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fairyhee · 3 years

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Chocolate eclairs (pt.2)

{Part 1}

🍫 optional bias x reader

🍫 ~5.6k words

🍫 smut, enemies to lovers, slight dom/sub themes, praise kink, some dirty talk, oral (both receiving), face sitting (whew), reader has a thing for hands

(I might have dragged everything out for too long? I’m not sure, you tell me, but I just love thinking about all the details so I went with it. Also while I was writing, at some point I lost half of it and had to re-write it because the damn app didn’t save my changes to the draft 🙃 anyways thank you for reading!)

So far, nothing was going as planned today, but somehow you didn’t mind it anymore. At first you were extremely annoyed to say the least, but you slowly started to think having a tall and ridiculously handsome guy follow you around wasn’t so bad after all. Even though he was purposely being irritating, as always, just to get reactions out of you, it was worth enduring for the random flirty remarks he spat out every once in a while. Was he always like this? Did you only realize it now because you were too busy thinking how obnoxiously confident he was, or did he really also dislike you before? You were quite confused, but you at least thought you should enjoy the moment.

After buying those damn chocolate eclairs that you had been craving for a week, and after he insisted to pay, all while poking fun at how you were gonna die at a young age from how much sugar you consume, your next stop would have been the lingerie store. Except now you had him coming along with you, so you weren’t very sure what you should do. To buy some time, you pretended to look at all the stereotypically “romantic” objects that people usually gifted each other on Valentine’s day. Just for fun, you weren’t planning on hinting at anything, but you just wanted to see what he’d be like. Not to mention window shopping was one of your favorite activities when you had nothing else better to do. He, on the other hand, had his mind fixed on one thing solely.

“Y/n, aren’t we eating those eclairs? You didn’t want them just to carry them around, did you?” he asked with a pout.

“Excuse me, since when is there a ‘we’? They’re my eclairs, and I’m saving them for later. I told you I have plans, were you even listening to me?”

“You have plans, right. Well you should be careful then, that boyfriend you have plans with might get jealous if he sees you walking around with a guy like me. I honestly wouldn’t blame him if he felt threatened, after all, you just let the most handsome dude around here buy you coffee and sweets...oh wait, I forgot. You actually don’t have a boyfriend, do you now?” he said in a sarcastic tone.

“It’s extremely funny that you think I need a man in order to have plans on Valentine’s day. I can very well take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“You can take care of yourself in what way exactly? Because if it’s what I’m thinking of, I bet I can do it better.”

“Thank you for your concern, h/n, but if you think you can buy your way into my pants with some sweets, then you have a very low and unrealistic expectation of me. If you want to impress me, try harder.”

“Oh don’t worry, this is far from my best shot. You just look so hot when you’re mad at me, I can’t stop myself.” he said with a sheepish laugh.

You blushed slightly, both at his words and from seeing him grinning so cutely. He had no business looking all cute like that after he had just literally suggested you sleep with him. How could he switch from being so cocky to getting shy for you in just a matter of seconds? You couldn’t help but wonder what he’d actually be like in bed. Especially since he had just showed a new side of him, a particular image of him being submissive to you was stuck on your brain. You could feel your face heating up, and you hoped he didn’t notice how red your cheeks had probably become.

Brushing it off, you entered a random toy store, feigning interest in some plushies. As you were admiring the various teddy bears that came in all shapes and colors, you noticed he had been surprisingly silent since your last exchange. You threw a glance at him and he seemed to have found some games he was interested in, as he had his eyebrows furrowed, trying to read the instructions on the back of some boxes. Perfect, you thought to yourself, now that he’s distracted, you could think of a plan. What the hell were you gonna do about the lingerie? You didn’t want to give up on buying it, you had wanted it for a long time and now was the perfect occasion. Did you want to go with him? Would he want to even enter the store with you? Would he become flustered and make things awkward? Would it be weird if you suddenly told him to leave you alone for a couple of minutes and meet you later? Or should you just end your meeting right there? You weren’t even sure how you wanted to spend the rest of the day anymore, but you for sure didn’t intend to abandon your plans completely for this man that barged into your solo Valentine’s day like that, despite the fact that you were starting to get interested in him.

While you were definitely overthinking the situation, h/n had long finished browsing the board games section. Suddenly, you felt someone’s hot breath near the side of your neck.

“Y/n. You’ve been staring at that teddy bear for 3 minutes now. Did you not have any as a child, or do you want me to buy it for you that bad? You could just ask, you know.”

Startled by the proximity of his voice, you turned your head to him and took a few steps away. “Wow, you sure have a talent for being rude. You’re still annoying even when you’re trying to hit on me.” you said trying to seem unaffected. However, you would lie if you said that feeling his breath on your skin didn’t send shivers down your spine.

He chuckled at your reaction and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“So? Do you want it or not?”

“With that sort of attitude, I shouldn’t even answer. So what if I wanted it, what would you do? There’s nothing between us, so why would you buy it for me?” you taunted. You knew he was trying to make you soften up, but you weren’t falling for it just yet.

“Who said I’d buy it for you? If I did and you ended up sleeping with a stuffed toy every night, that would just be unfair.” he pouted. Why was he acting this cute now? This man was so confusing.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“I don’t wanna be jealous of a teddy bear. I’d rather you would sleep with me instead.”

You stared at his triumphant smile for a few seconds, at a loss for words. He looked like he just made the best pick-up line ever. It was so bad, yet you wanted to accept his wish and take him home. What was wrong with you?

“You’re absolutely obnoxious, did you know that? Wipe that smirk off your face, you look like an idiot.”

He laughed. “But somehow you’re still putting up with me. I’d say you’re doing a great job enduring me. Unless...you’re actually enjoying my company, which I suspect you do.”

“Yeah, whatever. Come on, I have one more thing to get before I can finally go home and get rid of you.”

You had made up your mind. You weren’t letting any man interfere with your plans.

Walking in the most confident way possible, you entered the lingerie store. You didn’t even spare him a glance as you looked through the pieces, searching for something that would match your taste. You were dying to know what his reaction was, what he was thinking, but you weren’t giving in. Suddenly, you had an idea. Acting like what you were doing was the most normal thing, you picked out two options, pretending you couldn’t decide between them. One was a black see-through set adorned with velvet hearts, while the other was made out of red lace and a bunch of straps that looked like a harness. Either way, both were made more to reveal rather than cover you up. Holding one in each hand, you turned to look at him with an unfazed expression plastered on your face.

“Make yourself useful for once and help me decide. Which one do I get?”

Seeing the way he was looking at you made a flush of heat spread across your face. His eyes were dark and he looked like he would have devoured you right then and there. You didn’t know what you expected, but this look was definitely not it.

He took a few seconds to respond, during which his gaze on you only seemed to intensify. He almost looked angry, clenching his jaw and eyeing you so strongly.

“You’d look great in both, but I’d take the red one.”

Hearing his choice, you immediately hung it back on the rack and took your other option to the cash register.

You heard him scoff behind you. “Why bother asking me if you were gonna pick that one anyway?”. He was smiling, but it was clear that he was trying to control his frustration.

You gave him the sweetest smile in the world. “I liked both equally and couldn’t decide, so I’m getting the one you like less. Since you’re never gonna see me wearing it anyway.”

“You drive me insane. That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Really? But you’re the one that’s been following me around all day. Now you’re angry with me, how come?” you said innocently.

He smirked and took a few steps until he was so close, you could feel his hot breath on your face, but you didn’t back away and maintained his gaze. His scent was intoxicating, and you were trying your best to not show how into him you were already.

“If you want to make me angry, you’ll have to try harder, babygirl.” you clenched your thighs hearing that word escape his lips. “I like your teasing a little too much, actually. But making me imagine you wearing all these pretty things only to point out that I can’t have you the way I want? I have to admit, that was pretty mean.”

“Are you challenging me? Then I guess I need to step up my game to really get back at you.”

“Alright then, let’s make a deal. If you fail to make me angry by tonight, you have to go on a date with me. What do you say?”

You couldn’t stop the smirk forming on the corner of your lips. “Deal. You know, now I kinda understand why you keep bothering me. It’s actually fun trying to get you annoyed.” This time you weren’t lying.

He smiled back at you. “Glad we’re on the same page about one thing at least. So, any other torturous shopping that we need to do today? An adult store, maybe, since you said you like to take care of things yourself?”

“Nice try. I actually have a table reserved for later today, so I’m gonna have to go home and get ready. I wanted to go alone and have some me-time, but since I don’t plan on losing that challenge, I guess now you gotta come with me.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Wait a second,”he said and put the back of his palm on your forehead as if checking for a fever, “now it sounds like you’re the one asking me out. What happened? Are you okay?” he asked in an overly dramatic way. Oh great, now he was back to being the town circus.

“It’s not a date, silly. Hopefully, it’s gonna be the worst dinner of your life, so I won’t have to see your face ever again.”

“You do know that I could just not show up and make you lose the bet, right?”

“If you do that, you won’t get my number. So no way to receive your prize.” Besides, you thought to yourself, wasn’t tonight already a date in itself? There was no way he would skip on that, or at least so you hoped. “See you at 6.” you said as you walked away, leaving him behind.

By now your only desire was to get him totally whipped for you. He might have seen through your intentions already, but you couldn’t care less. The fights and arguments that were real in the beginning had now become an act, some sort of game to see which one of you would give in first. And you weren’t backing down until you had him completely wrapped around your finger. This year’s V-day turned out to be a lot more fun than you initially thought.

After getting home, you took your sweet time showering and making yourself as pretty as possible. Having drenched yourself in perfume and strawberry scented body lotion, you put on the new lingerie and a red dress that complimented your figure. You did some minimal, but flattering make-up and took a good look in the mirror. You looked good enough to eat. Exactly what you wanted.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, he was already waiting for you, and you realized he had probably tried just as hard as you to look hot. And he had definitely done a great job. His hair was pushed back and the suit jacket he was wearing highlighted his broad shoulders and tall figure. You wanted him to push you against a wall right then and there.

“Are you sure you’re not made out of sugar? You look so good, I’m afraid that if I touch you, you’d melt under my fingers.”

“You wish. I don’t even get a hi, you start our conversation with a lame pick-up line? This evening is going to be even more boring than I thought.” you said rolling your eyes.

“It’s good to see you again too. Come on, let’s order quickly, I’m starving.” he said as he was already looking through the menu.

After this first exchange, the rest of the dinner actually went on pretty normally. Without realizing, you had gotten comfortable with each other and stopped arguing altogether. Now you were just chatting about whatever came to mind, enjoying your meals and each other’s company. However, you did notice his eyes lingering a little too long on your exposed neck and chest, which you did your best to bring forward as much as you could when you moved around. You were hyper aware of his gaze on every move you made and you loved the attention he was giving you. You felt like you were the only woman in the room for him, the only one that deserved his attention. You suddenly remembered you were supposed to get him angry, but you weren’t sure you didn’t want a second date after all. However, you felt the need to say something about it.

“Look at all these couples enjoying their romantic dinner, and then there’s us. Here for the sole purpose of annoying each other.”

“If that was the purpose, I’d call this an epic fail.” he said with a smile and took a sip of his gin tonic,”So you still don’t want to admit that this is, in fact, a date?”

“Why would it be one, when we haven’t done anything out of the ordinary? We are just two people eating out together.”

“Good thing the evening isn’t over, then. Great choice of restaurant, by the way. But even though the food was amazing, I’d still prefer eating you out.”

His bluntness caught you off guard, and you let the glass you were previously holding down on the table with a little more force than intended. From the impact, your drink splashed everywhere, including on yourself.

You moved a bit of the fabric of your dress away so you could wipe the martini drops that had just spilled on your chest, which uncovered the strap and the top part of your bra for a few seconds. You didn’t think much of it, but heard him swallow loudly. When you raised your eyes back to meet his, he was looking at you like he wanted to undress you with his eyes.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what on purpose?” you asked confused.

“Don’t act so innocent, you know exactly what I’m saying.”

“No idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, care for dessert? You need some sugar in your system, you seem to be turning grim again.”

“If by dessert you mean you, then I’ll gladly accept. You have enough sugar to keep me up for a long time.” he said with a smirk.

“Oh god, can you cut the disgusting jokes out? You make me sick.”

“You’ll be even more disappointed to find out they’re not jokes. By the way,” he leaned over the table so he could bring his face a little closer to yours, “we’ve almost finished our drinks and you still haven’t made me angry. Time is ticking.”

You fell silent for a couple of seconds, and played with your necklace while deep in thought. You were done playing this game. You wanted him, and you wanted him tonight. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but ever since you stepped foot in that place all you had been imagining were his veiny hands all over your body, how pretty his long fingers were and how much you wanted them inside you. He hadn’t even touched you once, but your panties were feeling damp already just by staring at his hands or seeing him clenching his jaw. You hadn’t noticed that your fidgeting with your necklace had caught his attention and he was now practically staring at your boobs without any hint of shame in his eyes. Your chest was heaving up and down as his eyes set your skin ablaze and your thoughts ran wild. Of course his gaze didn’t miss your heavy breathing. His fist was clenched on his glass and the veins on his arm protruded even more than usual. Your brain was so intoxicated with him that it completely forgot how to form sentences, leaving him without a reply. He leaned closer to you over the table and all but whispered.

“Just say the words, and I’ll give you whatever you want. All you have to do is say it.”

You hesitated, questioning whether you should swallow your pride or not. You stared into his deep brown eyes, glistening with lust, and admired his plump, slightly parted lips, silently pleading for you to stop this stupid game and finally admit what you’re feeling for each other. He was done playing, and so were you.

“It’s finally time for those eclairs.”

A knowing smile spread on his face, as if he had just won the lottery.

The ride to your place was awfully silent. You felt like you could cut the tension in the atmosphere with a knife. Sitting near him in the back of the cab and just feeling his presence so close to you kept your skin burning up during the entire ride. He still hadn't touched you in the slightest, not even on your hand, and at this point you thought it was intentional just so you'd become desperate for him. It was working. It felt like the drive was taking ages, so you decided to have some fun and tease him a little.

You slowly slid your hand over your legs, starting from your knees and going up towards the hem of your dress, pulling it up ever so slightly. He noticed your movements instantly, and his eyes snapped to you. Now that you were assured he was watching, your hand traveled further under your dress, carefully so it doesn't reveal too much, and started running your own fingers across your damp panties.

His eyes widened, and you saw his adam's apple move when he swallowed a lump in his throat. "What do you think you're doing?" he whispered.

"What does it look like to you? I am an independent woman. Since you have not laid a hand on me all day, I'm doing it myself."

"You're an impatient one, aren't you?" you maintained his gaze but didn't stop your actions, slipping a finger underneath your underwear and whimpering ever so quietly, enough for only him to hear. You were determined to bring him down.

Like you had just pressed a button, his body reacted to your sounds faster than expected. The vein on his hand twitched as he quickly grabbed your wrist and held it in place.

"If you don't stop that, I’ll make sure you have trouble walking tomorrow." his words sent a shiver down your spine. With that, he firmly pulled your hand away and intertwined his fingers with yours, as if preventing you from causing more trouble. You decided to obey him, for now.

After a couple of minutes, you were arriving at your place. He followed you silently into the building and into the small elevator, where you were met with another crisis. He looked like he tried really hard to restrain himself as he leaned with his back and head against the mirror. He was looking at you through furrowed brows and hooded eyes, and you wondered why did he put himself through this struggle, when he could’ve had you right then and there. Pretending to check your mascara in the mirror behind him, you placed one hand on his chest and leaned over him, your face dangerously close to his neck, making sure your exposed cleavage pressed against him in the process. You didn’t care how obvious it was, he was clearly enjoying it. He did nothing but watch you, but his sigh and accelerating breath rate were giving him away. As soon as you reached your level, you instantly shot out of the elevator and got to your door in record time.

The moment you set foot into the apartment and closer the door behind you, any control that you had before, just vanished into thin air.

“Fucking finally”. He wasted no time in pressing you against the wall, both hands holding the sides of your face while he kissed you with all the pent up frustration from that day. You could feel his whole body onto you and yet you wanted more, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and tugging at it in an attempt to bring him even closer. His lips were soft but aggressive at the same time, the kiss neither too intense nor too slow, earning chills all over your spine the first time his warm tongue entered your mouth. It was still not enough, so you took over and laced your fingers at the back of his head, pulling on his hair while pushing yourself into him. His hands started traveling down your body, gripping your waist and hips with force as he pulled you even closer, making you feel his erection against you in the process.

Out of breath, you broke the kiss to take a good look at him in this state. He was looking at you through glossy, hooded eyes, with his plump lips parted and glistening from the intensity of your kiss. He looked so hot, you realized you might not make it to the bedroom.

Closing in the distance once again, his hands went to squeeze your ass through your dress as he started placing wet kisses down the side of your neck, painfully slowly, sending shivers all over your spine. You lifted a leg up to snake around his own, as if to invite his hands to stop wasting time and get under your skirt already.

“You’re surprisingly gentle for someone who’s been trying to get into my pants all day.” you felt him squeeze your ass harder, and he suddenly bit the soft skin under your ear and sucked on it, earning a gasp from you.

He didn’t reply, but instead slid his hand up your thigh and ran his fingers over your soaking panties.

“And you’re surprisingly wet for someone who supposedly hates me.” he teasingly rubbed the tip of his finger on your clothed clit, making you whine in response. It was almost as if the fabric wasn’t there at all, given how thin it was in the first place. “What did you buy this pretty underwear for, just to ruin it later?”

“Since when do you care about my lingerie?”

“I thought you wanted me to, since you brought me with you to that store and even asked for my opinion.” He pushed your panties to the side and properly coated his fingers with your juices. “You were such a dirty little slut for doing that to me.” his words shot straight to your core.

“Me, dirty? That little head of yours has a lot of issues. It’s your own fault for liking me in the first place.” you teased.

Hearing that, he pushed two fingers into your hole and you moaned. “You can talk shit all you want, but your body can’t lie about how much you want me, princess.” He pulled his hand away from your core, and took his own fingers, now coated with your essence, into his mouth, licking them clean. “Now be a good girl and take this dress off for me.” he said, pulling away from you.

Not wanting to torture yourself any longer, you obeyed him, getting rid of your dress as quickly as possible. As he finally fully saw you in the pretty underwear, he eyed you from head to toe, as if he was looking at his prey, swallowing loudly. “Y/n, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

You pushed him back and led him to the couch, making him sit down. You quickly straddled his lap, making sure your boobs were right in his face as you grabbed the hair at the back of his head and brought your mouth to his ear, licking a stripe up from the side of his neck, reaching his earlobe. He shivered under you, and you started unbuttoning his shirt, while both his hands stroked over your boobs, touching your nipples and lightly pinching and twisting them over the thin material of the bra. The sensation was spreading into your entire body, making you moan right into his ear. You nibbled onto his earlobe, and he sighed loudly, grabbing your ass and pulling you on top of his dick, grinding into you. Your fingers ran over his now exposed chest and down to his belt, trying to get it undone. He grabbed your hands and undid it himself, and you stood up so he could get rid of his pants.

Instead of sitting back on his lap, you dropped to your knees in between his legs and pulled his underwear down. His cock looked so red and hard, it seemed almost painful, and made your mouth water. You wanted to torture him some more though, so you stuck your tongue out and slowly ran it up from the base to his swollen tip, all while looking directly into his eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was biting his lower lip so hard, as if to keep him from making any sound. You were going to change that. You swirled your tongue around the tip, collecting the drops of precum, before taking him whole into your mouth. As you started bobbing your head, you made sure to take a little more of him each time, pushing your own limit gradually, looking up at him from time to time. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this. You’re taking me so well.” he said, trying to keep himself from forming any other sounds, and you wondered why wasn’t he letting go already. You wanted to make him a moaning mess. One of your free hands started playing with his balls, as you ran your nails across his thigh with the other one. Going a little deeper, his cock hit the back of your throat, and you paused for a second, swallowing around him, which earned a long, breathy moan from him. There, that was your reward. You continued taking him as deep as you could, looking up at him with wide eyes. This was his breaking point, as he couldn’t control his sounds anymore, his mouth was agape, letting out small grunts and whimpers now and then, and you felt his hips struggling to keep still. As the ache in your pussy was getting unbearable because of your actions, your own hand came to play with your clit to get some sort of release, moaning around his cock.

He didn’t miss this, as suddenly, his hand flew to your hair and he held you still. “Don’t you dare touch yourself. Get up” he said in a demanding voice. He followed you up himself, and completely slid his shirt and underwear off of him, then laid down on the carpet. “I want you to sit on my face. Let me have my dessert and enjoy you like you deserve.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. After discarding your panties, you placed your knees on either side of his head and carefully lowered your cunt closer to him, but he grabbed your ass and aggressively pulled you onto his mouth, making you gasp and grip the couch beside you for support. The feeling of his wet and warm tongue against you was making your thighs weak. He started by licking a long stripe across your folds, then alternated between sucking at your clit, drawing patterns with his tongue across your sensitive spot at different paces and intensities. Your sounds and whimpers were a mess, and you could feel your orgasm building with each second. He was eating you out like a starved man, face buried completely under your pussy, and the view was only contributing to your arousal. One of his hands snaked up to your nipple and started playing with it, adding to the sensation. When he suddenly applied more pressure to a certain angle, you thought you were gonna lose your mind. “Fuck, h/n, right there, please, don’t stop” was what you wanted to say, but you weren’t sure your words came out coherently. Either way, he got the message, and a few seconds later, you were coming undone on his tongue, letting out a few high-pitched moans as he helped you ride out your high.

After regaining composure, you stood up to let him breathe. His lips and chin were glistening from your juices, and he wiped them off with the back of his hand. “That was delicious. You’re a fucking goddess, did you know that?” he said as he stood himself up, grabbed your face and kissed you with force.

