’t hide for so long. If you both decided to keep the baby. One hour the belly will start to grow, and—” Lily was interrupted by the girl's sobs, which collapsed on the couch again, hiding her face in a pillow. “Mia, you don’t have to decide what to do now. Take your time to think.” She stroked her friend's back affectionately.

"I thought you were taking your pills, you were always so right with your medication." Lily asked confused.

“I stopped after the wedding, because you know, I wouldn't have the slightest chance to get pregnant. And almost a year later, look what happened!”

"Yup. Kamilah did knock you up, didn’t she? How many times do you guys...?"

"Almost every day, I mean... She comes home late from work, and there's all this tension between us, and when I see it, we're already doing it." Mia paced restlessly. “Kamilah is so older than me, and she’s so experienced, when we're together everything is so wonderful, so fucking good.” Mia shook her head, her mind wandering between all the nights she spent with Kamilah. “She'll think I cheated on her! She'll think I've been sleeping with anyone else, she'll ask for the divorce and kick me out of the house! ”

"Hey, hey. This won't happen, okay? Kamilah is not stupid to let you out of her life.” Lily touched the blonde's hair. “You have as much time as you want, but remember that Kamilah must know. This child is hers also, she has the right to know, Mia. Regardless of what you both decide to do. I'm on your side, for whatever happens.”

Kamilah and Mia’s penthouse, 20:45 pm

Sick. Nauseous. Sad.

9 weeks of pregnancy.

Apart from her tiredness, discouragement and aching breasts, she tried to keep up with the rest of her commitments. It was how Mia felt most of the day. And of course, every day the idea that sooner or later, she would have to tell Kamilah, the truth. Her belly was a little swollen, but Kamilah was too busy to even notice.

Most of the time she tried to avoid her wife, of course Kamilah being Kamilah, it was only a matter of time before she noticed something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Unfortunately Mia hadn’t found the courage to tell her and for her luck, Kamilah was being extremely busy these days to notice that something was wrong and she was barely staying at home to have a proper conversation.

But that one night, Kamilah had arrived early from work with the intention of taking a shower at home and then returning to work for an important meeting, ruining Mia's plans to avoid her at night. Kamilah was nervous and angry, apparently her clients were giving her a hard time than usual and that made the CEO grumpy.

“Tell them to wait, Karen. Keep them busy, I'm on my way. I'll be there in forty-five minutes.” Mia heard Kamilah's voice echo through the closet, the girl rolled her eyes, hearing Kamilah hang up the phone and cursing softly to herself.

The girl turned her attention to her notebook on her lap as she finished another of her college articles. It turns out that being married to an influential CEO had its advantages, one of which was studying at a prestigious university with a higher tuition than she could ever afford by herself. Mia caressed her belly absently, something that now during her pregnancy had become a habit. Lily's voice rang in her mind, her words echoing, Mia remembered the afternoon they went to a coffee shop.

"I know this decision isn't mine, it belongs to you two, and I know you think you’re not ready or that Kamilah wouldn’t want the baby. But I'd be happy.” The vampire smirked. “There's a little Kamilah inside you and girl, I hope for this child has her hair.”

“Mia.” Kamilah's authoritative voice brought her back to reality.

“Uh?” She looked up at the CEO, who was standing in front of the bed with her hands on her hips. Immediately the girl's face turned red when she saw that image in front of her. Kamilah's tanned skin was wet, her brown hair flung over her shoulders, she wore a set of panties and bra that perfectly valued that damn body.

“I asked you if you saw my wine blouse, she was supposed to be in the closet, but she isn't. And I can't be late for my meeting.” Kamilah said angrily, it was usual for her to stay that way when an important meeting was scheduled for the month. Mia sighed.

“You have so many social shirts. What is the difference between this shirt to the others? Did you look right?” The girl narrowed her green eyes.

“If I hadn't searched properly, I probably wouldn't have been asking where it is.” Kamilah took a deep, impatient breath. "Maria always send them to the laundry, and you always know when our clothes arrive." Mia rolled her eyes and got out of bed, and went into the closet to look.

