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#that explains why mentor always gets in a fuss when i go over there
I'm not a gossip so you didn't hear this from me BUT apparently my mentor and the alchemist from the apothecary used to date. apparently the break up was messy - the alchemist cursed my mentor for like a year every drink he had was always spoiled
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Dark forest Residences: Turtlestepper & Lioncatch
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Turtlestepper
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Aliases / Nicknames: Turtle, Pip, Jumpy
Gender: tom (trans)
Age: 27 moons (at death)
Sexuality: panromantic, achilean leaning
Family: unnamed mother, Riddlecharm (older brother), Lioncatch (mate)
Other Relations: Skipperbug (mentor), Yarrowstar (mentor, mother figure), Claire (friend), Thrifttail (friend)
Clan: Briarclan, Lilacclan
Rank: medicine cat, daylight herbalist
Characteristics: Kills accidently, manslaughter, shy, timid, meek, quiet, curious, excitable, naive, gentle-natured, skilled with herbs
Number of Murders: 2
Number of Victims: 2
Murder Method: accidental drowning, accidental throat puncture
Known Victims: Claire, Rookleg
Cause of Death: falling, blunt force trauma
Cautionary Tale: N/A
Story:
When Turtlekit developed allergies, he avoided the medicine den like it were greencough. Because he was a very sickly kit, the other kits were discouraged from playing with him in case he had an ‘episode’ that made it difficult to breathe.
Compared to Riddlecharm, his elder brother, he was the average cat. Overlooked by his Clanmates, it was easy to feel invisible. Due to this, he became incredibly shy, often preferring to stick near the leader’s den and away from the fuss that always seemed to surround Riddlecharm.
Yarrowstar took pity on the kit, so isolated as he was, and often let him sleep in her den. She would explain to the kit that it was because her den had less foliage than the nursery. As well, she thought that the preparation would make him a good apprentice for her.
However, it only made him even more isolated from the other apprentices. On his first time out of camp, Yarrowstar took him and Lionpaw to explore the territory. Aside from a stuffy nose and wheezy breath, Turtlepaw was fine for the first half of the tour.
When Yarrowstar and Lionpaw’s mentor, Whitepelt, left to investigate a border skirmish, the two apprentices were left to talk alone. The pair got along surprisingly well, and ended up playfighting to pass the time.
The moon-older Lionpaw offered his new denmate how to pounce properly. Excited that someone was taking an interest in him, Turtlepaw was quick to agree.
He pounced on the small apprentice, causing the two to roll into a heather bush.  Turtlepaw quickly began to gasp for breath, unable to breathe as he collapsed.
Panicked at the sight, Lionpaw ignored the mentors yelling at them in the distance and picked Turtlepaw up by the scruff, running straight for camp.  
At the medicine den, Skipperbug instantly started to try and get Turtlepaw to eat the mixture of bright-eye, borage, and catmint. Lionpaw stayed by his side the whole shaky night, hissing at anyone who even came near Turtlepaw if they had been in the fields recently.   
Skipperbug eventually pushed him out of the den for crowding, but Lionpaw continued to check on him frequently. To his dismay, Turtlepaw’s mother didn’t even come once to visit her son over the next two days. He was expecting to feel even worse in the medicine den, but for the first time in moons his lungs felt clear.   
Skipperbug told him it might be due to the herbs overpowering all the flowers and grass outside. Turtlepaw was in awe, and once he could leave he went straight to Yarrowstar. 
“I want to be a medicine cat apprentice,” he had stated happily. Hurt had flashed in Yarrowstar’s eyes, but she quickly said that she would announce it tonight.   Over the next few moons, Turtlepaw became quite skilled in herbs, and mostly stayed in camp unless he was going to the cliffs edges with Lionpaw.   
He was baffled by Lionpaw’s company, not knowing why the tom spent time with him. There were many other apprentices who were better than Turtlepaw, and who didn’t spend hours showing Lionpaw his pebble and feather collection.  
Climbing up the base of the cliffs, they were able to see the Briarclan fields without his lungs hurting. Lionpaw took him there often, and when they were both given their full names, he broke his vigil to take Turtlestepper there.  