“Just fuck me already.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” he said as he pushed you against your table, having you lie down on it. He quickly grabbed a condom from his jeans and rolled it on his still painfully hard cock. Grabbing your legs and holding them on each side of him, he rubbed the tip of his member over your clit a few times before fully pushing it into your tight hole, swearing in the process. He wasted no time before moving, slowly at first to let you adjust, then suddenly slammed his hips into you with force, earning a loud moan from you. “Fuck, do that again, please” you said, already feeling your second orgasm starting to build up. He thrusted into you harder and deeper, filling the room with your sounds everytime his skin met yours. The way he filled you up was absolutely delicious, clouding your vision and making you lose yourself in your pleasure as he was hitting all the right spots inside you.

“Ever since your brought me into that store, all I could think of was fucking you in your pretty lingerie, imagining how your boobs would bounce up and down while I pound into you like this.” you took his hand and brought it to your lips, silently asking him to let you suck onto his fingers. “You don’t know how much of a torture that wa- fuck” you took his long and pretty fingers into your mouth and swirled your tongue around them, mimicking the way you sucked him off earlier and watching him lose his ability to speak as his mouth hung open. “H/n, harder, don’t stop, I’m going to come.” you said in a desperate attempt to get him to shut up and concentrate. Motivated by your words, he increased his pace, and after a few more hard and sloppy thrusts, you reached your second orgasm, soon followed by his own. His whole body twitched as he came down from his high, both of you panting, and exhausted.

Pulling out of you, he quickly discarded the condom and took you into his arms to place both you and him comfortably on the couch.

“That was fucking hot” he said, still holding you in his arms while you were catching your breaths.

“Yeah. I think I might hate you a little less after this.” you said and you both laughed.

After coming back to your senses, you got up and went straight to the kitchen. A few seconds later, you came back holding the box he bought you from the french bakery, handing him an eclair.

“I knew why I saved those chocolate eclairs for later. They taste better after you’ve been craving them all day, don’t you think?”

He just smiled in response. “You might be right. By the way, I won. It seems like you’ll be drinking ice americanos again, after all.”

#optional bias smut #optional bias x reader #optional bias scenarios #optional bias #oneus smut #ateez smut #bts smut #skz smut #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #keonhee smut #kpop fanfic #the boyz smut

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anonniemousefics · 3 years

Note

Can we please get more tfota scenes from cardan's pov? Maybe something from qon this time 🙈

Happy New Year! ♥️🥂

It’s so great you guys are enjoying these Cardan POV pieces! This one sort of follows His Monstrous Bride and this other little continuation -- it’s taken from Chapter 18 of The Queen of Nothing when Jude and Cardan talk about her exile before meeting with the Living Council.

I don’t have a title for it -- let’s just call it His Monstrous Bride Part II. lol

(Also a shameless plug for my ongoing fic The Nine Terrifying Moons, which will feature a Cardan POV chapter coming soon. Wheeeee!)

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Cardan is well versed at hiding his emotions, but it doesn’t hurt to look the part. And the day that his High Queen is finally awakening, once again restored to Elfhame, is a day to dress for a very specific kind of battle. Jude has ignored him for months – now he must be unignorable. He has gold along his cheekbones and caps like gold knives at the tips of his ears. Jude likes knives after all.

He’s flanked by his guards at her door. (Their door? He’s unused to sharing.) The Living Council means to interrupt her convalescence, and he’ll have none of it. He’s there to make sure she is fit and ready, and he doesn’t have to do more than that, he tells himself. His envoy is at his sides at all times now, and still, in this moment, some part of him wishes there were more of them. Wishes he could shrink back from what may lie ahead.

“Your Highness?” His guards are waiting for him to do something. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been hesitating.

It’s just… it’s been months of endless rejection, though he knows now she never received his letters, but still…he’s not sure he can take one more. And his heart is still cracked and raw from her most recent brush with death.

He steels himself. And knocks at the door.

It’s Oak who answers with an innocent smile, which is something of a relief. With Oak around, Jude’s less likely to become stabby.

Although, at least if she’s stabbing him, she’s no longer ignoring him. And Cardan really can’t stand one more minute of being ignored by Jude Duarte.

She’s there now, and the sight of her standing catches him right in the chest. The last time he’d clapped eyes on her, she was bleeding all over his spider-silk sheets. He’d cleaned her blood with his own two hands, but now she’s upright and clear-eyed, dressed in a foreboding black number with silver at her collar and cuffs. Her auburn hair has been braided like a crown, and with smoky traces of rose around her eyes, she looks deadly and formidable once more.

It’s such a welcome sight. He has never been so thrilled to see her. And that’s such a treacherous and terrifying notion, since he thinks it’s very likely she’s might smack him in the near future if he can’t navigate the mess of crossed wires between them.

The thrill lasts only a moment, because then his stomach gives a lurch. He’s just realized that all of her sisters are there, too. And they’re all staring at him. And he’s been staring right back.

Suddenly, Cardan’s on the verge of breaking into a cold sweat.

“Walk with me,” he finally tells Jude, eager to get away from so many Duarte eyes.

“Of course.” Jude’s brown eyes in particular seem uncharacteristically wide and confused.

Vivienne catches Jude’s hand before she can join him.

“You’re not well enough,” she objects. As if Cardan can’t take care of her. As if he hadn’t cleaned up her blood himself.

“The Living Council is eager to speak with her,” he says instead. Jude should be proud of how he’s learned to curb his tongue in her absence.

“The only danger anyone has ever been in at a Council meeting is of being bored to death,” Jude is reassuring her family, before stepping away, the guards folding in around them.

Cardan offers her his arm – he wants to keep her close, and he wants Vivienne to take note. It is different now, and he wants them all to see. Jude is cared for here.

He wants to take his time with her at his arm as they swap neutral business about the Roach, about the Bomb, about Madoc, but he can hardly even look at her. His head is full of visions of those nights he wrote to her again and again, outright begging in the end, and then lying awake, alone, certain his agony would be never-ending. Gods above, he’d even written once that his heart was hers, buried with her in the soil of the mortal world -- and she’d sent no reply. And though he knows now it’s because she hadn’t even received it, he’s still completely unsure of how to act.

It’s extremely unsettling how normal Jude seems in this moment. As if no time has passed at all.

And there are still so many eyes on them. Courtiers bobbing their heads as they pass. The guards just an arm’s length away. This is no place to try to sort through what he had written to her, what she needed to know. So maybe he just won’t, he thinks. Maybe it can just be like this for an eternity and he can go back to drinking away his feelings after this Council meeting. Maybe this is the most he should hope for.

But then, Jude says: “I need to talk to you.”

And his heart plummets to his guts. He’s not sure he can keep the dread off his face.

“It won’t take long,” Jude says, which is maybe worse. It means it’s simple: she wants to end their marriage. She wants to return to the mortal world. Of course she does.

But then, she says: “Whatever your scheme is, whatever you are planning to hold over me, you might as well tell me now, before we’re in front of the whole Council. Make your threats. Do your worst.”

What? What the bleeding skies is she talking about? This is such a mess he’s made. And it is, perhaps, the first mess he’s ever truly cared to clean up.

Cardan turns them away toward a corridor to the outdoors.

“Yes,” he agrees. “We do need to talk.”

He steers them for the royal rose garden, where he knows the guards will stop at the gate and leave them alone. He has only a few steps down a path of shimmering quartz stairs among the roses to decide exactly what parts of his heart he’s willing to reveal today. What exactly won’t hurt so terribly much should she throw it all back in his face.

“I assume you weren’t actually trying to shoot me,” he says, choosing first the obvious and easiest. “Since the note was in your handwriting.”

“Madoc sent the Ghost--” Jude starts, but then stops. Softens. “I thought that there was going to be an attempt on your life.”

This does not mean that she cares for you, he has to remind himself. He still doesn’t want to look at her. The memory of perceived rejection is still too strong, still too bitter.

But he’s not going to live with the regrets he’d drowned in when she’d nearly died. He tries to choose his next words carefully.

“It was terrifying,” he admits, feigning interest in a nearby bush of jet black roses, “watching you fall. I mean, you’re generally terrifying, but I am unused to fearing for you.” He swallows back the memories, threatening the periphery of his mind. “And then I was furious. I am not sure I have ever been that angry before.”

“Mortals are fragile,” Jude shrugs him off. She doesn’t get it.

“Not you,” he sighs. “You never break.”

There. Can that be enough? He’s made it fairly obvious now, hasn’t he? Surely she gets it now – he doesn’t want her to die, he doesn’t want to see her hurt. Witnessing it was the worst thing he’s ever seen. Because he cares for her.

If he has to spell it out, it might kill him. So, he just waits for what she has to say to that.

Jude’s looking at the roses, too, when he glances at her, her thick lashes lowered.

“When I came here, pretending to be Taryn, you said you’d sent me messages,” she says, and oh, please, gods, not this. “You seemed surprised I hadn’t gotten any. What was in them?”

Cardan wants to vomit. No, he needs to vomit. If his nervous stomach would cooperate and vomit everywhere, he could still get away from this with a shred of dignity.

He clasps his hands behind his back so she can’t see how they shake, his smile telling the lies that the rest of him can’t. That he is cool and unaffected, not at all hopelessly in love with the mortal girl in front of him.

“Pleading, mostly.” He tries to say it like it’s a joke. “Beseeching you to come back. Several indiscreet promises.” Maybe that little bit of tantalizing will flatter her.

It doesn’t. Actually, he’s not sure Jude can be flattered. She closes her eyes shut in no small amount of frustration.

“Stop playing games,” she growls. “You sent me into exile.”

“Yes. That.” Right, of course she doesn’t love that he’s beating around the bush. If only he could help it. He’s so goddamn nervous. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said to me, before Madoc took you. About it being a trick. You meant marrying you, making you queen, sending you to the mortal world, all of it, didn’t you?”

The glare she throws him is so very Jude, though he loves it less when it’s directed at him.

“Of course it was a trick,” she seethes. “Wasn’t that what you said in return?”

Well, this is rich.

“But that’s what you do. You trick people.” Though Cardan’s starting to realize just how wrong he’s been about the things Jude enjoys. “I thought you’d admire me a little for it, that I could trick you. I thought you’d be angry, of course, but not quite like this.”

“What?” Jude looks like she could unhinge her jaw and swallow him whole. He might even deserve it.

He needs to put an end to this nightmare. There’s still a miniscule chance she’ll find some part of it amusing.

“Let me remind you that I didn’t know you’d murdered my brother, the ambassador to the Undersea, until that very morning,” he points out. Surely, the context will help his case. “My plans were made in haste. And perhaps I was a little annoyed. I thought it would pacify Queen Orlagh, at least until all promises were finalized in the treaty. By the time you guessed the answer, the negotiations would be over.”

But Jude’s face is unchanged. He isn’t seriously this good at trickery, is he?

“Think of it,” he presses, hoping she’ll follow along. “I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown.” Any minute now. Any minute.

“Pardoned by the crown,” he repeats to her blank stare. Right, so, this game isn’t funny anymore.

“Meaning by the King of Faerie. Or its queen,” he explains, watching her eyes grow wider, wilder. “You could have returned anytime you wanted.”

When he’d first envisioned her figuring out the riddle, he’d expected probably a punch in the arm, maybe she would have even drawn her blade again. That would have been delightful. He’d thought about trembling beneath her again, about that searing look she got in her eye just before devouring his lips. That would have been – gods. He might have considered letting her murder more of his brothers to have that again.

But what is happening now is decidedly the opposite. Jude’s breath is quickening, her face flushing, and in the air between them, Cardan feels a rift cracking wider. He hasn’t played a trick – he’s done something horrible.

When Jude begins to back away from him, he thinks back to what it felt like to find Nicasia with Locke. What Jude’s face is doing now – that is what his heart had done then. She is recoiling from him. Jude Duarte is recoiling from him, because he has hurt her.

He honestly had not thought it was possible. He honestly had not thought himself capable. He honestly had not thought she cared enough.

She whirls then and marches away from him, and he has never hated himself more. Stop her, he thinks, but he’s still stunned. If he’d known she cared…

Stop her!

He runs after her. She has to know he wouldn’t have done it if he’d known. She has to know he will fight to keep her now that he knows. But when he seizes her arm, she hauls around and slaps him, hard enough to turn his face.

It’s not the worst hit he’s taken, not by a long shot, but its sting is entirely different. There’s something fiery in her eyes, and, for the first time, he’s aware that he is not the only one who has been in agony these long months. Oh, he would undo it all now if he could. He would pull her in and kiss her over and over until they both stopped hurting.

Except she still looks murderous. Getting close to her face is probably not a good idea if he doesn’t want to be bitten. (He does kind of want to be bitten, just…in a very different scenario.)

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, carefully, and his hand finds hers. To his great surprise, she lets their fingers lace together, and his heart seizes with a wild hope. It does not mean she loves you, he thinks. He fumbles. “No, it’s not that, not exactly. I didn’t think I could hurt you. And I never thought you would be afraid of me.”

“And did you like it?” Jude asks, narrowing her eyes.

His cheek is hot from the slap of her hand, and now with shame. Because how is he supposed to answer that? He didn’t hate being more powerful for once. He didn’t hate being the one with the answer to the riddle.

“Well, I was hurt.” He’s hesitated too long, and now Jude’s pressing on. “And yes, you scare me.”

Cardan finds himself taking in her full face then, the one that has always seemed so defiant and fearless and headstrong.

“You’ve always scared me,” Jude is saying, and this is what almost undoes him. She repeats it, telling him again and again each moment she had been afraid of him, and with each one, his mind bursts a little more. This doesn’t seem real. “And I am scared of you now,” she concludes, that defiant gleam in her eye til the end.

Cardan is speechless. And Cardan’s never speechless.

There was a time when he enjoyed playing a villain in her heroic story line, but she wasn’t supposed to be truly afraid of him. She was supposed to vanquish him and make him beg for her kindness. (And he would now. He really would.)

(Maybe he will.)

“You despised me,” Jude reminds him, because he does need reminding. He’s not sure now if he ever really did. “When you said you wanted me, it felt like the world had turned upside down. But sending me into exile, that made sense. That was an entirely right-side-up Cardan move. And I hated myself for not seeing it coming. And I hate myself for not seeing what you’re going to do to me next.”

At that, Cardan closes his eyes. Hopelessness is threatening to overtake him. Fear has created this monster before him, the one who irrevocably holds his heart. Is it possible to unmake such a curse? He’s certainly been unable to find a cure for his own fear, lifelong coward that he is.

When she’d first returned and his heart was freshly cracked, he’d thought back to a fairy story about a boy cursed with a heart of stone and the monster he took as his bride. It had been patience and fearlessness that had won over the monster in the end – something the boy had managed only because of his stony heart.

So, Cardan thinks of stones then. Of pulling together all his cracked and raw edges. Of being impenetrable and solid and fearless. He thinks of doing what needs to be done. He needs her, for so many things, and she must know that. Perhaps it is folly to wish for anything more than simply averting a crisis.

But he can’t manage it if he’s looking at her. He releases her hand and turns away.

“I can see why you thought what you did,” he says at last. “I suppose I am not an easy person to trust. And maybe I ought not to be trusted, but let me say this: I trust you.”

Patience. Fearlessness. Deep breath.

“You may recall that I did not want to be High King. And that you did not consult me before plopping this crown on my head. You may further recollect that Balekin didn’t want me to keep the title and that the Living Council never took a real shine to me.

“There was a prophecy given when I was born. Usually Baphen is uselessly vague, but in this case, he made it clear that should I rule, I would make a very poor king.” It hurts more than he thought it would to say it out loud. “The destruction of the crown, the ruination of the throne – a lot of dramatic language.”

He has to be cavalier about it; it stings too much otherwise. It’s been the bane of his existence, this prophecy. It is the reason his entire childhood was filled with nothing but dismissal and cruelty. It’s the very, very low standard he’s spent his whole life trying not to meet. The best his family had ever hoped for from him was his complete and utter disappearance – and he’d failed to do even that.

He turns back to Jude. Patience. Fearlessness. He has so much more to say. He has so much more he wants to be than this. Deep breath.

“When you forced me into working for the Court of Shadows, I never thought of the things I could do – frightening people, charming people – as talents, no less ones that might be valuable. But you did. You showed me how to use them to be useful. I never minded being a minor villain, but it’s possible I might have grown into something else, a High King as monstrous as Dain. And if I did – if I fulfilled that prophecy, I ought to be stopped. And I believe that you would stop me.”

Jude sputters at that, blinking hard.

“Stop you?” she echoes. “Sure. If you’re a huge jerk and a threat to Elfhame, I’ll pop your head right off.”

“Good.” And he means it. To die by Jude’s hand would be a dream. “That’s one reason I didn’t want to believe you’d joined up with Madoc. The other is that I want you here by my side,” and just for good measure, just in case she still isn’t getting it: “As my queen.”

But he can’t read the expression on Jude’s face when he says it – if it brings her joy, if it brings her more distress. He’s not sure what else he could have said to make it any more clear. And now her silence is threatening to eat him alive. This reeks of the beginnings of yet another rejection.

He smiles at her, instinctively, a last ditch effort to make this even slightly less awkward.

“But now that you’re High Queen and back in charge, I won’t be doing anything of consequence anyway,” he promises. “If I destroy the crown and ruin the throne, it will only be through neglect.”

He wants her to smile back. To roll her eyes at him and act like she isn’t amused when she so clearly is. He’s missed that, oh, how he’s missed that.

He gets all that and more when she blurts out a laugh.

“So that’s your excuse for not doing any of the work?” She quirks an eyebrow, and it makes his heart swell. They’re smiling together again. He’d needed that, too, more than he’d realized. “You must be draped in decadence at all times because if you aren’t kept busy, you might fulfill some half-baked prophecy.”

“Exactly,” he says. Exactly… It’s more true than he wants it to be. His smile fades. And Jude is looking more tired than he’s comfortable with. He hopes he has not pushed her too hard. He touches her arm, gently, not thinking. Her gaze catches his, soft and warm. He finds himself leaning in…

“Would you like me to inform the Council that you will see them another time?” he asks. “It will be a novelty to have me make your excuses.”

But Jude is stalwart and determined as ever. He expected nothing less.

He pulls back. She does not need him. Not like he needs her.

“No, I’m ready,” she says.

How he wishes he could say the same.

-----------

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#jurdan #the folk of the air #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #cardan pov #fanfic #fanfiction #jurdan fanfic #jurdan fanfiction

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deadpcnned · 3 years

Text

the gamble of the heart | chapter 3 (r.l.)

chapter three: hangovers and cowards

series masterlist

previous chapter

pairing: remus lupin x potter!reader

chapter summary: remus and y/n attempt to talk about their failed relationship

warnings: swearing, hangover??

wordcount: 1.4k

a/n: super short chapter but the next chapter is already done and will be up soon

REMUS WAS met with a dimly lit room as he opened his eyes. He could tell it was daytime by the bits of light peeking in from behind the curtains, but the thick drapes were thankfully blocking most of the light. He was clutching an empty bottle of alcohol against his chest and there was drool sticking to the corner of his mouth. Remus wrapped himself further into his duvet, trying to ignore the nausea adding to his previous misery. He’d have to use some charms to cure the steady ache in his head and drink a shitload of water.

Balancing himself as he stood, Remus was met with an empty room. He was sure he had slept through the boys trying to wake him up, as he had a habit of doing. Even if they hadn’t he really didn’t care. He just needed some food. Trudging down the stairs, Remus hoped that Sirius and James hadn’t planned anything tremendous today. He didn’t have the mind or the heart to deal with their antics, no matter how much he enjoyed them most days.

To his disillusionment, instead of a clear path to breakfast, he ran into a rather gorgeous obstacle. His anger wasn’t enough to blind him from how beautiful Y/N looked, perched up on the sofa reading from a textbook. With a shake of his head, Remus started to head towards the door again.

“We need to talk, Remus,” Y/N’s voice was a mix of stern and concerned and Remus sighed knowing nothing good was going to come of this conversation. Turning around, he walked back towards the couches and took a seat as far away as possible from Y/N.

“Not here,” she motioned to the crowd behind her and began to go back up the stairs. Remus didn’t want to climb up the stairs. Not just because of his massive headache, but because he didn’t want to just listen to her. He had wasted enough of his time doing that.

But people always told him old habits die hard.

Entering Y/N’s dorm, Remus took a seat at what appeared to be Lily’s desk. The tops of ten dead flowers that were carefully taped to the table - that he knew James had given her and she had reluctantly taken - were proof of that. He wondered if Lily would ever hurt James the way he had been hurt. Well, after she finally stopped pretending she didn’t care for the boy. He hoped not. No one deserved this pain, but especially not James.

“What was yesterday about?” Remus slowly brought his head up to look at the Y/N. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, nervously clutching her blanket. He couldn’t count the number of times he had held her on that bed. Or the one night he had snuck into her dorm after a particularly gruesome full moon. He had wanted to remember the details of that night forever when he had left in the morning, but now he wanted anything but that.

Y/N had mumbled an incantation under her breath and suddenly Remus’ head felt a lot lighter.

“You know perfectly well what last night was about,” Remus said simply. There was no point in either of them playing dumb, especially her.

“No, Remus. I don’t. It’s not like you to make a scene like that.” Remus scoffed at the expectations she held for him.

“Yah? Well, it’s not like you to make out with some random in the middle of a crowded room.” Y/N looked at him incredulously, her mouth agape.

“So, what? Are you jealous of Mason?” Was she fucking insane?

“Am I jealous of Mason?” Remus was seething as he spat his words at her. “Of course I’m fucking jealous, Y/N. Stop acting so innocent.”

“I’m not acting - Remus, I-” In two swift motions, Remus was standing right in front of Y/N.

“No, you are. You know damn well you’ve let me down. So, at least be brave enough to own it.” Slowly Y/N rose up from her spot, protectively crossing her arms in front of her.

“So that outfit you wore yesterday… At the game. It was what? To get my attention,” Y/N’s accusation invoked a rosey color to inhabit Remus’ cheeks. He had felt embarrassed enough when he had made the decision the day before, but now he was mortified. All he could do was nod.