"Here it is. See, how you don’t know how to look for things?” She handed Kamilah the perfectly, clean, wine blouse. Kamilah growled, wearing her shirt and buttoning the buttons in a hurry. "Wait, let me do that, you'll end up messing with the buttons like this." Mia said, approaching and buttoning. Kamilah studied her closely, the girl's delicate features down to her intense green eyes.

"Stop being so cranky," Mia said softly.

“You have no idea what's at stake, my company could lose a millionaire contract if I can't close the deal.” Kamilah snapped.

"Why not try to reconcile instead of showing the advantages one company can provide to another?" Mia said patiently.

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.” Kamilah rolled her eyes. "That's not how the corporate world works, Mia."

"Or you can complain about it, exactly how you’re doing right now and ignore me like you've been doing for weeks." Mia pulled away.

“What?” Kamilah stopped to look at her.

"Nothing. Forget it.” Mia said walking away. “You only care about your stupid company, anyway.” That was the hormones speaking for her and making her extremely vulnerable and emotional. Kamilah stared at her without understanding.

“How can you say that ?! I've spent a century building this company from scratch!” Kamilah said, anger returning and red eyes showing.

“And I'm your wife!” Mia turned around, screaming with a red face, tears streaming down. “But you don't give a damn about me! And I'm sick of it, I'm sick of you, sick of this stupid fight with Adrian! It’s years of my life, Kamilah! I'm paying for your mistakes! I had absolutely nothing to do with it and yet, Gaius managed to ruin my life!” Yup, she was definitely emotional.

"Do you think I wanted to get married ?! Do you think it was just your life which was ruined?!" Kamilah shouted back, laughing sarcastically, her fangs showing. "I never wanted! I never wanted to get stuck in a marriage to a girl who acts like an irresponsible teenager!”

"Then why don't you ask for the divorce? I will be happy to oblige!" Mia shouted. She didn't mean that, not really. But the emotional instability of the moment made her want to. That made Kamilah back away, looking at the girl with wide eyes, open mouth, speechless.

“Mia—”

“I can't live like this! Years stuck in this fake marriage, this is my life Kamilah, and I'm not ready to be a mother, and neither are you!” She pointed a finger at Kamilah's chest, pouring out the truth without even realizing it.

"Excuse me? What in the hell? ” Kamilah asked without understanding, it made the girl fall to her senses.

"Forget what I said." Mia backed away, stammering, with red cheeks. The time seemed to have stopped. Kamilah looked at her, a confused expression on her face, she sought answers from the girl, who kept her eyes on the floor. “I didn't mean it!” Mia shook her head tears escaping from her face. "Doesn’t matter what I said!"

“You said you weren't ready to be a mother.” Kamilah repeated the sentence with a squint of misunderstanding. "Why would you say something like that if it didn't matter ?! Why you wouldn’t be ready to be...?"

This was not a good time. Kamilah was angry, but maybe there wasn't another soon, at some point she would probably have to travel to another corner of the world for a business trip and it would be too late or... She would ask for the divorce.

"I need to talk to you. Something happened.” Mia said quietly. "It's very important. I've already waited too long.” The blonde's eyes filled with tears. Kamilah didn’t said anything, she was just staring at the girl in silence, completely speechless.

“...I'm pregnant.” Those words wandered sharply in the air, and suddenly the silence returned as never before.

The CEO eyes widened, her brows furrowed, her lips parted. An unrecognizable expression on her face, the blonde moistened her lips and hugged herself, hoping for anything to come next. One minute, two minutes. Both exchanging glances, Kamilah was not breathing. She looked like a living statue staring at the mesmerized girl. What she didn’t know was that deeply, Kamilah knew the risks she had taken, even knowing the consequences. She noticed the vulnerable look of the girl, and how fragile she looked.

2000 years surviving, 2000 years of wars and blood, deaths also Gaius. 2000 years knowing that her family was dead and she would never have them back. Centuries grieving and fighting. She had made peace with that feeling. But what she never expected for that happen. She spend years punishing herself for all the horrible things she had made in her past, thinking that she didn’t deserved to be happy, and now... She was going to be a mother.

"Say something!" Mia said exasperated.

“Are you sure?” Were the only words that escaped Kamilah's lips.