Lioncatch confessed his love to Turtlestepper, and the two became mates. He still wondered why Lioncatch bothered staying with him, considering he wasn’t particularly interesting, but overtime he was able to be convinced to socialize with other cats.   
The next newleaf, his lungs got worse and worse. He even took to carrying around a moss ball soaked in nauseating mouse bile to cover the pollen. After a particularly bad episode which he could barely remember, he was shocked to wake up with Lioncatch pressed against his side with his nose buried in Turtlestepper’s shoulder.   
“I thought you were dead,” Lioncatch muttered around a face-full of fur.   
“I’m not,” Turtlestepper had replied awkwardly, lungs aching at the words.  “You could have been, Turtle. You almost died again.” 
Turtlestepper coughed again, and Lioncatch looked at him, full of sympathy as he helped groom him. 
When Lioncatch was offered the role of deputy, he refused instantly, wanting to focus on his mate and family. Lioncatch grew more and more concerned for him every day, and after the third episode in one moon he asked if Turtlestepper would leave with him.   
Turtlestepper was shocked, taken aback by the idea of leaving his clan. Lioncatch convinced him that it would be better for them both if they could go somewhere else, and the two announced that they were leaving a few nights after.   
Like expected, Turtlestepper’s family didn’t seem to care much. Yarrowstar, on the other hand, spent a long time pressed against him, begging him to be safe. Skipperbug was supportive, helping him gather his collections.   
They left with four wraps: travelling herbs, pebbles, feathers, and herbs for his lungs.  A week later, they found a group of kittypets who were hunting near the flower fields. Lioncatch noticed that they smelled mostly of rogues, but he couldn’t tell.   
They lead them back to their camp, and Lioncatch seemed confused on why the clan was full of kittypets and rogues. The leader explained that they were daylight warriors, and Turtlestepper instantly wanted to become one.   
Lioncatch was worried about staying in Lilacclan, considering the large flower fields, but after some convincing they lived part time at the barn and part time in the camp.
Despite the pollen, Turtlestepper had never been happier, and quickly became close friends with many cats. Lioncatch was jealous, trying to convince him to stay with him more often. Oblivious to this, Turtlestepper became very good friends with a barn cat named Thrifttail.   
Come leafbare, Turtlestepper got very cold during the night and spent many of his nights curled up with Thrifttail while Lioncatch was at the camp. Thrifttail admitted to having a crush on him, and Turtlestepper gently let him down, explaining that he was already mates with Lioncatch.  
He told his mate one day, unaware of how Lioncatch’s pelt bristled with anger.   Two days later, Thrifttail was found with his throat slashed out. Turtlestepper was horrified, not leaving his mate’s side for the next moon.   
One of the daylight warriors, Claire, offered to teach him to swim, and soon they spent most evenings in the water. They got along amazingly, and she was always very nice to him. He finally had a friend!   
One day, however, she asked him why he was so weird, and he felt hurt and pounced on her in the water. He only meant to push her! But Claire had hit her head on a rock, and when the waves lapped over them, he lost his grip on her and she was swept out into the lake while he fumbled blindly to try to pull her to safety.  
When Claire’s mate, Rookleg, yowled that it was his fault, Turtlestepper believed him and grew quiet and dismissive.  
Almost a week later, he left the barn at night after waking up to a cold nest. At first he just sat outside in the cool breeze.
Until he heard fighting. 
Following the sound, he found a large cat standing over an injured Rookleg. He leapt to try and pull the cat off of Rookleg, but the attacker took a step back and Turtlestepper’s claws slipped into Rookleg’s throat. 
The blood bubbled around his paws as Rookleg gurgled for breath a moment before he stilled. Turtlestepper scrambled away from the warm body, shaking his paws aggressively. Looking up at the strange cat, he saw that it was Lioncatch.
Instantly, he ran. 
His mate followed him to the barn, trying to get him to listen. “It’s not what you think, I was protecting you!”   
Turtlestepper squeezed his eyes shut, climbing up the crates into the top of the barn. Lioncatch was soaked in blood, and he shook in fear as his mate approached him.   
Turtlestepper’s paws skidded on the thin plank, and he crouched in terror as his mate tried to convince him to come down. He hissed and spat and curled in on himself, lungs tightening until he passed out.   
