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widowsofchaos · 4 years

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Poor Little Rich Boy

summary: you find out your boyfriend isn’t all that innocent as he seems.

warnings: yandere behavior, violence, and gore. dub-non con. Ya know the filthy vibes.

Pairing: dark college!Tony Stark x black!reader

a/n: this is my first time writing Tony so be gentle with me <3

do not respost my works!

“I, Howard Anthony Walter Stark, being of sound, mind, and body do hereby declare that this document is my last will and testament. I bestow my legacy in the hands of my only heir, my son, Anthony Edward Stark. All my assets, finances, and chair as CEO of Stark Industries are now in his hands.”

Buzz.

A dull silent vibration shook in the confinement of Tony’s jean pocket, pulling him out of his sullen trance. Instinctively ignoring the notification, as he listened onto the blurred words of the lawyer reading his late father’s will.

Biting his lip to contain his swirling emotions -- aggravation to just collect his inherited earnings, and head home to you.

Buzz.

With a hazy eye-roll, Tony casually sneaked his palm into his pocket, retrieving the phone. As the family lawyer droned on reading, aged eyes glued onto the paper; Tony peaked at the screen, with the quick analysis of face ID -- his pupils dilated like saucers.

His nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, his chest heaving -- he gotta get home immediately. An iron grip onto the phone, he roughly dug it back into his pocket, his foot tapping against the carpeted flooring. Antsy.

God, please make time go faster.

Buzz.

His fingers itched to snatch the cellular device, internally screaming for another peak at the salacious cheeky messages.

Messages from you -- photos of yourself seated on his bedroom floor, in only a high-waisted thong, and his custom tailored blazer.

The creamy beige against your buttery smooth bronze skin was divine, Tony swears anything you wear is pulled off with elegance. Your brown areolas are slipping out just a tad bit from the flaps, a hint of what’s awaiting for him.

His cock hardened against the denim fabric, Tony salivates whenever you wear his clothing, his scent imprinting onto your flesh - of you in compromising positions, your neatly manicured fingers inside your panties, rubbing your swollen nub. Biting your plump bottom lip.

Buzz.

Another picture with a text, you were sipping from a glass, his best Scotch, with the typed words, “I miss you. I know my favorite boy is blue, come back home so I can take care of you.” Signed with a kissy face emoji, and a red heart.

You were leaning on your elbows, your bouncy ass in the air, legs bent upward with your ankles playfully interlocked in the air.

The glass of ale leaning downward against your teasing lips, and sultry eyes through the reflective mirror -- Tony’s cock twitched, oh he’s gonna eat you up when he gets home.

- It was midnight, the full moon shining bright in the inky indigo sky -- beaming upon the Stark manor. The white fluorescent solar satellite glistening upon the grand bedroom where two lovers lay satiated in bed.

Rubbing random circles by the pads of your fingertips on Tony’s sweaty broad chest, taming the beast into a purring feline.

“I love you.” Tony’s mild slurred speech infiltrated the serene silence, your nose scrunched up in glee. “I love you too.” you murmured in his neck, a lazy grin stretched on your face.

For hours, Tony, and yourself haven’t left the bedroom, stringing release after release -- letting Tony pinch, pull your hair, bruise, slap, and choke your soft flesh-- that’s what he loves about you, trusting him wholeheartedly with your body, and soul.

A lot of tears of euphoria, and fear of abandonment. Reassuring Tony that you would never leave him, breathy hymns of I love yous in his ear.

It’s been a couple of difficult few weeks, Howard Stark has passed at the age of 74. A fatal car crash taking his life, leaving behind his only son. It was only freshly five months ago that Tony lost his mother, Maria. Uterine cancer - multiple tumors.

Maria Stark, the matriarch of the family, was the light of Tony’s life. Maria was a saint, even at death’s door, she had a positive perspective. You can still recall her calling her tumors fruit bowls of pain - her tumors were the size of miniature melons; grew from the size of strawberries.

And when she died -- the already fractured relationship of father and son deteriorated to ash. Howard started becoming colder, more stricter on his son -- his disappointment fueling by the second.

Clayed into a modernized Narcissus -- guising his trauma with bloviating chatter to impress the little people. Boasting his youthful genius with no shame.

Tony may have been born from the finest cloth, a silver-spoon wedged in his mouth -- but he oozes the work ethic of a blue-collar joe.

Under the molden gait of a promising demigod is a fragile boy -- yearning for affection. A neglected child desperate for attention.

Sending nudes to your boyfriend while he’s attending his dead father’s will hearing -- many would deem that as distasteful -- tacky, even. But, you knew Tony’s coping mechanisms.

Frat parties, drinking excessively to the brink of oblivion, and copious amounts of sex.

Tony was raised in a household, where any emotional turmoil expressed to his father was shot down, except with his mother -- he needs a womanly touch.

He never saw his conquests as ladies, only whores to get his rocks off, but once he laid eyes on you -- sweet, and bubbly -- that little rich boy was a goner.

Succumbing to a dazed half-slumber, Tony’s cell phone rings at the bedside table -- you groaned at the intrusion. Flashing on the screen was Happy’s goofy grin, one of Tony’s closest friends. You mumbled a ‘of fucking course’, Tony cheekily chuckled at your frustration.

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. This won’t take long.” With the wisp of a lingering kiss on your hairline, Tony begrudgingly detached himself from you--proudly strutting his naked bare firm ass, picking up his boxers from the floor shamelessly displaying his hung cock, and balls.

“Nice ass.” you teased. Tony snorted, “Nice? Toots, it’s the finest ass. And you love it.” He winked at you over his shoulder, you giggled. Tony’s footfalls faded down the hall, his conversation blurring into the distance. You laid back down, sighing as you stared up at the ceiling, quickly getting bored.

Without Tony to entertain you, you had nothing to do. Maybe I could get a head start on my thesis? Your eyes languidly rolled to the corner of your lids, staring at your opened crumbled book-bag mocking you at the corner of the room, Fuck that. You grumbled.

Mindlessly deciding to get dressed, and search for substance. Hours of unadulterated love-making can take out a lot of energy.

Nimble quiet feet tip-toe down the stairs, covered in only Tony’s wrinkled white button-down, brown statuesque legs gracefully head to the kitchen -- but you halt in your tracks. A dim light seeps from the crack out of an office -- Howard’s former office.

Curiosity overwhelms you, biting down your tongue, you check your surroundings, making sure Tony is nowhere in sight. Earlier in the day, the office was locked -- why is it now open?

Open-palm press against the door, a tiny creak of the mahogany makes you cringe internally. Stealthy you walk into the office, nothing seems to be out of place. Maybe Tony was in here? Fidgety fingers skim against the polished wooden desk, at the corner of your eye, a mess of papers sit idly by.

You pick the papers up, fastly flicking through it. Statements declaring Tony as the new CEO of Stark Industries, royalties, and -- mechanic blueprints?

Your chest began heaving, breaths still choppy fuming out of your nose, your left eye twitched from the stressing bile rising. Here in your hands are the blueprints of a familiar vehicle -- Howard Stark’s car. Descriptive details on the full functionality of the car, why are these here?

Warm palms clutch your shoulders, soothingly rubbing, you flinch by the surprise, “You weren’t meant to see those.” A hot breath fan against your ear, you whimper, his voice sounded husky, menacingly.

Not daring to look him in the eye, frozen in your spot as if the soles of your feet grew roots in the flooring, Tony’s grasp on your arms tighten. “The old man was going to take me off the will. I know he was.”

A chaste kiss on your temple, “As if I didn’t take his shit over the years just for nothing. Blaming me for my mother’s death.” He grumbled against your skin, your blood running cold. There was no remorse in his voice, a hint of satisfaction.

This isn’t the Tony you knew.

A beast of his father’s making.

“Tony - I - I won’t tell anyone, I promise--” Tony shushed your stuttering, his rough hands snaking its travel to your waist, slithering his forearms around your torso, ensnaring you.

“I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t. You’re my good girl.” He spoke in your hair, small lingering kisses on your scalp. Tony was rocking your body back and forth, cradling you -- he can sense your fear.

With trepidation, you held his arms, a little shaky. “Tony, let’s just go back to bed.” Your voice was cracking, this isn’t the man you fell in love with, and you wanted to just run away as far as you can.

“You’re scared of me?” Although it was an intended question, its tone came off as a fact. Indeed you were terrified of him.

“No.” You spat too quickly for your liking. Tony gripped your chin, and twisted your head to face him, “I would never hurt you. I love you. Everything I do is for you.” Your breath hitched, his face was morphed into a sad feral puppy.

“I know. I know you do.” You feigned a weak smile, “I just didn’t think --” you stopped yourself before you vomited any other words. “Do what? Kill?” Tony cocked a brow, with a shit-eating grin. “I did it before. For you.” Tears were forming at the brim of his eyes, your doe-eyes widened, you began squirming in his arms. “Tony, what did you do?!” you shrieked, limbs failing.

Tony’s iron-grip didn’t let up, refusing to let you go, “He wasn’t right for you!” Tony bellowed on the top of his lungs, impulsive rage seeping through, fumbling feet colliding.

Both of your bodies falling to the carpeted floor as Tony tried to restrain your wrists, fumbling feet slipping. A miscalculated misstep sent you, and Tony colliding downward.

Tony’s weight pinning you down. Confusion making your head go dizzy, “What do you mean?” You whispered. Tony smashed his lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks, “You know what I mean.” His brows furrowed, gently his forehead on yours, his eyes staring into your soul.

Realization hits you like a freight train, flashes of your ex, the cops alerting you of his disappearance, Tony’s lingering shadow always appearing to provide comfort -- “Brock?” a lone tear trickle down your eye, down your temple, and hitting the carpet below. Tony nodded frantically.

Tony’s lips peppered against your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your eye-lids, your nose, your chin; mumbling affection against your tear-stained face.

It’s been three years since Brock vanished, rumors flew around campus from students believing he killed himself in some remote location, you lost him in the first years of university.

You were grief-stricken, but Tony, being the ever-present close friend lend a shoulder -- then soon, it blossomed into much more.

“Now, it's just us. We can start a new dollface.” Tony sniffled, hot tears drip upon your flesh, “We can start our own family” he rasps, “I can be a dad. A better father.” Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

A family? You both were just shy of twenty-one, and already Tony is mapping out your entire futures. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was futile.

Tony murmured nonono to your bodily request of escape, chasing clumsy blubbering kisses against your chavile. Your body began to be wrecked with sobs, your chest heaving.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s better this way.” Tony’s brows were furrowed sorrowfully, his tremor low with ache. “You killed Brock, how could you?! I loved him!” Tony gripped your jaw, painfully his fingers kneading,

“Loved him?! He wasn’t right for you! You need me! I need you! No one is going to love you like I do. I loved you the first day I met you.” Harsh fingers rip off the fabric, exposing your breasts to the elements.

“You’re mine! No one can have you! I will kill anyone who tries to take you away!” Tony’s mouth plunged, fangs nibbling on your nipples, his entire mouth suckling your left breasts.

Tony’s left hand pinching your right nipple, twisting and slapping it roughly. You yelped, shutting your eyes closed. Your skin crawled, Tony’s brown eyes peered at you, dissatisfied that you refuse to look at him.

A sloppy pop echoed, “Look at me!” he slapped you, the crack of it pounding in your ears, the heat of the sting scorched throughout your cheek. Your eyes popped open, watery from the hit, Tony has never once laid a hand on you -- until now.

Nose to nose, “We’re gonna be a family--” one of his hands traveled down to tug down his boxers, his hard swollen cock is man-handled in his palm, you struggled to get away, but Tony clutched your wrists in one hand, and pinned it on the carpet.

Tony spit on your cunt, rubbing it within your velvety folds by the base of his veiny cock, earning a hiss out of you. “You’re going to look so hot swollen with our baby.” Your thighs twitched, Tony roughly forced your thigh to wrap around his torso, positioning himself.

“Please - Tony, please don’t”, you cried, Tony shushed you. Lining himself to your hole, with no hesitation, plunged his cock inside your pussy. You screamed, your back arching, “Feels lovely, right? Feels so fucking delicious - you were made for me.” Tony snarled, biting your chin, his tongue trailing your jawline, pistoning his cock inside you.

Dripping slick smears against your thighs, clenching onto his cock, a broken groan slips from Tony’s lips, “Fuck - yes, do that again.” You were blubbering tears down your cheeks, the inevitable pleasure Tony strings out of you is undeniable.

“You’re so tight, and warm.” He growled in your ear, “I can’t wait to have a baby with you. You all swollen, waddling around with bare-feet. You’ll be a great mother - just like mine.” He whispered, biting on your lobe.

You murmured muffled whines in the crock of his neck, bruising is slowly forming on your hips, fucking you like it’s the last time. Shivers run down Tony’s spine, time slows down.

Sweaty skin slapping against skin spurred him on, taking all of you. Your nails scratch at his palm, still bounding you down.

“I love you.” He whimpered, you bite your lip, refusing to sink into the instinct of saying it back. Tony perked his head up from your neck, growling, “Say it back!” he thrusted his pelvis against you, a cattle wail hit you, “Say -” thrust “it-” another thrust “-back!” his smile falters slow, a bruising touch.

He can see you slowly yielding, small pants of electric euphoria, “No!” you bite back.

Wet lips slant against yours. Your entire body jolting from his unforgiving pace, your back burning slightly from the rug beneath you.

Releasing your wrists, his rough hand find it’s way to your back, hiking you up, squeezing your ass in his fingers, bucking your hips; fucking you onto him, your nails dig into his sculpted back -- scratching for him to stop, but it felt too good.

You’ve become dizzy. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, hoping the pain makes him halt his actions, but it makes him harden inside of you.

There’s no space between you, melting into one, the friction, the heat; the tethers of reality blur into nothing.

“Please - say you love me.” Tony pleaded, his weary eyes sinking into yours. A robbery -- a heart-wrenching robbery of your soul, in an instant, you didn’t see a cold-blooded killer, but the mire of a lost boy.

He slowed down his thrusts, leisure movements, his brown orbs are glossy, “Say it, please.” Tony gently kisses you, not feverish, but you can taste the sweet commitment. Like he doesn’t own you, but he worships you.

“I love you.” you mumbled against his swollen lips, his eyes dilated, rubbing his nose against yours, “I love you” maneuvering your hips, squelching can be heard - sticky as honey, as the pace picked up.

Your fingers grip his soft fluffy hair, his balls slapping against your ass, “I love you, Tony.” You sucked on his bottom lip. He whimpered. His cock was coated in your juices, you can feel the swelling of his balls, and his uneven jerking movements -- he was close.

“Cum for me, baby.” Tony’s eyes were shut, he mewled, “Cum inside me, give me a baby, Tony.” The dam breaks. The window bursts open from a gust of wind, the full moon gleamed upon your sweaty sheen bodies, a howl erupts from Tony -- as the wolf within has been unhinged -- primal, feral fueled lust.

Toothy grin, all fangs lunged for your pulse point, devouring you. Squirted juices spray from you, splashing against his toned stomach, not once stopping, riding through the orgasm. Tony’s tongue peaked out, droplets of your cum sprinkling his mouth.

Your vision turns white, an inhuman scream leaves you, Tony collapses onto you.

He’s trembling, frightened, you massage his dome, “My sweet boy.” Tony sobs into your chest, ensnaring himself around your torso. You hugged him, cradling like a baby, as he cried water-falls.

“It’s okay.” You kiss his head, a lingering one, “It’s going to be alright.”

You’re all he has.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #tony stark x reader smut #tony stark x reader angst #yandere tony stark #yandere tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark tony stark x reader #dark marvel

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ryik-the-writer · 3 years

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THE AUDACIOUS STORYBROOKE MIRROR ADVICE COLUMNIST (WEDNESDAY PAPER EDITION) In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 4: Lacey has a conversation with one of her biggest opposers, followed by an interlude with Gold

A03

Wednesday morning came too soon, but Lacey had met the deadline for her column, and she still had a job when she walked into her office.

“Racy Lacey,” Cruella had responded when she sent in the final edit. “When did you become so angelic?”

“Stuff it,” she said to her secondary editor.

Glass’s feedback was mutual.

“Well kid, I admit I had some doubts,” he said just as Lacey was about to scream. “But you pulled it off. We’re getting decent comments on the new column, especially from the higher up.”

“You mean from her majesty,” Lacey spat, despising the woman who got her into this who mess.

“The mayor is pleased, yes,” Glass relayed with a slight warning to his voice.

Lacey ignored it of course, but she didn’t want to talk about that horrid woman any longer.

“What did you think?” she asked, running a finger over a book on his desk.

Glass had the audacity to laugh. “You haven’t asked me that since you were an intern.”

She turned a harsh glare at him and Glass finally put her out of her misery.

“I thought you put a lot of heart into it, and I know it wasn’t easy stepping into something so different from what you’re used to.”

“You’re fucking telling me,” Lacey muttered undetected.

“It’s a heavy subject, I mean good God Lace, did you pick this one to get back at me?”

“Maybe.” Lacey teased.

He let it slide and stood, cueing that there conversation was coming to an end.

“Well you did good, and, well, I’m proud of you kid.”

That was indeed something she hadn’t heard since she was a bright-eyed intern back in high school, and something she hadn’t heard from anyone but him.

Not even from her own father.

“Don’t get mushy on me, Delicate-as-Glass,” she snarked, enjoying the way he bristled from the use of her nickname from him.

“Easy,” he warned, but he more important things to do than lecture his most wild employee on respect.

“Anyway, I think we can start adding one of those with your usual debauchings, and that should keep you in the clear.

It was just as she suspected, but she complained simply to put on a show and then let the matter rest. She’d have to work with Gold some more, which she had no problem with at all.

Though it would seem their attempt at a romantic relationship was going to need some time.

Sunday came around and Lacey hadn’t seen nor heard hide or hair of him since their drink.

As Lacey walked the streets of Storybrooke, an attempt to get her thoughts in order, she but decided she’d visit him that night for more help on her “fluff” article, and maybe some feedback on her smutty one.

Bells rung cleanly through the air as church services let out and Lacey scrunched her nose. The religious zealots in Storybrooke were her biggest haters. It wasn’t uncommon that she’d get some sort of email warning of the damnation of her soul or the obstruction of the town’s youth.

Lacey laughed aloud as she thought of the latter, certain Storybrooke’s youth found their first form of porn in a much more modern way – a fact she often wrote as reply in her emails on the subject.

“Glad to see you’re in good spirits, Miss French.”

Lacey’s grin melted into an annoyed frown at the familiar, very unwelcomed voice.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered as her most vocal opposer approached: Mother Superior.

The head nun of Storybrooke’s covenant had her finger in the grand pie that was Storybrooke and was quick to take down anything she could pinpoint as “sinful.” Such measures included removing a majority of “inappropriate” books from the town’s school libraries (the public one had been closed for years), mandating separate PE classes at said schools, and worse, writing a religious reminder about the wages sin in Storybrooke’s Sunday paper—Lacey’s fucking territory!

“Morning,” Lacey greeted vilely, glancing over her shoulder. “And…goodbye.” She began to walk away, but was halted by more of the pious nun’s words.

“I was interested to see your choice of column’s this week,” she spoke. “Much more effective than the sinful trash you usually post.”

Lacey swung around on her heal, letting out a fake gasp.

“And here I thought you hated my work,” she gave the nun a plastic smile. “Good to hear you read my columns regularly.”

Mother Superior bristled, already losing her battle with the spicy Lacey French.

“You—you obviously can stop your sinful ways if you give yourself the chance. You could really help people instead of leading them down the path of—”

“I do help people,” Lacey hissed. “Sex, intimacy, closeness, all of those things are important to people, and they come to me for help because unlike you I’m not going to shame them.”

The head nun went quiet and Lacey thought for a moment she’d won this fight and could go about her day in peace, but then a wicked grin spread over Mother Superior’s face and Lacey knew her day was about to get much worse.

“People seek your insight because you’re an easy slut who has whored herself out expertly.”

She said it. The W-word Lacey hated with a passion. The word that was always aimed at her.

She tried to hide the impact it had on her. No one, not even a pillar of the fucking community, was going to get under her skin.

“At least people read my expert advice. From what I seen they shred your little letter of conviction up and donate it to the animal shelter for bedding.”

Mother Superior’s face turned green and her mouth opened again to comment when another familiar figure added their appeal.

“Mother Superior,” Gold greeted darkly. “I do hope since you’ve found time to invade Miss French’s business then you’ve found time to gather the rent for tomorrow.”

The head nun’s expression turned pale. Her mouth failed to work and Lacey found some secret pleasure in her downfall.

“O-of course, Mr. Gold,” she finally replied, giving Lacey one last dirty look before she dashed away to the convent.

Lacey snorted, spinning around to face Gold.

“Thanks cutie pie, but I was handling myself just fine.”

Gold shrugged. “I never miss a moment to remind that gnat of a woman of her place.”

She chuckled at that, though the sting of the nun’s words were still wearing off.

Gold noticed her shift in mood and searched for an out.

“I was…going to call you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Well neither did you.”

“Ugh,” Lacey groaned. “We wrote a column, not slept together, let’s drop it.”

Gold’s face heated and he went quiet.

Lacey sighed, knowing she’d already made the situation between them more awkward than it already was.

“Look,” she said, “I have a few fluff columns I need to go through. How about I come by your place later and you see what you can do.”

Still flustered, Gold could only nod.

“Great,” Lacey said. “I’ll see you then.”

Gold watched her leave, the clanking of her high heels matching the thumping of his heart.

So far there relationship was a sort of business casual agreement, but there was the “what if” factor floating cleanly over them.

His attraction for her was clear between them, but exactly how she felt was still unknown.

For all he knew she was simply using him, but at least it was for his mind and not for his heart.

He was becoming content with their relationship, but he was a lonely soul who would one day want more. What would happen when he tried to take that step? Would it be the end of them?

Unbeknownst to him, the same thought was on Lacey’s mind.

No one had ever stood up for her like that before, and there was a certain tastefulness watching him snarl at that gnat of a nun.

She’d admit that Gold was attractive in his own way. Lean, a decent stature, nicely grayed out, and those eyes. Damn his eyes. The color of whiskey and just as addictive.

She found herself grinning like a freaking teenager as she thought of her unofficial business partner and her growing attraction for him.

It only occurred to her as she got halfway to her apartment that she had spoken to him completely in the open and felt absolutely no remorse or concern.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Okay, how about this one: Racy Lacey, I’m at my wits in with my new boyfriend—oh never mind, this one’s smut-worthy too.”

Gold scoffed. They’d been looking through emails for the past hour. They were almost though a whole bottle of wine, most of which was drunk by Lacey. Gold avoided the alcohol as much as possible less he embarrass himself.