“You looked utterly stupid.” Remus let out a mirthless chuckle and pursed his lip as he watched her.

“That’s my fucking problem, Y/N. I am so goddamn stupid. I am so stupid that I can’t let go of this notion that you still care about me. That you still have all the feelings we talked about. But I’m even stupider because I would still do anything for you,” Remus’ words were bullets, but every shot aimed at Y/N seemed to be hitting him instead.

“Moony,” He grimaced at the way his nickname left her lips. She looked distraught and he resisted the urge to smooth out the lines on her forehead. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Alright,” Remus took a breath, trying to keep his temper cool. “Start by explaining why? Why’d you start dating Tomlinson?” Y/N’s face flushed as she looked at Remus with an unreadable expression.

“I like him, Remus. That’s why.” Maybe if Remus had really been listening, the words would have broken straight through his bones. Instead, he was ready to ask her the next question on his mind.

“What happened to us?”

It was a simple question. If Y/N had a new boyfriend she should have no problem giving him an answer. So, why was she tearing up? Why did she get to be the one hurting right now?

“Remus, Mason, he just… I don’t know, Remus. I can’t explain it,” Remus was getting sick of her feigning guiltlessness. He was the one that was left alone and empty, she probably had Mason filling her up every night.

“Did you lie in your letter?” He studied her reaction carefully as he spoke his next words. “You said you loved me, what the fuck does that mean?” When Remus had received the letter from Y/N, he had assumed it was going to be just another mundane update since the last time they had talked. Which would have been more than enough for Remus. However, within the last lines of the letter she had casually told Remus she loved him. He wasn’t sure if it had been a mistake, but that day he decided as soon as they were back at Hogwarts he would tell her how he felt. He would make what they had real.

“That I loved you?” Y/N visibly retracted and closed her eyes as she replied.

“Is that what it meant? Because if you fucking loved me, then how the fuck did you find someone new after three weeks?” Remus tasted a salty liquid on his lips and instantly wiped away the tears that were slipping down his face. What made him more angry was that Y/N was just staring, wide eyed. “ANSWER ME, Y/N!”

“Remus, I don’t know. I wish I knew what happened, but I just met Mason and it was like something instant.”

“You’re a liar. There must be a reason that you fell… fell o-out of love with me,” Remus took a harsh breath in, willing his tears away.

“I’m not lying. It had nothing to do with you,” Remus chuckled, choking on his tears. How cliche, he thought. Running his hand through his hair, he spun away from Y/N. It was as if the moon had come two weeks early, because he was unable to control the anger coursing through him. He pounded his fist against Marlene’s bed frame, but made sure to stay as far away from Y/N as possible. No matter what, he couldn’t scare her.

“Remus!” Y/N yelled, running over to inspect his hands. Her hands were cold but she electrified every inch of skin she touched. Sighing, she looked up at him. “Look, Remus. I have no idea how to explain to you what I’m feeling, but you’re just going to have to accept I’m with Mason now. Or - or we can’t be friends.”

“Okay,” Remus nodded his head calmly, carefully moving his hand away from hers and brought them to his side.

“Okay? Thank you, Remus -”

“I guess we just aren’t friends anymore,” Turning around, Remus didn’t bother listening to what bullshit Y/N was spewing. But before he walked out of the room he left her with one last thought, “Coward.”

Remus didn’t react until he was safely in his locked dorm room. And then he broke. Did Y/N have a charm to use for the pain growing in his heart? Because he really needed it.

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#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin series #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction #andrew garifield x reader #marauders era #marauders imagine #remus lupin angst

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heyheydidjaknow · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11

Guess who's back? Back again. Back three hours late, but back nonetheless. I'd feel more sorry if I was more sorry. This is officially the longest chapter as of now, so, yay. Someone challenged me to not swear for a chapter, and I believe I fulfilled that requirement. I'm just gonna go sleep.

Update: APPARENTLY, TUMBLR DOES THE TRANSFER FORMATTING THING ON LAPTOPS AND I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE RIGHT NOW SO MUCH. I usually do all my editing on my phone, so I knew no such luxury. I have never been more pissed. That is a lie, but my anger is still very genuine.

Chapter 11

“Where were you?”

The younger brother looks up at his senior. “Huh?”

“You were gone all night.” Leonardo leans against the door, crossing his arms. “Don’t look so surprised; I started getting up early to meditate.”

He shrugs in feigned nonchalance, already dreading the ensuing conversation. “Out.”

“And where’s ‘Out’?”

Donnie slides out of his chair, deciding his straining eyes need a break. “Just went to check on Y/N is all.” He rubs them with his arm, quietly noting the sounds of fighting in the dojo were starting to cease as he sits on the couch. His rounds of sparring with Leonardo were finished a little over an hour ago; a part of him is grateful it took him this long to corner him.

This got a raised brow. “You were checking on her for hours?”

He does not look him in the eye. “It’s not impossible.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t that late,” he argues.

“Donnie,” he presses, “you didn’t get home until five in the morning. Where were you?”

He feels his face heat up. “I said.”

Leo leans down to look his brother in the eye. “Final answer?”

He swallows a yawn. “Look, I know it was stupid—”

“I didn’t say it was stupid.”

“No,” he snips, mildly irritable from a lack of sleep. “You implied it.”

The doors to the dojo slide open, the disgruntled look on Raphael’s face all the evidence the other two need to know who won.

Mikey dives onto the couch, sprawling out next to his slightly older brother. “Did you ask yet?”

“I did.” He glances at the disgruntled boy. “Donnie was, apparently, at Y/N’s all night.”

The reaction is immediate.

“Details!” The small victor sits up, leaning forward on his knees in usual attentiveness. “Was she good?”

“What did you—shut up, Mikey.” Raph’s attention snaps back to his tallest brother. “What did you do to her? Did you—”

“Wait, hold on!” Donnie’s face feels uncomfortably hot. “N-Nothing happened!”

“Yeah, sure.” The second eldest rolls his eyes. “You think we fell off the truck yesterday? Who stays with a girl all night in her room without something happening? Nobody,” he cuts him off before he can defend himself.

The youngest’s voice rises over his brother’s before he can continue. “Dude, big picture!” He gestures to his brown-eyed brother. “He got with a girl first! He has valid info or whatever he says and stuff!”

“What are you two even talking about?” He wrings his hands. “Look, nothing happened!”

“Then what were you doing at her house,” Raphael eggs. “You weren’t just sitting there, right?”

“… no.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

He pauses, the two excitable boys waiting on bated breath. “She wanted me to spend the night,” he explains carefully, “because she was having bad nightmares and didn’t want to sleep alone.” He leans back, tossing his hands in the air. “That’s all.”

Silence falls.

“So,” clarifies Raphael, “you spent however many hours in her room, in her bed, and you didn’t make a move?”

“I—look!” The conversation is taking a shift for the worse. “I was trying to be nice! The last thing she needed was me doing whatever you’re insinuating!”

“He has a point,” Michelangelo nods knowingly. “Brownie points are key.”

“When did I say I was doing this for brownie points?”

“Look,” the eldest interjects. “Regardless of whether or not he was doing the ‘smart’ thing—” air quotes, “my bigger concern is that you didn’t bother calling to let us know where you were. You could’ve—Raph, do you have something to say?”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you really gonna act like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing if it were you?”

The leader pauses. “Would you like to take this somewhere more private?”

“Sure.” A venomous smile curls Raph’s lips. “Dojo?”

“Bring it.”

As the two leave, Donnie looks back over at Mikey. “Okay,” he sighs, “did I miss something?”

A shrug. “Man," he grins brazenly, "bold of you to assume I follow half of the things you guys say.”

He pulls his T-Phone from his utility belt. “Do you think I did the right thing? Honestly?”

Another shrug. “I dunno.” He looks over his older brother’s shoulder, reading the text on the screen curiously. “Can’t have gone too bad, though, if you two’ve been textin’ all day.

He pushes his head away with his free hand. “It hasn’t been all day,” he corrects. “She just filled me in on this week’s episode and we just kept talking after that.” He smiles faintly. “Although, she did check to see if I got home alright.”

“Hey, that’s totally progress!” He grins encouragingly. “I mean, the bed thing was bigger progress, but this is also progress.”

You push through the turnstile with a bit of difficulty, hopping on your good leg as you pull the walker over the divider using your free hand with an embarrassing clatter. “Sorry,” you wince, feeling your face heat up as you slide down the railing. “I’m still getting used to—”

“Holy—are you alright?” The distress is apparent in the youngest’s voice as he sees you for the first time in a month. “You look like you—”

“I’m aware,” you cut him off dryly, holding a paper bag as you stumble over to the couch. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m aware.” You put it down in Donnie’s lap. “Here.”

He blinks, picking it up as you regain your bearings. “What is it?”

“Not poison or snakes. Open it.”

“Yo,” Mikey interrupts, pointing at your banged-up leg, “can I draw on your white thing?”

It takes you a second to figure out what he is referring to. “Oh, you mean—yeah.” You lean your head back against the back of the couch. “Just know that I’ll take white-out to anything that could get me kicked out of school.”

“Deal!” He runs off to your room as his brother pulls the bag open, pulling the pastry from its confinement.

“What is it,” he repeats, icing already on his fingers.

“Cupcake.”

He fingers the wrapper, his brick stare seeming almost to dissect it. “What is it for?”

“Besides being messy?” You smile gently as you watch him try to figure it out, feeling your heart swell. “It’s food.”

“How much of it is edible?”

“Everything except the paper bit.”

He peels the liner back. “And how do you eat it, exactly?”

You lean forward on your arms. “The goal is to eat the frosting and the cake part at the same time, so however you accomplish that.”

He smiles sheepishly, eyes softening as he looks back at you. “Is it possible to eat it without the frosting getting on your face?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He tentatively holds eye contact with you as he takes a bite, unsurprisingly getting icing sticking to the space around his upper lip. You wait tentatively as he licks the excess off, blinking in delighted surprise. “What’s in this, exactly?”

You feel yourself beam at his tone. “It’s nothing too special,” you shrug nonchalantly, bubbling with excitement. “It’s a personal favorite; red velvet with cream cheese frosting.”

He takes another bite. “Do you have more? Follow-up question,” you note his speech quickening, “can you make more?”

“Totally,” you nod in agreement. “I wanted to make you something as thanks for—”

“Back!”

Donnie shoves the rest of it in his mouth as soon as you two hear him.

“Sorry for the wait; I couldn’t find my stuff.” He plops down with a cardboard box filled with various discarded art supplies. “I’d use spray paint, but he—” he nods to his brother, currently trying to choke the rest of the cupcake down—“said I’m not allowed because of fumes or somethin’, so.”

“Fair.” You allow him to drape your calf over his legs, digging into the cardboard box he was carrying and pulling out a pencil. “Got any plans?”

“You’ll see,” he grins, starting to sketch shapes out.

The taller of the two wipes the excess frosting off his fingers. “Oh,” he snaps his fingers, “when you two are done with that, Y/N, I still gotta do that physical.”

“Physical?”

He clears his throat in preparation for a very redundant explanation. “A physical,” he explains calmly to his over-excited brother, “as in a physical examination, not whatever you’re thinking of.”

He blinks. “Like a doctor’s visit?”

“Donnie was asking about my recovery time,” you add helpfully. “Apparently, it’s weirdly long, but I don’t have any weird medical problems, so he wanted to see what the deal was.”

“That, and your comment about how ‘insanely high’ we jump, apparently.”

“Do not air quote that!” You lean your head back to look at him, hair falling onto his lap. “Not when you guys put high jumping to shame.”

He adamantly avoids eye contact, face warming. “It’s not that high,” he mumbles. “Especially if we’re bringing a sport like high jumping into this.”

“I respectfully disagree.” You lay your head down properly, looking up at him from his thighs. “Considering your falling form, it is a miracle you still have working hips.”

“What’s wrong with my form?”

“It doesn’t include a parachute.”

“Okay,” Mikey interjects, “it may not last unless you cover it with something. Just, FYI.”

You lean your head up to look at him. “Noted,” you nod. “I’ll pick up varnish or something on my way home.”

He nods. “Oh,” he asks innocently, “mind turning over? I have to get the other side and I don’t want to hurt you.”

For some inexplicable reason, the boy you are currently laying on looks as though someone has put a gun to his head.

You do as asked with a bit of difficulty, bringing your knee closer to your chest as it is now closest to the back of the couch. “Like that?”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

You look up at Donnie. “Let me know if you need me to move,” you smile. “If your thighs go numb or anything.”

His voice is oddly tight. “You’re good.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Sure? You sound very uncomfortable.”

“Never better.”

“He’s alright,” Mikey reassures you, shooting a thumbs up at his brother behind your back.

“...Alright.” Your eyes focus absentmindedly on what you thought was a couch cushion; upon further inspection, it appears to be a repurposed training mat. You bring the arm not currently pinned to your side under your head, humming an earworm softly.

The boy currently under you is silently panicking as your fingers squeeze gently around his knee, making a conscious effort to stare at the television and only at the television with his hands hovering awkwardly over you. Surprisingly enough, out of the corner of his eye, he does not catch his younger brother trying to stare at you weirdly, sincerely focused on drawing.

You feel him, eventually, resting his hands down, one resting in between your shoulder blades, the other in your hair, twisting a lock of it around his fingers gently. “Still alright,” you ask.

His voice is almost airy, now. “Mhm.”

‘This is nice.’ You trace little designs into the mat as your mind begins to wander, the boys starting to talk about something you struggle to pay attention to. This is not the closest you have been to him physically, but it is nice not to be crying this time around. "Domestic, almost, even if he doesn't think so.’

‘I should learn how to braid.’ Braiding is not something he has necessarily needed to know how to do in the past, but as he wraps the fibers around themselves, curious about the texture, he wishes that he knew; using your hair as a material of sorts would certainly be interesting, and he knows he has the dexterity for it. Admittedly, the conversation is less of a conversation and more of a speech on his brother’s part, but he tries to pay attention.

“So,” Mikey continues, digging into the box and pulling out a pencil sharpener, “he’s watching this guy all stealth-like, right? The guy’s out here, giving out his plans like they’re candy or whatever, and he’s just kinda recording it on one of those little tape recorders you used for that one thing a couple weeks ago-- you know the ones, and-- you don’t mind spoilers-- long story short, the guy gets caught, and when the crew got there, he was totally messed up.”

“Sounds like Batman,” you mumble sleepily-- ‘He really is warm.’

“Huh?”

“Your story.” You hoist yourself up, looking over your shoulder back at him. “Sounds like this Batman cartoon.”

“Batman?”

“Universe…” you stifle a yawn. “My universe has this thing called Batman, and there's a crossover thing in a different iteration of this universe. I guess you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

“Different iteration?” Donatello looks down at your head in his lap, desperately in need of a cold shower.

You feel Michelangelo bend your leg forward. You nod in confirmation, trying to will yourself awake. “Didn’t I… did I?” You lay your head back down properly. “You guys are, like… mega-famous down-- back-- there.”

“I’m not sure if you did.”

“Well,” you giggle sleepily, “you are.” You try to count on your fingers. “You’ve got the original comic, the old cartoon, the two-thousand three animated show, the CGI movie, this one, the two live-action movies, the twenty-eighteen animated one-- gorgeous animation by the by that I have to show you later, Mikey-- that crossover movie with Batman, the live-action show, the other, older live-action movie, the IDW comic series, that weird one with the hats-- there’s a ton.”

“Dude, that is sick!” The resident artist grins. “I bet they were awesome.”

You consider telling him about the IDW comic. You quickly decide against it.

“How long have we-- as a property-- existed, exactly?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “The first animated show was the eighties, I think.”

“...huh.”

You notice him fiddling with your hair, finally. You don’t mind.

“It’s been too long.”

You freeze, suddenly very awake and painfully aware of your current position.

One of the few good things about having your own apartment: you seem to have forgotten the fear of being walked in on.

“Please, relax.” You hear his smile. It does not help matters. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

The other two, astonishingly, do not seem nearly as anxious as you are.

You look up at him from your spot on his son’s lap. “You look as healthy as ever.” ‘I miss my grandpa. Is Grandma okay?’ You were unable to find your relatives on your father’s side through social media-- they could be dead for all you know.

“No thanks to my diet,” he chuckles. Yoshi walks out of your field of view. “Don’t mind me; how long have they been in the dojo?”

“Half an hour?” You hear the jostling of the box and the snap of an uncapped pen.

You hear him sigh. “Let’s just hope nobody’s died,” he mutters, walking into the dojo.

The three of you strain your ears to-- unsuccessfully-- hear what is going on. The door snaps open as the two brothers leave together in heated silence.

Mikey shakes what you can now identify as a paint pen. “Who won?”

“Nobody.” Leo’s voice, snippy. “Is she out?”

“She is not.” You turn your arm awkwardly to wave back at him.

“Then,” he shrugs, “nice to see you.”

“Likewise.”

“So,” Raph interjects, apparently very interested in the current situation, “can someone please explain what, exactly, is going on here?”

“I’m painting her white thing.”

“Of course. Donnie?”

The mortification would be apparent if you were looking at him.

“Nothin? Okay then.” You shut your eyes as he sits down on the other side of you. “You look terrible. Nice scar.”

“I am too close to very sensitive areas for you to give me a hard time, Raphael,” you warn.

“Whatever.”

“I’m heading out.” Leo nonchalantly bounds the steps, hopping over a divider.

“Tell her I say hi,” you call back. “Remember, consent is key, yellow roses lead to friendzoning, and to always use a condom.”

“... No comment.” He runs off.

“I have so many questions.”

“Ask me later.”

It takes him about twenty more minutes to finish covering the entirety of your cast in brightly colored characters and objects; if you have to describe it, you will say that the style is contemporary pop illustration with composition reminiscent of the renaissance period if the single art class you have taken is serving you right.

“This,” you smile, a little misty-eyed for some reason, “is absolutely gorgeous. Thanks, Mikey.”

He beams. “You’re totally welcome! If you ever get more white things, I’ll draw on those too, if you want.”

“Dude, for sure.” You nod in agreement, looking back at Donnie. “Isn’t it cool?”

Donatello has been quietly jabbed at for the past twenty minutes and is mostly desensitized to the quality of his brother’s art; frankly, it is not his area, and he cannot judge it one way or the other. Despite this, he gives his brother a thumbs up. “Very.”

“Don’t stroke his ego so much,” teases their older brother. “Donnie’ll get jealous.”

“Hate to steal her from you all,” he interrupts, “but I still have a physical to do, so if you would be so kind as to shut up, that would be great.”

‘Green with envy. Is that racist? No clue. Pretty colors.’ Donnie is talking to you. “Huh?”

“I asked if you were still on board.”

You nod. “Mind grabbing my walker?”

He shoots his snickering brother a glare. “Want me to just carry you to the lab?”

Panic. Immediate panic. “You sure you can carry me?”

He shrugs, smiling. “It’s only a few feet. Besides,” he points out, “aren’t you the one always going on about how strong we are by normal standards?”

You do not have a rational way to explain why the idea of being off of solid ground, held up by someone who can potentially drop you, is distressing. You also do not want to insult him in any shape, way, or form. “Promise you won’t drop me?” Your stomach turns.

“Swear it.”

“Can I paint your walker while you guys are doing that?”

“Of all the things you could've chosen--”

“Lay off.” He offers his arms. “You can trust me, I promise.”

You pause. The statement is entirely true, but your gut is screaming at you not to do that. The same gut told you that slamming your body into the person driving the car you were tied up in was a good idea.

You latch your arms around his neck, burying your eyes in the crook of his neck as to not see when and in what direction he is moving you. “Please,” you mumble, trying not to blatantly beg, “do not drop me.”

He does not exactly understand why you are clinging to him so tightly, but he is hardly one to complain. He slides an arm under your knees, picking you up.

Raphael is heckling you. You are more concerned with your body inaccurately telling you that you are going to die from this. Tears prick your eyes as you try to breathe.

He looks down at you, mind wandering as he walks away from his brothers. You look so sweet to him, shaking like a leaf in his arms. Cute. He had thought the same thing when you had started clinging to him during that movie forever ago, when you held his hand last night and pulled him back onto the bed with you. You are not normally openly vulnerable and, although he is hardly one to talk about vulnerability, it is always a sight to behold.

“Please don’t drop me.” He is not exactly sure if you are aware of your own, almost silent begging as you repeat the phrase over and over. ‘You trust me.’ His heart melts.

It takes no time to get you to his lab. He sets you down on a chair, but you do not seem to understand that as you still cling tightly to his neck.

He chuckles nervously. “I need my body to perform the physical, Y/N.”

You were not aware he had put you down. Your eyes snap open as you let your shaking, iron grip relax. “Sorry,” you mumble, face going a gorgeous shade of pink.

“No prob.” ‘Prob?’ His face changes color to match yours.

“So.” He claps his hands together just a bit too hard, slamming the door closed when he hears his brothers’ snickering. “Let’s get started.”

You sit on your couch, applying another coat of varnish to your cast as you listen to a cooking show because something something exposure therapy. Also, listening to people scream at one another about food textures is soothing.

Your results were not surprising to you; by the standards of humans in this universe, you are a walking talking coma patient. It was a bit funny, watching him freak out about a blood pressure that you knew-- through the help of google-- was completely normal. You are fine for the most part, if he was using the tools given correctly, and so, you are currently preoccupied with making sure the gorgeous painting on your fiberglass prison is going to stay gorgeous. The only thing he had insisted on, really, was that you not cook, after seeing your crudely applied bandages on your fingers.

You lean back into an actual couch, pulling out your phone and scrolling through pictures of gloves again. You are determined to find a good pair; the deep scars on your hands are not fading any time soon.

You can hear the window slide open. “If you’re planning on killing me--” you stop when you look up to see the look on Donnie’s face. “Something up?”