He heard Lioncatch yell out, but he was already falling off of the plank and onto the stone floor below. Vision blurry, the last thing he saw was Lioncatch jumping after him.  
Additional Information:  
-- Turtlestepper had asthma, allergies, and likely autism. He enjoyed the water because it helped clear his lungs, and fish was the only prey he could catch. 
-- YarrowStar truly viewed him as her son and because of her, he developed a slight southern accent.
-- He has a  mostly white body with short fur, white ears and white paws. His left legs are white, and his right right are pale brown with black patches. He has two black splotches on his back and two on his shoulder. The back of his neck is a slightly darker brown and he has dark brown stripes on his face. His face is mostly pale brown with a cream muzzle and black nose bridge. His ears have black tufts, and he has corn flower blue eyes. He has one thin scar from a bramble along his throat, a stub tail, and a slightly pudgy belly.
-- You can learn more about him here: https://wills-woodland-warriors.tumblr.com/post/689309199500509184/pixel-cat 
Lioncatch
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Aliases / nicknames: N/A  
Gender: tom (28 moons)  
Sexuality: Bisexual    
Family: unnamed parents, Turtlestepper (mate)   
Other relations: Whitepelt (mentor)   
Clan: BriarClan, LilacClan  
Rank: warrior   
Characteristics: outgoing, quick to anger, jealous, loyal, caring, dedicated, obsessive   
Number of Victims: 2  
Number of Murders: 1   
Murder Method: ripping throat out   
Known Victims: Thrifttail, Rookleg  
Cause of Death: falling   
Cautionary Tale: N/A  
Story:   See Turtlestepper.   
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Additional information: 
-- He believed he was protecting TurtleStepper, and would have done anything to do so. In the Dark Forest, he realizes what he did was wrong.
-- He has a golden ticked long and fluffy fur with pale yellow eyes and white paws. He has a white patch on his chest, a white muzzle and cheeks with small specks of white littering his ears. He has a very large and stocky build with broad shoulders and strong back legs.  
--Submission by @wills-woodland-warriors​ ! Thanks for the patience!
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mandoalorian · 3 years
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Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]
ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 4: The Bounty ✩࿐ ˚.✧
Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.
Word Count: 2400>
Warnings: allusions to male masturbation, protector!Din comes with his own warning.
Series Masterlist
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Maker, you were beautiful.
The way you slept was so peaceful, basking in the moonlight. Din was surprised you could even sleep that well on top of the rock hard slap he called a bed. He thought the child was cute when he slept, but as Din watched you, revelling in the way your chest rose and fell with every breath, he swore he had never seen such heavenliness in his life.
He’d gotten lucky, he had to admit that. You were the Manda’lor, and you could’ve been a Gungan or a Rodian or who knows what… but you weren’t. You were a human who looked distinctly similar to the illustrations of angels in the fairytale books Din grew up reading. You were brave and fierce, but you were still the same girl who burst into tears only minutes after meeting Din. You were special, different. And Din had never let himself feel this way about anyone before. Truthfully, it scared him.
And Din didn’t get scared either. He was a scarred, battle hardened Mandalorian warrior. Very little affected him... but already, his heart ached for you. He was yearning. He saw the way you were with the child, and the love you had in your heart. He was a fighter, and the way the creed had brought him up, he’d never known any different, but you were a princess. You showed him that you didn’t need to win your battles through violence, but you could do it through peace and love. Just like your mother; duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.
Din sighed, and raised his hands to remove his helmet. You were asleep, so it was okay. Just for once he wanted to look at you with his own eyes. And somehow, it was even better. Din discarded his gloves and quietly took off his beskar armour and boots, preparing to settle himself down for bed, but as he undressed, he didn’t take his eyes off you once. So so beautiful.
Maybe you and Din were more similar than you first realised, because Din was throbbing by the time he went to the refresher. He leaned against the cool wall and closed his eyes, palming at his erection through his pants. He felt so confined and he was desperate for some kind of relief. But when he closed his eyes, he wasn’t seeing the usual darkness. All he could see was you.