Lacey seemed to be holding her own though, mostly. She was walking barefoot through his living room, pacing back and forth as she read emails off her phone.

It was a lovely site and very distracting.

“Your mind goes straight to the gutter, doesn’t it?” Gold said, his stomach immediately twisting with anxiety.

It was the first time he’d attempted to joke with her and, judging by the snort that followed, she took it fairly well.

“Well, people write me for one thing,” Lacey shrugged, falling back beside him on the couch. “So the gutter is a good place to go.”

He chortled, grateful her sense of humor ran deep.

Lacey stared at him over the rim of her glass, curious.

“What about you?” she inquired. “Where does yours goes?”

Gold choked a bit on the sip of wine he’d taken. Not embarrassing himself was starting to go out the window, it would seem.

“S-somewhere more innocent than where yours is,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Shouldn’t we get back to the column?”

Lacey crawled closer until she was mere inches from him. She crossed her legs, leaning one hand on her knee as she watched him grow increasingly nervous.

“Come on, converse with me,”

Gold resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lacey French was guiltily tipsy in his living room, and getting increasingly bold at that.

“Miss French…”

“For Christ’s sake it’s Lacey,” she slurred. “We’re defiantly on a first-name basis, I mean come on.”

Gold chuckled nervously. Where they really at that stage already?

“I suppose we are. Now the column…”

“Ugh,” Lacey groaned, setting her glass on the floor beside the couch. “All work, no play. What’s the matter, afraid you’ll fall even more in love with me?”

Gold froze. Honestly, he could faint. Lacey was certainly having a field day with the knowledge of his affections from his drunken email earlier last week.

She wasn’t mocking him, that much he could tell, but he did increasingly wonder the authenticity of her affections towards him, if there were any at all. She’d probably regret her words tomorrow, but he wouldn’t remind her of them if didn’t bring them up.

“It’d certainly be a challenge not to,” he admitted.

Lacey’s smile stretched further, her chest fluttering.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe Lacey simply wanted to explore this oddity she had developed with Gold. Either way, she was about to make a very drastic decision.

“Hey,” she whispered, chuckling. “How about …”

Gold tilted his head, charmed at the rosiness on her cheeks. “Yes?”

She stared into those eyes, their color so tantalizing and bright.

“…kiss me.”

Gold’s smirk slowly disappeared, his chest seizing.

“I…I beg your pardon?”

“K-I-S-S,” Lacey repeated with a smack of her lips. “me.”

Gold could only stared at the scarlet-faced goddess in front of him, the color of her face making the blue of her eyes stand out all the more.

He did want to kiss her—Gods knows he did—but was this the right time?

Lacey seemed to think so as she leaned forward, expecting his lips. In retaliation, he leaned back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

Lacey caught on quickly, pausing when she saw the uncertainty on Gold’s face.

“Yikes, sorry,” she muttered. “You’re not going to catch anything, damn.”

Gold was taken aback by the sudden malice in her tone and, he saw, the flicker of shame in her icy blues.

“What? Lacey what are you talking about?”

Lacey stared glassily at her bare feet, shrugging nonchalantly.

“You said ‘who knows what I have’ during our fight, remember?”

With flaming discomfort, he recalled exactly what she was talking about.

It had been a flare up, a way to push her out as he recovered from his embarrassment, to keep her at arms-length, he previously convinced himself.

The reason was pointless. He’d insulted Lacey, humiliated her really.

It didn’t take a vivid imagination to know that her early conversation with Mother Superior was only a sample what she went through daily. And he’d was no different than the fools in town who jumped to conclusions about virtue.

Her head was still bent, one of her fingers circling a patch of leather on the couch. Gold felt sick that he had made her feel any level of guilt when she shouldn’t at all.

“Lacey,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry. I was foolish. I didn’t mean what I said. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Lacey shrugged, uncrossing her legs and made her way to the window.

“It doesn’t matter.” She replied, the phrase her constant companion whenever she was compared to someone with such loose morals.

Lacey was as sex positive as they came and encouraged many of her readers to be comfortable and experimental with their sexuality, but her own experience came from a vivid imagination. Her own standards were extremely high, and her partners very few.

Of course, that didn’t stop the many she turned down from spreading callous rumors about her when she refused their beds, and of course being a sex columnist didn’t lend an the most positive opinion.

She’d learned to deal with the snarls and the crude comments whispered behind her back. She’d eye her opposers down just as damningly as they did her and came out triumph.

Still, the isolation didn’t stop the wave of loneliness that hit her from time to time.

“It does too matter,” Gold fought. “You don’t deserve what I said to you Lacey, what anyone says to you at that!”

“I’m used to it—”

“You shouldn’t be,” Gold cut her off. “You are a beautiful, intelligent person Lacey. And you do something every day that not many people have the ability to.”

Lacey snorted but smiled none the less.

“You’re so brave to do it,” Gold said, his eyes lowering. “Braver than I am.”

Lacey eyed him, cocking her head mischievously.

“I think you’re pretty brave,” she said. “Not too many people have the gall to have Racy Lacey in their house, especially with such nosy neighbors.”

“Damn the neighbors,” he said.

She scooted closer, her breath warm and acidic on his lips.

“I think you’re pretty handsome too,” she smirked.

Gold scoffed. His looks were the last thing he’d credit himself over.

“I’m serious,” Lacey said, her painted nails trailing up his neck. “Especially your hair…”

Gold accepted her touch with earnest, his predatory eyes fluttering shut as he pressed into her hand.

She watched him, a man starved for human affection. Just like her.

She carefully leaned forward, letting her lips brush against his, testing his consent. When he didn’t pull away, she strengthened the kiss, pressing her lip solidly into his as her hands tangled in his locks.

Gold returned it, lost in her taste and desperate for her touch.

They separated for air, Lacey’s hand have gripped the collar of his shirt.

“Hey,” she husked. “What if we…”

He was no fool to not know what she wanted.

He had wanted to protect, but found out she didn’t need protection, not from the town at least.

His own heart was damaged, and Lacey had begun to fix the chips and dents.

He was still hesitant, still ashamed by his behavior toward her earlier, but Lacey was pawing at his shirt and he could think of nothing else but her.

He kissed her again, his hand feeling down her hip.

Lacey was quite receptive. She uncrossed her legs and crawled into his lap, pushing him against the arm of the couch.

He captured her face with one hand while he explored her body with the other. His hands came up to her top, stopping for her permission. Her hands met his and she all but ripped off her shirt, her nipple standing at full attention through her silk bra.

Gold’s hands ran up her back, grazing her breasts and gliding over her stomach, her side, down her thigh and under the fabric of her jeans.

She clung to his shoulders as she let her tongue dance with his. Wetness was already pooling between her legs. This was escalating quickly and yet she had no intention of holding back.

He swallowed when his erection pressed against her thigh. She desired him and she needed him. Now.

With more skill than he could have imagined she managed to get her jeans off in a messy tangle, laughing as he helped her.

His fingers graced against the fabric of her panties, applying just the right kind of pressure to her clit.

“Gold,” she keened, attacking his belt and leaning off of him just enough to help pull his boxers down.

She felt his hard erection twitch, pressing against her flesh, his warmth radiating.

She kissed him again. He groaned and bucked his hips against her. She moved her hands between their bodies to free his throbbing erection from his pants. He groaned when she wrapped her hands around his cock. She wanted to taste him. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted to bring him pleasure and see it written all over his face.

He trembled a little, grateful she had no qualms with being in charge.

“You are so sexy,” he groaned as she grabbed his cock with one hand and fighting between moving her panties aside and steadying herself with the other. Feeling how good he felt when he finally slipped inside her made all annoyance she felt slip away.

They both sighed and she captured both his hands, pulling them up and behind his head. She entwined her fingers with his and pressed his hands against the couch as she bend forward to kiss him.

She rode him hard, licking, nibbling, sucking at this mouth while she did so. He was hers and she wouldn’t allow him to run off again. He came before she could reach her climax, but feeling his hot seed spilling inside of her brought her over the edge again.

She collapsed on top of him, releasing his hands to play with his hair. And they just breathed together.

Then she started laughing, a throaty ring that made his heart pound.

“Well, Goldie Locks,” murmured as she played with his curls. “I think I have my inspiration for my next column.”

He chuckled and held her ease down so that she was lying on top of him.

“Such a shame you still have to write the tame one, you’re deadline is tomorrow morning, yes?”

Lacey groaned and buried her head in his chest. He kissed her curls in reply.

He was indeed going to enjoy this new relationship with Lacey French.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I’ve been trying to get these two to bang for over a month now, so boom, they banged. I can’t write a smut scene to save my life.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #lacey french #mr. gold #rumplestiltskin #ryik's fics

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flawnle · 4 years

Text

My brain decided to have angst for my weird au thing. Feel free to ignore if you want nothing to do with it.

-[START]-

Dmitri spotted the fucker, the one who’s been messing up his prison. He gives chase, just barely keeping the person in sight as he followed. They make a right turn. He knew this would lead to a dead end. Dmitri slides into the hallway ready to confront them but instead sees someone a bit more familiar.

Wallace, his son, was standing around where the person he was chasing should be. He seemed unbothered. Like someone hadn’t just ran by. He noticed Dmitri and greeted him with a wave.

“Uh, hey kid. Did you happen to see a person run past here? I’ve been chasing them down and I’m sure I saw them run in here!”

Dmitri says quickly. Not wanting to risk the person who’s been running his place to the ground getting away. Wallace just looked confused.

“I didn’t see anyone sorry.. maybe they went the other way?”

“Im sure I saw them run in here kid. My eyesight is perfectly fine.”

“Well I honestly saw nobody.”

Dmitri groaned in annoyance. Looking down the other hallway.

“Maybe they went the other way... I can still catch them!”

He was about to go off again but Wallace stoped him.

“Actually I wanted to talk to you for a second.”

“Wallace. I really got to go after this guy..”

“They are probably gone by now, they’ll be back eventually. Next time you can get all of us to help conner them property.”

Dmitri thought for a second. The guy will indeed come back, he doesn’t seem to have finished his job.

“.. fine. What did you want to talk about kid?”

“Well it’s just I’ve realized I haven’t exactly been completely honest with you about some things..”

He said nervously. Wallace figgeted with his bracelet. Dmitri raised his eyebrows in a bit of surprise. Out of all the topics he thought Wallace was going to go to he never expected that.

“Well whatever it is I won’t be mad at you. Just explain alright? How many things are we talking about here?”

“O-only two..”

“What’s the first thing?”

“... it’s about my nightmares.”

Dmitri sighed. He knew how bad Wallace’s nightmares were, plus the fact he’s been dealing them them for about 20 years. He didn’t know much about them asside from the one time he found Wallace crying when he woke up. That was also the time he found out he had nightmares to begin with.

“What about them? Have they gotten worse or something?”

“Not exactly..”

Wallace looked Dmitri in the eyes as two lengthy looking figures rose from his shadow. Their faces looked the same, eyes not seemed to exist. They scared down at Dmitri. He took a step back.

“These... are my nightmares..”

“Kid I don’t know what to tell you but, nightmares are dreams. They don’t come out like that physically! It’s like some sort of cryptid shit!”

“I can’t expect you to believe me.. but I’m telling the truth, these things are the stuff that make my nightmares what they are.”

“May we speak now..? Speak now..?”

Wallace shot the two a look after one of them spoke. Their echoing voices seemed to bounce off walls that didn’t exist.

“Not yet.”

“... did that thing just ask you permission to speak??”

“Y-yeah... one day they just decided to leave me a alone and start listening to what I tell them too. They said I wasn’t worth the trouble if I was already this far gone.”

Wallace’s words confused Dmitri. What does he mean by ‘this far gone’? As far as he knew Wallace was the same as he has been since the day he came to the wall.

“Kid.. what are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t notice the difference... it’s been like this for awhile...”

He gave a small nod to the creatures. They move forward a bit to speak.

“About 3-4 years to be exact~ be exact~”

“What..?”

Dmitri was stunned. How could this be happening for years when he’s seen how these very nightmares effected Wallace first hand. Then a new thought crossed his mind. Could Wallace had faked that? Pretended the nightmares effected him the way it did when that wasn’t the case? He shook his head slightly, getting rid of the thought. Wallace wouldn’t fake something like that, he had no reason to. He trusts his son.

“Is something wrong? Something wrong?”

“Yeah, your fuckin voices.”

“That’s enough guys..”

The two returned back to Wallace’s side after he spoke.

“I’m sorry for not mentioning them before, there never really was a good time for me to tell you..”

“It’s fine kid. That was then, this is now.”

“Thanks.. there still the other thing though..”

Dmitri almost forgot about that. Seeing the two creatures made him lose track of the fact wallce said there was two things, not just one.

“We’ll go ahead. Surely it can’t get weirder then you having cryptids at your command.”

“If your sure..”

Those words from Wallace made Dmitri nervous. The figures seemed to smirk, as if they knew what was to come.

“... I’m still a tophat.”

He said simply. After he spoke his posture changed. Dmitri couldn’t tell how though, he was more focused on his words.

“You.. WHAT?! Your still a tophat? Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

“I didn’t think it was necessary. I’m still actively working here. It just made it easier to say I didn’t work with them anymore. But I feel the need to come clean about it.”

“Kid, you really should have told me. We have an alliance with them, it doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t one.”

“... I know.”

“He just didn’t want to~ want to~”

Wallace nodded at what the figure said. Dmitri finally figured out what was different. Wallacw was standing more straight, as if more professional. He didn’t like the implications of that.

“Didn’t want to..?”

“Exactly! Like Wally boy said, it was unnecessary, so why bother? Besides, he didn’t want to ruin what you thought of him. Of him.”

“Is this true?”

Dmitri asked. Now more on edge, there’s something off about all this. Wallace was still hiding something, he just knew it. And god be dammed if he didn’t find out what.

“Of course it is. They wouldn’t lie, at lest not to you. They’d only really try to lie to me.”

“I wouldn’t have thought any less of you if I knew Wallace..”

“I know, I know. I didn’t know then but I do now. That’s why I’m telling you.”

“And that’s it? That’s all you wanted to tell me?”

“Pretty much, yeah..”

Wallace started acting a bit more like one he knew. But Dmitri planned on finding out more.

“.. who exactly were you chasing just now..?”

The question caught him off guard, he was about to say something before Wallace did. But Dmitri composed himself, trying not to let Wallace know he knew something was up.

“Just the fucker that decided they could march on in here and try to sabotage my complex..”

He says with a growl. Wallace seemed to think for a second.

“Oooohhhh THATS who you were after! I know who that is.”

“Wh-what!? Yow KNOW!? Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Why wouldn’t I know who I am?”

“Wha- that’s not what I-“

Dmitri’s voice trails off his gaze matched Wallace’s as realization sank in. He smirked as he saw Dmitri’s expression.

“You.. you..”

“Come on now Dmitri. You can say it.”

“Your the one who’s been sabotaging the wall..”

His voice was shaky. Dmitri couldn’t believe it. How could he? His own son, the one who he was thinking of possibly handing the wall over to, is the one who’s been setting it up to fail. A look of satisfaction rested on Wallace’s face.

“There you go. I’m surprised it look having to say it outright for you to realize~”

Everything about Wallace changed. How he stood, how he spoke, it was startling. It was like someone flipped a switch in him. But for some reason, Dmitri got the feeling he was finally meeting the real Wallace Pemberton.

“Why..? Why would you..?”

“Sabotage the wall? It was my duty. I wasn’t just a spy, my job was to break everyone out, and I was going so slowly but surely, by taking the wall down completely..”

“But there’s a-“

“An alliance, I know. The reason’s quite simple. You were too late. The plan was too far into motion. I can’t reverse it now, so why should I stop? Might as well go all in.”

Wallace smirked once again, the nightmares behind him smirked as well. He was scary. Dmitri backed up, wanting to try to run. He couldn’t kill Wallace, he’s his son for gods sake! So his only option was to get out of there.

“And where do you think YOUR going? Your going?”

Wallaces voice mixed with the nightmares. It startled Dmitri so much he froze in place. The one of the nightmares take the opportunity to come up behind him. Stoping his attempt of escape. Wallace’s a kind of “tsk tsk tsk” sound, like he was about to scold a child.

“What made you think I’d just let you leave? There’s still some stuff I want to say~ don’t you know it’s rude to leave a conversation early?”

“...”

“Good to know your smart enough to know when to shut up.”

The nightmares laughed a bit at that. The echoing laughter made Dmitri’s head hurt.

“You know, I was planning on waiting until you give me the wall before I revealed myself. But I’ll admit, I made an amateur mistake, I fumbled. You caught on end it was either I show myself willingly, or you find out in... a situation I wouldn’t find favorable.”

“You didn’t want to be ambushed..”

“Exactly! I’m glad you understand. I always knew there was some kind of brain in that hollow skull of yours~”

“...”

Wallace looked at Dmitri. Raising an eyebrow in amusement at his expression of confusion and betrayal.

“I get why your so quiet now. Your betrayed, backstabbed, by the man you concidered your son. Confused as to why, how, I could possibly do such a thing.”

“I thought you cared..”

Wallace freezes at that. Maybe he’s feeling some form of remorse? Gult? He knew the answer almost immediately after those thoughts, because Wallace started laughing. Similar to the laugh of the nightmares. He was laughing at him, absolutely losing it. It seemed like Wallace tried to compose himself after his laughing fit.

“You.. you really thought-“

It’s hard for him to speak through his giggles.

“You really thought I cared! Haha! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard! YOU THOUGHT I CARED ABOUT YOU!”

Dmitri flinched. This was his son, his son who never cared.

“I CANT BELIEVE IT! Why would I care for a sorry old man like you!? Your a useless waist of a man who can’t even lay a finger on the person who betrayed you. All because I’m your ‘son’ “

He put son in air quotes. Cackling here and there.

“Oh Dmitri how far you’ve fallen. You’ve made my job so much easier! I was going to kill you here and now but now I don’t want to anymore.”

“Wh-what..?”

“I think I’d rather see you SUFFER. I want to watch the pain in your face as you watch your son ruin the one place you call home. The place you’ve spent your life keeping together. IM GOING TO RIP IT TO SHREADS! And you won’t do anything about it.”

Dmitri started to shake, he was actually scared of Wallace. And he knew he wouldn’t do anything to him. He couldn’t, it’d break him to put Wallace in harms way, even if he’s betrayed him.

“Your.. your a monster..”

“Oh how you flatter me. Monster is such a tame word to call me.”

He chuckled, his eyes glancing to a clock on the wall. Wallace’s expression turned into a sickly sweet smile. The nightmares disappearing.

“Sorry to cut this short.. but I have a very appointment to get to. I’ll see you again I’m sure of it.”

“...”

Dmitri watched Wallace walk away cheerfully, like nothing ever happened. He was at a loss for words. He collapsed on the ground, taking a few deep breaths, as it felt like he wasn’t breathing.

He couldn’t believe what just happened, but he had to. Dmitri couldn’t do anything but prepare for his pain. As much as he wanted to stop Wallace, he couldn’t do it. And so Dmitri walks somberly back to his office.

-[End]-

#angst #the henry stickmin collection #evil wallace fic

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mythicalsecretsanta · 3 years

Text

In The Bleak Midwinter (G)

This gift is for: Grace-Anna (AKA @rhettroedits) Seaborne does not particularly enjoy Christmas and he especially doesn’t enjoy being back in his home town for it. From your Secret Santa, Mai (AKA @holdbythenotsharp)

Link to AO3, or read below:

As the insufferably cheery notes of Wonderful Christmastime invade his awareness, Charles Seaborne realizes he has been standing in front of the uninspiring wine selection of an A&C, staring at it blankly for some time. Trying to choose between a mediocre Merlot and quite possibly an even more mediocre Pinot Noir is impossible with the seasonal jingle assaulting his ears, overriding intelligent thought.

To be honest, he’d prefer whiskey, but years spent away from his home state had made him forget grocery stores here don’t carry hard liquor. To be really honest, he could die a lucky man, if he never had to hear Wonderful Christmastime again, he thinks as he reaches for the Merlot.

Seaborne doesn’t enjoy surprises. As a rule, he doesn’t allow himself to be caught off-guard. Some might call him inflexible, even uptight, he prefers methodical and well-prepared. But as it turns out, it’s very difficult to be prepared for seeing a ghost.

He had been on his way to the checkout, before remembering his intention to pick up a proper shampoo to replace the miserable 2 in 1 his hotel offered, so he turns around to navigate back to the personal care aisle. Halfway there he spots the figure of a tall man standing in the middle of the pet food aisle, browsing dog treats. It had been years since Seaborne last saw him. His glasses are smaller than they used to be, with subtle metal rims, and he’d grown a full beard at some point, but there was no mistaking. His best friend from childhood — who he had not heard from for almost a decade — had apparently gotten a dog.

Apprehension and dread overwhelm Seaborne. He wants to run away, but his feet have stopped moving. It’s not like they had a falling out, really. He could probably just say hello, and Roach would probably say hi back. But then what?

Roach drops a bag of treats into his basket, jolting Seaborne back into action. He scurries behind a shelf and pretends to be engrossed in canned fruit until his heart stops racing. After a moment of contemplation, he decides he can subject his hair to the torture of 2 in 1 for a day or two more and makes his way out of the store, stealing glances over his shoulder, making sure he is not spotted. He doesn’t notice his hands trembling until he’s sitting in his El Camino in the parking lot, failing for the third time to aim the key into the ignition.

By the time he’s back at his hotel room, a spartan affair at a Holiday Inn near the interstate 40, he has almost convinced himself the man he had seen was actually a ghost, or possibly one of those kombucha drinking hipsters that had invaded the town since his last visit. What are the chances it was the man Seaborne specifically hoped to avoid this trip?

After watching two episodes of Magnum P.I. and polishing off most of the wine, he’s practically forgotten about the encounter. It’s as if it hadn’t happened at all. He plans to go on as usual, as if it’s just another job in just another town, not the prodigal son’s return to a place that had not been kind to him. That night he has an unsettling dream about being lost in a maze of dark alleyways, wandering endlessly, hunger and thirst eating away at his insides. Just when he expects to collapse next to a stack of pallets in some dead end that stinks like month old garbage, he notices a lonely turkey vulture on a nearby rooftop staring at him with piercing eyes, waiting.

The dream refuses to leave him alone the following day, and gloomy imagery creeps back into his mind as he sits in his car, staring out of the window and across a parking lot at an office building. It’s rainy and chilly, and the windows of the El Camino keep fogging up as he shivers in his seat, fingers wrapped tightly around a takeaway cup of some sickly sweet gingerbread flavored coffee concoction. If nothing else, the sugar and the caffeine should give him energy to keep staring at the building’s only exit. The guy he was hired to follow should be out any moment now, but Seaborne is not a patient man, so he fiddles with the knobs of the car radio, taps along on the lid of his cup after finding a station that doesn’t play Christmas songs and — after realizing the tapping will not keep him entertained for long — fishes out his phone from his pocket. He’s been doing this for years, he can easily keep one eye on the door of the office building and the other on his phone, while he idly slides his thumb across the screen to reveal increasingly inane, mostly holiday-related, updates from distant friends and even more distant family members.