“Yeah! I was feeling a little dizzy and nauseous at first, it was little but I hardly bothered. Then it got stronger, I didn't know what to do, Lily made me get a pregnancy test and then we went for a blood test.” Mia went to find the paper and handed it to the CEO. Kamilah read it silently, after two minutes with eyes fixed on the document, she looked at the girl firmly.

"That's impossible!" Mia paced impatiently. “There is no way this is true! Genetically speaking— ” She kept talking desperate, but Kamilah remained standing with her eyes fixed on the girl and the test in hand.

"This child is mine?" She asked quietly enough to make Mia stop.

“If it's yours ?! Well, I do not know! I've been sleeping with you for the last few months and only you! If this son is not yours, then I was fucked by a spirit or it is a blessing from the Holy Spirit!” The girl shouted. “I didn’t cheat on you with anyone! It's been you, and only you.” But then, the realization came into her eyes. "... What do you mean if this son is yours?"

Mia noticed Kamilah's look. She was hiding something, she could tell.

"Kamilah, what do you know, that I don't know ?!" The CEO straightened her stance, the serious, thoughtful look on her face returned, as if she were lost in thought. Before she could answer that question, the sound of Kamilah's cell phone vibrating interrupted both. Kamilah immediately answered the phone.

"What it is, Karen?" She asked impatiently. “What they’re doing? Are you sure about it? I understand, please tell them I'm coming.” Kamilah hung up the phone.

“Kamilah—”

"I need to go. If I do not arrive in twenty minutes the contract will be canceled. I can't miss this meeting.” She said wearing her clothes, in the blink of an eye, she was already spotless again.

“But Kamilah, we're talking—” Mia tried to say without understanding her wife's reaction. "We need to talk about this! You can't leave me now.”

“I know, we will talk about it. I promise. When I get home, alright?” Kamilah said, taking her overcoat and going to the door, leaving the girl alone.

Ahmanet Financial

“I’m pregnant.” Mia's voice echoed in Kamilah's head incessantly. The vampire kept her gaze fixed on the glass table, the voices of her company executives and guests, were just insignificant voices at the deep of her mind. A million things kept her mind spinning.

“There is a great possibility that a child will be born through it. Miranda could be expecting a biological son of yours, Kamilah...” Lord Elric's words surfaced in the CEO's mind like a punch in the middle of her stomach. She didn’t believed, she didn’t care. She acted by pure desire and now... Mia was pregnant.

The thought that she could never be a mother never tormented her. She was too busy fighting wars, bathing in innocent blood while at the time she believed in glory, too busy conquering her ideals to think about it. Until then it was impossible, but now... It had come true. And how could reality be so scary.

“What Adrian will think? Oh God. Adrian will never forgive me, I broke my promise. He will hate me for the rest of eternity.” Kamilah tried to imagine Adrian's face, and how it would desolate him. She had broken her best friend's heart the moment she decided to succumb to desire. And Mia... Like how just three hours ago, Mia was about to ask for the divorce before letting out she was pregnant.

“Is that what she wants? Getting away from me? What if when I get home she's gone? What I’m supposed to do?” the torturous thought haunted her. Kamilah had grown accustomed to living with the girl, liking the simple things Mia did for her — Even the small ones, were kind and affectionate gestures. Receiving affection after living centuries alone in reclusion was new to her. But it was amazing how Mia never did something expecting something in return.

She was really leaving her? Kamilah's fists clenched against the table, the fear, the doubt consuming her. Maybe she was so afraid of Mia's rejection that she probably couldn't accept her own feelings. She was with a child, her child.

“She is expecting a child of mine. A biological child, my blood, my heir. This child could be my redemption. What if she doesn't want to keep the baby? Mia was right, I'm not ready to be a mother, let alone her. We were reckless and irresponsible, and... We created a life. What if Mia wants the baby and the child do not like me? Who would want to have a mother whose soul is not capable of remission? ” The thought drifted through Kamilah's mind.

“Kamilah?” One of her executives called her. Taking her mind off her reverie, Kamilah looked up, gazing into the eyes of several executives in incredibly expensive suits, her executives and the executives of the company she was about to close the deal on awaiting her response.

 Damn it, Mia. Kamilah's mind was far from that meeting room at that moment. In fact, it was the last place she wanted to be now. The CEO hardly listened to any of the arguments of the company in which she was closing the deal.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Kamilah asked, oblivious.