-----
You weren't sure how long you had been asleep for. But it was the distinct smell of bone broth that woke you up. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and it took you a few moments to focus your vision, getting used to what was about to be your temporary (yet still new) home. You stretched your body and yawned, bringing your fists to your face to rub your eyes.
“You're up,” Din commented, his modulated voice stating the obvious. You jumped when you saw the beskar clad figure standing at the edge of the bed—just watching you. How long had he been watching you? “There's a bowl of bone broth waiting for you.” he informed you and you scrunched up your nose at the unpleasant smell. “What? You don't like it?”
No. Was there anyone in the galaxy who actually liked bone broth? You assumed it was just something the settlers on Sorgan ate because they had no other choice, and it was cheap. Did the Mandalorian really drink bone broth? He’d already sounded irked and you had just woken up. 
“Uhm…” your voice trailed off, your gaze flicking between the bowl of soup and the Mandalorian. "Do you have any fruit? Sourberries, maybe?" You tried your best to dodge his question and sound polite, but judging from Din’s reaction, you mustn’t have done a good job.
Din scoffed, before taking his rifle out of the armoury and attaching it to the holster on his back. What did he need a rifle for? "No. You think I have the credits for that? Sorry princess." He grumbled. And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the ship. 
You felt bad. You didn't mean to offend him, although you could completely understand how your comment came across. Ungrateful. You weren't ungrateful, it was just… bone broth was what you fed to the palace bluurgs. It wasn't something you ever voluntarily chose to consume. You looked back over at the steaming bowl of soup and sighed. Why did you even feel bad? You barely knew him. You were the literal princess of Mandalore and - no, you wouldn’t feel bad for a child of the watch. If anything he should feel bad for the actions of his people and what they had done to yours. What they had done to you. You slipped out of Din’s bed and picked up your bowl of broth before heading down the hull of the ship, wanting to find him and apologise. He’d given up his bed for you, he was making sure you were well fed, the least you could do was say sorry.
But he was nowhere in sight. You’d noticed the ramp of the ship had been lowered, and a stream of natural sunlight was blazing into the ship. You had landed. Were you on Nevarro? Had he… had he left you without saying anything? Surely not. You padded into the cockpit only to find Grogu sitting in the pilot seat, playing with a small steel ball. He threw it between his three clawed hands and giggled every time he caught it.
“Hey kid,” you sighed, slipping into the co-pilot seat. “Where did your dad go?”
Grogu garbled a long winded response and you listened closely. No way. He was a bounty hunter? Kriff… you’d somehow managed to tie yourself into a bounty hunter’s affairs. You cursed yourself but continued to listen to the child’s explanation. Din had gone out to earn some quick credits, goodness knows what for. And he’d left Grogu on the ship with strict instruction to watch over you. You couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. He’d asked his child to make sure you wouldn’t get into trouble.
“He can’t just leave me on the ship and not say anything,” you laughed to yourself in disbelief, letting your head fall in your hands. The birds outside the ship tweeted and for Din to have left the ramp open, you knew that Nevarro must have been a safe planet. At least for the most part. “Do you come here much?” You asked Grogu, who nodded his head in affirmation, You hummed, picking up the child and nursing him on your lap. “Does your father always expect people to follow his rules?” you asked slyly, and even Grogu giggled. “Come on. Take me around Nevarro little one. I wish to explore.”
It wasn’t like you gave Grogu a choice, but you learned that he was practically just as mischievous as you were, and Din was wrong to leave a child in command of you. He was wrong to leave anyone in command of you. You’d lived on Mandalore your whole life, not once ever leaving the planet. Now you were finally further into the outer-rim than ever before and Din just expected you to stay on the ship? Not a chance. You picked up the child and carried him outside and oh stars - it was beautiful. The golden sunlight radiated warmth and you overheard the happy sound of children excitedly chirping away. Din had parked the Crest dead centre in the middle of town, it seemed, with stalls and vendors on every corner, peppering the streets. You hummed in contentment, and sat down on the edge of the ramp with your bowl of broth and Grogu.