“Where the hell is he?” Seaborne mutters to no one but himself and leans back in his seat. Even after all the years of working in a job with a lot of downtime, he hasn’t learned to tolerate boredom. It still makes him irritable and antsy; like each minute spent with nothing to do pressurizes the anxious energy inside him until he is ready to pop.

After a while of scrolling, he is sure he doesn’t want to see another picture of someone’s child or pet in a cutesy costume or posed in front of a decorated tree in a mockery of domestic bliss. He hasn’t been paying that much attention to the motions of his thumb, so when he looks down again he’s startled to see the profile page of a Jim Roach. After some initial hesitation he browses through the pictures, just to confirm he is in fact still with Gina and they have two kids and a third on the way. There are several collections of photos, of a vacation to Hawaii, of an anniversary party, of their children’s birthdays. Seaborne scours through them frantically, like he’s trying to find something specific, but he doesn’t know what. When he looks up from the device, his is the only car in the parking lot and the office building looks dark and empty.

That night as he sits alone in his hotel room, trying to distract himself from the strange and somewhat disconcerting damp smell lingering in the surrounding air, he googles Roach. For no real reason, just… He’s curious. He finds Roach has started a business selling commercial kitchen equipment, and all signs imply he is doing alright for himself. He lives not too far from where they both grew up and his number is listed. Seaborne saves the number on his phone. Just in case.

When he calls the number the following morning, he hasn’t planned what to say. Indeed, he hadn’t planned to call at all, but he can’t get the number out of his mind. The mere presence of the number in his phone’s memory has been burning a hole through his pocket ever since he left the hotel earlier. It’s still early, he figures. Judging by the opening hours of Roach’s store, he might still reach him by calling his home number. He hits the call icon on his screen, fully aware he has never done a single thing so spontaneously in his entire life. It rings for some time, and he contemplates hanging up.

“Hello?” Gina answers the phone.

Seaborne inhales to say… to say what exactly? His mind is blank, and his jaw is so stiff he fears he couldn’t move it even if he knew what to say.

“Hello?” Gina’s voice is more demanding and Seaborne is sorry for bothering her like this. She’s probably trying to get the kids to school or something. He really shouldn’t have called. Hanging up on her seems more courteous than creepy, given the circumstances. He decides to drive by Roach’s house later instead to satisfy his curiosity about how the man lives these days, maybe see what kind of car he drives, or if he has a pool.

The driveway is empty when he gets there a few hours later, and he can’t see a pool, but Seaborne slows down to get a good look at the swing set in the yard. It’s a nicer model, he knows after shopping for one for his niece’s birthday last year. The house is nice too; it looks welcoming and happy nestled in between others just like it, with their well-maintained gardens marred only by the occasional scattered toy. Roach has come a long way from where he was when the arrival of his firstborn pressured him into accepting a job offer from his father-in-law instead of pursuing a career with his best friend.

The twinge of something dark he felt outside Roach’s house returns to him later at night, when he is back alone in his hotel room. The feeling is hard to name. Jealousy of the pleasant, middle class family life Seaborne never accomplished with his ex-wife, perhaps, or remorse of letting all that between him and his best friend? Sleep evades him as he tosses and turns in his overly soft bed, getting up every once in a while to adjust the temperature, have a glass of water or to urinate. No amount of focusing on his breathing or imagining himself on a tropical beach calms down the heavy pounding of his vexed heart. He doesn’t know what a panic attack feels like, but suspects it might be something like this.

Even three cups of coffee cannot revive him the next day. Exhaustion is like an itch behind his eyes and sitting still in a car with nothing to do aggravates him even more than usual. The insecurity and guilt that had cursed his existence the night before still linger in him, gnawing away at his usual indifference and cynicism. Worst of all, the day has been long but futile, Seaborne has still not got any incriminating evidence against the man he has been following for the better part of a week and he is seriously considering just packing up his things and going back home. What good will it do him, another day or two in this town that only reminds him of his loneliness? As if the holiday season wasn’t bad enough already.

The passenger side door of the El Camino opens, interrupting his thoughts. Seaborne turns to scold the intruder, but the words he had held on his tongue glide to the back of his throat and he swallows them, as the intruder settles down on the seat beside him, arranges his long legs neatly under the dashboard and leans back in the seat like it’s something natural he does every day. For a while they just sit still, air thick with anticipation. Seaborne has no idea what to expect, and the questions spinning in his mind refuse to be arranged to words.

“What’s the gig? Who are we following?” the intruder says. He’s wearing sunglasses instead of the glasses he had on in the grocery store, and he looks a bit like a rock star with his big beard and leather jacket. Or a moron, considering it’s not sunny, but Seaborne lets that slide for now.

“We are not following anyone, dude, what are you doing here?” Seaborne can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about still wearing the same gray tweed coat, now sporting holes in the elbows. It’s still a good coat, though, and he was never one to throw away perfectly usable items of clothing.

“You wouldn’t have driven by my house six times in two days if you weren’t looking for help.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so what are we doing?”

“It’s an infidelity thing… You know, I only drove by your house because the guy’s mom lives near there, at the end of the cul-de-sac. I was looking for him and thought he might be there.”

“Sure. Good to see ya, man.”

“Hmm.”

Seaborne wants to say he missed Roach, working with him, or just sitting with him like this, but it might be too much. They never said things like that before, theirs just wasn’t that kind of a relationship. He suspects Roach is not expecting it either, judging by the way he leans his cheek on the side window, staring intensely at something outside. Probably some squirrels running around in the park across the street.

“So. Still investigating privately after all these years,” Roach says, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Turns out it’s what I’m good at. Or at least somewhat more successful than as a chef.” Seaborne replies. It’s not untrue, he’s made a name for himself and has a steady trickle of cases landing on his table, even if success may be a slight overstatement.

“Questioning the questionable. Missing dogs and eaten flowers, still?”

“Shut up.” A slight twitch in the corner of Seaborne’s mouth reveals he doesn’t mind the gentle jabbing. The years had softened some parts of him at least. He is no longer the tightly wound bundle of aggression and defensiveness he once was. “Still a lot of cheaters though.”

“You know I gotta ask… is the guy at least older than twelve this time?”

“Come on, man!” Seaborne can no longer contain his giggling, and the delighted grin on Roach’s face only spurs him on. “At least acknowledge my lack of mustache first!”

#mythical secret santa 2020 #type: fic #rating: G #gift swap #submission

16 notes · View notes

parchmentedscrolls · 4 years

Text

For My Sake, Not Yours

My piece for the Shuake Big Bang 2020!

Fandom: Persona 5 Characters: Goro Akechi, Akira Kurusu, Sae Niijima Pairings: Goro Akechi/Akira Kurusu Words: 7,512

Read on AO3

!! Please check the tags for potential triggers!

Check out Aleks’s superb art for it here!

Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp.

Goro’s footsteps are too loud in his ears.

Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp.

His shoes clack too hard on the floor.

Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp.

His heels slam too forcefully into the ground.

Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp.

The balls of his feet press too deep into his shoes.

Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp.

His hands are too tired from practicing the motions of the gun.

Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp.

Too much, all at once.

Tmp, tmp, tmp . . .

Everything fades away.

He doesn’t notice Sae until she’s right in front of him. “Akechi-kun?” she asks, startling him into consciousness.

Of course, he doesn’t let his composure fade. He can’t afford to, not with what he’s meant to do.

Momentarily, he’s grateful for his gloves—if it weren’t for the stiff leather, his trigger finger would have twitched.

His jaw is too tight as he forces a smile, hands automatically moving to adjust his tie. “Why do you seem so surprised?”

Sae shakes her head, clearly stunned. “I needed my director to step in to get access, and I was directly responsible for this case. How did you get approval?”

Goro’s movements are jaunty and stiff, but his voice remains calm and even. “For the same reason you did. I am heading up the investigation team, after all.” He quirks an eyebrow, but keeps his head lowered in feigned thought. “It’s only natural that I’d get the right to interrogate our culprit as well, don’t you think?”

“They assigned you command?” Her sheer, unfiltered shock was almost comical, right down to the break in her voice—if it hadn’t been for the situation at hand, maybe he would have laughed.

Then again, Sae Niijima is one of the few people who still has his respect, despite everything. He can’t bring it upon himself to be too cruel to her. “That was a joke, of course,” he replies with forced lightness, finally looking her in the eyes. “I’m merely here to assist with the public security interrogation.” He almost tilts his head to glance around, but he can’t risk allowing his body to shake—not if he’s meant to follow through with complete ease.

He has to do this.

Instead, he continues without faltering: “I am surprised it’s this far underground, though . . .” Careful, probing. “There aren’t any others incarcerated here, yes?” No one will be able to hear what happens at all? Nobody will ever know if things got a little violent . . .

He realizes a moment too late that he said the last sentence aloud. His throat tightens. Hopefully, hopefully, Sae won’t pay too much attention to it. One more slip up and I may well end up getting caught before I can—

“If I remember correctly,” Sae says, thankfully ignoring his (frankly, quite concerning) statement, “didn’t you say there was another culprit besides the Phantom Thieves?”

Goro dusts the front of his jacket. “That was but a lie I spread to set them up,” he says, praying she’ll miss the slight crack in his voice—that, or that she’d attribute it to him still being in his teens.

He needs to get a hold of himself.

Or preferably, distance himself altogether.

He recalls Sae’s Shadow, twisted with envy; how willing she was to put people’s lives on the line for the sake of being able to prosecute someone for the Phantom Thieves’ case, just for the sake of a promotion.

It works—he no longer feels as guilty about his lie. He laughs lightly into his fists. “Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot that I had deceived you too, Sae-san.” He can’t shake the venom from his voice.

Goro decides he doesn’t care. “After all, if you wish to trick your enemies, you must first trick your allies.”

Sae frowns, almost disappointed. “So it was you,” she says quietly.

What . . . ? Goro feels his expression harden, but he doesn’t respond.

“You’re the one who sold out the Phantom Thieves.”

Just how much did Kurusu tell her? Goro was under the impression that he would be the last person to reveal the identities of anyone he’d worked with. He was too loyal, he cared too much about his friends to sell them out.

More importantly, why does Sae sound hurt?

His voice comes out like steel: “Is there a problem?”

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a familiar phone. That’s Kurusu’s. “Akechi-kun,” she says, voice even as she meets his eyes, “does this phone look familiar to you?”

Of course it does. But why are you showing it to me? “Hm? Excuse me?”

The next moment, he feels a sharp pain run through his head, like he’s been shoved underwater for a fraction of a second. Like . . . a distortion, of sorts.

Robin and Loki stir in his mind.

Nice try, Kurusu.

But you can’t fool me that easily. He tilts his head and looks at Sae, all innocent curiosity. “What is this phone?” The Nav app . . . so they knew?

“It belonged to the leader of the Phantom Thieves. I believe you’ll need it for your investigation.”

He shakes his head and forces a smile. He doesn’t like it. He wants to get out of his head again. He’s feeling too many things again. He doesn’t want to touch Kurusu’s phone.

And besides, the logician in him (the only part of his heart that’s truly awake right now, perhaps) murmurs, there’s a chance Futaba Isshiki can have Kurusu’s phone tapped.

“Not personally,” he feels himself saying from far away. “I was acting alongside the Phantom Thieves myself, remember?” It’s echoing in his head and he really needs Sae to be gone and he needs to be gone and if she just leaves he can finally finally finally get back out of his head again—

If he’s shaking, his body tilting forward and back ever so slightly, he doesn’t know, and Sae doesn’t tell him.

“True. This is undoubtedly a great accomplishment,” she says, voice flat. “Good luck in there.” And finally, finally, she leaves, and the second she’s gone, Goro can feel his mind relax, slipping into the comfortable nothingness that accompanies most of the jobs that he orders.

A cursory glance confirms to Goro that he is indeed in a cognitive world; the panels on the wall and the tiles on the floor are more muted, the numbers on the keypads around the doors ever so slightly blurred; the flooring under his feet like air when he steps down on it, like there’s no gravity pulling him down.

The numbness in his fingertips is already spreading across his arms by the time he reaches the door. The guard posted outside it is standing there, almost unmoving. He knows it’s one of Shido’s men.

“May I ask that you accompany me? Going in unarmed to interrogate a murderer makes me uncomfortable . . .” he trails off, every syllable rehearsed to sound innocent and concerned.

The guard just nods as he opens the door and steps inside, and in a practised motion, Goro reaches forward, pulls his gun from his holster, and shoots the guard with it, watching as he collapses beside the table that Kurusu is slumped over, covered in bruises and blood and scratches.

Something inside him pounds at the stone wall Goro’s built around his heart, shaking the all-encompassing numbness he’s been feeling since Sae’s Shadow fell.

You knew they would do this.

Not to this extent.

Liar. You know what the police are like.

And even though Goro knows it’s only a cognitive being, with no autonomous thoughts and superimposed emotions, a sharp pain cuts through the numbness where he bites his lip. You planned this, stop being ridiculous.

Shido planned this.

You are Shido’s lackey, you are his henchman, you are his gun, you are his knife, his armour, his son. You are him.

Do I have to be?

A searing pain manages to break through the wall, and it finally crumbles. Goro’s carefully mimicked smile of confidence drops to reveal a bitter, mournful scowl.

He’ll know if you don’t kill him. He’ll be able to tell.

Goro doesn’t know if it’s truth or paranoia, but he grits his teeth, raises the gun once more, and shoots the false Kurusu in the head. Blood seeps down slowly, trickling between his eyes over the left side of his face.

It’s only when Goro tastes copper in his mouth that he realises that he’s biting his lip.

Can’t say I didn’t kill him now.

He exhales shakily, stuffing the gun into the cold, stiff hand of Sae’s cognition of Kurusu, even as he dematerialises in his hands. Goro can’t help but feel that something about watching Kurusu’s helpless form disintegrate at his touch is sickeningly symbolic.

You’re doing it for Shido?

What choice do I have?

More than you might think.

Goro stops. If Kurusu did have a plan to get out of here alive, and it involved Goro killing a cognitive copy of him, there has to be some way that he planned on escaping.

And, from what Sae’s just told him, it involves convincing her.

Which means he won’t need to kill Kurusu after all.

You don’t have to do everything Shido says. When you tell him the deed is done, just recall how easy it was to down the cognitive copy—

I don’t have to do everything for him.

I’m tired of being a puppet.

He makes up his mind, his heart set with new resolve, and takes out his phone, finding the Nav app on and activated. If I had taken my phone out, for any reason whatsoever, their entire plan would’ve failed. Besides, did they really think I wouldn’t notice that I was stepping into the Metaverse? Are the Phantom Thieves that stupid, or just that willing to put their leader’s life in danger?

He casts one more glance at the empty interrogation room, and deactivates the MetaNav, watching as Sae’s mild cognitive distortion falls away to show the actual Kurusu, sitting at the interrogation room table, smirking as though he doesn’t realise that the reason Goro Akechi is standing right in front of him is to kill him with no remorse.

He’s lucky I won’t.

He’d be dead otherwise.

He may not have the guard’s gun this time, but his own is within the inside of his blazer, next to the silencer, carefully tucked away.

He sneers at Kurusu. “You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Kurusu, beaten and bloody as he is, manages to keep the smile up, but his face twitches a little from the pain. “We were hoping.”

His composure irritates Goro more than anything else. “And now that I’ve gotten to the real you, what do you plan on doing?”

Kurusu tilts his head, the insufferable, ever confident leader he is. “Convince you to not shoot me in the head?” he asks, as cocky as ever, lifting his left arm to make a finger gun and point it at Goro. Goro doesn’t miss the exhausted tremble in his arm. “You haven’t gotten to me yet.”

“I could flick you in the forehead and you would be out cold. I could take all the time I like, could enjoy watching your head splatter across the table, and you would be defenseless throughout it.”

“But— you aren’t,” Kurusu chuckles weakly, even though his eyelids are already drooping.

Shido’s face flashes in Goro’s mind, smug and accomplished. “Just consider yourself lucky that I’m not giving him the victory of getting rid of you.” I’m doing this for my sake, not yours.

Kurusu’s expression briefly switches to confusion as Goro takes off his blazer, steps around the table, and places it over Kurusu’s shoulders, his touch deft and gentle enough to ensure he doesn’t agitate any potential places for injury.

“Akechi—”

“Quiet.” Goro’s voice is cold and flat, leaving no room for argument as he hoists Kurusu up onto his shoulders, looping one of his arms around him, while Kurusu’s other hand grips at the edges of Akechi’s blazer, holding it tightly shut in front of his chest.

“I’m assuming any cameras here have been disabled if you were planning to get out. That, or Oracle has their feeds hacked.”

Kurusu nods weakly, not specifying which one was correct. Instead, he just drops his head against Goro, his face pressing into Goro’s neck.

Under any other circumstances, Goro might have appreciated the display of vulnerability and the subconscious trust.

He has half a mind to tell Kurusu to play dead—with his hands occupied supporting him, he won’t be able to get them out of the room and provide a suitable explanation as to why he’s taking him outside alive.

“How did you plan on getting out of here?” he asks Kurusu, not wanting to waste time speculating while the other boy looks like he’s halfway off to a drugged dreamland.

“Sae . . . gonna come back. ’Taba’s . . . tellin’ her evrrthinn . . .”

“Right,” Goro says, shifting his position so Kurusu can lean on him without straining his already injured neck further. Instead, Kurusu just buries his face deeper into Goro’s neck, hiding under a curtain of his hair.

Briefly relieved that he isn’t ticklish, Goro shifts a little, giving him some leeway to open the door. He figures he can, of course, shoot the guard like he had done with the cognitive one, but it’ll likely be too much of a mess to deal with, especially if Sae is to come back here like Kurusu says she is.

And if he wants to make things work; wants to get through this with minimal impediments, the only reasonable course of action is to make it seem as though he had no real intention of killing Kurusu all along, that it was all a ruse to fool Shido while conveniently taking a small inconvenience out of commission.

“Kurusu,” he says, “my phone is in the left pocket. Take it out and activate the Nav, to Sae-san’s Palace.”

Kurusu nods, shakily pulls it out—it isn’t locked, much to the Goro’s relief—and opens the MetaNav, mumbling the keywords to Sae’s Palace in it.

The same sharp flash and following numbness ripple once again, and the interrogation room warps briefly before settling. The cognitive guard and Kurusu had both already dematerialised.

Goro wonders, briefly, why the cognitive Kurusu had bled. In every Palace he’d been to, cognitives dematerialised the moment they were ‘killed’. Perhaps Sae-san’s cognition is a touch more realistic than most of the other people whose hearts he’s been into?

All aside, it’s for the best that both cognitives are gone now. Kurusu’s state right now is fragile enough as it is.

Goro’s pleased to note that the door to the interrogation room itself is still wide open. “Come on, Kurusu. One step at a time.” He notes with acute awareness that while he’s no longer softening his tone, it isn’t devoid of concern.

Eventually, the two manage to make their way to the elevator. Sae-san will probably intercept us before we leave the station . . . then getting Kurusu back to Leblanc is in her hands, he thinks, watching Kurusu slowly disentangle himself and prop himself up against a wall. In the meantime . . .

He pulls out his phone, dialing a number he knew like the back of his hand. “Shido-san,” he says, looking Kurusu directly in the eyes, “my job is complete.”

Kurusu’s eyes widen, and Goro can see him trying to figure out exactly what’s going on, noting the name of the aggravator. Goro puts the phone on speakerphone, unable to fight the smug grin that forms as he thinks of just how weak Masayoshi Shido really is. It’s so easy to put him on speaker in front of the Phantom Thieves’ leader that it’s comical.

And besides, there’s one more thing he needs to confirm.

“I’ve told you not to call me by name,” Shido hisses, but Goro isn’t paying attention.

Instead, he’s looking at Kurusu, whose body has gone completely stiff. Any sense of exhaustion is gone, and Kurusu appears to be completely alert. I was right. Kurusu definitely recognises Shido. His voice, at the very least.

“Regardless,” Shido says, regaining his composure, “all that’s left is to deal with the remnants.”

Kurusu frowns, clearly suspicious, but from the look in his eyes, Goro can tell that his head is clouding again.

Goro sighs. “The continued deaths of these teenagers would be a bit much, don’t you think?” And would be highly suspicious as well. His paranoia may have been what’s kept him in high regard until now, but it’s astounding that it hasn’t bitten him back yet.

Still, though, pandering to him is necessary for now . . . “I considered making it appear they had a falling out . . . but that would only amplify public frenzy.” A pause. “They’re still mere teenagers. They’ll barely even be noticed by the public, Phantom Thieves or not.”

“Is there any possibility they’ll want to avenge their leader?”

“No chance,” Goro says airily. “They’re nothing but cattle anyway; they have no backbone without his guidance.”

Shido asks him a few more questions, all of which receive glib and pointed responses. At one point, Shido insists that Goro should take care of Morgana as well, to which Goro explains that killing a cat of all things would be ridiculous, as though he’s talking to a petulant child.

He feels so powerful, so in control of Shido that it’s positively exhilarating. That it’s so easy to expose such a powerful and atrocious man to Kurusu, who, despite everything, is staring at Goro with a ghost of a smile.

An excuse or two later, followed by a short update on the SIU director’s inevitable fate, Goro ends the call. The moment the rush of power fades, he’s filled with the familiar disgust and nausea he always feels whenever he talks to Shido.

“What was that?” Kurusu asks, clearly bewildered, but before Goro can even open his mouth to respond, the elevator doors open.

Kurusu doesn’t press for an answer. Instead, he tries to stand up on his own, and stumbles into the elevator.

“Kurusu, you’ll injure yourself further.” Goro’s voice is firm as he shuffles closer to Kurusu, offering his shoulder and back as a means for him to rest.

Kurusu’s mind is addled enough that he doesn’t hesitate, wobbling slightly as he steps toward Goro and almost collapses into him. “Mmm.”

A small moment of repositioning later, Kurusu is completely leaning on Goro, his head is once again buried in the crook of Goro’s neck—something that would have earned him a light smack upside the head if it weren’t for the situation. Instead, Goro’s gloved hand finds its way to cup the nape of his neck, before his fingers thread gently through Kurusu’s hair.

The tenderness of the skin beneath his glove, coupled with the way Kurusu flinches into Goro’s neck is enough to determine that there must have been plenty of head trauma involved with the officers. Disgusting scum. Goro makes a brief note to find out the names of the officers.