"Mr Harrison asked how much the margin profit would be at the end of the semester, ma'am." Karen whispered so that only she could hear.

"Oh, of course." Kamilah straightened her suit. At that moment Mia's words came back to her mind and how the girl had suggested a conciliation instead. “Do you know what? Let's put that subject aside.” Kamilah leaned back in her leather chair.

“Excuse me, Kamilah?” Mr Harrison, her prospective investor raised an eyebrow.

“I know you and you know me. We are both excellent what we do. Tell me what you want, David, and I'll tell you what I want. Maybe we can come to a compromise instead of trying to get somewhere in this stupid fight for who was most power. So, do we have a deal or not?.” Kamilah said letting all the executives quiet through that direct negotiation.

...

“I want to propose a toast, to our brilliant CEO who increasingly leads us on the path to success and profit.” Steven, one of Kamilah's executives, raised a glass of champagne. “One more deal!”

Kamilah smiled with the glass in hand, lifting gracefully towards him and the others. Since the deal was closed, a small celebration with the company executives was happening. Kamilah sipped her champagne, her mind wandering and drawn to a certain stubborn blonde.

“Is everything okay, ma'am?” Karen approached and asked quietly. Kamilah stared at her for long seconds, her assistant's worried look showing sympathy. “Kamilah, you were physically present in the meeting, but mentally, you were elsewhere.” Kamilah opened her mouth to respond, trying to find the words to form a coherent sentence. "Did something happen to Mrs. Sayeed?" Karen asked referring to Mia.

"...I'm going to be a mother, Karen." Kamilah said with her eyes wide and distant. Karen was looking at her for some sign of jokes, but when she met Kamilah's serious eyes, she knew Kamilah wasn't joking around.

"What? I didn't know you both were wanting a baby.” She said politely.

"It was an accident." Kamilah confessed, smiling slightly when she saw the white expression on her assistant's face. “A very good accident. The baby is mine, a biological child.”

“So you both crossed the forbidden lines. I knew it was just a matter of time. This is amazing, congratulations, Kamilah." Karen smiled. Kamilah stared at her for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and heading for the center of the conference room.

“I would like your attention.” Kamilah said attracting the eyes of all of her executives who stopped to listen. “First, I have a pronouncement and a toast to make. As many of you know, I got married a year ago, which was a surprise to everyone, believe me, it was for me too.” She said attracting laughter, her gaze remained serious. "So, today, I am pleased to announce, that we are expecting our first child, I am going to be a mother very soon." Clapping and congratulations broke into the room, as playful comments. “That's why today I want to ask you all to raise your glasses, a toast to my son or daughter, the heir of my empire." She raised her glass and everyone did.

04h45am Kamilah and Mia’s penthouse

It was early in the morning when Kamilah arrived home, the sun would rise in a few hours when the elevator doors opened giving way to the CEO. Kamilah set her bag on the couch and walked into her bedroom, opening the door slightly, spotting Mia asleep buried in the covers. She couldn’t help, but feel the relief at seeing the girl. Kamilah took off her heels and her jacket. Going to the closet quietly and then to the bathroom.

She just needed one more thing to relax and sleep peacefully. Blood. The already robed CEO left her room and headed for the kitchen. Opening her personal fridge, and spotting several bags of blood. Mia raised her head, still sleepy. The girl spotted the kitchen light on the end of the hall, through the crack in the door. Kamilah was at home, she looked into her cell phone and saw that it was still dawn. Still a little dizzy, she rose from the bed and opened the bedroom door.

When she reached the kitchen, she spotted Kamilah, sitting on one of the stools in front of the counter, drinking a glass of red liquid. Even silently coming, Kamilah felt her presence.

"You should be sleeping." Kamilah commented turning to her and looking with warm eyes. Mia approached the CEO. “It’s not good for you to be awake at this time... Especially for the baby.”

“You left me without answering my question.” Mia crossed her arms, her gaze burning.

"Alright. I knew this could happen, that you could get pregnant." Kamilah admitted, making Mia's shoulders drop. “Adrian and I went after elf magic… And we found out about the possibility, blood magic made it real, I tried to avoid you in every way possible, but I couldn't.” Kamilah told her. “And when we started sleeping together, I couldn't stop anymore. Suddenly this just became a small possibility for me and I didn’t care anymore.”