“Do you like this?” you asked, mixing the broth with the spoon Din had provided you. Grogu nodded his head happily and you laughed. “Does Din eat it?” Grogu nodded his head even more and his lips curled into a smile when he realised you were about to try the soup. If both Din and the child ate bone broth regularly, then it couldn’t be that bad…
And it wasn’t, not really. You could get used to the taste. The odorous smell was more off putting than anything else. So, without fuss, you ate the bubbling brown substance and discarded the finished bowl back inside the ship. You weren’t going to be gone too long, just long enough to meet the townsfolk and get a feeling off the planet. You hadn’t been this excited about anything in a long time. 
-----
This was never part of the plan, but in the 24 hours of knowing Din Djarin, you had softened him considerably; more so than what the Mandalorian would like to admit. He didn’t plan on being gone long. But he still wanted, no, he needed, to get on your good side if he planned on asking you to marry him. The thought of winning you over through a façade of lies didn’t sit right with him. He never had a strong moral compass but he believed that you should at least marry for love. But then again, love was a foreign concept to him. He’d seen it before, in his parents, but that was just a distant memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, and if the Armorer told him to marry you, he had to do it.
It wasn’t a choice. It was his duty as a Mandalorian. 
“I need a quick job.” Din announced, sliding into the booth opposite Karga.
“Mando! Good to see you. Kid not with you today?” Greef Karga, esteemed magistrate of Nevarro asked.
“He’s on the ship,” Din shrugged casually, knowing that the child’s safety - and yours - would be guaranteed as long as you just stayed put. “I need a quick job. Something simple and on Nevarro.”
Karga scrunched up his eyebrows in bewilderment. “Coming from the hunter who normally takes four pucks at a time, this is new,” he chuckled. “But I don’t have anything of the sort. What’s it for?”
Din hesitated, having no reason to be dishonest but yet not wanting to explain more than necessary. “Sourberries.”
This was a foolish plan, but if you wanted sourberries then Din would get you sourberries. He had this primal urge in him to appease you. To win you over.
Karga blinked before erupting into a fit of belly laughter. Din shuffled around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.
“Sourberries? Let me guess, is that code for something? I get it Mando. Us men have needs!” Karga laughed. “I do have one puck on Nevarro. Brand new. High paid. Imperial bounty," Karga hissed once his laughter settled down, but a smirk still played upon his lips. "You could buy a whole sourberry forest with the credits from this bounty.”
“You’re doing Imperial work, after everything we’ve been through?” Din frowned, shaking his head in disappointment. “Does Cara know?”
“It doesn’t matter. The Imps are the only ones who will pay Guild rates. Besides… I really didn’t have a choice. The guy who came to see me was an ex-ISB officer. Said he’s looking for a runaway princess. Figured the guy she ran away with is a settler on Nevarro. Told me he has a very distinct look but didn’t provide much more information.”
Din swallowed, his heart sinking in his chest. It couldn’t be, could it?
“What other information do you have?” Din countered. He had to know. He had to know so he could return back to the Crest and warn you. Maybe Nevarro wasn’t as safe as he’d predicted after all.
“Will you accept the bounty?” Karga asked. “Otherwise I can’t-”
“Listen, I need to know all that you know.” Din said sternly. 
“Unless you’re willing to accept the puck, I can’t give you that information.”
Dank farrik. He couldn’t accept a bounty on you… he was your protector. What would he even tell you?
Once upon a time, he would’ve felt comfortable enough to explain his situation to Greef but if he was working with the Imperials again… maybe he wasn’t as trustworthy as Din once believed. He understood where Greef was coming from, to a degree. You were living during difficult times, but if he learned that you were the bounty and you were literally just a mile away, waiting on his ship, he’d have no choice but to notify this ex-ISB officer. If it meant Greef would earn his coin, Din wouldn’t put betrayal past him.
He needed the puck. He needed the puck because if he didn’t take it, another bounty hunter would. Of course Din wouldn’t let anyone even get near you, but if it was an Imperial bounty, he  knew they’d just keep coming and coming. The Imperials didn’t give up easily. They didn’t give up with the child and they wouldn’t give up on you.
“I’ll take it.” Din announced after a moment of contemplation.
“Excellent!” Karga grinned, fishing out for the puck. “What I can tell you is this. She’s the princess of once of the very few Empire ruled planets. Could be Lothal, Naboo, Dathomir, maybe even Mandalore…” and then Karga began to describe your appearance. Everything from your eye colour, hair colour, skin tone… he had you to a T. This was not good.