It’s not like he doesn’t know how to change hearts now.

It’s at this moment that the elevator doors open, revealing Sae Niijima standing impatiently outside it.

Goro finds her gape and sheer disbelief almost worth it—he’s sure it’s a sight as it is: the half-broken, barely conscious leader of the Phantom Thieves clutching the Detective Prince’s blazer around him as he nuzzles into his neck and hair.

It must be all the more of a shock to Sae herself, who’s come back in this direction with the expectation that Goro’s there to kill Kurusu, only to find their arms latched around each other.

“Huh—but—Alibaba said—” She shakes her head, and Goro files away that name for later use. Alibaba is Futaba-chan, huh? “What on Earth are you doing, Akechi-kun?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

Goro doesn’t bother trying to put on the usual act. “Frankly, I'm rather disappointed that you would have such little faith in me, Sae-san.” His eyes harden. “However, the longer we wait here, the less chance Kurusu has of leaving alive.”

Sae, to her credit, seems wary of Goro’s sudden change in both attitude and tone, but she nods. “Alright,” she says, and gently lays a hand on Kurusu’s shoulder.

He shudders at the touch, gripping Goro’s shoulder tighter and hiding his face completely in Goro’s hair. “Kurusu,” Goro says softly, threading his fingers lightly across the younger boy’s scalp, “Sae-san’s here to help.”

Goro feels Kurusu’s eyelashes flutter briefly against his throat before he relents, shifting his weight so that Sae can support his other arm. Before Goro knows it, the three of them are outside, Sae helping Kurusu into the backseat of a car.

Feeling more self conscious now that the imminent danger is gone, Goro hesitated, using his ‘nice voice’ again. “I’ll . . . be taking my leave now.”

“Oh no you won’t,” Sae says, a firm hand falling on his shoulder, steering him into the car beside Kurusu. “You, Akechi-kun, owe me a complete explanation.”

He can feel himself deflate. “Just as I expected of you, Sae-san.”

Sae doesn’t smile. Goro doesn’t blame her, either.

Looking at Kurusu, Goro’s sure he’s on the verge of falling asleep, and when his head tilts to fall onto Goro’s shoulder, he doesn’t object.

He directs his attention to Sae instead, who’s seated herself in the driver’s seat. “Will the Phantom Thieves of Hearts be there when we arrive?” He fidgets with his gloves for a moment, then decides to take them off altogether.

“I’m not sure,” Sae just says, eyes on the road. “But you owe all of those kids an explanation as well.”

“So I take it you’re aware of their identities?”

“I have my suspicions, but Kurusu-kun neither confirmed nor denied them.”

“Is that so?”

Goro sees Sae’s lips purse in the mirror. “From what I’ve gathered, Akechi-kun,” she says, taking a sharp left, “you’re the one perpetrating the psychotic breakdown incidents, and possibly even the mental shutdown ones, too.”

For once, Goro doesn’t know how to respond.

“So it’s true . . .” she sighs, then meets his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Knowing you, though, there’s more to this than you’re telling me, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” Goro doesn’t elaborate.

Kurusu turns a little, angling his head on Goro’s shoulder so he can look him in the eye. “You said . . . sum’n called . . . Shido?”

Sae is alert immediately. “Shido as in . . . ?”

Goro sighs. “Yes, Masayoshi Shido, the current minister of financial affairs and founder of the United Future Party, and a candidate for Japan’s next prime minister.”

A pause, before he continues: “Also, the one who orchestrates and takes requests for the psychotic breakdown incidents, in exchange for political and financial support, using the Metaverse as per the cognitive psience research he had Wakaba Isshiki undertake several years ago.”

“Those are connected to him as well?”

“He stole the research from a university graduate and had Isshiki work on them herself, and was even able to supply to her the finances and privacy she needed to conduct her experiments. He was even able to silence any concerns regarding the ethical aspects.”

“Ethical aspects . . . ?” Sae echoes, clearly confused.

“But . . .” Kurusu coughs. “But the psychotic breakdowns . . . how did you . . . ? None’v us can . . .”

“Of course you couldn’t figure it out,” Goro says, taking care to lower Kurusu’s head back onto his shoulder. “That’s an ability unique to my Persona.”

“But . . . Rob’n Hood . . .”

“I’ll explain it later. You’re in no state to retain any information like this.”

Kurusu nods, and falls asleep on Goro’s shoulder almost immediately.

“It’s impressive that he’s comfortable enough to sleep . . .” Sae murmurs, the rest of her sentence going unspoken: Considering he believed you were going to kill him for almost a month.

“For what it’s worth, Sae-san,” Goro says, steeling himself so the lie slips from his mouth like smooth honey, “I never intended on actually killing Kurusu. The Phantom Thieves seem to make a habit of acting without having all the information they need.”

He pauses, before continuing, “Well, then again, there would have been no way for them to know my true intentions, but it’s rather irritating to be judged for your actions by someone unaware of what’s going on.”

Sae, at the very least, seems to believe him. “The fact that he’s here in the car is enough for me to believe that there’s some truth to what you’re saying, I suppose,” she says carefully, “if you were lying, he wouldn��t be alive now. But that doesn’t explain what’s been going on with you, Akechi-kun. Were you the one who killed Wakaba Isshiki and Kunikazu Okumura?”

“Yes, I was,” he says plainly. There’s neither any reason nor point to refuting it.

Sae looks disappointed. “I see.”

“Now that you know this, what are you going to do about it?” Goro asks curtly, not bothering to waste time building up to the question. It’s something of a relief to be able to finally drop the pretenses in front of Sae.

“Nothing as of yet. I presume that the Phantom Thieves will be more adept with the questions they’d like to ask you. And if Shido is behind this as you say he is, your testimony will be vital in having him behind bars.”

Goro blinks a few times. “You’re— you’re not going to arrest me?”

A shadow of a smile crosses Sae’s face for the first time. “Not until you and I have a long talk about what exactly compelled you to get involved with this in the first place.”

“Al . . . alright,” Goro says, not having expected her to take it so well. After a moment’s pause, he bites his lip, then asks, “Sae-san?”

“Yes?”

“Could we stop by my apartment on the way? There are a few things there that could prove vital to yours and the Thieves’ investigations.”

After a moment of debating it with herself, Sae agrees, on the condition that he stays within her sight at all times. Unnecessary given the circumstances, but she does have good reason to be suspicious. He can’t really blame her.

When the car stops outside an apartment complex in Kichijoji, Kurusu finally stirs, blinking slowly. “’Course you live in Kichijoji,” he says, seemingly able to string words together properly, at least.

“Go back to sleep, Joker,” Goro just says. “Sae-san and I just need to pick up a few documents.”

Something shifts within Kurusu’s eyes. “Wanna come too.”

“Kurusu, you’re injured and exhausted. You really should wait in the car until—”

“Come on, Goro,” he mumbles, clutching onto Goro’s arm. “Let me see your house.” Kurusu looks like he’s attempting to bat his eyelashes flirtatiously, but scrunches his eyes too hard for it to work.

Goro raises an eyebrow at him, and Kurusu’s head falls. “Don’t wanna be alone yet,” he admits quietly, and something—guilt, perhaps?—bubbles in Goro’s gut, popping with an ugly heaviness.

Which is ridiculous, because he shouldn’t be feeling guilty at all. Kurusu is alive, Shido is none the wiser, and Sae isn’t completely shunning him.

His fingers trace the lines of Kurusu’s face gently, thumbing a bruise over his cheekbone. Kurusu shudders, but leans into Goro’s touch, trapping his hand between his face and neck. “Please,” Kurusu whispers, and shifts Goro’s hand slightly, and—

Oh.

With the lightness of a feather, Kurusu’s lips place a small kiss on the heel of Goro’s palm.

And somewhere, in a part of his heart he thought he’d buried under layers and layers of time and determination and numbness—

He inhales sharply.

—stars explode.

For a few moments, it feels almost like time stops, with Goro’s hand clasped tightly in Kurusu’s, his fingers pressed in the crook of Kurusu’s neck and his palm warmed by the soft heat of Kurusu’s lips.

“Please?” Kurusu finally angles his gaze up to meet Goro’s, and his resolve crumbles.

“Not to interrupt the two of you, but we’re running low on time and Kurusu-kun will need to rest as soon as possible,” Sae cuts in, already waiting outside the apartment complex.

“Fine,” Goro grits out, lifting Kurusu into a bridal carry, solely for the sake of convenience, because if he knows one thing about Akira Kurusu, it’s that he’s just too damn stubborn to back down. At the very least, like this, he can keep Kurusu from doing anything too stupid.

He tries to ignore the heat that flares in his face when Kurusu’s eyes light up and he wraps his arms around Goro. Aren’t you being too careless? You should know that I had every intention of killing you up until less than an hour ago, so why are you so . . . so trusting?

Then again, it’s not like Goro can exactly get away with it in broad daylight, right in front of Sae.

As though he’s read Goro’s mind through his expression alone, Kurusu mumbles, “F’you were gonna kill me, you’d have done it earlier,” and promptly falls asleep with his head resting on Goro’s chest.

Goro hates him so much. He hates how easily Kurusu can read him, he hates how well Kurusu can handle every little change, and he absolutely despises how tightly Kurusu has him wrapped around his little finger.

But most of all, he hates that he can never bring himself to really hate Kurusu, because everything would be so, so, so much easier if he did.

Sae clears her throat, prompting Goro to collect himself. He very carefully ignores her pointed glance and raised eyebrows as he leads her to the elevator. Luckily, Sae doesn’t press him.

Unluckily, his landlady does. “Ah— Ake-chan!”

He barely withholds a grimace. “Mikoshiba-san.”

Her eyes brighten. “Why, and I see you’ve brought your . . . boyfriend? Not to worry, child, I won’t tell anyone. And who might you be?” she asks, turning her attention to Sae.

“Mikoshiba-san, I think there’s a misunderstanding here. My friend here is injured, so my coworker and I wanted to bring him here to be safe.”

Kurusu picks exactly this moment to nuzzle closer to Goro in his sleep.

Goro briefly imagines dropping Kurusu’s overly affectionate self to the ground as unceremoniously as possible.

Mikoshiba tries to pat his head, which he manages to swiftly dodge. “It’s alright, dearie, I’m not judging you. My son also . . . ah.” She seems to reroute her thoughts as she realises that perhaps outing her son to the celebrity that lives in the building may not, in fact, be the best idea.

Goro is going to need a long break after this.

Thankfully, Sae manages to occupy Mikoshiba with a completely different conversation as she follows them into the elevator, and up to the twelfth floor. Mikoshiba, thankfully, takes that moment to help unlock the door, and Goro immediately makes for his room so that he can finally put Kurusu down on his bed.

Kurusu snuggles into the sheets (which, Goro realises belatedly, he’s meant to wash tomorrow, but whatever) the moment his head hits the mattress. “Goroooooo,” he mumbles sleepily, clutching the pillow, “conmfy . . .”

Goro promptly decides to ignore him. Instead, he turns to his cupboard, opens his socks drawer, and removes the false bottom from it.

This, at least, draws Sae out of her conversation with the landlady about Goro’s abysmal sleeping habits.

“A false bottom?” she asks, having walked over.

“An obviously placed one, too,” Mikoshiba comments from the doorway. “Isn’t a socks drawer always where the false bottom is in mystery novels?”

“That’s because socks can take up an amount of space that can disguise the actual depth of the drawer,” Goro says, glossing over it. “But the whole point for this is that it’s meant to be obvious.” Not bothering to go too deep into his explanation, he glances over his shoulder. “Mikoshiba-san, with all due respect and my sincerest apologies, we must ask you to leave. This does contain confidential police information.”

“Of course, dearie,” she says, turning around immediately. “I saw nothing at all, no matter who asks.”

“Thank you,” Goro just says, waiting until he hears the sound of the door closing.

“What do you plan on doing if she does tell someone?” Sae asks, her tone somewhere between patronising and wary.

“I wouldn’t need to. By then, this”—he pulls out the drawer completely, placing it on the side table—“will already be gone.”

Sae reaches into the drawer, pulling out a single notebook; one that could be bought at any convenience store. “This?”

Goro doesn’t look at it, instead focusing his attention to the thick slab of wood he’d just removed from the base of the drawer. “You can go through that if you want, Sae-san, but it’s only a dummy.”

Nonetheless, Sae shifts through the pages, frown increasing. She’s about halfway through the book when she closes it. “Why would you even keep this, Akechi-kun? And what do you mean, ‘it’s a dummy’?”

“That’s supposed to be an easy find for if Shido ever has his lackeys ransack my house.” He reserved one page for each of the targets Shido’s ever assigned to him, containing their name, who ordered the hit, what happened to their Shadow, how they were affected in reality, and the consequences they faced. “Aside from what happens in the Metaverse, it only contains things he knows.”

“I see,” Sae says primly. “So then, what is it you really wanted to bring?”

Goro lifts up the wooden slab, places it onto his lap vertically, and tugs at the top edge, which slides off with a click.

“A box?”

Goro doesn’t respond. Instead, he carefully pulls out a string tie folder from it, along with a clear file and another sheet of paper.

Sae picks up the clear file first, and Goro’s breath involuntarily hitches. He doesn’t look at her, instead wandering back to his bed where Kurusu is fast asleep, buried deep within the covers.

He remembers how he’d been asleep for two days straight the first time he’d slept on that bed. After a lifetime of sleeping on floors or thin futons or blankets, sleeping on a proper bed had felt like heaven. For Kurusu, who’s spent the entirety of his probation in Tokyo sleeping on a mattress over fruit crates, it must be a small paradise, being able to sleep on a proper bed.

After a moment’s hesitation, he sits down next to Kurusu on the bed, and slowly reaches for Kurusu’s free hand.

“Mmm,” is all the response he gets as Kurusu’s grip on Goro’s hand tightens, but Kurusu’s eyes slowly open, bleary and tired.

Akira Kurusu smiles at Goro, and as the final nail in the coffin, tugs him closer with all the forcefulness of a spring breeze.

Something inside his chest—your heart, you fool—shudders.

For the smallest of moments, Goro considers lying down next to Kurusu, letting himself take advantage of the open trust and comfort; considers curling up next to him and letting himself fall asleep; considers opening his heart to Kurusu and being as vulnerable to him as Kurusu is to Goro right now.

Using his last name feels like an uncomfortable insult to Ku—to Akira’s trust.

Quietly, in full seriousness, Akira asks, “Can I call you Goro?”

“You’ve already been doing that,” Goro just says.

“I mean, normally.”

When was the last time he was called Goro willingly by someone he knew? He can’t even remember if he’s been referred to by his given name since his mother died.

Against his better judgment—or perhaps, because of his better judgment?—he says, “. . . Alright.”

He doesn’t miss the way Akira’s entire body relaxes further, and Goro feels the inexplicable urge to twine his hand in Akira’s, to let their fingers lace together—

“He’s your father?” Sae’s quiet, horrified whisper ends the moment, drawing both boys back to reality.

“Who’s whose father?” Akira asks, completely lost.

Goro can feel goosebumps forming across his skin. “Did you read everything?”

“I haven’t gone through the finer details, but I have the gist of it. Do you know if he still has Isshiki’s research?” Sae asks, brows furrowed.

“What’s going on?” Akira demands.

Goro has half a mind to tell him to go back to sleep, but knowing Akira, it won’t happen now that he’s even slightly rested.

“On the way here, I mentioned Masayoshi Shido, the one who organises, takes the requests for, and orchestrates the psychotic breakdowns and the mental shutdowns that I carry out in the Metaverse.” Goro’s voice is businesslike, detached.

“He’s behind numerous political and corporate scandals, thanks to the aid he’s received both in the Metaverse and out of it. In exchange for both public and financial support, he takes requests for the psychotic breakdowns from his co-conspirators.”

“And you . . .”

“Yes, I’m the one that does it. I don’t want to have to explain this too many times, so if the others are going to want to know exactly how, I’ll explain it then.”

Akira nods. “That’s . . . probably better.”

“In that case, I’ll go into the details about Shido’s actions then as well.”

“So . . . you’re doing this for him because he’s your father?” Sae frowns. “In that case, why do you live alone, Akechi-kun? And why become a detective? How come I’ve never seen him? Why are your surnames—”

“Sae-san.”

Sae falls quiet, but her expression is still troubled.

Quietly, Akira says, “I thought you said your father was out of the picture.” A pause, before he meets Goro’s eyes and rests his hand—covered in purple and red bruises—on Goro’s. “I understand if you don’t want to tell the others, but . . . can you at least tell me who you are, Goro Akechi?”

He tells them about his mother, who’d been courted by Shido, then dropped like a hot brick the moment he found out she was pregnant with Goro. How he’d ruined her life just by existing.

He tells them about the foster homes, the orphanages; about how you needed to fight just to make it through to the next day. About finding the MetaNav and subsequently awakening to Robin Hood, then promptly being found by Wakaba Isshiki, who had a connection to Shido.

About how Isshiki was the one who found out about Goro’s biological connection to Shido, the one who used him as her way of breaking through to the Metaverse, the one who made him awaken to Loki before he was ready, the one who first had him try to use Loki’s special ability, Call of Chaos, to make Shadows go berserk.

Then, about approaching Shido on his own and offering his aid to him, all in the hopes of building him up, and how when he was so sure Shido was at his peak, he’d pull the rug out from under him, make all this information public, and as the cherry on the cake, reveal that Goro Akechi, the son he would never have acknowledged, was the one who did it all, from start to finish.

When he finishes, Akira and Sae both seem to have been left speechless. There’s a distinct look in both of their eyes that Goro has only ever known as—

“I don’t need your pity,” he says, spitting the word out like venom. “I’ve made it this far, and unless you intend on arresting me here and now, I don’t plan on backing out of this.” Goro’s fists are clenched before he’s even realised it.

He hates pity. All it is and has ever been is a method of self-justification for the fortunate, so they can keep themselves content by feeling bad for those worse off, complacent in their sympathy without ever needing to do anything to change it.

“This isn’t pity, Akechi-kun,” Sae says quietly, aligning the contents of the folder before putting them aside and leaning forward.

At the same time, Kurusu shuffles closer, and begins to unclench Goro’s fists, one finger at a time.

“Aki—?”

Akira still doesn’t look up, but when he’s done, he lifts Goro’s hand up slowly, and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Let’s destroy this rotten system for good,” he says, then looks Goro in the eye. Akira’s eyes aren’t filled with pity or sympathy, but a raging storm of fury and determination. “And we’ll take down Masayoshi Shido with it.”

Something fiery and unwavering rushes through Goro, and his hands grasp tighter on Akira’s. “Do you plan on changing his heart?”

“We were planning on changing the heart of the person we figured you worked under regardless, but after hearing this, he deserves it,” Akira says, entirely serious about it. “And from what I can tell, you want him to suffer the consequences of his actions just as much.”

He does want Shido to suffer. He wants him to suffer for the woman whom he’d abandoned, for the innocents whose lives he’s treated as stepping stones to his success.

“Of course.”

There’s a few beats of silence, after which Sae speaks up. “Akechi-kun,” she says quietly.

The dam bursts.

Goro looks up at her, to see her hand descending onto his head. Sae smiles with all the warmth of a mother as she ruffles his hair lightly. “You’re a strong kid; I’ve known that for a while. It’s probably wrong for me to say this, as a prosecutor, but I’m proud of you. Not of your actions, obviously, but of you.”

Goro can feel his eyes burning. “I . . .”

Proud of him.

“When you make Shido confess his crimes, I’ll be there to finish up with the prosecution and arrest. And if it comes to it, Akechi-kun, I’ll do my best to lighten any sentences that come to you as much as possible.”

Any words Goro had prepared don’t leave his throat. Instead, he shudders a little, and Kurusu comes closer, proceeding to wrap his arms around Goro in an embrace.

“Do you want me to go call Makoto and the others now? I’ll take a while for them to reach, so you’ll have some time for yourselves.” Sae asks. “Or would you rather we go to the cafe?”

“Could we stay here for a bit longer?” Akira asks quietly.

Goro tries to collect himself. “You can call the others here, Sae-san. Akira needs a comfortable place to rest, and that’s not possible at Leblanc. Plus, if he intends to continue faking his death, it would be ideal if he wasn’t going in and out of his living place.”

Sae nods, then pauses. “Why is it not possible for him to rest there?”

“It’s fi—” Akira starts, but Goro cuts him off.

“His bed in Leblanc is a thin mattress over fruit crates. He’s sustained multiple violent injuries from the interrogation, and his attic’s environment is not conducive to his recovery.”

Sae nods again slowly, and leaves the bedroom, already on the line with her sister.

Akira sighs, flopping back onto Goro’s bed. “Shido was the one who had me put on probation,” he says, staring at the ceiling.

Goro turns to look at him again. “Your record is for assault, right?”

Akira nods. “I barely did anything. He was trying to force a woman into his car, and I tried to pull him away. I’m pretty sure he was drunk; he lost his balance and fell onto the pavement and hit his head. I didn’t really do anything, but then the police came, and they obviously believed his word over mine. He got that lady to lie about the situation, too.” A pause. “I wish I’d punched him, looking back.”

Goro thinks back, recalling Shido summoning him in a foul mood, with a large bandage over his forehead near the end of March. He distinctly remembers finding the sight obscenely amusing. “That was you?”

“That shiny bald head could do with another crack in it,” Akira grumbles quietly, and Goro can’t help but laugh. It’s so surreal—the person Shido had intended him to kill was here, lying down next to Goro on his bed, talking about how much of an ass Shido is.

“It could,” he agrees.

Akira looks at Goro again, something playful in his eyes, and he tugs Goro down towards him, leaving Goro lying down beside him. “I’m glad you didn’t kill me,” he says gently.

Goro pauses. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for my sake.”

“That makes me even more glad, then. It means you didn’t want to listen to Shido any longer. That you chose to defy him of your own free will.” Akira takes Goro’s hand again, interlacing their fingers together.

“I know that,” Goro just says.

“Good,” Akira mumbles, and before he can say anything else, his eyes close into an easy sleep.

He must’ve spent all his energy staying awake this long, but at the very least, Goro can tell that Akira is miles more comfortable and relaxed than before.

Before he can think twice about it, Goro kisses Akira’s forehead, then allows himself to drift off beside him. I’m doing this for me. I’m choosing this. I have my own freedom. It’s for my sake, not yours.

It feels good to finally have a say in making his own fate.

Hope you enjoyed! You can find my AO3 and Twitter here!

Feel free to join the Discord server as well if you want to see more of my writing (with previews~)!

Again, the absolutely amazing art is Aleks’s, whose Twitter is here!

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timebird84 · 4 years

Text

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘19 🎄

The Christmas Rose

by @a-partofthenarrative

"Papa!