"And you didn't tell me ?!" Mia shouted with tears in her eyes. "Did you expect to knock me up to throw this at me ?!"

“I didn't planned it Mia!” Kamilah ran a hand through her hair.

"Of course not!" Mia laughed pacing. “Do you ever wonder what Adrian will do when he finds out that you and I are expecting a baby ?! He will never look in my face again, and god only knows what will happen!”

“Mia—” Kamilah tried to approach the girl, who backed off.

“I am too young to be a mother! I can barely take care of myself, I can barely imagine a baby! You're too busy, and you don't even like childrens!” Tears streamed from her eyes, she passed the CEO and entered her room. "This is a nightmare." Mia said crying.

“How many weeks are you in?” Kamilah asked curiously.

“Nine weeks.”

“You've been pregnant for three months and you told me just now ?!” Kamilah raised her eyebrows.

"Do you really want to argue about not sharing things? This isn't happening, isn't it." Mia shook her head.

“Mia, we can talk about this.” Kamilah's eyes softened. "It's gonna be okay." The CEO sat next to her.

“No, no. It won't be alright! Why is everyone telling me this ?! My breasts hurts, I’m nauseous almost every day and all I want to do is cry! So don’t you dare to tell me that will be alright!” She shouted, making Kamilah blink as she saw her wife in chaos. “What my parents are going to think?”

“I didn't mean that I don’t wanted to be married and you're an irresponsible teenager." Kamilah said quietly. “You brought a big change to my life, you saved me, so please, don’t ask for the divorce.” Mia noticed the vulnerability in her brown eyes.

“I don’t want the divorce.” Mia said quietly in return. “I never wanted, Kamilah.” Kamilah let out the air she didn't know she was holding.

“I want him.” Kamilah said thoughtfully, making Mia look at her without understanding. “Doesn’t matter the gender, he or her. I want this child, Mia.”

“What?!” Kamilah noticed that she was pale, the flush on her cheeks was missing, her blond hair was messy, the CEO tried to ignore the urge to touch those cheeks and to look into those intense green eyes.

“I know this decision relies on both of us. It’s not only my choice, but also yours. And for the very first time, I’m hoping that both of us can agree on something.”

“Do you really want this?” Mia asked.

“More than anything. This baby is ours, we created a life, and we’re responsible for this child. I know we can manage to be good parents... Well, time will tell, but I have hope for us.” Mia approached the CEO hesitantly, Kamilah involuntarily spread her arms, pulling the blonde by the waist close to her and hugging against her body. Mia wrapped her arms around Kamilah's warm neck, sinking her face into it, smelling her familiar scent.

“Are you going to keep the baby?” Kamilah stroked her blond hair, Mia cried softly, sobbing, hiding her face against Kamilah's nightgown, within seconds the fabric was already wet, but the CEO didn't care, a smile grew on her lips, the idea that Mia was waiting a child of her own was too incredible for her to assimilate so quickly.

“Yes. I want the baby too. I’m just so scared, this is so new for me, but... It’s us. Perhaps you’re right and we can do this. I'm sorry for your nightgown—" Mia stepped away touching the damp fabric.

"Doesn't matter." Kamilah said softly wiping the tears from the girl's face. A big flawless and bright smile on her face. “I’m so happy. I know this is scary, believe me, I'm scared too. But, Mia, I spent too many years alone, more than you could imagine. The idea of ​​having children never crossed my mind, I believe I was too busy in wars when I was mortal to think about such things. But then, I lost my family, I lost my brother. And when I was turned, I missed this chance for good.” She sighed shaking her head. “And then you came along and now... We are going to have a baby.” She laughed softly, hesitating, Kamilah touched lightly on Mia’s belly and her smile widened.

“Kamilah...” Mia stammered with red cheeks. She didn’t know what to say, there was still tears in her eyes and now that Kamilah poured her heart out, she felt like she could cry all night long.

“Our baby is a blessing.” Kamilah touched Mia’s cheeks with both hands looking straight into her eyes. Her eyes were certain, passionate and happy.