“Do you know why she ran away?” Din asked, trying to swallow away any fear for your safety.
“I don’t ask questions like that,” Greef responded, shooting the Mandalorian a strange look. Din should have known better. “But they’re almost certain she’s on Nevarro so hopefully you won’t have to look far. I have no doubt a man of your talents will be able to bring her back to the Guild before nightfall, right?”
“Right…” Din replied, a little too quietly. “Dead or alive?” 
“Alive only. No reward for a cold body,” Greef said strictly. “Good luck Mando,” Din was going to need more than just luck. He took the puck and stood up, Greef following from behind. “Hey, for your journey,” He smiled, handing the Mandalorian a bag of sourberries. “No charge. I’ve just… missed you.” 
Din made a small noise of gratitude although it wasn’t received through the modulator, before taking the berries from his friend and leaving the cantina. It really was warm outside, so much so, wearing the beskar was even more uncomfortable than usual. He had to go see Cara, but suddenly, it was very unsafe for you to be on the ship if Imps were roaming the town looking for you. Thankfully, Nevarro had the perfect hiding spot for you; the covert. Only Din didn’t know how much the other children of the watch would take a liking to you… or you them. But neither of you had any other choice. 
So when Din returned to the Crest, with sourberries and one hand and your bounty puck in another, he was mortified to see that neither you nor the child were there. His heart sank into his chest and his movements became erratic as he called your name and searched every crevice. Had they found you already? Had they taken the child? Oh no no no -
On impulse, Din fished into his armoury and grabbed more weapons, including explosives and detonators. He didn’t want this to get messy, but if the Imperials had taken both you and Grogu, there wasn’t a chance he’d go down without a fight. He’d have them begging for mercy. No one gets on the wrong side of Din Djarin.
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parvulous-writings · 3 years
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SFW alphabet// Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader
Request: There isn’t one- this is pure self indulgence. 
Submitted by:​ MEEEE
Genre/fandom: Fluff/Star Wars
Warnings:  None.
Summary: SFW alphabet for Obi-Wan Kenobi.
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Not my gif
A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Obi-Wan is pretty damn affectionate- when you both are alone. In public, it is often a different story. That’s not to say he doesn’t sweet talk you quietly when you’re out and about, but he rarely holds your hand when in places that the Jedi Order could see you. When you are alone though, either in his quarters, your Coruscant apartment or elsewhere out of sight, he is one of the most affectionate people you’ve ever met, giving you so many hugs and kisses it’s hard to count. One of his favourite things to do, during slower days, he’ll sit in his favourite chair whilst he reads, letting you sit in a nearby chair, your hands linking you both together.  B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)
Quite simply, Obi-Wan is one of the nicest and fairest beings in the galaxy, and the very best friend should you put the effort in to get to know him- though, even if you don’t, he’s still extraordinarily kind hearted, and ever the gentleman.  The friendship would probably start when he’s assigned to protect you- and of course he politely introduces himself, and you’re drawn to his friendly and calming presence. 
C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
He ADORES cuddles. All of them. In bed, in comfy chairs, standing up- anywhere, anyhow, so long as you aren’t discovered. Given half the chance, he would cuddle you to the end of time. He’s a big one for physical affection. A lot of his favourite moments with you are spent curled up together, talking about both everything and nothing, basking in each others company.  D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?) Obi-Wan would love to settle down- and he was incredibly ready to leave the Jedi Order for you, but you told him to stay, at least for Anakin’s sake.  He is a marvelous cook- and you can’t convince me otherwise. You don’t go out for secret date nights, oh no, Obi-Wan cooks you a delicious home-made meal.  He’s also quite clean, doing all the chores around his quarters almost every day or when he gets the chance between training sessions, meetings and the missions.  E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) If he had to, he would try and let you down slowly. He would try not to make a show of it and explain calmly to you why he think it would be best for you to go your separate ways. It would break him inside, but he’d keep his composure until he was alone.   F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?) He would like very much to get married to you 😊 you are his one and only living love, after all. He’d leave the Order for you, if you let him. Enough said, really. G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?) Very gentle physically, very very gentle indeed. His touches are always so soft, as if he’s nervous that you’re only a dream, and if he’s too rough with you, you’ll suddenly poof out of existence. It’s quite sweet, actually.  H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?) Like with cuddles, Obi is a pretty big hugger. His hugs are warm, and full of all the love he holds for you. You almost always catch his scent- the faint smell of spices, and it always calms you down, it’s soothing. His hands often find the small of your back and the back of your head, supporting you as well as keeping you close to him. I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?) Not particularly quickly- he tries to suppress his feelings at first, and it takes many weeks of being around you for him to even admit to himself that he liked you, not to mention how long it took for him to muster up the courage to admit his feelings for you.  Even after he admits his love for you, he usually only says the L word when he thinks it’s a special occasion- though he makes sure that you know he loves you in other ways.