The small, shrill voice startled him out of his focus and Erik lay aside his quill with a defeated sigh. “In here, ange.” A curly brown head and two sparkling eyes appeared in the doorway of the music room and the Opera Ghost suppressed a smile. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, Ariane?”

Those eyes blinked up at him as she drew closer, chewing thoughtfully on a lower lip. “Maman said I could have a bedtime story first.”

“Ah, did she now?” Erik straightened the pages of sheet music on the piano before leaning down so he met this new gaze at eye-level. “And does Maman plan to deliver on this particular request?”

A fierce shake of her head sent brown curls flying. “She said you would tell me one because your’re more dramatic.”

“Is that so?” he replied with a touch of wry humor. When he received another affirming nod, he could not stop the affectionate chuckle that fell from his lips. “Well, then I suppose I don't have any choice in the matter, now do I?”

HIs daughter only shrugged, studied him for a moment and then flounced from the room. Erik watched her go, then rose from the bench, ignoring the protesting creak and snap of his bones. He spotted his target as she rounded the corner into her own bedroom and followed suit, entering the small space as she hoisted herself onto the bed.

She met his gaze with a grin as he took a seat beside her, toeing off his shoes before stretching long legs out before him and his heart threatened to burst as it did every time she snuggled trustingly into his side. “Comfortable, ma belle?” When she nodded, he settled himself against her enormous stack of pillows- a habit encouraged by her mother, no doubt - and asked, “Very well then. Which type of story will suit your flight of fancy tonight?

Ariane looked thoughtful for a moment. "A romantic story." she said dreamily

Behind the mask, Erik arched a brow. "A romance?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes Papa! A romantic story!"

His knowledge of those stories appropriate for a five year old was severely limited. "Alright. What would you like me to tell you? Cinderella, perhaps? Or would you prefer to hear Sleeping Beauty once more." HIs mind raced as he attempted to take inventory of other stories he had told her in the past.

Ariane shook her small head vigorously, ace scrunched in distaste. "Not those stories. A romantic Christmas story!"

"A Christmas romance on Christmas Eve. How unoriginal." Erik grumbled, but nonetheless pondered her request for a moment before a sly smile spread across his features. "Ah, but then I think I know just the story."

Ariane’s smile was brilliant. "What is the story about, Papa?" she asked as she yawned, but quickly covered it with her hand, hoping her father wouldn't see it. “Is there a princess?”

He had, but pretended not to notice. "No princesses, Aria. But there is an Angel," he began. "Now, this is a story passed on to me by a very reliable source. I say that because in all of my life, I have found very few of them. Therefore they few that I do meet, I trust with my very life. They have told me that this is a true story, full of magic and surprise, much like the fairy tales you love so much.” Pausing for dramatic (ha!) effect (Far be it from him to disappoint the girl, after all), he finished with a theatrical wave of his hand. “The story of The Christmas Rose"

"Tell it to me!." She gazed up at him with rapt attention in those deep amber eyes, so much another pair he adored.

He chuckled. "I am about to, my love." Mollified for the moment, Ariane relaxed against him as he closed his eyes. "Let me see now. How do most of your stories begin? Oh, yes. 'Once upon a time…'"

….......................

Once upon a time there lived a Man. This was no ordinary man, mind you. No, this man was an outcast upon the people. Abandoned at an early age, he had been forced to fend for himself, stealing when necessary for the sole need of survival. As he grew, he had been many places and seen many things, yet longed for the one thing that would make his life whole. The only thing he ever wanted or cared for in his life. He wanted to love and be loved in returned.

Hardly a request to yearn over, you say. Surely it was fulfilled with no remorse, you think. You are wrong. No one, not even the Man's own mother had ever shown him one shred of affection. Because of this, the many marvelous things he saw and experienced held nothing for him, for he had no one in which to share their beauty.

Therefore, the Man became a recluse. He made his home where no soul would ever dare to look. He went without human contact for many years, relying on one person alone to maintain his knowledge of the outside world. In many ways, she became his mother and only friend and although he would never admit it to a living soul, he came to trust her implicitly."

……………..

"Pa-pa?"

A new voice caused both sets of eyes to fly open as a third member of the party toddled into the bedroom, pausing by the bed to pierce each of them with her best attempt at Erik’s menacing glare. “I wanna story too!”.

Ariane huffed while her father simply chuckled. “My humblest apologies, Sabine, ma fleur. How very foolish of me to begin without you.”

“Maybe I want to be a flower too.” Ariane huffed from his left side.

“Ah, but you are both the most exquisite of blossoms,” Erik soothed, lifting his younger daughter to join them. “And as there is plenty of room in the garden for a multitude of blossoms, there is also room for both of you at my side.”

Ariane blinked up at him as Sabine settled herself happily between Eriks knees. “She’s in your lap, Papa,” she deadpanned.

“All the same, my darlings,” he replied. “Now, as I was saying…”

……………………………..

Years went by. Many things changed, yet the Man's life remained exactly as before. Until one day, that is.

One day, something happened that would change his life forever, both for the good and the bad; Something that he would never forget.

The Man fell in love.

How could that possibly be bad, you ask? I will tell you. The Man did not fall in love with just anyone. He fell in love with an Angel with a heavenly voice. The Man trained her voice, becoming her teacher and eventually her friend. Their relationship continued for some time, the Angel never knowing the depth of the Man's love for her. Perhaps it was his own mistake that he never told her, but as time went on, she found herself in the company of a handsome Prince.

The handsome Prince was fine indeed, blessed with wealth, beauty and influence. The son of a nobleman, he held the world at his beck and call. Surely he was perfect, much to the ire of the Man. The Prince was everything the Man was not and he was certain he could feel his Angel slipping away.. As such, the Man realized time was running out.

Mustering all of his courage, he brought her to his home once more, where they had spent countless hours lost together in their world of music, he made his feelings known to her at last.

The Angel knew she had a choice to make. She held the hearts of two men in her hands. One she would take for herself, the other she would crush forever. Should she choose her handsome Price and live in luxury all her life? Or should she choose the Man, her teacher and friend who had given her his greatest gift he had to give? Oh, how she agonized over the choice, but she knew it had to be made and finally, it was.

She chose her handsome Prince.

…...........................................................

“I don’t like this story.”

Erik glanced down only to be met with Ariane’s disapproving frown. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

When she only shrugged, he shifted attention to his youngest. “And you, Sabine? Will you also pass judgement so quickly?”

Gemstone eyes under a mop of black curls in his lap tipped up to look at him, then found the sour face of her elder sister, sealing her opinion in the like. “No good, Papa,” was her solemn reply.

“Perhaps the both of you have a few too many of my genes” he muttered, sotto voce before forcing the brightness back into his voice. “What if I were to tell you that this is only the beginning?”

Ariane ached a brow. “Then there is a happy ending?”

“I’ve yet to find a Christmas romance that did end that way.”

She waved a careless hand, a gesture that should be well beyond her half-decade of life. “Then keep going. I trust you, Papa.”

Erik pressed his lips together, just for a moment. “As you wish.”

…...................................................

Needless to say, the Man's heart was broken beyond repair. The one chance in his life he had ever found to love and be loved had been ripped from his hands and with it, his hopes destroyed. Unable to stand the thought or sight of the Angel with her Prince, he left the country at the first available opportunity and went as far as he was able in order to forget any shred of hope he may have once had.

As is its way, time passed. The Man, unable to stay in one place for very long, had spent that time moving from place to place, finally beginning to heal from his emotional wounds. He still loathed human contact of any time, unable to trust anyone after what had happened. After months of aimless wandering, he finally returned to the country where he had spent most of his life and was shocked at what he found upon his arrival.

A new scandal had arisen- the talk of the town, if you will..The Angel had left her Prince! Some said his family drove her away. Others said she was in love with a ghost. Still others said she had led him on from the beginning. The rumors were everywhere. For a split second, hope sparked somewhere in the depths of the Man’s icy soul. Could he have a second chance at what he had longed for all of his life? Could he risk his heart again? The questions hounded him as he walked through the streets.

Upon reflecting on his past, the Man decided against it. He had been burned before; he would not be burned again. He shut himself away just as he had in the early part of his life, not that he was old now. He turned away anyone who attempted to see him, including the Woman, his sole friend who had been his contact to the outside world. His heart could not take another rejection. He would surely die if it were to happen once more and it was not a risk he was willing to take.

….................................................

“...Are you absolutely sure it gets better?” Ariane’s tone indicated she was not holding out much hope for her promised happy ending and even Sabine looked doubtful as she peered up at him.

“Trust me, bel anges” he murmured, working very hard to suppress the smile that seemed almost second nature these days. “Have I ever disappointed you before?”

Ariane tossed another doubtful glance at her sister, but blinked up at him expectantly. Erik sighed, knowing that was as much of an answer that he was going to receive and continued...

…............................................................

The Man had a visitor one day. It was the Woman who had been his only friend the majority of his life. At first, he would not allow her entrance to his home, but she stood her ground, threatening to bodily break in if necessary. Not wanting to be responsible for the injury of an old woman, he finally relented and allowed her to enter.

She seated herself in his parlor and asked him where he had been all of those months. He did not reply, but she was not swayed. You see, this Woman had the ace in the proverbial card game. She was also like a mother to the Angel. The girl had been orphaned at an early age and the Woman and her daughter had taken her into their lives and now, their home. The Woman smiled at the Man and invited for Christmas Day as it was the next day and he had no where to be.

At first the Man balked at her invitation, flatly refusing any and all offer of hospitality. The Woman let him rant and sulk, staring at him with pursed lips and calculating eyes. It was only when he fell silent that she seized the opportunity to play her ace. She proceeded in inform him that the Angel would also be present for the holiday festivities. Again the Man refused, knowing that the sight of her would only deepen the pain in his heart that he had dedicated his life to forgetting. To see her again would be his undoing.

Once again, Woman listened quietly before giving her reply. Once he had finished, she took the opportunity to verbally thrash him within an inch of his life. She told him of the Angel. How she thought that the Man was dead, how she had only ever really loved him; that being the reason she could not bring herself to marry the Prince.

The Man had not weakened. If she had truly loved him, why did she choose the Prince? The woman was quiet for a moment. She then answered that the Angel had been horribly confused in her situation. A heart cannot be forced to choose, nevermind choosing wisely in the short amount of time that she had been given.

With a glare, the Woman stood, ready to take her leave, but advised him at this point in the road, he had two choices. He could put his foolish pride on the shelf and take a chance of love again or he could feel sorry for himself, stay put and rot away with no one to share his life with. The choice was his and his alone.

He sat in silence as the Woman brushed past him and left his house without a word. Her words had left him speechless. Had she truly cried when she thought him dead? She loved him enough to leave the prince, even with him supposedly dead? He knew he had to make a choice. He wanted to be with her, yes, but he was a proud man. Not someone to easily admit his mistakes.

And yet...

With a resigned sigh, his choice was made. To hell with his stubborn pride. All that mattered now was getting to the Angel.

Bursting from his chair, the Man made his way to the desk. Sitting down once more, he took out a piece of paper and penned a letter to the angel. Securing his cloak, he made his way to the Woman's house and sought out the Angel's room. It was late at night and he knew she would be sleeping. Very quietly, he snuck into her room and placed the letter and a snow-white rose on the vanity and took his leave.

…………….

“Papa, down!” Sabine’s slaps to his thighs broke the spell. “Milk!”

“You want milk?” Erik clarified as her small head bobbed vigorously. “Very well. Let me just..”

“No, Papa” She stopped him with another light slap to his leg. “I get. Be right back”

“Oh…” He watched, stupefied as she carefully slid out from between his legs, off of the bed and scampered down to the kitchen.

At his side, Arine let out an impatient groan. “She always has to run off during the good parts!”

“I’m sure she’ll return in no time,” he placated, taking the opportunity to squeeze his oldest a bit tighter. “But it is good to see I’ve managed to win you over, hmmm? Ah, here she is now.”

“Hurry up, Saby,” Arine whined, but took the cup so her sister could settle herself again. With the younger girl sipping contentedly and the older nearly bursting with anticipation, Erik allowed himself a knowing smile as he brought his story to its conclusion.

………………...

The next morning, the Angel awoke. She was not very cheerful, as it was Christmas, yet she had no reason to celebrate. She stretched and her gaze fell on her vanity, where she saw what the man had placed there the night before. She leapt from the bed, ran to the vanity and carefully picked up the rose. She breathed in its scent, closing her eyes to savor its sweetness. The Angel then picked up the letter, searching and scanning every line for his words until she saw his instructions directing her to the parlor.

Quickly throwing on a robe, she flew down the stairs and into said parlor where Woman and her daughter sat, their faces bright with conspiratorial smiles. The Angel blinked, perplexed. She knew the handwriting of the letter, yet saw no one else in the room. Her eyes flicked around the space for a moment before questioning the woman as to the purpose of the letter. The woman did not answer didn't answer, only handed the Angel another letter bearing the same seal.

The Angel quickly tore open the second missive, eyes moving furiously over the parchment. This one instructed her to go into the garden. Not even thinking to change out of her nightclothes, the Angel threw on boots and an overcoat and hurried as fast as her legs would carry her. She reached the garden, panting heavily from the run. Glancing around frantically for any sign, her gaze finally settled on the willow tree at the far end of the yard.

Under the tree stood the Man, waiting patiently for the Angel- his Angel- to take notice to him. The Angel's face broke into a large smile as she raced to the Man, launching herself into his embrace. To a casual observer, it was quite a contrast: she in her nightgown, he in the finest of evening wear, yet neither cared.

The Man gently set the Angel back on her feet and reached into his coat. Out of his coat he pulled a rose as red as blood and her eyes widened. He told her it was a very special rose indeed: A Christmas Rose that would bring a great happiness to whoever received it- if it were accepted with an open heart. Speechless, she took it from him with tears in her eyes.

Before she could embrace him again, he reached once more into his coat and withdrew a small box. Inside that box was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. Right there in the snow, the Man dropped to bended knee and asked for her hand. The Angel’s reply was to leap into his arms, knocking him flat on his back in the snow. As she kissed him, then and there he knew his life had at last changed for the better. And oh, yes. What is that you say? They did indeed live happily ever after."

………………………....

"And that, my dears, is the story of the Christmas Rose. It is a fantastical tale of pure love with no-" Erik stopped mid-sentence when he failed to hear the twin sighs of happiness that usually accompanied one of his stories. “Girls?” It was only then that he glanced down to find both of his daughters sprawled against him, fast asleep and looking quite content.

The masked man chuckled and, after carefully extracting himself, pressed a kiss to her Ariane’s forehead as he tugged the blankets to her chin. "Good night, ma belle.” Lifting Sabine into his arms, he carried her across the room, where he deposited her in her own bed, repeating the process as he had with Ariane.”And to you as well, ma fleur. Merry Christmas, mon chers."

Slipping silently from the room, he had barely set foot in the hall before he felt two small slide around his middle and a slight form settle against his back with a sigh. His long fingers twined with the smaller ones as if by magic and he chuckled slightly before advising. "Well played, mon ange.They’re finally asleep."

Christine’s soft smile was brilliant as he turned in her arms, enfolding her and knotting large hands at the base of her spine.. "It's about time. What kept you so long?"

Erik’s hold on her tightened. "Ariane insisted I tell her a story. An idea, I might add, which you aided those tiny imps in hoodwinking me. But I suppose it is Christmas Eve."

She nodded, ignoring his jibe. "What story did you tell them.?"

He could not keep the wry grin from his face. "The Christmas Rose."

A secret smile spread across Christine's face. "Ah, I’ve always liked that one...and rather fitting if you ask me."

Erik chuckled leaning down to steal a kiss from that upturned mouth. "As you say, love." Still, he followed her gaze to the shadow box that hung on the wall next to their wedding portrait- a dark mahogany framing Venetian glass that held two pieces of paper, written in a scrawled hand, as well as a handful of rose petals, a beautiful duet of blood and snow.

Christine glanced up at him, then tipped her crown against his shoulder, giving his waist a squeeze for good measure. “How long do you think it will be?”

Erik caught her meaning immediately and gave a helpless shrug. “Who can say?” he mused. “But something tells me the girls will come to realize, much sooner than either you or I could ever believe, that truth is stranger than fiction.”

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #sixteenth door #a-partofthenarrative #timebird84

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otome-writer51 · 4 years

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A Ninja’s Kin Part 2

Part 1

Now that both of my sons were busy with their punishments, I could relax. I let out a deep sigh, instantly regretting how harshly I had treated my babies.

‘They’re just children,’ I told myself as I raked my hands through my hair, ‘but they also wish to be just like their father some day. I also know that they cannot be coddled if that is the path they wish to take in life. They just made me so so angry. I just…’

“Mommy?” A sweet, honeyed voice reached my ears, pulling me out of my internal war with my emotions. My gorgeous girl was wanting my attention.

At some point, she seemed to have made her way over to me, nonetheless I answered her in a kind voice, “Yes, my sweet angel?”

“Can you braid my hair for me? It is pretty messy right now and it’s making me hot. I wanted to braid it for training, but I am not as good as you,” she looked at me, “PLEASE MOMMY!!!” she begged, spitting out every word so fast it was hard to tell where one began and one ended. I chuckled as she looked up at me with those big puppy dog eyes I could never say no to.

“Of course I will, my heart and soul. Anything for you.” Maybe it was because I was feeling very guilty for how poorly I had treated my sons, but I couldn’t help but be extra sweet to Sakura.

“That is great mommy! Let’s go back to the veranda.” Gently taking my hand, my baby girl pulled me to take a seat. She plopped herself down in front of me, handing me her favorite comb. I began to brush out her knotty hair.

“Wow!” I exclaimed in wonder, “Sweetie, you weren’t joking, your hair really is a mess!”

She giggled cutely, “I told you, it always gets like this... but training makes it worse.” How in the world was this girl able to survive with her hair like this? I couldn’t believe she lived the way she did, sometimes.

Although her hair was a tangled mess, there was something soothing about combing out her long locks. It was so soothing, in fact, that it cleared my mind of everything, except the one thing I was worried about the most; my boys.

‘Oh my brave, strong, kind boys. I was too harsh on you both. I was just frustrated to see you both so at each other’s throats. That is not how brothers should behave under any circumstances. It was cute at first, but then you two just lost your heads and I lost mine as well. To make my little boy run off in tears like that, I shall forever hang my head in shame. What can I do to possibly make it up to him? Someone please tell me what I can-’

“Mommy, you’ve been brushing my hair for a while, now. I think it's ready to be braided,” said my daughter, turning around to find out why I had not started to braid her hair already.

“Oh, I just got lost in my thoughts dear. I will start right away.” Parting her hair in my fingers, I began to twist the strands together, into a pattern.

And once again, I fell victim to my own thoughts. ‘Just what to do with my boys. ‘How do I make it up to them?’

And once again, that sweet voice brought me back to the surface. “I know it may not seem very wise coming from an eight year old, but… I think you handled the situation the right way mommy.”

‘Oh what’s this? My girl has seemingly figured out the cause of my distress. She is sneaky like her daddy, but she is also quite perceptive as well.’

She continued on, “We are just children, we don’t see the world the way you do yet. With the path in life we have chosen, we are destined to need strict teaching. We cannot be successful without it.”

‘Not wise for an eight year old, dear. Give me a break, you are schooling your own mother here.’

“They were in the wrong, they did not listen to your orders when you gave them to them. A ninja needs to be a master at leading, but should also know when they must follow in line. The two of them have yet to figure that out it seems.” Chuckling at her jibe at her brothers, she gave me one last piece of advice. “A ninja also needs compassion. I feel that you have scared them for long enough and that they are now due for a reward, yes. I say you should let them know that they were completely in the wrong, but you should also let them find comfort in you after all is said and done.”

It was in this moment that I realized how much like her father she truly was. Takeshi may look exactly like him and Haru might be cheeky like their father too, but my beautiful girl definitely is his replica in personality. She is so wise for her age, and I know it is because of how closely she watches him. It warms my heart to think about how much my children love and adore their father. They still are far away from where they need to be, but they are already far more ready than I ever dreamed they’d be at this age.

Finding my resolve, I figured out what I was going to do. ‘When Haru gets back I am going to hug him, and Takeshi, so tight; tell them they don’t have to worry about those chores, and that they will be allowed at supper. I will give them a talk too, along with their father tomorrow, but for today, I believe they have been punished enough.’

“Um, mommy, you’re doing it again.” For the final time that day, my daughter rescued me from the violent waves crashing down on me from above. “You stopped braiding a while ago. Are you ever going to finish?”

It was only now that I came to know what I had done, or what I hadn't done. I stopped intertwining her locks about two-thirds of the way down. I’d been so kept up in my own mind I neglected what I was doing in real life. Finding new found motivation, I finished her hair faster than I had before and then I tied the ribbon on, securely fastening her beautiful hair-do.

“Oh! I love it! I love it! I love it so much!! Thank you mommy,” she twirled, watching her locks fall around her in awe. She ran over to give me a hug and a kiss, both of which I happily accepted.

‘I love you so much my precious angel. It feels so good to have you in my arms. I only wish I could be holding all three of you at the same time. My fierce Takeshi, My beautiful blossom that is you, and my little light Ha-’ I froze, alarm bells immediately sounding in my head at the thought of my son.

“OH MY GOSH!!! WHERE IS HARU?” I yelled, my loud voice right in my daughter’s ear making her jump. Takeshi also raised his head in alarm towards me when he heard the desperation in my voice. “He should have been back a long while ago… Where could he possibly be?” I muttered, worry starting to run through me. The sky had begun to paint itself in beautiful and vibrant shades of orange, yellow, and magenta strokes.

“Don’t worry mom, I will go look for him,” Takeshi said reassuringly to me. He truly was my brave, brave boy. With the way he was acting earlier, you wouldn’t think he would want to go find his little brother. Takeshi turned, and set off to find his brother.

“Honey, don’t do that! I shall go.”

Takeshi smiled, but said in a determined tone of voice, “Thank you mother, but this is the least I can do to make it up to him for being such a jerk, and to you for being such an awful son.”

My heart broke at his remorseful tone. “My dear, you are not an awful son; you never have been, and never will be. I love you so much, my brave boy. If this is what you wish to do, then go do it. Go find Haru and bring him back here.” With a smile of a boy who knew exactly what he needed to do, Takeshi looked at me one last time before he turned to follow the direction in which Haru had gone.

“Thank you, mother. I will not let you down.”

After my boy rounded the corner, I turned around to my daughter who was currently executing her sneak attack on Yogurt. My feathery boy thought he was in the clear in his newest hiding spot. He didn’t account for the fact that his huntress was my daughter, and she would always find him.