One month later

“Holy shit! That hurts!” Mia tried to keep her tone low, holding tightly to Kamilah's desk.

“Well, while we were doing it, you didn't complain.” Kamilah smiled quietly as she applied a dose of gestational vitamins that Mia's doctor had prescribed.

“And neither do you.” Mia snapped and moaned softly as Kamilah pulled the needle out. "My butt is burning like hell." She said pulling up her jeans.

“Have I already said how attractive you look while you curse?” Kamilah smiled, leaving a kiss on her wife's cheek. The blonde's cheeks burned at the compliment. “When's the ultrasound?” Kamilah asked, touching Mia's belly lightly.

“I booked for friday. Dr Carson said he could only be there at 19h30pm, I’m so sorry, I know you have this meeting that you can’t lose and how much you wanted to be there to see the sex of the baby.” Mia touched Kamilah's hand on her belly.

"That’s alright. You can go with Lily, and when you arrive you can tell me how it went.” Kamilah shook her head, trying not to show how upset she was about that situation. Her first child and she wouldn't be there. Damn it, if she haven’t that important meeting... "And yet, I still believe it's a girl." Kamilah said with a bright smile on her face.

"How are you so sure?" Mia laughed.

"I just feel it." Kamilah said with her eyes locked on her wife's belly. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What it is?” Mia’s eyes shined curiously.

“That’s a subject for later.” Kamilah smiled seeing the frustration on her wife’s eyes.

At the same instant the doors of Kamilah's office opened, revealing the last person they could both expect at that moment. Adrian.

"Kamilah, I know I promised to postpone our meeting, but..." He stopped when he saw both. "Mia." His eyes lit up when he saw the girl.

“Adrian.” The girl's young face flushed quickly, Kamilah watched the exchange of glances between the two before standing up.

"Adrian, what's the point of the visit?" She asked casually. But, Adrian didn't answer, his eyes were focused on the girl.

"How are you? It's been so long since we last spoke. ”

"I know. I've been very busy, I'm sorry.” Mia replied with flushed cheeks.

"No problem, I hear you're back in college, that's amazing." He tried to smile, but the smile faded as his eyes lowered and he noticed her belly. "What... what is it?" He pointed at Mia's belly, which she instantly touched her involuntarily.

“Adrian.” Mia and Kamilah exchanged silent looks. Mia opened her mouth trying to start the conversation in a calm and civilized way. “Kamilah and I have something to tell you, it was something that happened so suddenly, but at the same time it was the best thing that could have happened. I'm four months pregnant.” Mia bit her lower lip looking at Adrian, noting how his shocked expression turned to hate in seconds. An accusing look came to his face, going straight to Kamilah.

“How could you ?! How could you do this to me after all these years ?! You should be my best friend, my confidant, my sister, and yet you preferred to betray me” He pointed a finger at her, Kamilah took a deep breath trying to stay calm.

“Adrian—”

"This can only be a joke, please tell me you're joking with my face!"

"This is not a joke, Adrian." Kamilah said seriously, a dark look forming on her face. “I know how you must be feeling now, I've been blaming myself for months for being married to your ex girlfriend, but a moment between us happened, and—”

“You knew what would happen and yet did you Kamilah! I will never, never forgive you for that!” He shouted. “You broke your promise! You promised you wouldn't touch a finger on her! You traitor.” He paced with a deadly look at her, his eyes blazing bright red.

“Adrian!” Mia raised her voice, making him stop. "Please stop."

"Okay. It was only one night, we can fix it.” He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair. Kamilah and Mia exchanged glances.

"Adrian..." Mia tried to approach, Kamilah looked at her warily, but she ignored her. “It wasn't just one night. It was consensual, Kamilah didn't force me on anything. We are adults, married and we both wanted.”

"So you both betrayed my confidence ?!"

"She's my wife!" Mia shouted. "What should I do?! Not sleep with her ?! We live in the same house, we sleep in the same bed every day!”

Adrian shook his head angrily, when Mia realized, he was already on the other side of Kamilah's office, both inches from each other, exchanging predatory glances, fangs exposed, ready to attack each other. Maybe it was the stupidest thing she'd ever done, but the girl didn't hesitate to step in front of them.

"Get out of the way, Mia," Adrian growled angrily.