He says absolutely nothing, leaning his staff against the wall, closing the window in a daze and he stands next to the sofa. “Are you busy?”

“No.”

“Good.” His eyes glance at the space next to you. “Can I stay here for a bit?”

“As long as you like.”

He lays his head on your lap as he sits down, staring blankly at the television screen. He immediately understands why you like this-- your thighs are incredibly soft.

You immediately understand why he was awkward. You have no idea where to put your hands, but you eventually settle on his head as you turn the volume down. “What’s up?”

He takes a deep breath, licking his teeth as he sighs. “I,” he explains, “just realized what my reality is right now and I-- okay, I know this sounds stupid--”

“Not at all.”

“It does,” he insists. “I know it sounds stupid because I realized it did when I was working it out, but I just-- hear me out, okay?” His voice oozes exhaustion.

“I’m hearing you.” You listen to him, laying your phone face down on the coffee table. “Hit me.”

He takes another breath. “I just fought a giant… thing.” He rolls over, looking up at you. “Mikey called it Jacob or something, and it was about twenty feet tall and it looked like something out of a monster movie and it destroyed us in a fight.” You hear his voice rising, and you just nod along, letting him talk. “It wiped the floor with us. And the only reason it existed was that Leo, apparently, got a girlfriend named Karai-- you know her?”

“Hot alt chick with the wicked eyeshadow and eyeliner that could kill?” You nod. “Yeah, I’m familiar.”

“Her-- wait, should I…?” He trails off, shakes his head. “Another time.” He covers the side of his face with his hand, gesturing animatedly with his other. “Anyways, apparently he met this girl because she wanted to do a heist with him-- this girl, working for the Foot, of all people-- sixteen or whatever-- she goes and just touches a button to mix the DNAs of all the creatures an alien race could find on Earth, and then bails.” He realizes he is shouting, lowers his voice. “The alien creatures, in case you forgot, that look like brains and waddle around on tentacles which, by the way, makes no evolutionary sense whatsoever, decided to create a button that mixes the entirety of their samples of DNA together in a smorgasbord of wrong, okay?”

“Uhuh.” You nod along. You know what he means, even if the word he used was technically not correct.

“This thing,” he continues, officially ranting, “destroyed a building! It set the whole thing on fire, which was probably only Kraang, but also maybe had normal people in it, which is concerning.” He rubs his eyes aggressively. “So, to recap, an alienish creature named Jason or whatever got created by Leo’s crush and destroyed a building and that was just what happened today!” He raises his hands in the air, almost accidentally hitting you in the face. “I didn’t bat an eye at this!”

“Man, I feel you.”

“And I understand,” he continues, “the irony of telling you this, considering I am a giant, talking turtle created by the very same mutagen that created Justin or whatever its stupid name was, was taught ninjutsu by my ninja master father who is also a rat, and that you have already previously died--”

“All very bizarre things,” you agree.

“-- but this is just…” he sighs. “My life is getting so… weird? It was already weird, I know, but more so than I thought it reasonably should be.”

You wipe a bit of oil you notice on his cheek off with your thumb. “This world is a weird one,” you admit.

His voice is lower now as he follows your hand with his eyes. “I…” He takes breath. “I just wish we were more normal, you know? That our lives were more normal, that our existences made more sense, you know?”

You cup his face in your hand gently, remembering how your mother used to do the same for you. “I do.”

You feel him leaning into your touch. “I wish,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “that I was a normal, human teenager who went to school and didn’t know how to use a bo staff and had three, normal brothers who could try to get girlfriends without worrying about whether or not they wanted to kill them.”

You sigh, running your thumbs along the edge of his eye socket, feeling the soft skin shift under you. “You’re very well adjusted for a teenager trained in the art of assassination,” you joke softly.

He chuckles dryly, closing his eyes. “My mother is an empty canister in a locked cabinet in the kitchen.” He exhales slowly. “My stepmom was murdered by a man now actively trying to murder me and my entire family because of a decades long feud. Well adjusted is probably the highest compliment you could give me.”

“I’ve given you higher.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” You glance up at the television screen, then back at him. “You’re holding up better than I am, and you’ve been fearing for your life since you were real little.”

“Apples and oranges.” He rests his hand on yours.

“Look,” you shrug, “the way I see it, life is a series of events that all string together to the present.”

“Butterfly effect.”

“Exactly.” You smile down at him. “And if things didn’t happen exactly as they did, we never would’ve met, the world would be totally screwed, and we would be missing out on one of the greatest minds on the planet.”

He looks to see if you are being serious.

You are.

“You also wouldn’t have a broken leg and messed up hands,” he points out ruefully.

“Meeting you was worth it.”

He reaches up, running his fingers along the scar on your face. “I disagree.”

“It’s my body, and my physical detriment. It doesn’t matter if you’re stupid enough to think it wasn’t worth it.”

You feel his body relax

You two shut up for a bit, watching the show absentmindedly.

After a while, he pipes up. “It’s alright if you say no,” he starts tentatively, “but is it alright if I stay here again tonight?”

“Will your brothers mind?”

“They don’t care so long as I’m home before sunrise,” he shrugs. “I just like it here. Smells better.”

You smile brightly. “Sure,” you agree easily. “I sleep better with you here, anyways; I don’t worry about people sneaking in through the window.” You check the varnish. “I just have to wait for this to dry the rest of the way, first. You’re free to go to bed without me, though.”

In all honesty, you’re just happy not to be alone.

He nods, standing up and drawing the curtains. He sits down on the bed, untying the mask behind his head. ‘I could get used to this.’ He smiles slightly, slipping a hand into his utility belt and texting his brothers where he was to avoid his brother’s scolding in the morning. He slips that off too, dropping both onto the side of the bed and starting on the wraps on his feet and hands; he had learned his lesson when he had gotten up morning before, having gotten a few hours sleep at home, to large, noticeable indentations in his flesh where the foreign objects had been.

You glance over. “Do those go in the wash?”

He looks back. “Not usually, no.”

“Do you want me to wash them?”

‘You are too considerate.’ He shakes his head. “It’s alright.”

You shrug, putting your hands up. “Suit yourself.” You cross your hands across your stomach, staring absentmindedly back at the screen. “You can use the shower in the morning, but please do not use all of the hot water. Fridge is open if you need breakfast.”

“Nah,” he sighs, slipping the clothes into his utility belt. “I’ll eat at home.”

You nod in acknowledgement.

It occurs to him as he sets his knee and elbow pads with the rest of his things that, technically, he is stripping in front of you, and you are not batting an eye. As soon as that clocks, it also dawns on him that you are showing the most skin he has ever seen-- an A-shirt and gym shorts-- which had not even registered until he was laying in your bed. You are relaxed and in your warm apartment, watching a television program with him in your bed. You are awake and absolutely gorgeous and you feel safer with him of all people.

His heart swells as he slides under the blankets, the sound of the television white noise at this point.

You glance back at him, the phrase “Snug as a bug in a rug," coming to mind as you look over at him, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You gonna fall asleep?”

His face warms. He nods. "It's been a really long day," he admits.

“Then goodnight,” you smile. “Sweet dreams.”

He smiles sleepily. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he shuts his eyes.

You swallow.

You forgot how much you missed this.

Table of Contents

Chapter 10

Chapter 12

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onomonopetabread · 4 years

Text

Declawing the Cat- Chapter 2

“ Can you believe that nerve of that jerk?”

Marinette was absolutely furious. Tikki watched her from the bed as she paced from wall to wall. It was really getting concerning; she’s been ranting for the past three hours. School ended about five hours ago, but Marinette’s little encounter with Felix never left her mind.

“What, did he think that a few thoughtless compliments would get me to trust him? Who does he think he is, the MaYOR?”

That last part was a particularly loud shriek, and if Tikki had eardrums, they would be completely shattered by now. It was time to stop this madness.

“Mari, I know that you’re upset, and trust me, I am too. But… don’t you think that you should calm down? You’ve been at this for a really long time.”

Marinette hardly heard her. “I really tried. I tried to just leave it alone. But nooo, he just had to go and rock the boat! Can’t the guy take a hint? I mean, if someone didn’t talk to ME after giving the third fakest apology given ever, I would know that they hated MY guts.”

“Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!”

The group gathered around Felix. He’d just been introduced to the class by Adrien, and it didn’t seem as though they were very happy to see him. They were making so much noise that no one had noticed the lack of a certain blue-eyed class president. Unbeknownst to them, Marinette was crouched behind a pillar near the courtyard, watching and listening to the entire thing.

She had been uncharacteristically early to school and was chatting with Tikki in the locker room when she heard Adrien’s voice outside. Naturally, she'd begun to walk outside to greet him. The fact that she had decided to try to get over him out of respect for Kagami doesn’t make it illegal for her to talk to him; he is her friend.

When Marinette first stepped out of the room, her first thought was that there were somehow two Adriens. Then she realized that one Adrien looked like...Adrien, and the other looked like a sad old man somehow ended up in a teen’s body. In about 0.2 seconds, she was absolutely seething. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he at his comfortable home in the ninth circle of hell?

“Guys, this is my cousin Felix. He’s going to be attending school with us for now on. I know you guys will take him in with open arms.”

Open arms? This clown? Marinette scoffed. She’d sooner swallow a cup of tacks than let that prick into her life. Her classmates however, aren’t as strong-minded as she was. It’d probably be better if she stayed silent and invisible for this and let them make up their own minds about this, just to see what they would do.

“Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!”

Okay, so far so good. Maybe this time around, she wouldn’t be (almost) the only person that didn’t trust a liar. Oh, how great it will be to openly loathe for once! One by one, more and more voices were protesting letting the rat into their friend group. The entirety of the class was hanging Formally-Dressed Draco to dry, and Marinette was in ecstasy.

‘Yes,’ she thought. ‘Tear him to pieces!’

Just when things were really starting to escalate, the sound of someone clearing their throats cut through the noise.

“Hello, everyone. As Adrien just told you, my name is Felix Graham de Vanily. To answer your question, Mr. Le Chein, yes, I’m the cousin of Adrien’s that impersonated him and sent you a cruel response to your heartfelt videos. For that, I am deeply sorry. I have no excuse for wha-”

What. In. The. World. If Marinette was furious before, she was positively incandescent now. He really was another Lila! Not to mention the fact that he didn’t even have the decency to make the apology seem even slightly convincing. Anyone with an EQ of 3 could see that those puppy-eyes were rehearsed and don’t even get Mari STARTED on that pout. There was no way that her class would buy this, but by the looks on their faces…

“If you’re really sorry...”

…Of course. Of-freaking-course they would believe him. Marinette sighed and walked into the classroom. Once again, she was left to hold the class’ single brain cell, by herself this time since there was no chance in Adrien distrusting his own cousin. Now how was she going to go about this was the question. If he really is Lila 2.0, then her initial plan to outright hate him will boomerang her right in the eye. No, it’s better to just avoid him at all costs; you can’t hate what you never come into contact with.

“Are you really sure that’s going to work, Marinette?” Tikki asked once they were safe inside the room. “You can’t stay away from him forever, you know. He may be a nuthead, but he’s smart enough to notice when you aren’t fawning over him like the others.”

“I know Tikki, but I think I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, I’m going to go above and beyond to make sure our paths never cross.”

“That’s a relief. I thought for a moment there that you were going to do the rational thing for once.”

“Really, Tikki? Sarcasm? That’s beneath you.”

“If you’re looking for a finger to point, blame Plagg. You pick it up after being with him for a few thousand years.”

Marinette stayed true to her word and made it her mission to never be in the same room as the Great Disturbance unless it was class time. Even then, she kept a compact with her so that she could see if he was coming up behind her. Whenever someone began to bring him up into a conversation, she would quickly but subtly change the subject.

After a few days of this, she seemed to really be getting the hang of it. Avoiding him was becoming second nature to Mari. It actually would have been way easier for her if the demon hadn’t kept trying to collect her soul. Like always, Tikki had been right. The little son-of-a caught on to her really quickly and didn’t hesitate to try to reach out to her. In fact, the other classmates would often tell her that he had been looking for her, and she’d had to act as though she didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. That part hadn’t been so easy.

“So, what are you going to make for the big competition, Mari? A dress maybe?” asked Alya.

“Actually, I was thinking about sewing up a pair of suits. I’m not sure what they’ll look like yet, but I really want to try something new this time.”

“Well, I know whatever you’ll make will blow their socks off, girl. Speaking of designers, Felix told me to ask you to meet him after school . He said he wants to talk to you.”

“Is that so?” Marinette asked, feigning surprise (see bane-of-existence, you’re not the only person who can act here).

“Yeah, he really seemed to have taken an interest in you. All he ever asks us is what you're up to. It’s almost an obsession. Do I sense a little romance here? Another blond-haired green-eyed love interest?”

“Not very likely, Alya. Anyways, I guess I’ll have to talk to him later. So, are you going to tell me about your new reporting piece or what?”

What? Don’t give me that face, it’s technically not a lie; Mari did end up talking to him later, didn’t she? Though, to be fair, she wasn’t planning on actually interacting with him until they both passed. No, not passing class. The other pass.

One thing that she had learned about the knock-off Five Hargreeves was that she had greatly overestimated him. For the love, the kid wasn’t fit to kiss Lila’s feet. At least her schemes were clever and thought-through; this amaetur just existed and everything was handed to him on a silver platter. The rest of the class has spoiled him into thinking that it would be easy to capture her attention with a tense grimace of a smile and two ounces of ‘charm’. Unfortunately for him, Marinette Dupain-Cheng wasn’t so easily bought.

So, that’s the way it went for a few weeks; a classic game of cat and mouse. He would try to catch her, and she would slip out of reach at the last minute. If she had to admit it, it was very fun, especially sneaking peeks at the frustrated faces the devil makes when he thinks no one is looking; the coward can’t be emotionally vulnerable for a second.

That’s why she felt so sure that he wouldn’t follow her to the park; the place was way too open for a stand-offish guy like him. She was very safe in the great outdoors with nothing but her sketchpad, a sharpened pencil, and a sleeping Tikki in her purse. She had been working on that design that she was talking about with Alya. Marinette really needed this design to be perfect. Perhaps a double-breasted suit would work? How many buttons would she have to buy? If she was any deeper into her work, she might not have noticed the distinct smell of leather and the tears of the innocents approaching her. She just barely retained her composure.

‘What is he doing here? Whatever, perhaps if I just stay completely still, he’ll go away.”

“Ah, Ms. Dupain-Cheng! How lovely it is to see you. We never seem to talk, do we? It is quite a shame really.”

‘It would also be a shame if you were to get punched where the sun doesn’t shine, Mr. Pied Piper’, Marinette thought. Alas, no matter how much she wanted to move her hand like so, she couldn’t let him win this fight. No, just silent-treatment it out and pray he either leaves or gets struck with a lightning bolt.

“I must say, that is a lovely suit you’re designing there. I love the use of gold thread on the pants. If I may make a few suggestions-”

Him? Give fashion advice? Marinette would rather NOT learn how to dress like an off-brand Crowly, thank you very much. Good grief, he really wasn’t going to stop trying, was he? Alright, no more Nice Marinette.

That’s when she finally snapped and, well, you know how that went. Had it been ANYbody else, she probably would feel guilty for talking to someone so blatantly, but it turns out that she left that situation with zero regrets. If she didn’t put a stop to this whole ordeal, she’ll probably have to carry around a tiny halberd with her for the rest of her life, and as much as she would like to use it, he really wasn’t worth the trouble. Ugh, he makes her absolutely Sick. He’s so slimy, terrible, arrogant, deceitful-

“MARINETTE JOSEPHINE DUPAIN-CHENG BE QUIET!!!!”

Marinette was so startled she tripped over her chaise and fell onto her bed.

“Geez, Tikki! Couldn’t give a girl a warning before you scream like that?”

“You’re one to talk, Ms. The Mayor. And for the record, I did give you a warning; I’ve been calling your name since for the past hour. Are you really going to get all worked up over this, Mari? You said it yourself, he’s just another Lila.”

“I know Tikki, and I’m sorry I’ve been rambling on for so long. It’s just- yeah, he’s a liar, a fake, and way too stoic to be real, but he’s different from Lila. I don't know what it is about him, but I can’t help but wholeheartedly loathe him. Just the thought of him makes a shiver run down my spine.”

“Loathing. Right. That’s it, totally. Is that why you haven’t said his name this entire time.”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m very happy you noticed, Tikki. I spent a lot of time thinking up all of those insult names.”

“I’m sure you did, Marinette,” Tikki sighed. “You really don’t like this kid, do you?”

“No, I definitely do not, and not a fiber of my being will ever so much as be happy in his presence for as long as I live.”

@ceres-zephyr here u go!

Chapter 3’s up!

https://qualityladybread.tumblr.com/post/632447827994411008/declawing-the-cat-chapter-3

#felinette #felix x marinette #marinette x felix #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #declawing the cat #chapter 2 #PLEASE COMMENT AND INTERACT IM SO BORED

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avidreider · 3 years

Text

Journals Part 1 ~ flatline (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Journals Series

Based on the song, “Flatline” by Justin Bieber.

Summary: Spencer is physically and emotionally distant and Reader decides that she won’t tolerate it anymore.

Pairing: (Pre-Prison) Spencer Reid x Reader.

CW: angst, cursing.

Key: Y/N = your name, italicized = unspoken thoughts, bold = texts/emails/notes, bold + italicized = song lyrics.

-- I do not own rights to the gif nor the song. --

When you and Spencer first started dating, you couldn’t have been happier if you tried. He was always so attentive and caring and all of your previous relationship trauma and insecurities melted away. He had been rather transparent about the fact that he came with a past of traumatic experiences of his own, but he refused to weigh you down with the details of all that baggage. His friends vaguely explained that he suffered from addiction and lost a past girlfriend at the hands of an unsub. However, you never discussed any of this with Spencer. Regardless, you assured him that you would stand by him no matter what.

Your relationship progressed somewhat quickly, but it was because the feelings you had for each other ran so deep. You didn’t get to spend much time with him - you were a medical resident and the nature of Spencer’s job significantly limited your time together. You dedicated large chunks of time to your own job, though, so you never complained about how much time he spent with the BAU.

You did begin to complain, however, when he would leave in the middle of the night for ‘work,’ but then you’d get a call from Penelope or Emily asking you two what you were up to on an evening off. The first time it happened, you assumed that he just needed a break after a long case. But the second, third, and fourth time you became quite insecure. And this night, the fifth time, you felt the anger before anything else.

“Sorry, baby, but I have to head into work. They need me,” Spencer had said to you, as he walked into the bathroom to get ready. You were immediately suspicious, so you called Emily to confirm your suspicions.

“Hello? You okay, Y/N?” she said when she answered on the second ring.

“Yes, Em, I’m fine! How are you?”

“I’m okay. I think Morgan, Garcia, and I are gonna go out for some drinks if you and Reid would like to come!”

You felt your eyebrows shoot up, even though you weren’t necessarily surprised. “I’ll discuss it with him. Thanks for the invite!” and with that, you hung up.

“So Spence, what’s the case that has you rushing off at 11pm?”

“Oh, we won’t know until we get there,” he responded.

“That’s so unfair that they’re making you work, especially when half the team is out clubbing,” you spat, daring him to deny the truth that you already knew.

When he said nothing, you inquired, “This isn’t the first time that you have said you had to go work when you didn’t. So what is going on? Did you fall off the wagon? Is there another woman? Did you lose the feelings you had for me?”

“No, Y/N, God -- how can you think that I’ve been doing drugs?”

“That wasn’t the only thing that I asked you, Spence.”

“I have been going into the office to help JJ with the backlog of paperwork that she has to deal with. I also go there just to clear my head. I don’t want to just sit around here with you when I can’t focus on you. I don’t want to bring my work or other problems home with me -- I want to keep this apartment a happy place.”

“Oh Spence, it’s our apartment. Of course it’s a happy place. I don’t want you to feel like you have to face your demons alone. If there is anything you want to talk about, I am here for you. I love you, babe, and your problems are my problems,” you assured, as your rubbed soothing circles onto his back.

He hugged you back, and a few moments passed before he spoke again. “I don’t want my problems to end up being your problems, Y/N. You are so incredible, and-and I’m sorry, don’t take this the wrong way, but I just need some space.”

Your mouth was wide with shock. Space? How could you take that in the ‘right’ way? How could he ask you for space when you only spent a few short hours with him in the span of a week? Your residency takes up between 40-80 of those hours, and his job usually takes up more than that. You also make a conscious effort to spend time with his friends and your friends, as well as designate time for yourselves. You practice self-care or go to the gym, while he sits at his desk and reads, or writes letters to his mother. When you do spend time together, you rarely argue. You snuggle as he reads to you, or talks about his cases (and you talk about your day at the hospital), you watch your favorite television shows, or you’re asleep. You thought that you had the perfect relationship. But apparently Spencer didn’t agree.

“I’m just gonna go out and get drinks with Emily, Derek, and Penelope. You can come if you want, but otherwise, just enjoy your ‘space,’“ you said, with a snarky emphasis on the last word. And with that, you got dressed and walked out the door.

You stumble back into your apartment early the next morning, and end up passing out on the couch. When you wake up, Spencer is sitting in the chair next to you with almost a guilty look on his face. “Good morning,” he said once he saw your eyes open.

“Good morning,” you mumble.

“So, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I’ve agreed to be a volunteer teacher at a local high school. They’re incredibly short-staffed, and they want me to step in when I can for physics, biology, and psychology. I-I also agreed to be a mentor for the school’s chess club,” he said.

“Okay, Spence. That sounds like a great opportunity,” you replied with feigned optimism. Great. Even less time I get to spend with him. But whatever. If he needs this much space from me, I’ll give it to him.

The next couple weeks passed slowly; Spencer was only home early in the mornings (while you had to get ready for your shift at the hospital), and late at night (when you were already asleep). You loved that he was so passionate about his job, but you were beginning to feel resentful that he chose to take on all these other commitments when it was clear he was neglecting your relationship.