Holding in my laughter, I continued to watch my girl who was almost upon the skittish chicken. Tip-toeing closer, she got onto her knees, reached out, and…

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!,” she yanked Yogurt out of his hiding place, unbothered by the ear piercing shriek he let out. Cuddling him tight to her chest once more, she whispered words of affection to him as he tried to get away.

“Hehehe,” a giggle was the only sound I could force out of my mouth. ‘She really does love that chicken.’ Watching her with him warmed my heart and, letting that warmth sooth my mind, I all but put my missing son out of my worries. That was until a look of fear, one I've never seen present on my child’s face, seemingly froze her to her core, making her drop Yogurt in the process.

“Sakura, what is wrong?” Frozen in her fear, she was unable to talk to me. In turn, I followed her wide eyes to… A very horrid sight indeed. ‘“Huh?!” I gasped, startled at the sight in front of me. There were my two boys, not back with the training sword but tied up and gagged, desperately pleading for help.

A man, standing at least seven feet tall, broad-shouldered and built, with scars ravaging his entire body, held both of my children by their waists. His menacing eyes bore into mine with a hatred that spanned more than a decade. This man looked as if he knew who I was, but I did not know of him. He was here to destroy, and I could bet my son's lives that he wanted to kill.

Frightened I might have been, but I had no time to waste on my fears. One mere second was the matter of life or death here.

‘If I wish for my sons to live to see another year, I must act now.’

“SAKURA! GO GET YOUR FATHER NOW!” I yelled to my princess, but she was still frozen in fear. “SAKURA!” Having heard me this time, she ran off to fetch her father, and hopefully anyone else along the way.

My full attention now was focused on my sons’ captor; his inhumane yellowish gaze, just that of a monster, followed my every movement.

Unsheathing my hidden sword from inside my robes, I barked at the creature, “State your name, order, and place if you wish to be alive for longer than the sunset.” I wielded my weapon, pointing it directly at the savage’s heart, daring him to speak.

“Ugggghhhh,” he threw my sons to the ground, and their muffled groans of pain infuriated me even more than I already was.

Surely, I yelled loud enough for the whole castle to hear me, “STATE YOUR NAME! PLACE! AND ORDER! Or, so help me if you do not, I will make you regret it even in death.” My tone could have sent any normal man into hell in seconds, but this was no normal man.

Stepping over my sons, he reached behind his back and withdrew his dual blades. Sizing me up, he finally spoke, “You do not deserve the dirt on my feet, you nasty bitch. All you need to know is that I am the one who is sending you and your disgusting filth of a family to hell tonight.”

His venomous voice wrapped its vice grip around my lungs, and squeezed the air out, chilling me to the bone. He eyed me, similar to an eagle stalking its prey, and I glared at him with just as much animosity.

“If you were wise, you would let my sons go and move your ass along, out of my home.” This man was severely testing my patience.

It was my policy to settle with words before violence. I should’ve known from the start that it would not work with this one. Chuckling darkly at me, what he did next pushed me over the edge and all of my self control came crashing down. ‘My babies!!!’ He raised his left blade to Takeshi’s head, and the other above Haru’s.

Before he could have even thought of striking my sons, I advanced, charging like a wild bull who saw red. “Haa!!,” I grunted as I swiped my sword across his torso, narrowly missing him as he leaped over me, rolling into his battle stance. Sliding in the dirt, I caught my footing, spinning around to charge once more.

Before I could, however, this time he made the first move. He was sprinting towards me with a very clear intent; I was not to survive. If I was any normal woman, I would’ve cowered in fear but, alas, I was no normal woman; I was the lord assassin Kirigakure Saizo’s wife.

While I stood my ground, ready to pounce, my assailant arrived. He thrashed at me wildly and I blocked every swipe, stab, and thrash. Moving in graceful harmony, to an outsider it would have looked as though we had rehearsed the final act of a play. Every attack I had a response for, helping me bide my time for my opportunity to lead this dance.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

#love 365 find your story #love 365 #samurai love ballad party #SLBP #slbp saizo #slbp yukimura #slbp fanfic #fanfic #family au #fluff #saizo fluff #badass chicken #badass wife #badass mom #adorable kids #sexy ninja #YOU ARE A QUEEN AND YOU DESERVE THE WORLD BUNNY

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veridium · 4 years

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shot at the night

Good morning and happy Sunday, folks!

Time for a College AU Update to end the suffering of that beautiful cliff-hanger @bitchesofostwick set up for us last week. Hope you enjoy the highs and lows of college soccer!

fic master post // last chapter

One minute they are having a great time, even though it’s freezing and the Beam isn’t helping nearly as much as she hoped it would. The crowd is lively and drenched in school sweaters, beanies, and scarves -- Ellinor being a perfect example. It’s overwhelming. But only one moment pushes her over the edge: seeing a crowd of jerseys around the goal, the same goal Cassandra volleyed around that night after practice. The same one she was laying in front of, back on the grass and leg curled up against her.

An unbearable ringing in her ear. Ellinor’s voice from her standing position next to her. The cheez-its all over them and their feet. The crowd isn’t noisy anymore. She wishes it was.

“...Liv! Liv, hey…” she hears Ellinor as she sits down, shaking Liv’s thigh. She feels her, she hears her say her name, but she can’t follow. She’s consumed in the sight of Cassandra’s face straining with pain: biting her lip, opening and closing her eyes harshly while her chest rises and falls rigidly against her knee.

Olivia’s heart beats faster than she can count, like a hummingbird’s hopped up on a red bull.

Ellinor’s hand switches from her thigh to her shoulder, shaking again. “Liv!”

Olivia shakes her head. “Ellinor…”

“Liv, it’s okay, they’re gonna--”

“What happened? What did they do?”

“I don’t know!” she says, aggravated. She seems distracted, and she probably is. A couple yards away Cullen looks like a Bull preparing to charge at the man in bright blue, and the players are mean-mugging the other team. There’s cursing, and shouting, so loud the stilled crowd can hear them from the bleachers.

“What happened?!” she repeats, as if now she’ll know. As if she saw something Liv didn’t see, even though they were sitting together in the same spot at the same time.

“I think...I think a player did Cassandra dirty,” Maryden offers.

Ellinor stands up again, probably to see it all better. Olivia doesn’t need to. She can’t bear to take her eyes off of Cassandra still on the ground. One of her teammates crouches beside her and is talking to her. But are they saying the right things? What are they saying? Are they being nice to her?

Olivia’s panic heightens. “Someone...s-someone did this on purpose?”

“That player would get a yellow card, I think. It’s a big foul to play aggressively like that, especially with a goalie.”

Ellinor puts her hands on her hips. “Red card, they have to! That was a red card!” She must be reading Cullen’s lips. She is an expert on the subject of his lips, after all.

“What are they saying?!” Olivia asks, hands tugging at the knee-cap rips in her jeans.

“They’re….they...shit, the ref is being an idiot,” Ellinor replies. “He’s arguing with Cullen...fuck, and now Lys is walking over…”

“W-why is he arguing? Isn’t it a fault--”

“A foul…”

“A foul, yes, thank you Maryden,” Olivia tries her best to maintain diplomacy, but it’s falling fast. Before she can think to say anything else, however, the crowd erupts in boos and groans. Their side of the crowd, that is. The players start to disburse from the area, all except for a few of the who remain near Cassandra. A couple guys in navy blue jumpsuits with a medic bag jog over -- what took them so long?

Then, the Knights side of the audience starts booing even louder than before.

“Fuck that! Fuck you, Ref!” Ellinor shouts, hands cupped around her mouth.

Olivia’s ear ringing intensifies as Ellinor sits back down in a huff. “Wait...w-wait, what?” she looks at her.

“The ref is yellow-carding the player.”

“Normal people words, Ellinor!”

“It means they won’t take them off the field! Just a warning. Cullen was right, they’re gonna play like devils.”

Olivia’s brows lift so high they stand to broach the stratosphere. The ref is indeed walking with a small yellow card above his head, whistling so that both sides see. The ringing in her mind turns to Kill Bill sirens. Hearing ‘stern warning,’ it’s yellow-jumpsuit-and-sword time. She slowly turns her head and sees the Warden’s side, where one player is being talked to more than most. It’s someone pretty with a long, brown ponytail and a hairband. Someone whispers something, and they smile. Laugh, even. Their teammate pats them on the shoulder. It’s all congratulations disguised as comfort. No respect, no remorse.

Oh, hell no.

Olivia slides her jacket off of her shoulders. Cold? Fuck cold. She takes out one stud earring. While working on the other, she catches Ellinor’s attention.

“Uh, Liv...what are you--”

“Hold these.” Liv shoves her jewelry in Ellinor’s lap without a damn to give. Ellinor acts like the cheez-its have been spilled all over again.

“Liv, no.”

“Yes.”

“No, don’t--”

“Be right back.”

“No!”

She laces her fingers to crack her knuckles. As if entranced by seeing red, she rises and side-steps to the stairs, pushing past a nice older couple. Her nose and mouth are crinkling, hot air fuming out her nostrils as she races down.

“Liv!” Ellinor screams again.

Feeling like she is being followed -- which she most likely is -- Olivia only hastens. Down the fence aisle, boots hitting the concrete as she nears the opening to the field. Then, hands grab her right arm.

“Olivia Berenice, do not even think--!”

Liv’s mouth arrives before her body does, and she turns toward the Warden’s side of the field. With her free hand she punches against the fence; a loud hissing sound reverberates and further concerns the masses. If they weren’t already, surely what followed would be the cherry on top:

“YOU WANT TO BRING THAT SMILE OVER HERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH? I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO SMILE ABOUT! NUMBER 14! YEAH, YOU! HOW ABOUT YOU TAKE THAT TACKY-ASS HAIRBAND AND SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR THROAT! THAT’S RIGHT! CHOKE YOU RANK, ABHORRENT BASTARD!”

Maryden, with Ellinor’s help -- or someone, Olivia can’t really tell in the moment -- hoist Olivia up over their shoulder. That does nothing to break her focus, especially considering the player has noticed her rancor and is staring worriedly at the bleachers where some bouncy goth blonde is frothing at the mouth. Their teammates see, too, and their faces are even more grim. The sick glee has gone.

While she clamors and nearly knees the person who’s carrying her in the gut several times, she gets one last promise in: “THERE IS NOT A CHAIN OR LOCK OR WALL THAT IS STRONG ENOUGH TO KEEP ME FROM SHOVING MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU’LL BE FLOSSING WITH MY SHOELACES!”

The crowd is nervously observing her when she is returned to their seats. Turns out it was Maryden, the taller of the three, carrying her while Ellinor was reinforcement and likely smiling at everyone to save face.

“AND FUCK YOU, WARDENS!! FUCK YOU AND YOUR GRIMEY ASSES!”

Apparently that is a much more popular sentiment. The crowds start applauding voraciously, as if they’re front row for a Boxing match. They could be, if only her friends wouldn’t be such killjoys and let justice be brought down.

“Liv, contain yourself, dammit!” Ellinor lands next to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. More shaking.

Growling, Olivia frees herself from her grip, spitting her own hair out of the side of her mouth. “Kindly kiss my ass Ellinor, you’d be melting the fence down to get to her if it was Cullen!”

Ellinor opens her mouth, finger pointed, but she stops. Slouching a bit, she looks away and concedes quietly.

“Still, you could have caused a penalty,” Maryden warns over Ellinor’s shoulder, all cool and collected as if she was just picking daises somewhere, and not man-handling a 5’2” enraged queer girl like a disgruntled shih tzu.

“I hope I do. Maybe then the Ref will recognize one when they see it!”

Unfortunately, in her fury Olivia has lost track of the most important thing -- the most important person -- and she races to catch up. Cassandra is not only standing, but walking. Limping heavily, she has her arm around Cullen. Is that Cullen? Curly blonde, red face...yes, that’s Cullen. The crowd applauds with relief and encouragement.

“See, Liv? She’s up!”

Olivia, far from satisfied: “Yes, that’s just her natural swaggering gait.”

“Well…”

Maryden clears her throat. “Cassandra is very fit and capable. I’m sure she’ll bounce back super fast!”

Olivia scowls, still watching as Cass is escorted off the field. The medic is on her like bees on honey. Meanwhile, she seems more concerned with talking to Cullen, who’s listening intently like he’s being told a litany of life-altering secrets. Perhaps that there’s writing on the back of the Declaration of Independence. Cassandra, though, Cassandra still seems focused. She can barely put any weight on her foot; despite that, it’s as if it hardly matters to her. Maryden is right.

Though her knuckles turn white from clamping on the bench edge, Olivia remembers a lick of sense enough to do as Ellinor wishes. She even feels a bit ashamed, like waking up from a fever dream having made lunatic choices all night long. Ellinor’s mounting agitation provides a distraction.

“Shit…”

Olivia blinks. “What?”

Ellinor watched like a hawk, nose tipped toward the sky. “I think Cullen is working as Captain now.”

Olivia follows her stare and sees the two teams congregating back to their respective formations. Cullen is back to his spot, talking to two other players, pointing and gesturing towards them like he’s calling some shots. Maybe Ellinor is right. It would make sense, with their bromance and Cullen’s experience, that Cassandra would default to him. Olivia glances to the sideline one more time to see that the medics are still tending to Cassandra and her leg, all three looking much calmer.

With a deep breath, she curls her arm around Ellinor, who stops bobbing her anxious leg up and down. “Well then, we’re in good hands.” And so they were.

Continuing to keep calm as best she can, Olivia pays more attention to the game. The Knights, having lost their leader unjustly, are reinvigorated. The replacement goalie looks younger but is ready for business. And Cullen? Cullen goes from Golden Retriever to German Shepherd. For the bulk of the second half the Wardens try time and time again to make it past the Knights’ defense, to no avail. With each advance Ellinor nearly skyrockets into the air watching out for him. When the time outs hit, Cullen is the one talking the team through the huddle, and he does so with considerable fortitude.

It’s getting to be final few minutes in the game -- or so Maryden and Ellinor promise after it goes longer than the promised 90. Time making up for all the penalties, they say. Well, to Olivia it’s just time preventing her from finding out if Cass is okay. During the last 15-20 minutes of the game, she was taken off the field. It looked like the ankle was causing more pain, too much to just be taped up on the bench. But no one can know for sure. It’s a little harder to breathe without her there.

With all this said, the moment the whistles finally sound off, and their half of the crowd leaps to their feet, it’s a good moment. Good because the team deserves it, and even better because Ellinor loses her damn mind.

“AHHH DID YOU SEE HIM! DID YOU SEE HIM THAT LAST TIME? THAT SLIDE TO BLOCK?!” Ellinor yells as she hops up and down. Maryden is dancing with her, which is a God-send, because all Olivia can do is stand up and clap. That, and a sweet, sweet smile that is dual-purpose for showing her teeth as the Wardens slip off the field. To no one’s surprise, the hand-shakes between the two teams is kept brief to avoid further injury.

The team is also going wild on the field, tackling and running around each other like excited kids. One or two get a water bottle sprayed in their face. Laughter, smiles, and joy. When the trophy gets handed off -- yes, a trophy, a real trophy -- Cullen is the rightful receiver. The players hoist him up onto their shoulders, up and down with fists up in the air. He’s smiling modestly but sincerely as he holds the hunk of metal above his head. Ellinor is almost crying as she pulls the collar of her sweater up over her mouth and holds it there.

It kinda aches to watch, knowing how much Cassandra worked to lead them here. However, Olivia notices Cullen gaze down at everyone supporting him. Though she can’t hear what he says, by the shape of his lips he seems to say something like “for Cassandra, guys.”

Then, smiling feels easier to do.

Ellinor takes hold of her hand, pulling her along with Maryden down to the steps. The majority of the audience is doing the same to get down to the grass and join in. “Come on!” she says, “let’s go see them!”

Olivia follows along until they make it to the field, where she can better see the nearby locker rooms. She pulls back, and Ellinor turns. Olivia slows to a halt and eyes the lockers. Without having to utter a word, Ellinor gets the message. A brief respite in her wide smile.

“Liv, she’s going to be okay. Don’t worry!”

“What if she isn’t?”

From across the field, Cullen’s champion voice calls Ellinor’s name. Then, several others repeat it, like she’s the First Lady of Soccer. Ellinor waves a hand at them, as if they’re interrupting some private conference, but Olivia quickly stops her.

“Hey, go! Go see him!” she encourages, “I’m just gonna hang back and see if she can answer my texts.”

Ellinor eyes her, but when the boys call after her a second time, she gives in. She gives Olivia a one-armed hug before running off toward her Knight-in-shining-jersey and his comrades. It’s all rather romantic, what she sees of it. Olivia follows the boundary sideline and keeps her distance; luckily for the Wardens, they decide to clear out rather expediently.

Watching the players and their loved ones congregate, Olivia pulls out her phone. No messages, no calls, no nothing. She wonders if Cassandra would even have phone access, or think of using it. Wouldn’t this be a time to call family, anyways?

She sends along a message just as a shot in the dark:

-- Hey, you okay?

Her eyes light up when the message is almost immediately read, as if Cass had their messages pulled up already. The typing symbol appears. Then, a response:

Cassandra: Was just about to text

Cassandra: Is the game still going?

-- No, the Knights won!

Cassandra doesn’t reply. Olivia’s ear ringing sets off again. She twitches her freezing fingers, teetering on how to act. The boundaries of what is too much and what is too little seem so incoherent. She hadn’t exactly read the part in the new budding romance manual titled “What To Do If Your Girlfriend Falls in Sport Combat.”

-- You need help? I’m out here if you need me.

Cassandra: I’m okay. Medic says I should think about hospital.

-- Really? I can drive you

Cassandra: It’s probably just a sprain, I’ll be fine

-- Do you need a ride? I can give you one! It’s fine!

As she hits send, the grass in front of Olivia becomes vastly overshadowed. Looking up, she sees part of the party has come to her. Cullen, with Ellinor under his arm and the trophy in his free hand, along with several others: Rylen, Lys, Krem and Maryden, and a still more. They’re all looking at her expectantly, and it feels like the field lights all hone on her. A day ago, she would have said they all thought her too bizarre or scary to do this. How things change.

“Hey, Liv,” Cullen says first, face glistening with sweat and likely Powerade, “any news?”

Wait...they all just expect that I know? She scans from right to left. Their previous expressions of raw, unadulterated joy have become sorrier. She folds her arms against herself, phone tucked.

“She says she’s good. They said to go to the hospital, but she disagrees.”

“Fuck yeah, she’s a tank,” Rylen remarked. “That asshole had a red card coming!”

They sound off in groans and growls of agreement. Olivia silently sighs and tucks hair behind her ear.

Cullen frowns. “If she needs to, she should go. She knows we won, right? I should go check on her--”

“Yeah, she--”

“Yeah, I know!”

They all turn on a dime toward the commanding voice behind them. Olivia is the last to see through all their broad figures, but she really doesn’t need to. She knows that voice. What’s harder to take is the sight that comes with it: crutches, right lower leg wrapped in ice and tape, and brow just as sweaty as her team’s are. Still in her uniform but with a down jacket over it.

While they rush over to her, doing everything short of tackling her to the ground, Cullen, Ellinor, and Olivia hang back. Ellinor watches Olivia as she tries her best not to shrivel up and die, mortified with her own over-sentimentality. She gives her a caring look, one of those ‘it’s okay, dude, don’t beat yourself up’ looks.

Cullen has his own matter to settle. Breaking from Ellinor’s hold, he joins the group and faces his friend and roommate who’s everyone’s talking at with exuberance and concern at the same time.

“Hey, Cass,” he says, the trophy in both hands. “Look, I, uh, if anyone deserves this, it’s you.”

He holds it out to her, which is a bit charmingly clumsy considering both Cassandra’s hands are occupied with crutches. Several others murmur in affirmation, things like “yeah, Captain,” “Oh Captain, my Captain!” and “Boss Lady.” A few whistles. Cassandra locks eyes with him and smiles as she straightens up as much as possible. She glances at either side of her before shaking her head.

She gently pushes the trophy gently back towards him. “You brought it home, Cullen. The honor is yours. And all of you! You have made me the proudest Captain this side of the continent.”

The happy mob’s affirmations grow louder. Some claps, even. Cullen chuckles heartily and, unable to help himself, hands off the trophy to Lysette and pulls Cassandra into a hug. She almost loses her crutches, but no matter. Her one capable arm reaching back around Cullen’s shoulders, patting him with as much strength as she can, says the embrace is anything but unwelcome.

Olivia bites back a sigh of relief, one Ellinor notices of course.

“Hey,” she says out the side of her mouth, “you good?”

Olivia slides her phone into her back pocket. Guess I won’t be needing this anymore. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“You sure?”

“I just...”

Rylen’s rallying voice cuts through the merriment, just as it all seems concluded. “Hey! If anyone needs a trophy, it’s ‘Livia!”

Olivia freezes as she looks back to the group, who is once again all turning to look at her. Cullen and Cass are the last to, but when they do, Cassandra’s eyes land directly on her.

“Yeah, man,” Krem laughs, “scared the shit out of the offense, you hear that?” he asks Cassandra, who doesn’t so much as sniff in his direction. She’s still staring, hard to read as ever. Suddenly the infamy feels more like an embarrassing tattle-tale, and Olivia can feel her cheeks growing red from something other than Whiskey during a November night. More players chime in with their version of the sordid event:

“Yeah, see that? The--”

“--she had what, three people holding her back? Chr--”

“Yeah, we should have had her on the field to back up Rylen!”

“Shit, no kidding--”

“Hate it if that was what was waiting for me on the side-line”

“--that shoelaces line? Man--”

“Hey, hey, everyone,” Cullen intervenes, hands out and dad voice on full blast. He’s tuned into Olivia’s embarrassment like the nightly news. “Give her a break, okay?”

They all go solemnly silent, which makes it even worse. Olivia’s finally brave enough to lock eyes with Cassandra, who still hasn’t flinched. Dammit, if only she knew how she was taking all this. It’s not like she meant to go back on her WWE ways tonight. Dammit, lowkey, Olivia. We’re supposed to be lowkey. This is not lowkey! This is like the opposite of lowkey! High-key! Mt. Everest Key!

A nudge from Ellinor knocks her out of her mental death spiral enough to realize they’re all expecting her to see what she has to say for herself.

“I, uh…” she says to Cassandra, not daring to move.

A sudden, uneven grin. One could almost say cocky. Regardless, it’s a grin, and it’s on Cassandra’s face as she speaks her first words to her:

“Let this be a lesson, then, everyone: don’t cross my girlfriend.”

Blush? No, not blush. Lava, molten to the core, floods Olivia’s cheeks. Her heart nearly stops dead after so much racing. ‘Oohs’ and ‘aahs’ surround them, not nearly as rambunctious as before, but then someone wolf-whistles. Olivia wants to simultaneously jump her bones and roar about how much she scared the living shit out of her.