J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)
Obi-Wan doesn’t often get jealous- he understands the need for close friendships outside of your relationship. But there have been one or two instances where his emotions have gotten the better of him. When he’s jealous, he can get rather possessive. He doesn’t mean to- he truly doesn’t- but he’ll put his arm around your waist, pull you close to his side, whilst giving a very dark glare to send them a message. (He’ll try not to do this in front of Jedi, and has so far succeeded in that regard.)  K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Obi-Wan’s kisses are often quite light and brief- as most of them are given in public. Kisses in private are much deeper, much more passionate, much longer. His favourite place to kiss you is the very tip of your nose, he doesn’t know why really, he just thinks it’s a very endearing place to kiss you. His favourite place to be kissed is just under his jaw, your lips just seem to press against his skin so nicely there.  L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?) Oh, Obi-Wan is a dream around children! He is a wonderful mentor to the younglings in the temple- a brilliant father figure for those who see him as such. Absolute father/husband material, I tell you.  M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?) They are sometimes few and far between, but... Imagine the most idyllic scene you can think of. Sunlight streaming through the window and lightly hitting your face, as the wonderful smell of breakfast hits your nose, rousing you from your slumber. There he stands, in his nightclothes with his back to you, as he cooks you a glorious breakfast. He turns to smile at you as you get up, moving over to quickly give you a morning kiss on the cheek.  That is a morning with Obi-Wan. N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?) Just as heavenly as the mornings. They’re quiet, more often than not, but they’re still wonderful. Though just as rare as the mornings, if not rarer, you both spend the first part of the evening watching the sun set, before dining together, and finally ending up in each others arms, talking nonsense till you both find  slumber.  O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?) Usually late at night, a month or so into your relationship. It’s not about what most people would consider ‘secrets’, but to Obi-Wan these things are incredibly personal. He talks to you about the bond he had with his master, and how he felt when he lost him, he talks about how proud he is of Anakin, all of it. It takes a few weeks and countless late nights, but you’re both all the closer to one another for it.  P - Patience (How easily angered are they?) Man’s a Jedi. The King of patience. He doesn’t often get angry.  When he does, though... Yikes. He loses it. Thankfully his rage is almost never directed towards you. 
Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?) He remembers everything you tell him, down to the last detail. You mention something as a throwaway comment? I guarantee you he’ll be doing or purchasing something  to do with that little throwaway line. Every detail goes into his head and never leaves.  R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?) A time he found you entertaining the younglings whilst waiting for you. You seemed so happy, your eyes sparkling and full of life, glinting as you laughed. He leant against the wall, just watching you as you played with them, letting them embrace their childhood for a little bit longer. It is something he’ll often play it over and over again in his head when he’s watching you sleep. 