Lately you've been busy, Wonderin' if you miss me, Why did you go against me? I just wanna know... How come you act so different? Talk to me, I'll listen, All the love I'm givin', don't act like you don't know...

You hadn’t been intimate in nearly 3 weeks; the last time being a few days before you went out for drinks with Emily, and you hadn’t felt like he truly loved you since even before that night. And quite frankly, those feelings were justified because he hadn’t said it since then, either. He still called you periodically, and texted you when calling you wasn’t an option, but those conversations were incredibly dry and only made you feel worse. In a desperate attempt to try to feel connected to Spencer, you logged onto his laptop on his desk and, if you were being honest with yourself, started snooping. You found that he had been emailing a teacher at the high school that he volunteers at. You wanted so badly to trust him, but the feeling your gut told you to read them.

To: Ms. Everett

From: Spencer Reid

Re: Biology

Ms. Everett

Thank you so much for letting me lead the lecture on genetics. You sure know your stuff! Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t believe that you teach high school! You are a brilliant woman, I can’t believe you aren’t out there finding the cure for cancer or something. If there is anything else that I can do for you or your class, please don’t hesitate to email or call me!

With Regards,

Spencer Reid

Call him? Does that mean she already has his phone number? I don’t think that Spencer has ever called me brilliant before, either. She’s so brilliant, but his girlfriend who is actually a doctor isn’t?

You knew that your thoughts were relatively petty, but you didn’t care. Your feelings were hurt. You kept reading anyway.

To: Spencer Reid

From: Ms. Everett

Re: Biology

Dr. Reid,

Oh please, call me Lila! And I thoroughly enjoyed your lecture! You are one captivating man! And thank you, but you don’t have to stroke my ego! I considered medical school as well as graduate research positions but my true calling is teaching children! Maybe one day I can teach your sweet Godson! I will give you a call! If you don’t have any plans this weekend, perhaps we can grab a coffee?

Love, Lila

LOVE? Is that a stab at me? I took the ‘easy way out’ by going to medical school? Who is this bitch?

To: Ms. Everett

From: Spencer Reid

Oh, you don’t have to use my honorific! Spencer or Spence is fine. And that is incredible. I love teaching children as well, obviously. I have a feeling Henry would love you! And yes, coffee would be great.

Spencer

Hmm. Is it considered cheating to get a coffee with some strange woman who you flirt with virtually (and do not tell your live-in girlfriend about)? Something is telling me ‘yes.’ Also, he’s letting her call him “Spence”?

You read a few more of his emails along those same lines, until you felt sick. After the nausea passed, the rage came. You pulled out your phone to send Spencer a text message.

At first, you just wanted to see if he’d lie.

You sent a text that said: Hey babe! How’s work going? If you don’t have a case this weekend I’d like to go out on a date or something. I miss you!

Hi baby. I might have plans, it depends on the day... he responded.

What plans? You asked innocently.

Just professional plans. That’s kinda vague, Spence.

Coffee plans, with super brilliant people?

Yeah, boring stuff. But I’m sure that you and I can still do something.

The rage began to build as you realized that he was actively keeping Lila a secret from you.

Oh SPENCE. When were you going to tell me that you want space from me just so you can spend more time with some slutty biology teacher?!

Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

What are you talking about?

Don’t play dumb with me Spencer. “You’re a brilliant woman”?! Are you kidding me? How long were you planning on keeping Lila a secret from me?

This time the buzzing was more persistent. He was calling you.

“What, Spencer?”

“How do you know about Lila? Did you go through my computer?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, “Yeah, obviously. And I don’t regret it, because apparently you were never gonna tell me about her. Which isn’t even surprising, you don’t talk to me at all anymore. But if you were gonna cheat on me, maybe you should’ve just broke up with me instead!”

“She’s just a friend, Y/N, and I never cheated on you! I never would. I-” but he didn’t get to finish, because you hung up. You have been so close to your breaking point these past couple weeks, and Lila was that little push it took to send you over the edge. You packed as many clothes your suitcase could fit and took off to your best friend’s house. She would let you stay, no questions asked. And that was a good thing, because you didn’t wanna talk about it just yet. She let you in her home with open arms, prepared to be that beacon of emotional support you’d been lacking from Spencer.

---Spencer’s POV---

COME ON, Y/N, ANSWER THE PHONE! Ugh, why did you have to go through my computer? Are you that insecure?

The phone kept ringing, but to no surprise, she didn’t answer.

I’ll call Derek. Everyone knows he’s had his fair share of relationship issues.

“Hey pretty boy, what’s up?” He answered.

“Derek, Y/N won’t answer her phone.”

“Why? What did you do?”

“Why do you assume that it was me who did something wrong?”

He just laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Pretty boy, for a genius you can be so dumb sometimes. I assume that it was you who made a mistake for two reasons. For one, you called me for what I can only assume is advice on how to fix it. And for two, you’re the man. It’s usually the men who mess up in relationships. So what’s going on?”

He had me there. “Okay so for the past couple weeks things between us have been... off. I’m not sure what I was feeling, but I told her that I needed space. I think I got scared because we established a routine. It made me nervous. So I picked up some hobbies.”

“What kind of hobbies?” His suspicious tone made me feel guilty.

“I volunteered at the high school to help with some classes and to mentor the school’s chess club. But while I was there, I met this biology teacher -”

“A female biology teacher, I assume.”

“Yes, how did you know that?”

“Reid, I know where this is going.”

Where was this going?

“She’s a pretty woman, huh?”

“Well, yes, Lila is pretty and smart, but so what? I’m allowed to have friends. But anyways, her and I began emailing and we planned on getting coffee and Y/N got on my laptop and read those emails and -”

“You can’t be that stupid, Reid. First of all, you don’t actually want space from Y/N. You are always beaming after spending time with her. You love her more than you love yourself, and everyone knows that. Everyone but her, and probably Lila now - and that is probably one of the worst things you can do. You can’t let your woman feel like she has to compete with other women, and you can’t let other women feel like they have the chance to steal you away. That’s how you lose a good woman. You were emailing this woman, and you set up a date with her? After reducing the already limited time that you have to spend with your girlfriend, who is also incredibly pretty and smart too, I might add.”

“Oh...” OH! She’s not insecure, I’m just an idiot. I didn’t even want space at all, I was just scared. I just didn’t want to get complacent. When my parents got complacent in their relationship, it ended. Same with Hotch and Hailey. And Penelope and Kevin. Oh my God. What did I do?

“Exactly, pretty boy. You better show up at home with some flowers and chocolates and be prepared to kiss her feet. And I’d take a break from lecturing at that school, too.”

“Yeah, no doubt. Thanks Morgan.”

“Go get her, tiger.”

After hanging up, I opened the messaging app on my phone to send her a text just to let her know that I am willing and ready to fix my mistake.

Hey baby. I just want you to know that I won’t volunteer at the school anymore, if you don’t want me to. I will also take you out this weekend, wherever you want. I love you, and I’m on the way home.

I was out there on the road, life out of control, She became a victim to my busy schedule, And I know that it's not fair, that don't mean that I don't care - This one's dedicated to the girl out there...

She probably won’t respond, but that’s fine, we will talk when I get home. I asked the florist for a sunflower and rose combination, and bought food from her favorite Mexican restaurant downtown. I also stopped at the grocery to get a tub of ice cream along with chocolate, caramel, and strawberry syrup, with candy and sprinkles to make sundaes. I one-upped Derek’s recommendation, and I couldn’t wait to tell him about it.

“Baby, I’m home! We need to talk. I am so, so, sorry sweetheart... Y/N?” I shout, even though it’s pretty clear she’s not here.

Setting my bag on the end table, I notice a note on the refrigerator.

Spencer,

I am really sorry that I didn’t end up being good enough for you. I hope you don’t mind but I’ll be back for the rest of my things eventually, but if you still need space from me, it can wait. Thank you for the best year of my life. You were amazing, and I hope that Lila makes you feel the way that you made me feel. I will always love you, and I know that you will continue to do amazing things in life. Tell your mom that I love her, too.

Love, Y/N

It was actually 15 months, 6 days, and 43 minutes, approximately.

I dialed her number without even thinking about it. Still no answer.

I can’t believe that she left. It feels like I’m drowning - my breath is caught in my chest. BREATHE SPENCER!

She took most of her clothes. She took her computer and books too. She’s gone. She left me. Oh no. What have I done?

Girl you always catch me at the bad time, When I know you probably think it's a lie... And I know I told you last time was the last time, How could you pull the plug and leave me flatline?

Not breathin', what is it that I'm not seein'? Said she's leavin', damn I can't believe it... It's like my heart's bleedin' - Knowin' that you don't need me. Shut my heart down, now I don't know what Imma do now...

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer #dr. reid #dr. spencer reid #doctor reid #reid #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer x you #spencer x y/n

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queensofthekastle · 3 years

Note

For the dialogue prompt -- how's about 42?? :]

HOLY SHIT OK IT TOOK ME A MONTH BUT I'VE DONE IT. FINALLY. Life was just happening everywhere, thanks for waiting me out. 🙏

TW: descriptions and references to racist police violence.

The prompt was "I'm only here to establish an alibi." I was totally stuck--what could be blamed on Frank that he wouldn't have actually done? Canonically to the comics (though I commend the show for not giving a flying fuck about whether Frank went after glorified DHS cops who were dirty) the only things Frank won't touch are bystanders, cops, and active duty military.

And then I had it. Because 2020 has been A Year and I'm still processing some shit. So, here we go.

-Stellar

************************************

The door rattles under a succinct knock at 2:45 am—just when Karen had been so close to falling asleep, caught in that limbo of vague consciousness and wandering thoughts just on the cusp of falling into dreams. So, it’s with more irritation than concern that she drags herself out of bed after the second round of door-bludgeoning. It being post-closing time on a Friday—well, Saturday now—she's fairly confident what she’ll find through the peephole will be a drunk neighbor with the wrong apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor, probably, the last.

A cautious look through the peephole does not reveal one of her gregarious bar-hopping neighbors though, but a still figure; hood pulled close around his face to shadow shifting eyes that look black as ink in the low, shit light of the apartment hallway. Frank has a lovely mouth, but it’s set now in a tense line. Karen’s heart picks up speed, a fullness in her chest and a pressure in her veins—middle of the night, tense Frank is never a good sign. Though he doesn’t seem to be bleeding from anywhere, which is more than can be said for some of his other visits.

She undoes the door chain, and she’s quietly but earnestly asking “what’s going on?” before she even has the door open wide enough for him to see her face.

“Nothing.” He says, voice rough and low, but calm. “I just need someone to know it’s nothing.”

He looks askance, looks at her. She allows herself a sigh.

“What does that even mean, Frank?”

He shifts his weight and looks at her from under the shadow of his hood.

“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

“Because you didn’t do something, or because you did?”

“Didn’t,” he says, and she believes him. She always does. It’s one piece of why he’s so dear to her: Frank never lies to her, and she never lies to him.

“This should be interesting,” she says, and opens the door far enough for him to step through. When she’s closed it behind him she asks if he’d like a drink. He answers without looking her in the eye, mind working on something else far away from her little apartment—he asks for his usual, of course. Only Frank would suggest coffee this near to 3:00 am.

“Not sleeping tonight?” she asks. He shrugs one shoulder.

“Guess not.”

“Uh-huh. So you didn’t do anything, but you’re pulling an all-nighter in my apartment? I’m going to need an explanation here soon, Frank.”

He hovers beside the hutch that acts as her kitchen island without looking any more settled than he had out in the hall. His jaw works for a moment before he answers.

“I don’t know how much you want to know. Let's just say I ran into someone with a mission about like mine and I’m giving her space to work.”

“Oh. God. A Punisher copycat? Jesus, Frank. The law turns a blind eye to one of you, I doubt you’ll get away with two.”

“Nah,” he says, “nothing like that. I’m it. This is a one-time thing—lady's got some things to get out of her system. I only found out because she was after the same supply chain I was.”

“Supply chain?”

“Ammo,” he says flatly. Karen holds her next blink a little too hard and a little too long. But he is what he is—she accepts that again every time she opens her door to him—and she doesn’t comment except to ask:

“Who is this person after that you aren’t?”

“It’s probably better you don't ask. If someone comes sniffing after me about it you should be able to say you didn’t know anything.”

“So if one of your Homeland ‘friends' shows up to see if you’re testing their good graces what do I tell them, then? That you just showed up at three in the morning for a chat? No one is going to buy that.”

He shifts, not quite shrugging, looking off into space with the raised eyebrows of feigned innocence.

“Just say I saw your light on, came to say hi.”

“Right. And you were walking around Hell’s Kitchen to see my light on in the first place because . . .?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Hoping maybe if I tried my luck with a walk I’d find you up.”

Karen sighs, turning away to pour his coffee. She’s made it thick as hot asphalt for him, in part because she knows he likes that, in part because she’s so damn tired she’d lost track of how many grounds she was piling into the coffeemaker. Frank takes the mug she offers him with a low “thank you.” And sure enough, after a sip, he smiles.

“You always make my kind of coffee,” he says.

“It’s an easy recipe,” she says, leaning over the counter opposite him, “just make it so no sane person would drink it.”

He laughs, a very short, low sound that rumbles in his chest and rasps in his throat.

“Dare I ask what you were actually in the neighborhood for?” She asks. “If insomnia is your alibi?”

“Probably shouldn't. Let’s just say I had a meeting.”

Karen quirks an eyebrow, conveying as much skepticism with the look as she can.

“Meeting as in you’re probably accessory to whatever it is this friend of yours is doing?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Karen fixes him with her best piercing journalist stare. He drinks his coffee. They stalemate that way in silence for a minute or so before he meets her eyes and speaks.

“There are some things I don’t touch,” he says. “People doing their jobs, following shit orders and shit training and fucking up in the process—shit I’ve done, Afghanistan . . . I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Would be a hypocrite. It’s not my place. And I guess you could call it self-preservation, too. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, though.”

“Think about…?”

He takes a long drink, eyeing her over the top of the mug, making some calculation she can’t guess at.

“You know any Latin?” he says finally. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes mean anything to you?”

It does, and for a moment, she’s sure her heart has stopped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “Who watches the watchmen. Tell me this is what I think it is.”

“I’m not telling you anything, don’t worry.”

“Frank,” she hisses. She doesn’t need his sarcasm right now. She thinks she knows what it could be that he won’t touch and still endorse: with Frank it’s always either war or justice, and every headline for the last month has been about the absence of justice on a battlefield where he could never hope to win. Cops in the city conveniently overlook Frank. He gets the ones they can’t, they have no vested interest in handing him over so long as he doesn’t mess with them. It’s an unspoken arrangement that lets Frank do what he does—and what he does lets him stand to live. Karen knows that. They’ve been over it enough. The police let Frank slip through their fingers and he doesn’t pick a fight in exchange.

But it’s been a long summer, and every day of it has been a fight with police for the thousands of protesters gathering over and over throughout the city. In early June a beat cop—White, of course—used a kind of handheld Taser repeatedly on an unarmed Black man “resisting arrest" for a crime he didn’t commit. Cell phone footage from witnesses made it online despite the NYPD's best efforts, and all anyone saw when watching it wasn’t a criminal resisting, but a victim on his knees, clutching his chest, begging please, please, I have a heart condition, I have a pacemaker, before the cop shocked him again. And again. Until he wasn’t on his knees but prone on the ground, gone still and silent.

The officer was reinstated after a paid leave six days ago. The DA declined to prosecute.

And yesterday, the innocent man, having spent weeks in a coma induced by heart failure, was declared dead.

Frank looks Karen hard in the eye, an unflinching stare that says he knows she understands. She puts her face in her hands.

“There’s shitstorm coming, isn’t there?” she says.

“Probably.”

She shakes her head, drops it into her hands again. She can feel him watching her. A minute ticks by. Maybe two.

“Karen.”

She lifts her eyes just enough to meet his.

“You feel you gotta do something with this?” he asks. It neither a judgement nor a threat. She worries her lip for a moment before answering.

“This person you know of,” she says slowly, “they won’t implicate you?”

“No.”

“And do you know enough of their plan that you could stop them? Tip someone off?”

He takes a long drink, holding her with those deep inkdark eyes, and for the first time, he lies to her.

“No. Nothing.”

She knows it’s a lie. She knows he wants her to know. She could call him on it and he wouldn’t deny it. But she doesn’t.

All she says is “then I guess there’s nothing we could do,” holding his eyes while she speaks, making sure he understands what’s happening here.

Frank nods. It’s enough.

Karen looks away, stares at her hands folded in front of her, tracing the patterns of veins under pale skin.

After a moment she asks, “would you like anything stronger?”

Frank looks at her with cool appraisal that says what he won’t out loud—that somehow, on some level, he helped with what’s to come. And he knows she’s letting him get away with it.

“No thanks,” he says. “But you go ahead.”

And she does. She falls asleep beside him on the couch, drunk with her head resting on his shoulder, sometime after 4:30, an economy bottle of wine that started full and is now half gone still out on the coffee table.

On Monday, Ellison will ask her to look into the story of a body found charred beyond recognition in an NYPD patrol car.

She’ll tell him there was nothing she could dig up, and never mention it again.

#kastle #kastle fic #BLM motherfuckers #queensfic #someday someone at Marvel will have the guts to put Frank up against a precinct of horrible cops #and on that day my only request is they let Garth Ennis write it

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gladiators-intoxication · 3 years

Text

In Search of Justice, Concerning Chivalry

Part two of three: Kaeya’s final act of service, and his final betrayal.

Warnings: Spoilers for Kaeya’s companionship stories, arson

[1], [2], [3]

“Are you sure?” Diluc asked for what seemed to be the millionth time.

“I’m not sure of what’s changed since I left,” Albedo replied, “but there’s a fair chance he’s still alive.”

Diluc scowled, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘why are we doing this again?’

Albedo frowned a bit. “The killing of innocents is unacceptable in Teyvat’s eyes. Do you not consider yourself to be the voice of true justice?”

Diluc’s scowl darkened, but he didn’t respond. Somehow, the prodding question felt like something Kaeya would say.

A few corners later, Albedo unceremoniously shoved Diluc into an alcove behind a statue, before leaning against the pedestal, arms crossed over his chest. It was comical, almost, unsubtle. Albedo was nowhere near large enough to physically hide Diluc with any measure of success. It seemed, though, as the conversation began, that that hadn’t been his intention.

“You,” came a venomous voice.

“Me,” Albedo agreed. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Your being here is trouble,” the unseen man said coldly.

“I’m not here to give you any more reason to want to kill me, that is,” Albedo amended, somehow sounding wholly unconcerned. “But if you’re anything like I remember, His Highness’ wellbeing is more important to you than this ruined country.” Diluc could only see a flash of a black cloak around Albedo’s foot. Albedo paused, feigning a thoughtful silence. “Unless all these years has changed you.”

Privately, Diluc thought that if Albedo ever got tired of alchemy, he ought to join a theatre troupe.

The unseen man muttered something that sounded like a curse in an unknown language. “What do you want?” he relented finally.

Albedo made a pleased noise, as if to say ‘still got it.’ “The keys to His Highness’ room.”

“So you’ve turned traitor too,” the stranger sighed. “Am I the only one left?”

Albedo snorted. “I know where your loyalties lie, Dainsleif. Don’t pretend you care for these ruins any more than His Highness or myself.”

Dainsleif scoffed, but the jingle of keys could be heard. “His Highness is in the third room from the end of the hall in the western guest wing,” he said. “He hangs at dawn if you fail. You’ll follow next.”

“Scary,” Albedo replied drily, righting himself as if to leave. “You were scarier the first time, though.”

“Wait.”

Albedo did.

“To think that two of our people have been recognized by gods that have scorned us,” Dainsleif said, more to himself than Albedo. “I do wish to speak with you on such matters at a different time, should we meet again.”

“I look forward to it,” Albedo said, dry and unconvincing. “I care little for the goings on of the gods, but I’d be delighted to share my research with you.”

“Oh, and your friend can come out now. You’d best get moving before the patrol gets to this corridor.”

“You talk too much,” Albedo grumbled, stepping away. “You heard the man, let’s get going. It’s not far, but we’ll likely have to fight our way out.”

Diluc only caught Dainsleif’s eyes widen before Albedo was walking away so quickly Diluc had to jog a bit to keep up with him.

Diluc didn’t really like how far ‘not far’ was to Albedo. Admittedly, Albedo spent most of his time in Dragonspine of all places, nearly a week’s trip from Mondstadt, but even so, it shouldn’t change Albedo’s perception of space that much.

“Where are you going?” Albedo asked, dragging Diluc out of his thoughts. “This is the room.”

Albedo leaned on the wall beside the door, twirling the key around a finger. Diluc couldn’t help but be distracted once or twice by the flash of the red palm of his glove. “It has to be you,” Albedo said. “You understand, don’t you?”

Diluc stared at the still-locked door. “Are you sure?”

“His Highness’s personal retainer, for all his dislike of me, would be quite lost in the world without him. Put simply, Dainsleif’s loyalties lie with His Highness. Not necessarily with Khaenri’ah.”

Diluc frowned. “How does that work?”

Albedo shrugged with one shoulder, held out the key. “Plausible deniability.”

As long as Khaenri’ah didn’t know that Kaeya had betrayed her, Dainsleif wouldn’t have to choose.

Albedo had joined the Knights after Diluc had left, so he’d never had a reason to know Albedo, but his blue eyes were piercing, cutting. Diluc wondered for a moment if everyone from this godless country had cold, cruel eyes like that.

Dainsleif’s, for the brief moment Diluc had seen them, had been hollow, deep, devoid of meaning, full of confusion, but they’d held no human warmth.

Albedo’s eyes felt like a scalpel cutting into Diluc’s very soul, cold, so sharp he couldn’t feel where they cut, only that he was bleeding.