She said it. Loud and clear.

“Olivia?” Cassandra then asks, amidst the reactions.

“Uh...u-uh...yeah,” she mutters, taking one last look at Ellinor before coming forward. Step by step, until she’s as close as she can be while still being respectable. Then, a halt.

The others go even quieter. Cassandra smirks a bit. “I have a favor to ask.”

Olivia’s brows lift sincerely. “Yes?”

A pause, wherein Cassandra takes a stiff breath. Her throat catches on something that sounds like pain under good, honest humor.

“Could you please take me to the hospital so that I can get this son-of-a-bitch x-rayed and some ibuprofen?”

She waits until there’s just a hint of doubt in Cassandra’s face. So much so the “audience” of sorts shuts up again to hang on her word. When it’s just the right moment, she comes even closer.

“...get in my car, Pentaghast,” she commands, slipping her keys out of her coat pocket and twirling them around on her finger.

As if the moment wasn’t momentous enough, either the adrenaline or savvy romance of it proves inspiring. Cassandra smiles even wider, reaching just enough to snag the edge of Olivia’s coat and pull her in. In return, Olivia takes hold of the neck of her jersey, just enough for the drama without pulling her off her already-precarious balance. It’s the fourth time they ever share a kiss on a soccer field.

Everyone erupts in laughter, more clapping, and whistling. Olivia and Cassandra end their kiss in order for a proper congratulatory hug.

Rylen, again, proves the most dedicated to capping off the moment: “I told you, Krem! Pay up!”

“I didn’t bet no, dude!”

“Yeah but you bet maybe! $5 or three fireball shots at the afterparty!”

From farther away, Ellinor’s voice squeaks with a bit of shivering: “Did you say ‘fireball’?”

#day & age #college AU #ellinor trevelyan #olivia sinclair #college!Olivia #modern!olivia #THE HIGHS AND LOWS OF COLLEGE INTRAMURAL SOCCER

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chinatea · 5 years

Text

sg/di, personas au, abo au, royal au, arranged marriage. (feat. ian/bg).

>>> Diminie (Jisoo) and BG (Jiyeon) are omega princelings from the South Kingdom (I know, a very creative name, but it’s a short story, so why bother). BG got married to Ian, the crown alpha prince of the North Kingdom, a few years back, and Diminie has been just married to Ian’s younger brother, SG (Jungkook). They were married through proxies before meeting each other, which they’re going to do in the fic. Hope you enjoy. <3

His carriage comes to a halt with a low tremor.

The long journey is finally over and what a journey that was. Months of travel. Traversing places, sceneries, seasons. And Jisoo spent most of it inside his little carriage, staring out of the window, but mostly sleeping after taking sleep draughts provided in advance. The people of the North are known for their practicalities, they’d thought of everything - even Jisoo’s boredom throughout the travel.

Jisoo yawns so wide a tear springs at the corner of his eye. Last time he looked outside it was snowing - a mind bending sight for someone hailing from the lush evergreen meadows of the South. He’s so far from home, it’s almost a different world out here. And just like they say, the North is one harsh beauty. Makes him wonder if he’ll ever be able to call this place home and mean it from the bottom of his heart. He wonders if his brother does.

Peering once again through the screen of the door, he sees the hustle and bustle of people outside, some of them he recognizes as part of his procession. All of them are from the North. None of his close friends or attendants were allowed to accompany him, for the journey would be too severe for a southerner to withstand. For the same reason, no effort was spared to keep Jisoo as safe and comfortable as possible.

His carriage was fortified with magic. The northern kind of magic, the likes of which Jisoo has never witnessed before. And it's not that the Southerners are less proficient in magical arts, but they do rely on it less than in the North, where the magic is all about survival and harnessing power over the elements, not kitchen remedies and pretty lightworks.

His bespoke fur coat is also layered with a web of magic, enveloping his form like an armour. It looks heavy but in reality, it's almost weightless, swaddling him in comfort and tingling warmth. A wedding gift from his husband. He still remembers unwrapping the furs for the first time, the softness of it as he ran his palms over it, musing to himself - this is it, soon to be married to an alpha prince from a country on the other side of the world where days barely last and nights never really end.

And today, at last, he will meet his husband for the first time. Having spent months fretting over this very day, he feels resigned to his fate, tired of the tyranny of his nervous thoughts. With that, he burrows deeper into his furs and steps out of the carriage down the propped up ladder, his attendants supporting him under his elbows like he’s a fragile doll ready to keel over and shutter into tiny pieces. He thanks them nevertheless with a shy smile.

Outside, it’s so cold he feels pinned down to the spot. And from that spot, all he can see is the Snow Castle that presents like a vision. Otherworldly and breathtaking. A true child of the snowy mountain peaks surrounding it. Diminie has to uncomfortably crank his neck up to take it all in, to no great success, as the castle’s spires drown in the sea of thick clouds up above.

The Snow Castle has been the residence of the crown prince since days of old, as he learned from Jiyeon's letters. His older brother married the crown prince a few years ago, undertaking the same journey as Jisoo all on his own, with no familiar face to greet him on the other end. His brother is as brave as he's enchanting. And Jisoo has missed him dearly, having kept in touch only through letters.

Jisoo had worried about him, but luckily, his worries were in vain. Even if Jiyeon has never been the one to openly speak about his private feelings, whenever he talked about Ian in his letters, every word spoke of love and great admiration for his alpha. Jisoo only hopes he’d be as lucky.

What he knows about Jeon Jungkook could barely fill a thimble. And uncertainty often breeds fear. Even dread, in his case. Would he be gentle with him? Understanding? Even Jiyeon hadn’t been much help - apparently the second prince spent most of his time away, travelling and learning from the world.

That is another thing that has been troubling Jisoo something terrible. Clearly, his husband is a man of knowledge and intellectual pursuits. What if he finds Jisoo dull and ignorant? Being a prince, Jisoo, of course, received the best education their country had to offer, yet he wasn’t as diligent or naturally gifted as his brother, and would often be found playing truant in their labyrinthian gardens, with little remorse for his naughtiness.

And now, he wishes he had paid more attention. If only not to lose face in front of his husband.

“My darling,” a voice calls after him and Jisoo’s limbs grow weak as tears well in his eyes, a wave of emotions rising in his chest. He leaps into his brother’s embrace, taking in his peach golden scent - something that always whispers of summers and vibrant skies. In other words, home.

Jiyeon presses kisses all over his face, his chubby rosy cheeks and button nose - they must make quite a chaotic sight, but Jisoo can only giggle, giddy with happiness, clinging to his brother like lifeline.

A few moments pass like that, exchanging kisses, greetings and giggles, before both of them finally get a hold on their bearings. Besides, the cold starts really getting to him, which he voices to Jiyeon quietly, teeth chattering to add to his point.

The other omega grips Jisoo’s hands in his, warmth running through his fingers.

“I was like you, at first, little one,” he lilts. “The weather is beastly here, but with time, you’ll adapt. We’ll teach you everything you need to know, but meanwhile...”

Jiyeon smiles impishly.

“Ask your alpha to keep you warm,” he adds, unabashed, as Jisoo’s cheeks light up in chagrin. “That’s what I did.”

That's the Jiyeon he knows all right - always the little devil.

With that, he tugs Jisoo along as they traverse the inner yard, leaving his carriage and people behind, with only a couple of attendants following suit. What boggles Jisoo is how quiet castle is, like someone casted a muffling spell on everything. Perhaps, that was the design. From what he knows about the crown prince, the alpha enjoys quietude and privacy, spending most of the year here rather than at the capital.

Jisoo will only visit in a few months, officially presenting himself to the court and the Omega Monarch, his terrifying father-in-law. But first, he’ll have some time to settle into his new married life and get to know his husband better, away from the curious eyes of the public.

“We have some time before dinner,” Jiyeon says as they enter the maze of private quarters, full of long empty hallways and stone. “And as much as I’d love to show you around, I’m sure you’re starving, darling, so I had us a light meal prepared.”

Jisoo follows him dutifully into a room with a fireplace that gobbles most of the wall. It’s blasting hot and Jisoo sighs, happy, taking his coat off and folding it neatly over the back of a couch.

The help minces in and out of the room, going about their business, and every time someone new steps in, Jisoo’s heart flutters, expecting Jungkook to strut in any moment now, which would be disastrous as Jisoo is so strung up, so prickly with nerves, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to string together a simple sentence. Maybe Jiyeon picks up on that as he coos,

“Relax, love, he and Ian went hunting at dawn. Ian was adamant they hunt their own game for dinner because tradition and, oh, you know, typical alpha silliness,” the omega clucks his tongue, but his eyes brim with fondness. “Jungkook is lovely though, such a sweet awkward thing. As much as you must be fretting over meeting him, trust me, my darling, he’s thousand times more worried. Be gentle with him, will you?”

Jisoo nods, a shy smile flowering on his lips. He’s cradling a dainty teacup between his palms, mulling over Jiyeon’s words. They put him at ease, somewhat. All Jisoo had to go off all these months to decipher Jungkook’s personality was his portrait, a very fine and dashing one, but still hardly trustworthy since most portraits are notoriously deceiving. He barely recognized himself when he saw his own and immediately requested it be redone as he couldn’t have Jungkook expect some ethereal beauty that doesn’t exist.

Not that Jisoo isn’t confident. He knows he’s pretty - all omegas in his family are. Many alphas have expressed their admiration for him and his cuteness, which, in their kingdom at least, is legendary. Hence, he has no need for a lie, simple as that.

After the tea break, Jiyeon showed him around their private wing, their last stop being the nursery. Jisoo squealed at the sight of his brother’s pup, six months old now, all chubby cheeks and smart inquisitive eyes. He’s been dying to hold his tiny nephew ever since Jiyeon wrote about his pregnancy.

"Goodness, he’s so tiny," Jisoo coos, cradling the precious bundle to his chest. "A tiny omega pup."

"And a whiny one at that," Jiyeon remarks wryly. He boops his son’s nose and the pup babbles at them happily, tiny digits wrapping around Jiyeon’s thumb. "You just caught him on a good day."

Jisoo kisses the pup’s temple, nuzzling tufts of dark baby hair. Pups have the best scents about them, milky and soft and just new. Which makes him a touch wistful - he wants all the pups, as soon as possible, and hopefully his husband would be on-board with that.

"Do you think Jungkook would love to have many pups?"

"I think you should ask him yourself," Jiyeon says with an amused curve of his mouth. "Speak of the devil…"

The Devil, indeed, steps in and the whole room hushes. A tender smile blossoms on Jiyeon’s lips and in an instant, he is enveloped in his alpha’s arms, rising on his tiptoes for a kiss.

Ian might have an intimidating presence about him, but the way he is holding his brother is precious and sweet. It’s endearing and it makes Jisoo let out the quietest sigh. To be embraced and kissed and held by the person he loves is something he's wanted for himself for the longest time.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

Jiyeon gives him the briefest of glances while Ian is pressing a kiss to his hand, eyes only on him.

"It’s down the hallway and up the stairs. He has his little study up in the tower. We’ll see you both at dinner, now shoo."

And this is how Jisoo meets his husband for the first time - by tracking him down down the hallway and up the stairs. Two hundred steps up the spiral staircase. Not that he'd been counting, only he did, to keep his racing heart still. He’s out of breath and livid with nerves by the end of it.

Left with no other option, he braces for the worst and knocks on the door, delicate knuckles barely grazing the sturdy wood. No reply comes, but that's to be expected from how faint the sound was.

Jisoo pushes the door open and meekly peeks inside a modestly spaced study. A wild unkempt look to it, a bunch of empty flowerpots, surprisingly, cluttering up the place - the shelves and bookcases, the working desk, the floor. And in the center of this chaos, exists he, Jeon Jungkook, none the wiser about Jisoo's presence, examining some papers scattered all over the tabletop.

A fireplace is roaring in the corner.

Jisoo coughs politely to gain his attention and

Jungkook swooshes around, his papers flying into the air.

"Oh dear, I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Jisoo bubbles, stumbling forward to help subdue the mess he caused. Naturally Jungkook does the same. Their hands touch and Jungkook recoils, eyes wide and frightened. A sheet of paper clutched to his chest. It’s too quiet all of a sudden, and Jisoo feels like crawling out of his skin.

It’s so, so awkward.

"I’m sorry for intruding," Jisoo mutters, bottom lip trembling. "I should have waited for dinner, I’ll leave…"

"No," Jungkook says, even quieter. “Don’t go. Please?”

He’s nothing what Jisoo imagined him to be. Jiyeon was right on the nose with his description - a lovely awkward thing. Dark swept hair and big hands, pretty lips, eyes that are out of this world, imploring him to stay. His husband. And Jisoo stays.

Just nods and helps him pick up the scattered papers and as they do so, mindful of every movement and hyper aware of each other's presence, Jisoo finds his calm again, even allowing a tentative smile to slip through - Jungkook ducks his head down, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“I was told that nothing really blooms in the North,” Jisoo speaks up then, his earlier observation coming to mind as he points at the flowerpots. While most of them are indeed empty, a rare few host sickly looking sprouts. A far cry from the verdancy he enjoyed in his private garden back home.

“That’s, ah, correct,” Jungkook confirms with a sigh, reaching out to caress one of the sprouts despondently. “These ones won’t survive either.”

“Oh,” Jisoo hums, gaze drown to Jungkook's fingers, the well-moulded shape of them. “There was more?”

Jungkook cracks a smile, just the corners of his lips tipping up.

“More than I could count, probably,” he confesses. “These are the first batch that sprouted, well, some of them anyhow. I thought I'd be able to make something bloom by the time you...eh...arrive.”

Jisoo cocks his head in a curious tilt, pondering over Jungkook's words.

“Well, ah...” Jungkook stutters, fingers locked in front of him. “You know...”

Suddenly, it dawns on him.

“You’re doing this for me,” Jisoo says, in quiet wonder.

“They said you love flowers, spending time in your garden, we...ah, don't have that here, still I thought...I should at least try...”

Jungkook rambles, eyes glued to some spot at the floor. He's blushing. And Jisoo's heart races, a hand flies to cover his mouth, bubbling excitement zipping through his body.

“You’re doing this for me,” he repeats, voice rising in pitch. He feels so elated he could just kiss him. Instead he settles for a smile and adored, “You’re too kind.”

“It’s...it’s nothing,” Jungkook mutters, but he glows under the praise, chest pushing forward. A shy he may be, but still an alpha. His handsome and kind alpha husband.

“It’s the thought that counts.” Jisoo steps forward, reaching out for Jungkook's hands. Their palms touch, fingers lancing together. A pleasant hum of their energies erupting upon the caress. “Before we even met, you've thought of me. That means a lot. Thank you.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” Jungkook says, with quiet vigor and honesty that leaves Jisoo speechless. A touch breathless. A bit teary-eyed.

And maybe already in love.

---

AN: Yeah, it’s kinda short, but if you have any questions about this world, SG/Di or Ian/BG, etc., I might write some bonuses or extras later.

#personas au #sg/di #its sg season where im from

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redsamuraiii · 5 years

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Legend of the Daimyo and the Yokai

Heard this story from someone who read it somewhere many years ago. Despite being unable to find the source, I still remember the story.

There was once a prosperous province in Feudal Japan where the welfare of both the warrior class Samurais and the lowly peasants were taken care of adequately by the benevolent Daimyo. People of all classes and ages simply adored, worshipped and respected him. Everyone live in peace and harmony.

Until one day...

When a local magistrate was found murdered in his home in cold blood. An investigation was launched to identify the killer. It is believed he was killed by a hired assassin or ninja from a rival clan. However, further investigation revealed this to be false. The case was closed eventually as there were no leads and he was hated by many due to his rude behaviour towards others.

However, for the next several months more people were found killed by the mysterious nocturnal killer. The victims were completely chosen at random from peasants to warriors to children. Thus, it was hard to determine the true motive of this serial killer. But they do know he or she only strikes at night.

And so the Daimyo ordered regular patrols of Samurais every night to spot the killer or at least discourage the killer from continuing his killings by this show of force. But their efforts proved to be wasted as the killings still continued without them realizing it.

Over time, the villagers grew anxious and terrified by the incident that rumors of a Yokai lingering in the village for human blood started to spread across the entire province. Disturbed by this, the Daimyo consulted the Monk at the temple of such a possibility.

He knows his Samurai warriors very well, having fought alongside them in battles and doubt that they could miss a serial killer or even a ninja for that matter. And so, the Monk suggested that the Samurais carry a fire lantern on night patrols as they can reveal the true face of the Yokai that might be disguised as a human being.

The monk believes that fire and light are its weakness which is why it only strikes at night when its dark. The Daimyo thought for a moment and got an idea. He decided to throw a night feast at his palace for everyone to attend, making it a compulsory event for all and those who do not attend is considered to have paid him a great insult.

And so, a feast was held where every single villager has to pass through a gate guarded by Samurais holding the fire lantern to spot the Yokai. The Commander make sure every one attended the feast by checking the name lists of people. The feast ended and the villagers once again passed through the same gate to go home.

The Daimyo was disappointed that his plan has failed. Looking around at his palace, he sees his Samurais still eating and his servants cleaning up. And he realized what if the Yokai were not hiding in the village but his own palace!

So he ordered his Commander to assemble all his Samurais and servants to stand in front of him as he personally holds the fire lantern to each of their faces to spot the Yokai. Once again, his efforts proved to be a failure. He was disappointed and felt that maybe there is no such thing as a Yokai after all. Maybe a skillful ninja finally got the best of them. Although, what is the motive behind the random killings?

As he thought about this, his 5 year old son came running to him to play his fire lantern he was holding. To his horror, he saw his child as a half-Yokai. One side of his face is human while his other side which is exposed to the lantern is a terrifying looking monster. Shocked, he took a deep breath and hold his son's hands to bring him home to sleep.

He tried to maintain his composure and enotions as he sends his son to bed to put him to sleep and goes to find his wife in the kitchen who is preparing supper for him. She greeted him and smiled as she always does. But this time, with the fire lantern by his side he could now see her true form. She's the Yokai! The Daimyo trembles in fear trying to grasp this new reality. He eat the supper pretending nothing is wrong. When they sleep, he finds himself wide awake beside his wife, disbelieved that she's the one who's been killing those people.

Next morning at dawn, he summoned his Commander and his Samurai Archers to surround his home and burn it to the ground with fire archers to kill her and his son inside. Realizing what is happening, his wife pleaded and confessed. She is indeed a Yokai who feeds on human blood but after seeing the Daimyo for the first time, she fell in love with him and swore to herself to change, to be human, to have a normal life with him. But after years of not having human blood, she finds herself craving more of it and feels that she's returning back to her trueself.

Hearing this, the teared eye Daimyo hesitated to give the order to kill. Sensing the reluctance in his Lord, the Commander issued the order and killed her, and his son as the house burned down to the ground. Ashamed by what he has done and unable to live without his loved ones, he attempted Sepukku.

His attempt was foiled by the Monk who arrived in time to see what is happening. The Monk assured the remorseful Daimyo that he did the right thing by preventing more innocent people from dying. The Commander offered the Daimyo to cut off his head as he was the one who gave the order. The Daimyo stood up and said yes but it was he who summoned them in the first place.

Many years later, he married a second wife and restart a new life. The place where the house burned down was left untouched and it is believed that their spirits still haunts the place up to this day.

#legend #myth #yokai #samurai #daimyo #monk #feudal japan #ghost #spirits #mystery #japan #ninja #sepukku #samurai archers

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keepcalmandreadfluffinpublic · 5 years

Text

“I Hope You’re The Last...” Part 1

A/N: Hello!! This is my first story... I hope it isn’t as bad as I think it is :)! Please enjoy and don’t plagiarize if ya wouldn’t mind :)!

Imagine: You are the last resort for peace among Asgard. Although Odin and your family have made it clear you are to marry Thor. Fate makes you choose between the Sons for the safety of Asgard depends on it.....

Words: 2227

Alfheim... that was my home. Not Asgard, no not some golden magical city, or the most glamours realm in the entire universe. Alfheim may not be dripped in gold but it was beautiful. The mere simplicity of my planet is what makes it beauty. No there wasn’t much but there was just enough, enough to make even the coldest of hearts melt. I let out a sigh hoping all my pint up anger will disappear.

“Now Y/N... Please remember that it isn’t only your reputation at stake.” My mother says flatly while looking out the window. I roll my eyes and scoff at her. “Oh dearest mother, how could I?” My voice laced with sarcasm. This earns the quick backhand from her. I no longer flinch or cower in fear like when I was little. I have grown used to the beatings my mother bestowed upon me. I have always been a daddy’s girl, something my mother despises. “In Vanaheim daughters were to be just like their mothers. Not follow their father into throne hearings or take up fighting.” My mother would constantly say. Although I never understood why she bothered. Normally I’d be gone before she could finish that sentence. My father was a kind and gentle spirit. He would never lay his hands on a innocent child. He let me take up defense training when I was young. He knew I was special from the beginning. Unlike Midgard, Alfheim is surrounded by magic. It is in the air we breathe and the ground we walk on. Citizens could access this magic by sacrificing their blood back to the planet. For they came from it they must return back to it. However, royals were special; our magic was limitless always around us. We don’t have to sacrifice blood for our magic, yet it runs through us; like a river ever flowing.

“Come child, tell me what troubles you.” My father sighs. I didn’t have to say anything for him to know. That is what makes our bond special, he could sense my aura from miles away. I sigh knowing it was useless to confide in him, but just maybe he’d hear me.

“Father I can’t do this...”

“And why not? Weren’t you born to be queen?”

“Well yes, but of Alfheim! Not of Asgard, not to someone I barely know!”

“Y/N... Life isn’t always easy. If it was then there would be no point in living, now would there?” His question takes me back a notch. How could this be useful is any sense? “Stop overthing dear you’ll hurt yourself.” He says with a chuckle. I sit at his feet grasping his hand. “Father how do I do this? I mean leave my home and you behind? How can I marry a man I barely know? What do I do? What should I do? Why isn’t easy?” I ask looking for his guidance. He reaches his had down to cup my cheek before letting it fall limp at his side. He looks tired and worn down; he closes his eyes and stills time. “My dear...” he opens his eyes to meet mine. His hand leaves mine to point my eyes towards the fleeting images. “What you see are memories of my lifetime. Here the palace of Asgard... where I did most of my studying with the Allfather himself.” He smiles fonding over his childhood. I gasp at the sheer beauty of the memory. Two boys around 12 running through the gardens with wooden swords. One smaller then the other but made it up by his stoutness. The memory fades into a new one, the same boys but older now each the same height. They walk to halls seeming to recite something. “This was when I helped Odin prepare his speeches. He was so nervous not wanting to disappoint he father.” He chuckles before flashing a new picture. This memory was different, it seemed to be harder to read. I scooted closer to see but the memory faded before I could. “Father what was that?” I ask spinning back to look at him. He smiles a sweet smile before shaking his head. “That was my farewell party. That was the last time I saw Odin for a melinium.” He nods back to the images. I reluctantly gaze my eyes back towards them. This time there was the same boy but with a girl. She was beautiful, her golden hair fell perfectly out of her braids and onto her face. The boy kindly placed the loose strands behind her ear before leaning in to kiss her.