“Want to come after me, brother? Do you really think you're capable ?!” Kamilah snapped.

"Stop!" She shouted and they both looked at her. “Can't you see that this is what Gaius wanted ?! You are brothers for god's sake! Are you both really going to destroy this for me ?! ”

"Yes." The two said in unison without hesitation, leaving the girl breathless.

"I won't let you guys do that." Mia said firmly. "Adrian." She turned to her old love. Tears escaped the girl's eyes. “I don't expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I don't regret what I did. Kamilah gave me something to fight for, a child, my first child. She is more than just my wife now. I can't let you get hurt, or she get hurt.” Her words made Adrian's anger increase, and the hatred in Kamilah's expression faded, was she hearing a declaration of love from Mia for the first time?

“What did you do, Kamilah ?!” Adrian's angry look turned to Mia's belly.

“Don't even think about it.” In a second Kamilah's hand gripped his wrist before he could even touch Mia's belly. “I won’t let you hurt her or my child. Is that what you call love ?! You are making her cry, you are making her suffer, is that what you want, Adrian ?! ”

Adrian for the first time looked into the girl's green eyes, red from crying and backed away. Leaving the office almost immediately.

A week later

"I'm glad you're here." Mia said with a faint smile when her eyes met Adrian's in the elevator. Adrian looked around for signs that Kamilah was in the penthouse. “She's not here, is just me. Please come in. I made some tea.” Mia made room for him to come in and the CEO made it.

Adrian had called asking them both to meet to talk. What was a surprise to the girl, knowing that Kamilah would be in a long meeting that Wednesday, she invited him to her house.

“How's college?” Adrian sat on the spacious, comfortable leather couch, Mia handed her a mug of boiling liquid.

“Oh you know, it's great. I can still go to class, my counselor will come visit me on days when I'm at rest.” Mia said sitting in the armchair in front of Adrian, sipping her tea.

“I didn't like how we left things. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.” The CEO's blue eyes lingered on her belly, noticing how the girl caressed her belly fondly.

"I know, me too. You're very important to me, Adrian.” Mia gave her a loving smile, it made the CEO's heart skip out of his chest. Even knowing she was pregnant, pregnant with a child that wasn't his own. That should be.

“This… this should be us. Our house, our kid, our life. Damn Gaius.” Adrian's fist clenched against his knee. Mia noticed the faint streaks of red in his eyes.

“I think things happened for a reason. Maybe... Maybe it was meant to be. I'm tired of fighting the past.” Mia shook her head, pulling her fleece blanket closer to her belly.

“Don't worry, I found the solution. A solution that would be best for all of us involved.” Adrian said, attracting a curious look from the girl.

"What... solution?" She asked uncertainly.

“My team and I have been developing a pill. A pill with exceptional characteristics that would solve all that.” A warm smile forming on his face. "I know how difficult this situation is for all of us, you are extremely young, you have been trapped in a loveless marriage, connected to someone you do not love, who may not be able to return your love."

“Adrian—”

“You're not ready to be a mother, Mia. I know you think you are, and that gives you a false sense of momentary happiness, but believe me, I already had a child, and I know how it is. It is a great responsibility to take care of an extremely fragile life. You're not ready to wake up every night, to take care of a child. Much less Kamilah, who is also deluded. She has no time to raise a child, she will leave you alone taking care, while she is busy with her chores. You know I'm telling the truth.”

Mia opened her mouth uncertain what to say in response, tears welling in the corner of her eyes.

“This pill will prevent that from happening. I love you, and I love Kamilah, she's my sister, but I'm sorry you're not ready for that.” He said pulling a small vial out of his pocket with a bull.

"This is not your decision! Do you want me to abort ?!" Mia asked speechless.

"You know that's the only way." Adrian said.

Raines Corp

It was late when an angry Kamilah came through the doors of Raines Corp, her heels hitting the ground like the clock of death approaching. Her fists clenched, her eyes red, anger completely overpowering her senses.

“Mrs Sayeed? I didn't know you had an appointment and—” Adrian's assistant fell silent at the deadly look Kamilah shot her before slamming into Adrian's office, slamming the door so hard behind her that it made him jump from his seat.