Diluc’s heart twisted, just a little, to remember that Kaeya’s eyes had laughed far more than they’d cut. They’d danced much more than they’d hardened. Even if it had been a lie.

Diluc put the key in the lock.

“Back already?” Kaeya’s voice asked from inside, but it wasn’t Kaeya’s voice. Not really. It was tired and melancholy in a way that Diluc had only heard once or twice.

The same voice that had made a confession one night in the rain.

“I was left here to spy on Mondstadt. Khaenri’ah wants war. I don’t know what I want anymore. I know you’re in no place to help me, but I’m asking anyway.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Albedo said softly. “Young Master Ragnvindr.”

Diluc startled at how gentle the title sounded. Affectionate, almost.

It had been Albedo that appeared in the rain, eyes blazing. “They have him.”

“Who?”

“His Highness’ betrayal has finally caught up to him,” Albedo said coldly.

“Who?”

Albedo’s eyes, Diluc realized with a shudder, didn’t burn like fire. More like frostbite, or hypothermia. There was no passion, only a steely glint of the blade he’d use if he needed to. “Your brother,” Albedo spat. “And you’re coming with me to retrieve him.”

“No, I’m not,” Diluc replied. “If the Knights want him back, they can do it themselves.”

Albedo, despite his frame, managed to be more intimidating than anything Diluc had encountered up until now as he stepped forward, murder flashing in his eyes. Perhaps this is what it felt like to be one of Diluc’s unfortunate guilty, to stare up him standing over them with his flaming greatsword in their last moments. “You will come with me. You are going to right your wrongs or die trying.”

Albedo, Diluc noted, does not mince his words.

“What wrongs?” Diluc asked, briefly afraid for the answer.

“He’d lost everything but what little place here that the Knights could give him. Now come, while Klee’s occupied with the Outlander. I don’t need children interfering.”

“Why should I go with you?” Diluc challenged. “He was a spy.”

Albedo’s eyes, bright and blue as they were, felt like a sword through Diluc’s gut.

“The night he went to you was the same night His Highness betrayed Khaenri’ah.”

Diluc’s temper flared. “How do you know about that night?”

Albedo scoffed. “The young master Ragnvindr is a fool. There were two of you involved in that fight, no?”

The title cut more than the words did. “Why would he tell someone like you about that?” Diluc snarled.

“Never mind my relationship with him. This is about your relationship with him. I see you kept the vase. Do you want to keep him alive?”

“I want him to rot for a while,” Diluc hissed.

Albedo’s lip curled in disgust. “He has been. Perhaps you wouldn’t know it, but the only inescapable prison for one of our people is one’s own mind.”

“’Our’?” Diluc echoed. “Are you a traitor too?”

“Khaenri’ah never had any love for me,” Albedo said dismissively. “My craft stems from her, but I was never one of her subjects. My point is that he’s been rotting in a prison he couldn’t hope to escape.”

“Why can’t you help him on your own?” Diluc grumbled, still angry.

Albedo sighed, as if Diluc were some ignorant child. “Because he isn’t looking for my forgiveness.”

For a moment, one hand on the doorknob, Diluc doubted. Himself, Albedo, everything he’d done to get here. For a long moment, Diluc doubted the sky blue eyes that cut deeper than any blade ever would. He pushed that aside. If Kaeya wanted a rematch, Diluc supposed he’d brought it upon himself. Quietly as he could, Diluc opened the door and stepped inside.

“I guess not, then. So soon? I swear Dainsleif just left,” Kaeya sighed. “I was hoping for a sign from the Tsaritsa at least.”

Diluc couldn’t stop his mouth fast enough. “Are they your gods or not?”

Kaeya’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice.

“That’s not what I-”

“What are you doing here?” Kaeya was in his face in a heartbeat. “What are you doing here? Get out. Do you think they’ll let you live?” Kaeya’s eyes weren’t laughing, they weren’t dancing. They weren’t smug and calculating. They were hollow and intelligent, full of a resigned sort of despair.

“Come with us,” Diluc said, because somehow he couldn’t find something more meaningful to say.

Kaeya hesitated.

After a moment, Diluc realized how rare it was for Kaeya to hesitate. He always had some kind of plan, some kind of mischief. He always had something else going on.

“Someone’s coming,” Albedo hissed. “We can have a touching reunion after we’re out of this godforsaken city.”

“It would’ve been easier to get the four of you there together- ah. They’re still here.” Diluc whirled around at the sound of Dainsleif’s voice.

Dainsleif only inclined his head. “Young Master Ragnvindr.”

“I thought I told you to keep her away from here,” Albedo snarled, bloodlust in his voice.

The Outlander gave him a sheepish smile. “She wouldn’t stop insisting. She said you let her go to Dragonspine…” he trailed off, sort of bewildered. “What is this place?”

“Khaenri’ah,” Kaeya said, in an attempt to save Aether from any more of Albedo’s tongue-lashing than he needed to endure. “We really do need to get going.” He hesitated for a second time. “Will you stay behind?” Kaeya asked, seemingly to no one. “I don’t plan on returning again.”

“If that is the case,” Dainsleif said slowly, “Then I too have no place here.”

Diluc’s eyes found Klee, clinging to the Outlander’s leg, eyes wide, staring at Dainsleif and Kaeya. “Kaeya, who is this?” she asked.

Diluc could see Albedo’s shoulders relax a little, even if his scowl didn’t.

“Dainsleif, dear,” Kaeya said warmly, as if he hadn’t been awaiting his own execution five minutes ago. “He’s… a friend of mine.”

Dainsleif and Klee both paused, confused, but Albedo went over Aether and picked up Klee, eyes stormy, but relieved. “You’re a terrible babysitter,” Albedo sighed, to the Outlander, inspecting her for injuries.

Aether, appropriately contrite, looked down at his shoes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Never mind that,” Albedo said. “Let’s just get going.”

Of course, it would never be that easy.

Bitterly, Diluc couldn’t help but laugh a bit at how his relationship with Kaeya would never be ‘easy.’

“I can hear the guards coming,” Dainsleif sighed. “I’ll meet you on the surface, yes?”

Kaeya smiled, a brittle, forced thing. “If you would kindly.”

In a foreign gesture of subservience, Dainsleif took Kaeya’s left hand in both of his own and knelt, pressing his Prince’s knuckles to his forehead. “If I fail, please don’t remember me in contempt.”

Kaeya’s sad little smile wavered. “Never. You are the only part of this place I wished for when I was away.”

Dainsleif nodded, as if satisfied with that answer, as he got to his feet. “Please excuse me, your Highness. I won’t be long.”

Kaeya didn’t wait to watch him go, taking off at a brisk clip, as if he still owned the place, a hard, well-practiced mask of determination already in place. Albedo was quick on his heels, despite carrying Klee. “We shouldn’t lose them,” Aether said, sounding nervous, tugging on Diluc’s sleeve. Diluc only hesitated a moment longer before following Aether’s anxious scamper.

As they approached the chamber Albedo had originally argued with Dainsleif in, the walls shuddered with a blast of biting cold.

“Tell Diluc to stop dragging his feet!” Albedo shouted over a shoulder. Diluc scowled a little bit, but picked up the pace. He faltered at the chamber.

Diluc blinked.

They were still underground, weren’t they?

A generous layer of snow covered the polished stone floor, and the walls of the great, round room were freshly decorated with a coating of ice several feet thick. Several humanoid guards were frozen in it.

“Come on,” Albedo barked, “or we’re collapsing the tunnel without you!”

Diluc shook off his shock and caught up.

Kaeya was leading Klee by the hand, pointing to seemingly random places in the floor, near the walls. Aether accompanied them, sword drawn. This hallway, Diluc noted, was peppered with small bombs. Albedo still looked tense, eyes flickering, scanning. “Keep moving!” he snapped. “We need to get out of here, and if anything happens to Klee, I’ll bring you lot back to life so I can kill you again with my own two hands.”

“Just a couple more, Albedo,” Kaeya said. “Then we run.”

Albedo opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. “Make it quick.”

Diluc had been present for a few of Klee’s infamous escapades, but none of the ones he had or would experience would rattle him like this one did. The main entrance to the city was housed in a temple to a god Diluc had never heard of, and Klee, Kaeya, and Albedo were running around, placing explosives in no pattern Diluc could discern. Columns that didn’t seem to hold anything up, walls that seemed oddly placed, random patches of floor.

By the time they were done, Diluc could hear the boots on the stairs leading from underground.

Klee lobbed her specialty- a round, especially large, admittedly cute bomb- at the temple. “Run,” Albedo said, taking her hand. “Now!”

And they did. Diluc could feel the heat behind him, smell the burning grass.

Klee’s was a terrifying Vision. Diluc shuddered to think of the day where she’d be allowed to use such power unsupervised.

The blast had sent Albedo and Klee tumbling over each other, laughing good-naturedly, and launched Aether a few feet, but they seemed unhurt. Kaeya had stopped and turned back, staring at the pile of rubble that remained.

Diluc wanted, as he so often had when they were younger, to ask what was on his mind.

“My last service to my country,” Kaeya said softly as Diluc approached. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Diluc asked. He had no love for Khaenri’ah. “You could’ve destroyed it entirely.”

Kaeya’s smile was bitter and crooked. “The only thing left of my glorious kingdom were sinners. Her time was long over. You should know about holding onto things past their worth.”

Diluc found himself with questions, but didn’t get a chance to ask.

“Pardon me, your Highness, but might I ask what in heaven, on earth, or in the pits of the abyss was that?” Dainsleif’s voice asked.

Kaeya offered his best charming smile, eyes dancing with mischief. “That would be Sir Kaeya to you, Dainsleif.”

#genshin impact #kaeya #diluc #dainsleif #albedo #klee #In Search of Justice #genshin kaeya #more angst lol #it's okay

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a-lil-perspective · 4 years

Text

A Conundrum of Crimson and Confessions

A/N: Crosshair X Reader. A side of Crosshair no one asked for, but I indulged in nonetheless. :) [Warnings: Mild?Swearing—terms in-universe and out]

@shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @karpasia @kriffingunlucky @leonidas-banana-phone @everyonehasanindividuality

▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️

You blame the amassment of tinkering parts splayed across your desk for the reason of your immense grumblings and shouting of obscenities at 03:00 in the morning. Exhaustion riddled your body, yet obligations towards the completion of your project and the deadline speeding towards you left you currently denying intimacy with sleep.

Sighing deeply, you roll your shoulders to weed out the tensity between your shoulder blades from having been hunched over the desk-space for hours. A groan escapes your lips, a begrudged admission to no one in particular.

The harsh clang from the spillage of products off the table—several colliding metals consisting of mainly duraplast parts with the impact from the durasteel floor—had you in an absolute tizzy.

“Oh, fuck me!”

“That’s the plan.”

You whipped around to behold the sniper of Clone Force 99; poised in his most deliberately domineering posture and, unsurprisingly, equipped with his usual acerbity as an amused smile replaced the usual scowl etched into his features.

Did he just...?

How long has he been...?

”Door was unlocked.” He explained, and the way he somehow utilized an invisible scope to zero in on your headspace before addressing his findings left you unsettled, to say the least.

Right. So that just means ‘come on in’? You stifle an eye-roll.

Fatigue may be enveloping your startled frame, but at that moment you’d be damned if you were going to psychologically invite the sniper in as a front-row guest to witness any effect he has on you. Your stupefied demeanor quickly recovered in favor of mirroring his own indifference.

“Ah, Crosshair—to what do I owe the pleasure of your impudent presence?”

Pleasure—Exactly the objective.

He was so pleased you inquired.

Despite hyper-fixated with the prospect of his lips on yours, Crosshair relied on the innate perfection of his self-control to get his point across tonight.

For now, his eyes simply narrowed slightly. “What are you doing awake?”

His inquiry was absolutely frivolous; of course he knew why you were awake in the dead of night. As if the miscellaneous parts littered across your space wasn’t obvious enough, to which the sniper’s preeminent eyesight had allowed him to quickly analyze every inch of the room before even settling his eyes on your very desirable form—your very weary form, at that—Crosshair was in full remembrance of the undertaking of your current commission.

He pointedly decided your project would have to come to a standstill, for he was a man on a mission.

Something about his tone pricked a defensive nerve as you stiffen, a jolt of vex buzzing through to animate your sneering body language and sardonic tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry Sir, I didn’t realize I had failed to report in to you for my curfew.”

“Charming.”

“Between the two of us? Someone has to be.” You eyed accusatorially up and down his lanky frame, thoughtfully regarding him for a moment before folding your arms across your chest to quell the growing disquietude—if you knew anything about the brusque sniper standing before you, it was that he was deliberate and methodical in every sense of the word. In that moment, all other obligations of yours became lost to the mission of wholly discerning the man’s agenda for tonight.

What are you after?

A bit of investigation. A little goading. A lot of validation. The sniper was eager to know if you reciprocated his advances with shared enthusiasm; the result of too many pent up hormones and a repressed but ever-growing attraction for the woman in front of him who plagued his thoughts constantly, who became the sole reason the other half of his sheets felt so cold at night.

Crosshair planned on taking his usual precise aim before firing right at your emotions.

And of course, the sniper won’t miss. He never does.

He wanted to know all of your secrets.

You were curious about all of his, too.

“So tell me, Crosshair,” you prompt after a brief staring contest with the man; a swirling tone sweeter than honey contrasting your underlying aura of commandeering. “Are you drunk, or are you always this aroused at 3 AM?”

“I’m not drunk in the slightest, and—“ he shrugs nonchalantly, “—I found myself missing your company.”

Your jaw sets, and a wry smile graces your features in response to his attempt at justification. “So let me get this straight: you uninvitedly waltz your ass into my quarters in the middle of the night, all turned-on and expecting me to just—“

“Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

“...I would’ve knocked, first.” You remain curt in your admission.

“I’m glad the feeling is mutual.” Crosshair did, in fact, feel satiated by your confirmation. A chuckle emitted from deep within his chest, for proof.

His response further perked your attentiveness, a sharp nip coursing through your body as if suddenly submerged in a freezing lake, and you felt yourself nearly choking on air as you regarded him in authentic bafflement.

Why, for the love of kriff, was this moof-milker so obsessed with his own enigma and cryptic translations?

“I don’t understand you.” Was all you could confess through your huff of exasperation.

His head cocked to this side in contemplation, approval in his own shroud of mystics discernibly written across his face. “Why don’t you come and figure me out, then?”

You scoff. The nerve of this guy. “Because I’m much too tired to play this game.”

One moment you brisk the man in passing, and the next, you find yourself caged in the sniper’s arms; your back firmly pressed to the cold durasteel wall. His lips hovered dangerously over your own before his silky voice permeated just past the shell of your ear.

“Who said anything about a game.” The purr of his voice, low and reverberating, both a question and an answer, left your knees trembling slightly against him.

“That’s all this is.” You manage to spew, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue in solidifying your trepidations.

“Are you sure about that? Think very carefully before you answer, Y/N.” Hot breaths created from his each enunciation puffed seductively into your neck and coerced the soft skin to submit with goosebumps in offering, to which Crosshair eagerly received with the greeting of his lips.

Your voice became tight and thickly coated with a festering desire that you desperately tried to swallow through the tension. Think very carefully. You forcefully willed your hand to not reach up in that instant to drag your fingers through his short hair in an indulgent reaction to his nuzzle. A strained smile tugged at your features, and you thanked the Maker your sense of humor was there to offer it’s aid.

“Yes, I’m absolutely sure I don’t want to be coaxed into your bed.”

“Who said it had to be in the bed?” He retracted from the crook between your collarbone and jawline to coolly regard you.

Damn. He was good. Too abrasive for his own good; but you’re a liar if you claimed he didn’t incite an increasing clench of emotions deep in your core.

He knew all the right buttons to push.

You grit your teeth in increased frustration and your own looming arousal. “Stubborn, aren’t you?”

“I like to think of it is... ambitious.”

“Duly noted, but ambition will get you nowhere here. Not acting like a pompous ass.”

Is that really the way he came across?

“I’m just a man who knows what he wants.”

“That being...?” You fall uncharacteristically timid, an obscure sense of dread permeating your thoughts over the pending answer your intuition has already fully acknowledged.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, and the heartbeat thrum through your chest became a deafening cacophony that momentarily overpowered your weak chuckle. “No. You’re just drunk, and you need to sleep.”

You reinstated the notion, trying to convince yourself more than him, of a truth you knew was a lie.

A brief flash of anger flickered across his dark, brooding eyes. “I told you, I’m completely sober—the only thing I’m intoxicated by, is you.” There was an edge to his voice. “And what I need, is you.”

Crosshair forced himself to not become transfixed on the way your mouth lay agape in that moment. He willed his lips to not close yours—not yet—instead opting to close the remaining space between the two of you; open space he decided that neither of you actually needed. Your entirety became firmly pressed to Crosshair. His thin frame held you tightly, but not harshly. You were caged in a determined grip. There was nowhere to go.

Nowhere else you wanted to go, if you were honest.

“I...” you faltered. Words suddenly failed you, utterly abandoning your vocal chords.

“Somethin’ wrong, cyar’ika?” His voice feigned innocence and his warm hand, previously resting at the nape of your neck, now slid with deliberation to the front, and his smirk only grew at the feeling of the quickened pulse in your neck now throbbing against his palm. The pad of his thumb trailed seductively down the soft column of your throat, stroking the words trapped within. “Don’t worry, I’ve got all night to wait.”

You forcefully clear your throat, suddenly aided in the very tangible redirecting to the muscle just below his waist now pressing against you; lacking all subtlety and completely contradicting the man’s statement, making a liar right out of him.

You’ve met your match, sniper.

“Do you, now? Sure you can handle it?” You tease, fingers ghosting over the hardened area before momentarily hovering. “Think very carefully before you answer, Crosshair.”

You unabashedly flashed your own wide smirk of satisfaction at the way his lips pulled into a tight line to muffle his grunt in a naturally sensitized response to your touch.

Gotcha.

“You’re catching on.” He praised, quickly recovering.

“I’m a fast learner.”

“Indeed.” The sniper mused, allowing his eyes to wander with deliberation over you before meeting your gaze once again. The intensity of his stare, the light scrunching of his nose and brows when he did, left you absentmindedly wondering if that was the same display of fervent concentration he portrayed under his helmet whenever about to nail his next target.

Except you were not simply his ‘next target’.

You remained undeterred by his intensity, unflinching under his perusal.

“Now what, ram’ser?”

His brow arched in consideration. The back of his nimble fingers brushed the peaking scarlet along your cheekbone, a stroke of encouragement as he shrugged.

“Your move, Darlin’.”

#star wars #Crosshair X Reader #The Bad Batch #my writing #Uncle Crosshair?#more like Daddy Crosshair #I’m... not sorry.#XD #it’s a Lil thing

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baka-monarch · 4 years

Text

It’s A Small World Chapter 2: Protecting His Honor

Summary: Virgil has a plan to catch Roman being a bad person, but instead finds some feelings he thought disappeared after ninth grade...

TRIGGER WARNINGS: CUSSING, ANXIETY ATTACK

Prologue Chapter 1

“It’s been three days Patt! Three days!!!” Virgil was in a video call with his brother as he packed a bag. “And he still hasn’t done one bad thing!” Currently he’d been explaining the roommate situation to Patton. For the past three days Roman had been a perfect roommate to Virgil, he’d kept the whole dorm clean, he would cook amazing meals for Virgil by waking up before him and having something always prepared for when the emo came back from class, AND he had yet to fall back into his old pattern of bullying Virgil. He had become the perfect roommate, but Virgil wasn’t quite ready to believe the act.

“Well, is that such a bad thing kiddo?” Patton had been listening to his little brother ramble on for the past hour about all the good things Roman had done as if Roman had done something terrible while... packing a bag? “Maybe he has changed?”

“Patton.” Virgil paused his packing. “People like him don’t change that fast.”

“Yeah but-” Patton tried to argue but was cut off as someone peeked at the screen over his shoulder.

“Patton dear, Virgil’s right. People can change but not that fast.” Janus, Patton’s lover, had been the one to cut off their boyfriend.

“Thank you Jan.” Virgil sighed as Patton had gained an exasperated look of defeat.

“No problem kid.” Janus smiled down at the screen, until his eyes caught on the bag Virgil was preparing with curiosity. “I thought you already finished your classes for the week?”

“Oh, I did.” Virgil had started packing it again, now adding a rather large water bottle.“Then why are you packing a bag?” Janus started adding a little motherly sternness to their voice as they said this.

“I uhm…” Virgil paused and looked at the screen, finding himself facing a worried brother and their glaring significant other. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m going to catch him in the act of being a bad person.” He smiled awkwardly, praying they wouldn’t ask more.

“Yes, but why do you need a bag for that?” Of course Jan would ask more, they are a lawyer after all.

“Well…” Virgil swallowed his nerves. He couldn’t lie to them. Literally. Janus always knew when someone was lying. “Remember when Patton would go to school and I would have to stay in his pocket because I was too young to be alone?”

“Oh Virgil…” “Oh kid....” They both seemed to say at the same time with that disappointed parent voice.

“Virgil you could get hurt!” Patton tried to argue as Virgil quickly zipped up the bag needing to escape this conversation.

“Don’t worry, I thought it through all night and I’ll be fine.” Virgil collected the bag onto his bag.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Janus pinched the bridge of their nose.

“Does it matter?” Virgil blushed.

“Kiddo, you need sleep!” Patton worried. “And you can’t just sneak into people’s pockets!” He scolded.

“It’ll be fine Patt,” Virgil argued, but now was starting to doubt himself. “plus, I have everything I need in this bag.” He slung it onto his shoulders.

“That’s not the point Virgil.” Janus deadpanned. “You should listen to your brother, you could get hurt or worse.” Virgil opened his mouth to argue but Jan beat him to it. “And don’t reference when did it as kids. Patton knew you were in his pocket, Roman won’t. One wrong, unaware move, could seriously injure you and we won’t be there to help. I understand that you want to prove that he isn’t any better than he was in highschool, but there is still three days left in the week, plenty of time to either catch him being that person or to urge him into being like that again. There are other ways.” Virgil stared at the wall. Exhaled. Then closed his laptop.