“Is that you and mother?” I ask still staring at the image.

“Yes it is.”

“Y’all look so happy.”

“We were.”

“What happened?” I ask glancing back at my father to see his expression change from joy to remorse.

“She wanted the magic our planet offered, but could never accomplish gaining it’s full power. You see darling she wasn’t born of Alfheim therefore her magic consists of that of a citizens.” He says before sighing. He shakes his head and the memories fade away into the air. “You want to know how you do this?” He asks waiting for me to respond. I simply nod my head afraid to use my words. “The answer is you are my Daughter, Y/N goddess of magic, crossroads, and the moons. Your abilities have foreseen mine since you were 1000.” He says while pinching my cheek. “You are strong, brave, kind, humble, charismatic, independent, intelligent, honest, genuine, talented, and compassionate. You are everything a woman should be to be queen. Just because I will not be with does not mean you are less than any other royal there.” He states locking his eyes with mine. I smile a grateful smile hoping he would take comfort from it.

“You’re highness.” One of the ship hands says out of breathe. My father turns to him smiling. The boy waits for a sign to continue from my father. He simply a nods his head towards the boy before looking back towards the window. “We have arrived to Asgard. We are about to land your Majesty.” The boy says bowing before exiting the room. I sigh getting up from the floor, stretching my legs as I ascend upwards. I grab my fathers hands before leading him towards the door. If I am to be this princes wife then so be it. I will not dishonor my fathers name by running from my problems. We return to my mother who stands as still as a statue next to the window. She snaps her gaze to us before standing up to greet her husband. “My love you look pale. Shall I fetch the nearest healer?” She asks pressing a hand to his forehead. He shakes his head before grasping her little hands in his. “My dear do not worry. I am just overwhelmed that this day has finally come. Our daughter finally being betroved to the son of my oldest friends.” he says pressing a chast kiss to her hands. She looks down smiling at the sight.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“My dear friend how long has it been?” Odin says while embracing my father in a hug. “Too long old friend.” Was all my father could say before returning the gesture of affection. I stand back a few feet from the group. I didn’t want to interrupt their mini reunion, but sooner or later I was roped into the formal gestures.

“Odin this is my beloved daughter Y/N!” My father exclaims proudly.

“She is quite the sight Alotl. Tell me dear what do you think of Asgard?”

I bite my tongue thinking before answering. “Well your highness I think it is absolutely stunning.” I say holding a tight smile.

“Tell me Y/N your father tells me of your extraordinary power. Would you mind enlightening us with your power?”

“Odin! This is no time for entertainment.” Frigga interjects sending him a stern look. I glance her way receiving a genuine smile. I smile back before her face changes. She looks like she is stuck in time, frozen a beautiful statue.

“Your highness are you alright?” I ask stepping forward. Odin follows my glance before moving to stand behind his wife. A confused look crosses my face as Odin does this. However before I could question the matter further Frigga falls backwards inhaling deeply.

“Frigga what did you see love?” Odin asks while helping his wife stand back on her feet. She stops and looks at you. You shift uncomfortably while her gaze remains on you. Odin looks at you confusion covering his worn features. “Princess Y/N may we have a word alone?” Frigga says turning towards the steps. I follow cautiously not know whether I was in trouble or not.

“You are the goddes of magic?”

“Indeed I am my queen .”

“You know your future is very unclear to me. That is something I am not used to.” She stops walking, spinning around to face me. She eyes me up and down before locking eyes with me. “Tell me dear your power is limitless?” She asks. Her eyes were no long staring at me but almost as if she were looking through me. “Yes your majesty.” I say standing a bit straighter. She nods for a second before looking back towards the entrance. “My dear I am afraid you future must change course for the good of Asgard. You will marry a Odinson, however; I am not sure which” She says turning back around to continue walking. I stand still my feet glued to the ground. My head starts to fog with ideas of what the Allmother has just seen. Am I not good enough for Thor? Am I a danger to the Odinson line? Was it a mistake coming to Asgard. I feel my stomach start to turn as endless scenarios fill my head. The Allmother stops walking for a second glancing back at my rigid form. “Y/N if you wouldn’t mind following me to Hiemdall.” She says turning around completely. Her words come out groogy and quiet. She makes her way towards me lightly placing her hand on my shoulder. Giving it a reassuring squeeze before smiling again. “I do not wish to frighten you my dear.” I look up at her. Her eyes were hopelessly searching mine for any form of emotion. I swallow the lump forming in the back of my throat. Standing straight once more I nod toward the queen, signaling it was ok to walk towards Hiemdall.

I followed her down every hallway possible in the palace before reaching Hiemdall. He was at the edge of the Bifröst where the gatekeeper kept watch. “Hiemdall.” Frigga says capturing the attention of the man. “My queen how may I be of service?” He asks turning towards the queen. He was a large man deep in color. His eyes were blood orange making it hard to not focus on them. He held a beautiful sword as if it were apart of him. “Hiemdall, I am having trouble seeing into the princesses future. Please tell me what you see. Who is her betroved? What does her life in Asgard I store for our people?” She asks looking deeply into his eyes. His gaze falls on me causing me to look down. What felt like an eternity as passed before he spoke. “My queen what you ask is who does she betrove?” He pauses glancing between the queen and I. My body seems to hang onto his every word as if it were the air I’m breathing. “My princess you will thrive in Asgard. You will become a gracious and loved queen. However, fate keeps you in the pool of love. You will be betroved to a son of Odin, however; which is in your control.” He says before turning to the queen. “She will be the savior or the reason Asgard falls. I have seen both endings, however it must be her decision who she chooses to marry. In alteration in her choice will end badly for all the realms.” And with that he turns around back to his station of keeping watch.

“Your majesty I do not understand.” I say plying over his words again and again.

“It appears to be that you will not be married as soon as we’d wish.”

“I peg your pardon?”

“It’s the prophecy! That a princess will be the key to Asgard’s servival, but also the destroyer. If we do not tried lightly I am afraid of the concequences to our actions.” She pauses and looks into the distance. Before waking towarsa Hiemdall. They converse over matters of high importance that I must not be able to hear. After a few minutes of discussing Frigga comes back with a smile. “Ah child Hope is not lost for I know the answer now.” She says walking past me. I follow hot on her heels. “What is the answer my queen?” I ask praying to Odin she tells me. She quickly turns to me causing me to almost run into her. “You will have to choose very wisely princess for your powers are not yet finished. Soon my dear you will see the answer and save us all.” that was all she said before leaving me standing there alone on the Bifröst.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki/thor #loki x you #loki of asgard #thor odinson #thor #thorki

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thosestarsthatshine · 5 years

Text

Loved and Lost

Ch. 6: Moving Forward and Leaving the Past Behind

Things between Y/N and Hitoshi had certainly become tense. For almost two months now, they had been actively avoiding each other at work, barely sparing a few words between them only when it was necessary. To anyone who didn’t know about their shared past, they would have seemed as merely acquaintances with the way they had been interacting with each other. For those who knew, however, it was clear that both Hitoshi and Y/N were hurting. Their close friends had been informed that Hiro was not Katsuki’s but indeed Hitoshi’s, which surprised them all since they had met Hiro before and had not caught on to the signs beforehand. They didn’t know the extent to which the fight between the two old friends had escalated.

Midoriya and Kaminari did their best to find out from Hitoshi, what exactly had happened to cause such a detrimental rift between the two former friends. However, they were only met with a empty stare and a simple shrug of the shoulders. Meanwhile, both Ashido and Uraraka had tried to get Y/N to open up, but all she would do is give them a faint smile and say that everything was fine. Kirishima kept bothering Bakugou about it, but Bakugou being who he was just grumbled at him and changed the subject. Hell, even Deku had tried to talk with Katsuki about ways he could help the situation.

But Katsuki Bakugou didn’t want to share how he felt about the whole ordeal, not with his best friend and especially not with shitty Deku. After Hitoshi had left that day, Y/N had a falling out with Aizawa. She was furious at him for, in her own words, sticking his nose into places it didn’t belong by forcing her to deal with things when she wasn’t quite ready.

“You had five years to be ready. Don’t you think that’s more than enough time to sort something out? How do you think Shinsou feels?” Aizawa said in an accusatory tone, pressing the matter further. He didn’t necessarily think that she should have kept this secret from him, he hated that he couldn’t say anything further himself. Y/N was right though, it wasn’t his news to share, so he had to go along with what she wanted. For five years, he kept her secret. Upon their return however, he was afraid that she would never tell Hitoshi, already seeming so hesitant to do so, thus he took matters into his own hands.

“Of course, you take his side. You always seem to take his side.” Y/N spoke through gritted teeth. It was no secret that Hitoshi was one of Aizawa’s favorite students. He always came to bat for him no matter what. It used to feel like Shinsou was more his child than his own daughter. It would frustrate her at times, but she used to push it aside, not wanting to let it ruin the dynamic that they had.

“It’s not about taking sides. It’s about doing what is right.” Aizawa said sternly.

Y/N quickly grew irritated. “Who are you to decide that for me? It’s not up to you. Hiro is my son, and if I didn’t want to tell Hitoshi, then you have no right to take matters into your own hands. That’s my decision, not yours.”

“He still has the right to know.”

“I tried to let him know, but he shut me out. That whole, ‘doing what was best for me’ bullshit, is unconvincing and you know that. Stop defending him, and putting this all on me. We’re both to blame in this situation.” Y/N said exasperated.

After their fight, Y/N, Hiro, and Bakugou had moved into their new apartment, which seemed to be done at the perfect time. Y/N hadn’t spoken to her father since.

It tore Bakugou up inside to see everything that Y/N was going through. She wouldn’t admit it out loud to him, but there were times when he heard her crying when she thought no one was around. It was if her whole world was crashing down around her, and she couldn’t hold on to the pieces. Bakugou did what he knew best, he would take her into his arms and hold her against his chest, trying to comfort her to the best of his ability. He knew that he wasn’t the best with words at times, but he knew how to physically show Y/N how much he cared. He would pepper her face with kisses, as he caressed her hair, and quietly whisper how much he loved her. Katsuki could see that it was helping, it just wasn’t enough. He knew that the only way to fix things was for Y/N and Hitoshi to sort through this mess and talk things out.

Meanwhile, Hitoshi was going through an emotional rollercoaster of his own. He constantly replayed the confrontation that he had with Y/N in his mind, as if it was on an endless loop. Hitoshi could only hate himself for using his quirk on her. He hadn’t meant to force her to tell him, he was just so angry.

But was he really angry with her, or just at himself?

Y/N had tried to reach out, that was true. He could only blame himself for not picking up the phone. Back then, he was trying so hard to give her space, to sort out his own insecurities and really become a man worthy of her love. But all it did was backfire. He was no longer worthy of her. Hell, she had found someone that was worthy, Bakugou - as much as Hitoshi hated to admit it.

Hitoshi laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, on another sleepless night. He thought about all the things that he had done to Y/N so far. It made him sick. He had really fucked things up this time. Even more so than he did five years ago. He thought about the simpler times with Y/N and how easy life had seemed when they were in high school.

How did life get so far away from him?

He thought over the past five years. How he essentially had waited for her to come back into his life so that he could pick up where they had left off. It was a foolish thing to do.

At the ripe old age of twenty four, Hitoshi finally had a wake up call.

He had come to the realization that his fight with Y/N was the result of five years of up emotion that he had stored away. It wasn’t fair to her that he hadn’t been able to move on, that he had unconsciously put all this pressure on her to return back to him, when she had no obligation to.

Y/N wasn’t a play thing that you could put down, and come back to later. No, she was a person with thoughts and emotions of her own. She was an adult, and she could make her own decisions. It soon brought Hitoshi to tears to think about how he had mistreated her the last time they had spoke. He wished that he would have just given her a chance to explain things on her own time, instead of forcing her to do it because he felt he was owed an explanation.

He was brought to the realization that he had never needed to prove that he was worthy of her, she used to show him that everyday. Rather than seeing that though, he chose to listen to his own fears and insecurities. Pushing her away when she needed him the most. Hitoshi’s heart sank into his chest at the thought. He needed to apologize. Now what he needed to prove was that he was worthy of her friendship and worthy of having Hiro in his life. That’s who was most important in his life now.

Letting the weight of his emotions lull him to sleep, he was about to drift off when he heard his phone ding with a text from Mari. The two had gotten even closer since his altercation with Y/N.

MARI: Just checking in. Hope you’re doing okay!

He smiled at her words. Mari was always there when he needed someone. He was beginning to rely on her more and more, and her on him. She recently had some heart break of her own. Before Y/N had decided to come to Might Heroes, the agency was actually thinking about promoting Mari from sidekick to full time hero. She was glad that the agency was finally recognizing all her hard work and talent. However, when it was announced that both Ground Zero and Kinesia would be joining, the agency felt it was best to wait to promote Mari. They already had two big names being added to the roster, and they really weren’t looking for another. So, she was forced to stay on the sidelines as a sidekick. It didn’t really sit well with her. Still, she tried to smile through it.

HITOSHI: I’m doing better. Thanks!

HITOSHI: You?

MARI: Somewhat, yeah.

Hitoshi had been thinking about asking her out for a couple of weeks now. Maybe she was just what he needed. However, there were more important things that he needed to focus on before he started anything new.

The following morning, Hitoshi was approached by an irritated Bakugou. Crimson eyes bore into his lavender ones, and Shinsou could feel himself tremble at the presence before him.

“Oi! You and I need to have a chat.” Bakugou called out to him gesturing to the empty office where they could talk. Hitoshi stepped inside while Bakugou closed the door behind him. Shinsou was anxious, he held his breath as he waited for Bakugou to speak.

“Look, I know I’m the last person you want to hear this from now, but this whole mess with you and Y/N avoiding each other needs to stop. If you truly want to be involved in Hiro’s life, then the two of you need to have a chat about your place in Hiro’s future.”

Hitoshi kept silent. Bakugou was right. He and Y/N needed to sit down and communicate with each other about everything. They needed to air out their grievances and move forward, for Hiro.

Bakugou took a deep breath and sighed, “Ya know she feels remorseful about how everything went down. But there’s something you need to know, when she came to the realization that you weren’t ever going to pick up the phone when she called, she cried. Non-stop. She tried her best to hid it, even from me. It killed me to see her like that, so broken. She hated herself.” He let out another sigh. “It took her a year to move past it all, and when she finally did, she came out the other end so much stronger.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. How could you. “You never bothered to pick up the damn phone and call her back for fuck’s sake.” Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, even Aizawa doesn’t know. She does her best to leave it in the past, where it belongs, and just move forward.”

Hitoshi just let Bakugou’s words sink in, as he realized how much he put Y/N through. He was glad that she had found someone like Bakugou. Someone who had come into her life and had.

“Look, it’s not going to be easy, but you two need to sort this out. Immediately. For Hiro. Cause he’s all that matters.”

Hitoshi could only nod in response as he knew what he had to do. He needed to reach out and just talk to Y/N. He needed to apologize.

Bakugou took his silence as confirmation and turned to walk out the door. Suddenly, he stopped in the door frame, turning back towards Hitoshi. Ruby eyes burning with a simmering rage.“Oh and another thing, if you ever use your quirk on Y/N like that again. I’ll break your fucking jaw.” As he said this little explosions dance across his palms.

With that, Bakugou walked out the door. Leaving Hitoshi was a shiver down his spine as he went to look for Y/N.

Across town, Y/N had been busy with Hiro planning for the wedding. Both Y/N had decided on using a wedding planner for the upcoming nuptials, since being pro heroes left little time to actually plan anything. However, Y/N still wanted to have some hand in actually putting stuff together for the big day. So, here they were looking at flower arrangements. Y/N felt slightly bad for her son, she had no choice but to bring Hiro along. She was still feuding with her father, so she didn’t want to leave Hiro with him. Plus, she took the opportunity to spend the day with Hiro, it had been awhile since they had a day together, just the two of them. Y/N knew that wedding planning wasn’t exactly the most fun for an almost five year old, so she decided to stop and get Hiro some ice cream.

“So, I figure since you’ve been so good all day, we can go and do something fun. Do you have any ideas?” Y/N asked as they sat down to enjoy their cones.

“I wanna see Daddy!” Hiro said excitedly. He never passed up an opportunity to see his dad at work. He loved what his parents did, he wanted to be a hero himself when he grew up. Plus, he knew that seeing his dad at work meant that he could see other pro heroes as well.

Y/N was hesitant, “I don’t know buddy. Daddy might be busy at work, and he might not have time to see you”. She knew that was the only reason why she didn’t want to go to the office, especially on her day off, but she wouldn’t tell little Hiro that.

Hiro began to grow upset. He stared at his mom with big eyes and jutted out his lower lip, making the perfect puppy dog face. He knew his mom wouldn’t be able to resist.

He was right.

Y/N let out a sigh, “Okay, okay. I’ll see if your dad is free.” She raised an eyebrow at her son, “Ya know kid, you’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Hiro smiled, contently scooping ice cream into his mouth as he spoke, “I know!”

After checking with Katsuki to make sure he was still in the office, Y/N and Hiro had made their way to the agency. As they stood outside the looming building, Hiro looked up in awe, his anticipation growing as he grew more and more excited. They soon found themselves in front of Katsuki’s office, Y/N could feel Hiro bouncing up and down at her side as they entered the large office. They found Bakugou sitting down at his desk as he went over a mission with Midoriya and Kirishima.

Hiro enthusiastically rushed to Bakugou’s side with a smile on his face, “Daddy!” He jumped into Katsuki’s lap, and gave him a quick hug before turning to face the rest of the room.

Y/N called out to her son, apologizing to the heroes in the process. “Sorry for the interruption. Hiro, say sorry.”

Hiro once again whipped out his sad puppy dog face as he apologized. Everyone couldn’t help but awe at the sight of him and acknowledging his very adorable apology. Y/N made her way to Katsuki and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. She knew that he hated public displays of affection, even small ones, but he was known to make an exception every once and awhile. She was glad this was one of those times.

“Aw, don’t you all look adorable, together like that! Man Bakugou, I never thought I’d see you like this!” Kirishima said, a huge smile on his face.

“Yeah Kacchan. It’s kind of nice to see you like this with your family.” MIdoriya said with a sheepish smile.

Bakugou immediately became irritated as he narrowed his eyes at the two of them, “Shut it Shitty Hair and stupid Deku!”

Hiro soon removed himself from Bakugou and made his way over to Midoriya and Kirishima. Telling them all about his quirk. It had been awhile since they had last seen him, and he was excited to share with them everything about it.

With their friends distracted, Katsuki turned to Y/N quietly whispering, “Just so you know, I had a chat with Shinsou. He seems to be sorry for what happened. You need to go talk to him.”

Y/N nodded. Although she really didn’t want to speak to Hitoshi, she knew that she needed to. She thought to herself that if Katsuki could have the courage to go and talk to him, then she could do so as well.

“Do you think you’ll be okay watching Hiro for awhile, while I go talk to him?” Y/N asked.

Katsuki gave her a side smirk as he watched Hiro, “Of course.”

Y/N smiled as she squeezed his shoulder and turned to head out of Katsuki’s office. However, before she could go she felt Bakugou grab her hand.

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I told him that if he ever used his quirk like that on you again. He’d have to deal with me.”

Y/N chuckled at his protective nature, glad to have someone like him in her corner, as she went in search of Hitoshi.

Y/N spotted Hitoshi back turned towards her as he talked to Mari, hesitantly she approached them. Mari stopped talking when she saw Y/N causing Hitoshi to turn around to see what made her go silent.

“Hey can we talk?” Y/N said quietly.

“Yeah. Actually, I was going to find you to ask the same thing.” Hitoshi rubbed the back of his neck as he sheepishly answered. He excused himself from Mari as he pointed to an empty conference room where they could talk.

They stood their awkwardly staring at each other. The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither one of them knew how to start the conversation.

Eventually they both spoke. “I’m sorry.”

They awkwardly laughed at their synchronicity, before returning to the silence. Hitoshi spoke again.

“Y/N, I am so sorry for how I reacted. I should have never used my quirk on you. I just want you to know that I’m not angry at you, just at myself for the way I’ve treated you. I know that I have a long way to go before I can prove to you that I’m worthy... but I really want to be apart of Hiro’s life.” Hitoshi could feel tears begin to well in his eyes as he spoke. “God, I should have picked up the damn phone, and I should have been there for you, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t. I just want to start over and be friends again. That’s if you’ll let me.” He paused as the tears began to fall, “God, this whole situation between us is fucked up. I missed you so goddamn much.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath as the tears threatened to roll down her own eyes, “Hitoshi, I have always wanted you to be apart of Hiro’s life. I’m so sorry that I kept that secret from you for all these years.” Suddenly the tears began to fall. “I want us to be friends again too. Despite it all, I did miss you. I missed having you in my life.”

Finally, they let out the true feelings that had been pent up for five years. It was as if a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. For the first time in five years they talked. They talked about everything from work to Hiro to everything in between. Hitoshi even asked Y/N and Bakugou, and she told him about how the got together and how excited she was to marry him.

“Sorry, I know that it’s still a sore subject for you.” Y/N said shyly.

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad that you found someone who loves you deeply. Even if it is Bakugou.”

Y/N playfully slapped Hitoshi’s arm and they laughed.

Once they had shared everything that they had needed to share. They hugged, like they were welcoming each other back into their lives. It felt wholesome and forgiving, like a conformation of the return of their friendship.

Before parting, Y/N spoke, “Hitoshi, I’m glad that you want to be apart of Hiro’s life. But I think that for now we shouldn’t tell him who you are. We need to give him some time to warm up to you, to get used to you being around.” Y/N paused. “We will tell him though.”

Hitoshi nodded, “I understand. It’s gonna be a lot for him to deal with. It’s better to ease him into it.” Y/N smiled and for the first time in what felt like ages, Hitoshi smiled as well.

The two soon parted, promising to get together soon for Hiro. Happiness radiating from them as they finally were able to come to an understanding about the future and the past they were choosing to leave behind.

However, unbeknownst to the two of them, a lone figure had been watching their reunion, anger and jealousy radiating from them at the sight of what they had seen.

#bhna bree #bhna x reader #bhna bakugou #bhna shinsou #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bhna #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #angst #loved and lost

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