“Kamilah, what do you think you are doing—” Adrian rose from his chair, staring at the vampire without understanding. Kamilah took the flask out of her jacket and threw it against the wall so hard that a hole formed.

“How could you do this to me, Adrian ?! How could you come into my house and deliver an abortion pill in my wife's hands ?!” she shouted.

"I just did what I thought was best for her." Adrian said quietly.

“You only did what was best for you!” Kamilah pointed an accusing finger at him. Adrian laughed sarcastically.

“Look who's talking! The person who betrayed on me! My sister who slept and got pregnant the love of my life! You broke your promise!” He shouted back. “I don't regret anything I did! I did right for the woman I love!”

“Get over it.” Kamilah paced around trying to control herself not to advance Adrian. “What you did was the greatest act of cowardice I've ever seen in my life! You went behind my back and acted so selfishly—”

“Am I selfish ?! It was YOU who got Mia pregnant, she belongs to me, her place is with me—”

"No. She's NOT yours!” Kamilah shouted with hatred. "She is mine! My wife, my child's mother, she doesn't belong to you!”

“Kamilah, how can you—” Adrian shook his head in disgust.

“BECAUSE I LOVE HER!” Kamilah admitted causing Adrian to widen his eyes. “I love her, ardently.” Kamilah's confession made him hurl a glass closely to her.

“You know perfectly well she's not ready to be a mother, and you're trying to fool yourself into thinking this is going to work! I did my best for her, the pill would solve this whole situation, that's a mistake!” Adrian screamed back.

"MY CHILD IS NOT A MISTAKE!" She shouted. It made something break inside her, Kamilah's blood boiling, the veins in her neck throbbing with anger.

"You really want this kid." Adrian concluded watching Kamilah's deadly look.

"Of course I want. Mia gave me a child, an heir, heir to my empire, my child will be the continuation of the Ptolemaic dynasty. Proof that our family has not been decimated.” Kamilah took a deep breath, mentally counting to ten, she sighed and straightened her suit. "Think about what I told you, and if your idea changes by then, I'd love for you to be the godfather, my offer will be up." She took her coat and took it. Leaving Adrian alone with his thoughts.

Friday, 19:30 pm

"Oh my god, I'm so excited and I'm not even pregnant!" Lily said excitedly, almost jumping in her seat next to Mia in the waiting room. Mia gave her a smile in response, flipping through her magazine, Lily's excitement was contagious.

“I'm feeling so bad for Kamilah, it's such an important moment in our lives, and she won't be able to be present.” Mia shook her head with a sad smile.

“I know, but we know how busy she is. But hey, let’s think when you get home you can surprise her.” Lily said smiling, making Mia smile. "So what do you think it is?"

"Honestly? Kamilah is so excited saying it’s a girl, I think she's right. I think it's a little girl.” Mia smiled touching her belly.

"I know I've said that before, but... I hope she has Kamilah's hair." Lily teased.

"Me too." Mia laughed in response.

“Mrs Sayeed?” The doctor's assistant called her with a smile, Mia and Lily stood up. "Dr Carson is waiting for you." Both girls walked into the ultrasound room. Mia smiled and shook her doctor's hand, Lily did the same.

“So, how are we doing today? Your exams are great, the vitamins have helped a lot. I see the diet is doing you good.” Her doctor smiled approvingly.

"What can I say? My wife is very authoritative when it comes to rules and regulations.” Mia laughed.

"She's not kidding," Lily said beside her. "Oh, I'm that kid's godmother." Lily said making both the doctor and Mia laugh.

"Well, let's get started?" He smiled. The next few moments made the girl's heart beat faster, Lily realized this and held it in her hand, both looking at the monitor while the doctor gently ran the device over the girl's belly.

"See, here it is." He smiled with his eyes on the screen. The blonde's heart jumped in her chest as she heard the small heartbeats that flooded the room. "Look, this is the head, the little toes and hands."

"My God..." The blonde let out a sob, seeing for the first time her baby.

"I can't see almost anything, but it's still so beautiful." Lily sobbed beside her.

"The heart is great too, he's very healthy." Dr Carson smiled.

"He ?!" Both girls asked in shock.

"Congratulations, Mrs Sayeed, you are expecting a boy." He touched Mia's hand lightly.