It was time to get into position. Good thing Roman had left his jacket in the living room last night.

●●●

Roman woke with a start as his alarm blared into his ears. As he checked his phone he found it had actually been going off for the past hour, and he was about to be late to his first day of class. He jumped out of bed and pulled on his clothes for the day, not bothering with a shower, or brushing his hair and teeth. He ran out of his room and snatched his jacket off the floor and threw it on before grabbing his backpack and slipping into it as he rushed out the door. As Roman ran to class his jacket swung around threatening to spill the contents of it’s pockets, luckily there was nothing in it’s pockets.

Or so Roman thought.

As Roman ran Virgil was on the verge of an anxiety attack as he held on for dear life. It was now that Virgil regretted his plan of hiding in Roman’s jacket pocket. Virgil was sure that if he hadn’t had a death grip on the inside fabric of the pocket he would’ve fallen out and gone ‘Splat!’ on the ground by now. He was lucky that he had decided to pack a backpack and not a different type of bag or he would have definitely lost his supplies by now. Maybe he should have listened to Patton and Janus, there definitely were more options to see Roman not be the perfect Prince Charming he was in the dorm. Unfortunately, it was too late to turn back now. For the time being Virgil would have to focus on his breathing and holding onto fabric.

As Roman ran to class Virgil could feel every thump as his pocket hit Roman’s side with every step. Virgil’s heart pace quickened as he could only hear Roman’s pounding footsteps as he stomped down with what sounded like all of his force but Virgil knew Roman was barely touching the ground with how fast he was running, and it was terrifying. Virgil’s mind raced as he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to block out the rest of the world. Breath, just breath. He tried telling himself but it was hard to focus on his thoughts when his ears were pounding from the strain of hearing so many loud sounds, pounding footsteps, a heart beating impossibly fast and loud, breathing that sounded like a tornado, a stomach that just would not stop growling. It felt like hours before Roman burst through what had to be his classroom door, but it had actually been a few minutes.

“Oh thank god… “ Roman exhaled with relief as he had made it on time with a few minutes to spare. He chose a seat off to the side and promptly collapsed in it. Virgil was relieved as Roman sat down and slid down in the pocket as he finally relaxed, taking a moment to let go of the fabric and rest his fingers. Virgil took this time to calm himself as he listened to Roman’s breathing and rhythmic heartbeat. Once Virgil’s breathing had even, he pulled out his phone-like his backpack it had shrunk with him-and focused on Tumb.lr to defray his nerves.

While Roman waited for the professor to arrive he pulled out his phone and got onto Instagram. Not long after he’d gotten his phone out did he receive a message from someone he thought he’d blocked. Heather. His ex from highschool. She had sent him a picture of him sitting in class from the back of the room he was in, with the caption: “didn’t know you’d be here lover boy~” with a heart. Roman took a moment to glance behind him, and sure enough in the very back of the classroom, was the makeup covered, plastic, fake, bitch, Heather. Roman took a moment. Screamed internally. Then blocked Heather on Instagram again. He held back a laugh as he heard her noises of disbelieving offense, but did allow himself to gain a satisfied smile.

“Do you how do, class?” Someone exclaimed as they walked through the door. “I am your teacher, Professor Picani.” He smiled as he gave them all a small bow. “And I am here to teach you about acting!” He smiled brightly. “But for today, let’s get acquainted with each other, shall we? All you have to do today is talk to each other, have fun you sassy lassies.” With that Picani sat at his desk and watched over the room as students took the opportunity to talk to get crazy. Everyone immediately surrounded one desk as someone had pulled out a couple of prop swords and was setting up duels for everyone.

Roman was halfway out of his seat to join them when Heather appeared in front of him saying, “So Roman,” she leaned over him with her hand on his desk, preventing him from moving. Virgil stiffened at her voice, easily recognizing it. “I didn’t think you would be able to afford going here, did you just miss me that much?” She smiled innocently as Roman grimaced.

“No, I got a scholarship for doing theater.” He deadpanned, wanting nothing more than for the conversation to be over. Virgil listened closely from his pocket, surprised by Roman’s harsh tone. Hadn’t he been dating Heather?

“Ooooohhhh.” She said, feigning ignorance. “So they took pity on you and emo fucker?” Virgil flinched at the nickname, but surely now Roman would give up the act?

“No, I think we earned going here.” Roman was curt, cutting his words making them sharp. “Unlike you who paid them to let you in, but just because you’re hee that doesn’t give you the right to say that.”

“Say what? Emo fucker?” She smiled with innocence but a dangerous gleam could be seen in her eyes. She leaned in close to Roman and from the pocket Virgil could feel the shift in atmosphere, both the tension and the heat radiating from the two giant bodies that were now close together. Virgil shifted uncomfortably and scooted back closer to Roman, although he may not like the prep they were better than the bitch any day. Roman gained a look of disgust as he leaned away from her. “Ya know, I heard that you share a dorm with him. Are you an emo fucker, Slut.” Roman promptly blushed and pushed her away from him. As Heather stumbled back she smiled mischievously. Virgil was blushing as he got startled by Roman’s sudden movement to push the bitch away.

“Get away from me!” Roman had exclaimed as he’d pushed her. She just chuckled darkly at him.

“So you are a gay looser?” She gained a sinister smile. “Just like that emo fuck up.” She purred.

“You have no right to talk about him in that way!” Roman exclaimed surprising Virgil. “You can say and do whatever you want about me but you never even talked to him, got to know him, you have no right to treat him the way you do.” Virgil was dumbstruck. Did… did Roman just defend him?

“Oh, and you did?” Heather retorted striking Roman speechless. “That’s what I thought.” With that she walked away leaving Roman to his own devices. Virgil just sat there listening to Roman slow breathing and quick heartbeat. He didn’t know what to think, and he definitely didn’t trust his feelings right now considering the immense heat he could feel spreading across his face. He huddled further into the pocket-not cuddled, he would never cuddle up to Roman! He closed his eyes and decided to take a small nap for now…

●●●

Later that night Virgil crawled out of Roman’s pocket after the prep had fallen asleep and returned to his room in disappointment, having not found what he was looking for. When he finally got back to his usual size he collapsed into bed and checked his phone to find hundreds of messages from both Patton and Janus asking what happened and if he was okay. Instead of texting back, he recorded a little voice message.

“ ‘m fine… Roman might be cute again, updates in the morning…” Then, he slept.

Next Chapter =>

Tag list: @unevencube2554 @bullet-tothefeels @carryondrawing

#sander sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #g/t #giant/tiny #giant #tiny #size shifter #size shifter virgil #patton sanders #janus sanders #tw cussing #tw anxiety attack #emile picani #its a small world

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kittydemon9000 · 4 years

Text

Ever since "The Accident” a few months ago, Oppy had been acting....strange. He would arrive back from work, take a nap for a while in the apartment, and then at 7 o’clock sharp, leave the apartment with Bumblebee carrying a case filled with things. The two would then arrive home at 3:30 AM, go to bed at 4 AM, then wake up later. Bumblebee would sleep until 9-10 AM and Oppy would go to work with Bulkhead at 8. Every. Single. Day.

Now, Nightlight may be a 2nd grader, but she’s a surprisingly capable 2nd grader. And she knew that adults didn’t usually take naps. She had tried sneaking a peek at Oppy’s bag, but all she found was some lipstick and glitter before she was caught.

Right now, it was Saturday, and Nightlight was sitting by the coffee table drawing a plan the apartment in crayon. Only Bulkhead and Optimus were home, but they were getting ready to leave soon. Bumblebee never came home last night, but when she asked Optimus said that Bee was with a friend, before muttering about someone named “Blitzwing.”

Someone knocked on the door and Optimus practically sprinted to open it. Standing on the other side was a mech about Oppy’s size in a red shirt and jeans. His face was white and he had pointy, elf-like audials.

“Knockout.” Optimus said, the relief clear in his voice. “I can’t thank you enough for coming.”

The mech, Knockout, walked into the apartment.

“Well, it was the least I could do. Now, where’s the little one?”

“Over here.” Optimus led Knockout over to Nightlight. “Nightlight, this is Knockout. Knockout, Nightlight.” he introduced. Nightlight looked up from her drawing at the strange mech. Optimus knelt down to her.

“Sweetie, Knockout’s going to be watching you today, alright?” he informed. Ratchet had to take an early morning shift and couldn't watch her, and Bumblebee was....*ahem* busy at the moment.

Nightlight shuffled her feet nervously before nodding. She didn’t take too well to strangers, but it was either Knockout or nobody, and Optimus would rather not leave an seven year old in the apartment alone for several hours.

Optimus smiled. “Don’t worry, me and Bulkhead won’t be gone for too long.”

“Optimus, it’s time to go.” Bulkhead interrupted. Optimus gave Nightlight a quick kiss on the forehead before running to the door. “Emergency contacts are on the fridge, and Nightlight can tell you what food she likes. Oh! And-”

“Optimus, I can handle her. Now shoo, you have to get to work.” Knockout said. Optimus made a reluctant face before closing the door.

Knockout turned to Nightlight, seeing that she had resumed coloring. He leaned over her shoulder, before making a small “hm” noise.

“So what are you drawing, Nightlight?” Knockout asked. Nightlight looked up for a second.

“Nothing~” she said, in that “I’m doing something I shouldn’t” tone that many kids used when they were caught.

“I know a plan when I see one. So why don’t you tell me?” Knockout said, sitting on the floor next to Nightlight. She looked around the room, almost as if someone was hiding and listening in.

“You can’t tell anyone, okay.” she started. She held out her littlest finger “Pinky swear it!”

Knockout chuckled and hooked his pinky around hers. “I pinky swear.”

She suddenly brightened and stood up. “Follow me!” she grabbed his hand and started pulling him in the direction of the hallway.

It was a surprisingly big apartment. Not huge, but large enough to house three men and a child. Nightlight led Knockout to a small bedroom with purple walls and tiny butterflies hanging from the ceiling. A small bed was tucked in the corner, and in the middle of the room was a green rug, contrasting the purple walls.

Almost every wall was covered in shelves which each had tiny trinkets and shiny things. One shelf had a glass case with dirt and a tiny cave.

Knockout went closer to it, peering into the glass. He jerked back suddenly and almost fell over when its resident jumped out.

Inside the tiny terrarium was a tarantula, but it was....purple?

“Bit, don’t be mean.” Nightlight scolded, having noticed Knockout’s reaction. The purple tarantula let out a hiss, before crawling back into it’s little cave.

“Sorry, Bit doesn’t really like strange people.” Nightlight apologized. She grabbed Knockout’s hand and pulled him over to a spot near one of the walls. It was one of the only spots of wall that didn’t have shelves or drawings.

She dug her hands into the floor board and it popped right off. The wall suddenly swung open like a door, revealing a little room. Nightlight crawled inside, but soon emerged with a cork board and a blue stick.

“So,” she started, leaning the cork board against the wall so its contents were visible. It was covered in drawings and yarn, but surprisingly no writing.....well, maybe not that surprising. She was, after all, seven.

“Every night, for the last couple of months, Oppy has been doing something at night, and I’m trying to figure out what.”

Knockout sat down and listen as she explained everything from the late night trips with Bumblebee, the lipstick and glitter, the naps. Everything. While Knockout was just sitting there, debating whether to be disappointed at Optimus for how easily he was figured out, or impressed that a seven year old was able to compile this much evidence

“So what do you think?” Nightlight finished, finally turning back to Knockout.

“Well....I’m impressed.” he started. She glowed at the praise. One thing was obvious though, he had to get her off Optimus's trail, fast. At the rate she was figuring stuff out, she’d uncover the truth in no time.

“Although, I can tell you what Optimus does at night.” She looked at him with shock.

“You can!” she exclaimed. He gave her a smile.

“Yes, I can.”

----------------------------------

When Optimus came home, he was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. Well, at first he was panicking. Knockout and Nightlight weren’t in the living room or the kitchen. In Nightlight’s room, the two were having a tea party with Bit and a spider plush named Queen Blackarachnia that had been with Nightlight since she was born.

“Prince Knockout, pass the cupcakes please.” she requested.

“Of course, Princess Nightlight-” he let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh no! Queen Blackarachnia seems to have eaten them all!”

She let out a giggle. “I know it was you, Knockout.” He gave a look of dramatic offense.

“Princess Nightlight, how could you accuse me of such a horrendous misdeed.”

“It seems like you too are having fun.” Optimus chuckled from the doorway. Nightlight snapped her helm up and beamed.

“Oppy!” she ran up to his and hugged his leg.

“Hello, Nightlight.” he greeted, kneeling down to hug here. “So, did you like Knockout?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, nodding rapidly. “He’s so much fun! We baked cupcakes, too.”

“Really?” Optimus looked at Knockout. He knew the mech well enough to know he hated getting dirty. “Well, it’s time for Knockout to got home. He has to go to work in a bit.”

“Don't you mean both of you have to go to work.” she pointed out. Optimus froze.

“Uh, what do you mean, sweetie?” he asked. Was his secret out?

“Yeah, Knockout told me you both worked at a restaurant together at night. And there’s a karaoke machine and dance area that you sing at a lot.” Optimus let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the entire truth, but at least now she wouldn’t question it.

“You’re right, silly me.” he chuckled. “Now, you clean up. I’m going to show Knockout out.”

“Okay Oppy!” she said, gathering all the tea set stuff. Optimus led Knockout to the door, but before he left...

“I can’t thank you enough. If she found out...” Optimus trailed off.

“It’s fine.” he looked back at the hallway. “She was actually really close to figuring it out. She had a plan and everything to tail you.”

Optimus didn’t even try to stop the horror that spread to his face.

“Don’t worry. She’s now convinced that we work at a restaurant and you do the entertainment.” He gave a smirk. “Which isn’t exactly a lie.”

Optimus blushed a little. Even after 3 months, he would still get a little flustered whenever anyone brought it up.

“Well, anything else?” he asked.

“Well....yes, but I can’t tell you.”

“What?!? Why not?” Optimus asked. Knockout gave him a feigned innocent look.

“I pinky promised.”

---------------

For @pastelpaperplanes. Now you know why I was wondering if Op trusted KO

#Knockout is the best babysitter #Nightlight approves #Op was scared half to death #cops and mobs au #optimus prime #knockout #oc #nightlight #tfa

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buns-with-a-book · 4 years

Text

Into the Spardaverse 2 - The Demon King

aka little bitch and yet the reason I’m diving into all this. Mostly OC/Reboot!Vergil here, but 3 will continue on the trend of Dante/Reboot!Dante doing stuff.

Fandom: Devil May Cry, DmC (Devil may Cry) Characters: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, OC Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @harlot-of-oblivion @synchronmurmurs @queenmuzz

Summary: Cassandra meets the Demon King of Limbo City.

‘The fuck did this little bitch say.’

That was the first thought that went through Cassandra’s head, staring at the man who so introduced himself as Vergil. But no, there was no hint of playfulness or a joke in his voice. He was indeed Vergil, far younger than the Vergil she knew, with more malice hiding in his eyes behind a polite facade.

“Limbo City, huh. That’s a name.” Cassandra commented, keeping her gaze on Vergil. “And you’re the Demon King, I presume?” She asked carefully.

“Yes, angel.” She blinked.

“Angels don’t exist. And I bet you’re not complimenting me.” Vergil raised an interested eyebrow at her words.

“Angels don’t exist, you say…” He murmured, walking to the window. She took a step back, watching him carefully. She hated how he said it, that cold tactical tone that hid a rather disturbing interest in her. “Does the air not make you sick with revulsion?”

“Because it stinks of demons, yes. Anyone with a working nose can smell the stink of demons.” She huffed. “And here’s the worst of it. But it’s your palace, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No, no you are not.” He murmured.

“So, enlighten me a little. I can only presume you beat the previous Demon King. Who was he?” She had an idea who it was, Mundus, but she would feign innocence for now.

“Only if you do the same for me.” His eyes flicked to hers. Cassandra frowned. It was going to be one of those conversations, wasn’t it? He returned his gaze to the green-choked city beyond. “To answer your question, the previous Demon King was Mundus.” So she was right. She felt his gaze on her again and scowled. It was a bit too familiar to someone else she’d rather not think about.

“Mundus then...the only good news I’ve heard so far.” She commented, crossing her arms in thought.

“And now for you. You haven’t told me your name.” She tensed up. No way was she going to reveal her actual name to the Demon King!

“It’s Rose. Rose Greensleeve.” Not a total lie, but who knew how demons worked in this world? Were they like the Fair Folk back home, where handing over your name would doom you to their whims? She wasn’t sure and she wasn’t going to take that chance. Vergil narrowed his eyes, searching for a lie. She stood her ground, meeting his gaze. After a few tense minutes, he let out a sigh.

“Very well, Rose.” He said, with a tone that told her that he didn’t quite buy the name she gave him...but, technically speaking, he did get his answer. Now it was her turn.

“So, how exactly did you become the Demon King. It must take more than usurping the throne of the previous to get an army of demons at your beck and call.” There was also the fact that, if this world had Vergil, then there must be a Dante somewhere. “Maybe a co-ruler of sorts to act as your will among the de-”

“I rule alone.” Vergil growled, the red in his eyes seeming to glow with a furious intensity. “There was only one who could rule with me and he rejected me.” And there it was, indirect confirmation that there was a Dante here in this world, in the words of rage mixed with a certain hurt. Whether her Dante and this Dante met or not (she did see his red coat falling into the yawning portal moments before she landed in this strange world of Limbo City), she would have to wait and see. In the meantime, she held up her hands.

“Alright, alright, don’t get pissy with me.” She pointed at him. “Your turn.” Vergil opened his mouth before pausing, his eyes snapping to the window as if he heard something in the far off distance.

“I do not know if you are feigning naivety or you are blind to your true nature, angel.” Vergil whispered. His gaze returned to her, his red eyes shimmering with deadly interest. He stepped closer to her, causing Cassandra to step back. Her back meeting the grimy wall, with the Demon King too close to her for comfort. “But I do know you did not come here alone.”

“And so what if I did not?” She whispered. “What will you do then?”

“I will kill them. And then I will kill you.” Cassandra’s lips pressed into a thin line. It seemed that Vergil knew that her Dante was here...and maybe her Vergil as well. The Demon King stepped back, walking to the door. He paused, his hand on the handle of the door. “And if you try to escape...well, I suppose you will end up exactly where I want you.”

‘Dead.’ Cassandra thought. The silent answer was all he needed as he stepped out of the room, locking the door from the outside. She collapsed onto the floor, letting out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. It was very rare that she was intimidated by demons but him...she knew she wouldn’t be able to finish him off without help. Hell, she wouldn’t be able to escape without the help of Dante and Vergil.

But he did, at least indirectly, tell her that they were in this world. And that was all the information she needed to plan.

She rushed to the window, grunting as she worked the tarnished handle to open it. It let out a creak as she pushed it open, the scent of blood flowing into the room. She gagged at the scent, something she would never get used to in this hellscape that Vergil called ‘his kingdom’.

“The sooner we get back to Red Grave City, the better. Red Grave smells like a fucking spa compared to this shithole.” She grumbled, holding her hands together. A pair of small butterflies formed in her hands, radiating sunlight and warmth. She gently blew on them, sending them flying out into the world.

‘Find Dante and Vergil...please. Lead them to me and we’ll get out of this shithole together. And maybe kick some demon ass while we’re at it, because Earthmother help me, I want to kick this little bitch’s ass and I don’t care if he’s the Demon King.’

#devil may cry #devil may cry oc #devil may cry dante #devil may cry vergil #into the spardaverse #oc hates reboot nothing is new

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daemongal · 5 years

Text

Of Sins and Succubi - Chapter 2

Hi again all! Finally got chapter 2 written. I’m having a lot of fun with this so far and I hope you’ll forgive the self indulgence on making this an OC fic.

You can find part 1 here!

In this chapter, Dante has made an impulsive decision that may have put himself in deep shit...

NSFW warning for the end, enjoy!

______

A truth that’s told with bad intent, beats all the lies you can invent

[Dante POV]

“Oh, you’ve gone and made a doozy of a mess for yourself here.” Dante paced in circles around his desk, contemplating his next steps as he rubbed his hands together nervously. He stilled his movements for a few seconds to glance over at the sofa in his office, her body lying unconscious upon it.

As he held his gun against her head in that alley, seeing her wet red eyes looking into his with such emptiness and defeat, he just couldn’t bring himself to do the one thing she asked of him. He’d seen that look before in the eyes of another, and he’d be damned if he was going to make the same mistakes again. Instead he opted to knock her out with the butt of his gun instead and haul her back to the shop, away from prying eyes. As usual when acting on impulse, he hadn’t thought of the next steps.

“Damn, when did I get so soft. Pull yourself together you dumb bastard.” He continued pacing, talking himself through his thoughts. “You’re a damn demon hunter. I don’t even know what I’m gonna tell the damn Incubi boyband mafia... shit.” He crashed down into his desk chair and threw his hands on his face in exasperation as he groaned into them.

He had planned on killing her, he really had; but after seeing her there at the bar, he got a niggling feeling that something about the whole situation was wrong. Dante trusted his gut more than his head, and he wasn’t willing to kill an innocent whether they were human or demon. He’d decided that maybe getting some more information out of her would be for the best before making his final decision, but then she started to freak out and draw attention to them.

He just didn’t get it: Why would a succubus use their powers of manipulation to drive prey away? The thought was obscene and sparked a dangerous curiosity within the devil hunter. He knew not all demons were evil, hell he worked alongside one. He looked over towards her again, that mist still emanating off her body, like a diffuser slowly filling the room with her aura. He would have to keep the windows shut unless he wanted to attract some ugly and unwanted attention.

He had to admit though, the atmosphere in the room was beginning to shift slightly. He knew the constant stream of pheromones would no doubt start to affect him in some way as he groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, putting his hand in his pants and rearranging his unwanted half-hard cock. Fucking succubi. He had unashamedly spent enough time around lust demons to have built up a pretty high tolerance to them, so he wasn’t all that concerned that he would start losing his mind just yet, it was only his body that betrayed him.

“Does she seriously not know how to flick the off switch?” He had no idea how long she would be out for or how she was going to react when she woke up. He stood back up out of the chair feeling restless, wandering over to get a better look at the demon. He was surprised by just how... normal they looked. Lust demons could take on the shape of any creature of the same sex that they had seen. They could take one look through a magazine and make themselves look like a model; so why this visage?

Not that there was anything wrong with the way she looked, in fact he found it kind of endearing; she had long brown hair, bangs swept over one side of her face but clipped back over the other ear revealing numerous piercings. Upon her pale skin were freckles dotted over her nose and across her cheeks haphazardly. The clothes she wore were casual, a green plaid shirt hanging from her shoulders, unbuttoned to reveal a black tank top, filled out nicely by her chosen figure. The pair of small denim shorts further accentuated her physique, leaving most of her legs on display. He was used to seeing the same features, the same hair colours, the things they always believed looked the most attractive to those around them. So to see one that could so easily just blend into a group was intriguing. The only giveaway were those damn pheromones and that voice; the one thing succubi were unable to change no matter how hard they tried. Dante couldn’t describe the edge it held. Maybe it was something he could pick up on so keenly due to his demonic senses, like a whistle too high pitched for anything but a dog to hear. It was like an echo in his skull.

Ring, ring.

He glanced quickly back over at his desk, his heart rate increasing as he sighed and wandered towards the phone. With a deep exhale he plucked it from the holder.

“Devil may cry.” He answered in his usual cheery tone.

“Ahh, son of Sparda.” There was no denying the voice on the other end of the phone as a slight shiver ran down his spine. “I hope you are making progress with my request. I didn’t pay that cash upfront to have you waste my time.” Dante considered his options for the briefest moment, and decided it would be best to get them off his tail sooner rather than later.

“Uhh yeah, Dimitri was it? Yeah, problem solved. Found her in a little joint in town on the hunt. She put up a fight but I took her down with ease, of course.” Sort this out now, deal with the fallout later, Dante thought.

“Hmm, as expected of you Dante. Excellent work. I’ll send my boys around with the remaining payment as soon as possible. After all, you dealt with the matter at hand so quickly that I believe bonus payment is required, if that does please you?” Dante glanced over to you on the sofa; shit.

“I mean, being honest the 10 grand was more than enough, bud. I don’t wanna fleece ya, wasn’t exactly a difficult job.”

“Oh but I insist.” The tone of his voice made Dante shiver. “Seeing as you’re available at your shop now, I will send them straight over. That will close off our little business deal nicely... bud.” Fucking Incubi.

*******

[Succubus POV]

The sound of a phone ringing startled her awake, the throbbing in her skull prevalent through her confusion. Her eyes set immediately on the back of the man clad in red, as he walked towards the phone, picking it up and answering cheerfully.

Thoughts flooded through her head: why am I still alive? Where am I? Why am I here with him? The scent of demon was so strong in the room it made her head reel. This must be where he resides... but why?

Her heart nearly stopped dead in her chest when she heard the devil hunter utter the name “Demitri". No, that can’t be him! I can’t be here, he’ll come for me! She quickly shut her eyes, feigning sleep as his head turned to face her. Why didn’t you just kill me like I asked you fool?!

This whole situation was less than ideal, in fact, nothing about this precarious position was ok. She continued to eavesdrop on the conversation, her whole body tensing as Dante nonchalantly referred to one of the most feared demons in the underground as “bud". She had heard tales of his confidence, of the pure absurdity of his demeanour but she was still unprepared to hear any of this. The urge to quickly run to the door and make her escape was strong; even the legendary devil hunter would struggle against the full force of Demitri’s coven and it was never her intention to involve anyone else in this mess.

If she went and caused enough trouble, eventually he would have no choice but to find her finish the job. Her stomach twisted at the thought, bitter memories of drained corpses still fresh in her mind. She held back a shudder as Dante slammed the phone down into the receiver.

Her green eyes shot open reflexively, the sight of leather clad legs now inches from her face as her eyes trailed upwards, past his subtle arousal, his crossed arms until her gaze met his. She heard his foot tapping restlessly against the ground as she feigned a half assed smile.

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” He groaned, unamused at the quip as she slowly picked herself upright, her head throbbing in the process. “Shit my head,” she massaged her temple with her fingers, “although I have to confess; I feel great for a dead woman!”

“Cute.” Was Dante’s singular reply. He uncrossed his arms, letting them flop to his side as he leaned back against the desk, resting on his elbows. “Look, I dunno how much of that you heard but we may, or may not be completely in the shit. This is why I don’t take jobs from damn lust demons, always trouble and they always seem to know when I’m bullshitting”

“His name.” She said solemnly.

“Huh? What about it?”

“You said his name. If I wasn’t as pissed last night I would have never said it. That and I was convinced I wasn’t gonna make it through the night.” She stretched her limbs, bones popping in their sockets as she rose to her feet.

“And your point is?” She sighed at his ignorance.

“Lust demons never give out their true names to anyone but the ones they trust. There’s no way he told you his name when he gave you the job. Now he’s suspicious because you know it. I can’t imagine he anticipated us having some friendly late night banter over some drinks; rather he expected me to be cleaved in two before I uttered a word.” Dante stared in bemusement.

“Fuck, how am I still learning shit like this after all these years?” He sighed before flopping backwards against the desk, upper body now flat as his legs hung over the edge.

“How long to we have?” She asked, fine well knowing they would be on their way sooner rather than later.

“Mmm they didn’t say.” Half groaning, Dante stretched his arms as he spoke, the effect of pheromones showing clearly in his trousers. “We probably don’t have long though and, I’m not gonna lie, there’s no way they’ll believe me that you aren’t here with all this shit floating around.” He motioned into the air. “Do you not like, control this?” Your gaze shifted to the floor ashamedly.

“For the most part, yes. But I haven’t... eaten in a while... so it gets a little sporadic. I’m still learning... kinda. I only know one way to fix it right now, and it’ll only work if he sends incubi and not other lesser demons. Luckily they aren’t as sensitive to other lust demons’ pheromones.”

“Soooo, what do you propose then, because right now I got nothin'.” She took a deep breath, knowing this could still go either way.

“I think we need to cover my scent with... yours. I mean, this place is already swimming in it so it shouldn’t be too difficult. Like seriously, it’s pretty damn disgusting.” You scrunched your face as Dante chuckled.

“Well, what can I say? I’m a man of many talents, but cleaning up after myself ain’t one of em! Gotta let em know who owns the place, right?” She sighed, but was thankful in her own way as this would be a lot quicker and easier because of it. She really wished she could have avoided resorting to such underhanded tactics so quick off the belt but right now their lives were on the line and, if needs must, she would do what was necessary.

“Ok, I’ve got 2 options for you.” She started, moving slowly towards the splayed devil hunter. “Option one: you forget all about me and just let me bolt for it right now. I’ll deal with the fallout myself and probably get myself killed very soon. You should be able to come clean, hand the money back and get out of this pretty unscathed. I’m offering this because I still have no clue why I’m even standing here right now and why you’re concerned enough about me to have let me live.” Dante hummed quietly in consideration before propping himself up on his elbows, raising his fingers.

“And what about this option two? Don’t quite like the idea of admitting I fucked up to the demon sex mafia.” She smirked at the nickname, at how little they bothered him, but also conscious that he didn’t address her concerns. She had guessed he would be somewhat of a closed book in the first place anyway so it didn’t come as much of a surprise.

“Option two...” She walked closer to him, running a finger up the inside of his thigh slowly, as she held his gaze. “I regain some control of myself by having a... little snack, and we make this room smell of you in the process.” Her hand stopped just shy of his growing hardness as she gave him a moment to consider. “I’ll conceal myself out of the way and you give them the full rundown of how you killed me. They’ll be none the wiser. So...” She grazed his crotch, hand wandering to his belt idly. “Which will it be?”

She was aware how terrible she was at putting on such a show, how it didn’t come as naturally to her as it should considering what she was, but she never was an equal to those around her anyway. She struggled to hold his gaze as his eyes bore into her, assessing her with a burning intensity as she struggled to hold back swallowing her nerves. As if sensing the unease, Dante’s posture relaxed as a smirk spread over his lips.

“Well, if you think it’ll work, go ahead. Not like I’m gonna complain. You seem to know more than I do and I’m gonna guess that my third option of just decapitating them as they walk through the door isn’t much to your liking?” She let out a sign, expelling the anxiety from her chest as her eyes trailed down his body.

“Not gonna lie, that sounds extremely tempting and there’s nothing I’d like to do more than see their pretty heads roll but drawing more attention to ourselves won’t get us anywhere.” She cautiously started to undo his belt. “If you’re serious about this and you’re actually bothered about hiding me out here we need to knock them off my trail as quickly as possible.” She noticed Dante tuck his hands behind his head as he laid back down against the desk.

“I have to admit, as far as ploys to get me out of my pants go, this one takes the cake. You could have just asked nicely you know, I’m not one to deny a polite reques- ahh.” She cupped her hand over his still clothed balls and squeezed tightly as his body tensed.

“Don’t test me. Trust me if there was an easier way to do this, I’d gladly take it. Don’t make the situation worse than it already is.” She removed her hand to return to unclasping his belt, haphazardly pulling down the zipper, groaning at the realisation he had no underwear on. “Seriously, commando in these? You really are a freak of nature.”

“Well that’s the least flattering reaction I’ve ever had. Not doing yourself any favours now are you?” She sighed, shaking her head as she pulled the trousers down enough to free him from their confines.

“Looks like I don’t need to do myself any favours.” She spoke in a confident tone, finger tracing up his hardened length, when in reality her stomach sunk, realising this was probably just an involuntary response brought on by forces outside of his control. Although not consciously using her natural abilities, she was aware of the effects it had, especially after going this long without feeding. At least she should regain some semblance of control after this. She just wished this had gone a different way.

“I’m a simple man, babe and I’m surprisingly easily pleased.” Your lips twitched at the pet name. He raised his hand, a single finger held upright. “Just one thing... you got a name or something? I know that stuff you said before about trust and all that jazz, so I don’t mind if it’s something you just made up on the spot. I’d just... prefer to have a name before... you know.” She couldn’t help but giggle at what was one of his most honest and unexpected displays.

“Well then, never took you for the bashful type, oh mighty son of Sparda. Do you ask this nicely of other demon’s names before you cut them in two?” His cock twitched under her fingers as she continued to tease him lightly. “Well since you asked so nicely, for now let's say you can call me... Rin. How’s that sound?” He hummed in approval as he shifted his hips slightly. She could sense his arousal quite potently as it began filling the space around her just as planned. She did not however plan for the effect it would have on her, as it began flooding her senses.

Damn, it’s been too long.

Her breathing became heavy as her hand gripped eagerly around her prize. The scent of demon that she had longed for was heavy in the air, thick and earthy but laced with the unmistakable aroma of human longing. Humans were seen as prized prey due to the purity of their lust and their willingness to submit themselves completely in both body and soul, the weight of their emotions adding to their fragrance like an expensive perfume. The combination of the two intertwined around each other in such a way was undeniably intoxicating.

Her body began moving on its own as she leaned over to replace her hand with her mouth, devouring him as if he was the first meal she had enjoyed in months. His size was nothing short of impressive but she took him in as far as she was able, her hand working in synchronisation to meet her mouth, covering the parts that her mouth was unable to reach, tongue teasing in time with her movements, savouring every reaction it elicited. Her mind became foggy as her other hand reached down to toy with her own wetness, now throbbing between her legs. The release would certainly give her some control back, but that was the last thing on her mind, only focussed on draining every drop of his aura dry. Her mind let go of the last of her control as she gave into her demonic desires.

*******

[Dante POV]

His eyes glazed over as he stared at the ceiling, gasps leaving his throat as his hands reached for Rin’s hair. He couldn’t help but play over the current scenario in his mind. From her behaviour and the aura she was giving off, he was now more convinced than ever that he was currently being preyed on; prey to the whims of yet another damn succubus. However, through his current incoherency of being on the receiving end of one of the most intense blowjobs he’d ever had, he was only able to run his fingers through her thick hair, gripping for purchase as she devoured him with reckless abandon.

He has laid with succubi before and was unashamed of his previous dappling's with her kind, but there was something different about this. A desperation in her actions that drove him wild; as if he was her lifeline, that first drop of water to pass her dehydrated lips. He could tell there were no pheromones in action, he was not being forced to feel this way unlike his previous experiences, which just made it all the more exciting. He was willingly giving himself up as prey to a lesser demon; and it was thrilling.

He felt the knot in his stomach begin to unfurl as he neared his peak, curses and moans escaping his lips as he pushed and pulled at her hair in earnest. At the point of his climax, a wave of pleasure unlike any he had felt washed over him as he burst into her throat, his mouth agape in a silent scream. He felt her hum around him as her own body spasmed against his legs as she presumably reached her own peak.

As he clung onto his high, the bliss warming his entire body, he felt a sudden rush, as a wave akin to second orgasm flushed over him, pushing the feeling through him, before pulling it back as quickly as it came. His back arched at the sensation, as if there were a tide inside of him, surging this feeling back and forth over him until it was washed clean away, a final gasp leaving his lips before he collapsed limp and lifeless against the desk, vision fading to black.

_______

So our girl, Rin has survived to see another day and Dante is out cold yet again; what a way to go eh?

I apologise in advance for how sporadically this may be updated. I'm trying to write this as a go and may need to spend more time between chapters planning. I'm so pleased that people were looking forward to this update already even thought we're only just getting started! I don't intend on making smut the main focus of this fic but a little self indulgence never hurts, and of course things are gonna happen when you put Dante and a succubus together!

Once again, feedback is greatly appreciated and I'll see you all in the next update! :3c

#dante x OC #OC fic #dante #my fic #dmc #dmc 4 #dmc 5 #devil may cry #somewhat #spicy #hope you enjoyed #i'm loving my little brat so far!

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treatian · 4 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 3: Justice at Last

His name was Killian Jones, and though they'd only been introduced, formally, one time, it was a name he wasn't likely to ever forget. Or a face. Especially not now that he'd spent the entire afternoon watching him from afar as he sat there in the bar with his crew guzzling mug after mug of ale. It was more than he'd ever thought a mortal man would be able to handle and still be conscious. If he weren't already so disgusted with him, he might have been impressed.

He'd only ever known Killian Jones in one way. As a ruthless man who had taken his wife and refused to give her back, sentencing her to what he was sure was certain death on the high seas, which probably would have been a blessing after whatever treatment she'd received at the hands of those pirates. He'd only ever seen him from the perspective of an enemy and a pathetic excuse for an enemy that he had been. But knowing a person didn't always mean walking up and becoming friends with them. Good observation could provide him with all he needed to know. And he was astonished now to see that with his crew he wasn't entirely a ruthless, barbarian pirate. He sat with them, drank with them, exchanged gestures of friendship and brotherly love with them; small nudges of the elbow, pats on the back, teases that he'd seen other friends give one another when he'd been a soldier in a war. There was a friendliness to them, and yet even from watching them, he understood that they respected him; they looked up to him, the young as a father, and the others as a brother and potentially even a friend. He was sure that if he asked them, they'd tell him he was a good Captain. A good leader. "Good" in this case meaning competent. But he'd always been a firm believer that the way to tell a man's heart wasn't how they treated their friends but those that they'd consider less than them.

He wondered if he'd remember him. He wondered if Jones would look upon his face, gnarled and cursed as it was, and remember the exchange they'd had years ago. Or if he'd forgotten. Was his family, his wife and son, nothing but one of hundreds of hazy memories? Fortunately for him, extracting memories wasn't difficult, just painful for the person he extracted them from. He hadn't had many excuses to try it in his time as the Dark One, but Killian Jones was exactly the kind of person he wouldn't mind practicing on!

He stayed until darkness fell, and Killian Jones finally announced to the rest of the crew that it was time they head back to the ship since they were shipping off in the morning. He left in a cloud of smoke after leaving behind a few coins for the barmaid's misplaced attentions and keeping him well watered. A rowdy group the pirates were. Jones led them through the darkened streets as if it was a parade of some kind. People parted for them, making way either out of fear or respect, but he didn't require either, and he was waiting in the shadows to see what would become of an individual who showed these pirates neither. When no one was willing to take the risk, he decided to take it upon himself. He summoned from his homes a copper cup and quickly pulled the hood of a cloak up over his head, shielding his face, or at least his eyes from view as he held the cup out. And just for good measure, he took a little bit of the magic he used to placate his bad ankle so that he could feel a twinge of the pain when he walked. It wasn't necessary, of course, he'd been a cripple long enough that he knew he could act the part just fine. But doing it for real in front of Jones was fun all the same. When he was ready, he pushed and shoved his way through the crowd of pirates, purposefully shoving past Killian Jones and hitting his elbow before walking on and waiting to see what would happen.

"Hey, you. Stop! Even gutter rats have more manners than you just displayed!" the familiar voice called out after him. And that was precisely the response he'd been hoping to incite. For it gave him an excuse to turn and face Jones one more time, but this time not as a weak, cowardly cripple, but as the Dark One, just as smart as Jones and yet infinitely more powerful.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir," he stuttered out in an accent borrowed from some poor previous Dark One.

"Ah…I was wrong. Not a rat at all. More…more like a crocodile!" he proclaimed. His crew laughed behind him as he advanced. With one swipe, he hit the copper cup from his hand, letting the few coins he had inside spill out onto the stones, then quickly, just as a beggar would, he knelt down to pick them up. When Jones kicked him down, the men laughed, but he didn't cry out or complain. It was exactly what he'd wanted to see. The action was just enough to tell him that nothing at all had changed in the years they'd been apart. He was friendly towards those who he saw fit, and still ruthless to those he saw as below him. And he was about to change that. The men had no idea what they were really cheering for. It was justice for his family.

"What's your name, Crocodile?"

He returned the magic to his leg and, in one quick motion, stood up straight and tall and laughed as he pulled back his hood to reveal his face. Even if he didn't recognize him, with the "rumors" as widespread as they were, he should know at least what he was by just the look of him.

"You…" the Captain smiled. "I remember you."

Perhaps, but it was clear to him that he didn't, at least not as clearly as he would have liked. He recalled his face but not the events that led him to the last time he'd seen it. Fortunately he was all too willing to remind him and content to toy with him until he did.

"Always nice to make an impression," he muttered, stealing the pirate's words from their last encounter as he tossed some of the coins at him. "Where are my manners? We haven't been properly introduced. Rumpelstiltskin!" he announced, falling into an over the top bow before glancing up at him in a slow, sinister way. "Or, as others know me, the Dark One."

That got a rise out of him. Crew backed away as Jones's eyes turned dark, and his face fell. Now he remembered properly. Odd, he would have thought it would take a little more than that. In fact, he'd hoped it would. But then…he supposed beggars couldn't be choosey! And when he took a step forward around his enemy, it was fun to watch his crew back away like terrified girls. He'd trade one terror for another if he had to.

"Oh! I see my reputation precedes me."

"It does," Jones answered.

"Good!" he declared as he turned to lear over the man's shoulder. "That's going to save us time during the, uh, question and answer portion of our game."

"What is it you want to know?" Jones asked, turning to face him. Well, if he did know who he was and not just what he was, that answer should be obvious.

"How's Milah, of course?"

A broad smile stole over the man's face as he shook his head, feigning innocence. "Who?"

Oh, he was sure that look went over well with the ladies, but he could see right through it to the lie. He knew Milah. He remembered her. But, if this was the way he wanted to play this game…

"Only too happy to, uh, dig out the memory," he offered, finally stepping around him so they could face off once more. "But it gets really messy."

That wiped the smile off his face real fast. "She's dead," he offered solemnly. "Died a long time ago."

He didn't let anything show on his face that wasn't planned. If he was honest, it was because there was nothing to show. He'd always known Milah would never survive her kidnapping, and when she never came back, well, he'd mourned her long ago. So long that his words felt less like a proclamation and more like a simple confirmation of what he'd always known was true. But nevertheless, he let the pirate think he felt it. He let his face fall, let his hand twitch a bit as it went to his side. Whether he felt something or not, justice would be served, and he'd rather fool his enemy into thinking it would be easily accomplished because of a broken heart than a battle that was already lost.

"What is it you want?" the pirate finally asked of him. Perfect. Exactly what he wanted.

"We didn't get a chance to finish our duel," he commented after a couple of heartbeats, for effect, of course.

The pirates immediately made to draw their swords, but the moment they did, he had a thought that made their situation so much sweeter. Death couldn't inflict the pain that Jones's choices and actions had given him or Baelfire, but there was another torture that might…if only for a night.

"Not now," he corrected. "Tomorrow at dawn. I am not a cruel man. Get your affairs in order!" he proclaimed lavishly before taking a step forward so he could look him in the eye. "Also, you can spend tonight knowing…it will be your last." He giggled as he saw a flicker of black fear touch those eyes which had once looked down on him with the same pitiful stare he gave him now. "Maybe I am cruel. And don't think about trying to escape," he threatened, taking another step closer so they were nose to nose now. "Because I will find you, and I will gut your entire crew like-a-de-fish…" He repressed a laugh as the men over his shoulder took another step away at just his gaze. But when he looked back, Hook didn't step back. Like the intelligent man he assumed he was, he saw only the fear of death in his eyes.

"Savvy?" he questioned with a smile.

The pirate swallowed before nodding. "Savvy…town square at dawn."

"And I wouldn't be late if I were you…I hate to be kept waiting!" And without another word, he vanished.

#Rumbelle FF Rumpelstiltskin OUAT Killian Jones

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