S - Security (How protective are they?) Obi-Wan knows you have to fight your own battles, and he does try his best to let you do that, offering guidance if you need it. However, when he knows you’re out of your depth- whatever that may be- he will step in and defend you in whatever way he needs to.  T - Try (How much effort do they put in?) He puts in so much effort for you, trying to prove himself to you even though you constantly remind him he doesn’t need to. He also finds it his constant quest to make it up to you for not spending more time with you when in the Order. You tell him not to do that too, but he never seems to listen.  U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?) Apologising too much. For not spending enough time with you, for being late when he isn’t.. Little things. Little, pesky things. It started off sweet at first, but quickly you found it to be a little bit of a problem.  V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Not really that concerned. He keeps himself clean of course, he has more than enough decency for that, but he’s not really that fussed. He’ll pay more attention to small things- like the style of his hair or how he wears his robe- if he wants to impress you, but he’s not exactly vain. W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Oh he would definitely feel incomplete without you. He misses you deeply when on missions- and even goes as far to use his holocom to contact you when far off and he can’t bear not hearing your voice anymore.  X - Xtra (Random HC) Obi-Wan is an absolutely divine cook. You want a meal that the canteens or cafeteria don’t do a good job on? Say no more, he shall provide for you. He’d cook practically anything for you, just to see you smile.  Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?) Obi-Wan isn’t particularly fussy when it comes to partners, however there is one thing that almost always has to be there. Manners. Otherwise, you may just have a few ettiquete lessons from Master Kenobi. Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)
Obi-Wan is usually a sound sleeper, and has a regular sleeping pattern. This pattern is only slightly taken off track when you sleep in the same bed as him, and he’ll spend at least half an hour running his hands through your hair as you sleep, admiring the blissful smile that crosses your lips. 
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eastofthemoon · 3 years
Text
Never thought I would write Lego Monkie King fic, but here we are.
Title: Did I Forget To Mention
Rating: G
Characters: Monkey King, MK and Pigsy
Summary: Monkey King was certain he knew all about MK. However, after a visit he suddenly realizes how little he does know his successor.
Archive of Our Own
Wukong flew across the sky in his bird form. He hadn’t planned on training the kid until tomorrow, but the weather was just too perfect to waste.
Besides, it was either that or house clean and he wasn’t in the mood for it. It could wait another week or two.
Wukong gave a small twirl in the air as he flapped his wings and soon landed on top of the sign.
He spotted MK walking out with Pigsy close behind. Wukong wanted to swoop down and surprise tackle the kid, but paused. MK wasn’t in his regular set of clothes. They were strangely a lot nicer than normal and he was even straightening a tie?
Wukong tilted his bird head in confusion. He didn’t even know the kid had nice clothes. Where was he going that he had to dress so formally?
Curious, Wukong stayed in his bird form and flew a little closer, but made certain to stay out of sight.
“I shouldn’t be long, Pigsy,” MK said as he put a bag in his delivery cart. “I’ll be back by the lunch rush-”
“Kid, it’s fine,” Pigsy said as he patted the kid’s shoulder. “Sandy says he got you covered, just try to be back by the dinner and we’re good.”
He’s oddly flexible today, Wukong thought. Pigsy always got so cranky when he was dragging MK off to do some training.
MK sighed, but gave a smile. “Okay, thanks, Pigsy.”
Pigsy waved a hand. “Don’t mention it.” He then rubbed his neck and passed MK a small box. “Oh and uh, here I made some egg tarts for your folks.”
Wukong frowned. Folks? Did he mean MK’s parents?
MK’s eyes widened happily. “Really? Wow, thanks, Pigsy! That saves me having to stop by the bakery.” The kid carefully tucked the box into the bag and climbed into the car. “Alright, I’ll see you later.”
“Stay safe,” Pigsy said with a wave before venturing inside his restaurant.
Wukong quietly watched MK drive away.
MK had never mentioned his parents to Wukong before. He talked about Mei, Sandy, Pigsy and Tang, and sometimes even mentioned an aunt of his, but never his parents. Wukong knew he lived by himself, but he never thought too hard about it. Granted it was odd the kid was making such a big fuss over seeing his parents.
Were they super strict or something? Was that why he didn’t leave with them?
Wukong probably should have gone back to the Flower Fruit Mountain, but he found himself flying after MK’s cart. The lack of information was going to nag him until he knew.
It didn’t take long for Wukong to get his answer when MK climbed out of the delivery car and ventured into a graveyard.
Wukong felt his heart stop as he watched MK carefully carry the bag and walked until he reached a pair of tombstones.
MK gave a small smile. “Hi Mom, hi Dad.”
Wukong landed on a nearby tree, but kept his distance.
MK silently cleaned the tombs. He then placed the flowers along with the egg tarts and burned some incense before kneeling.
“I bet you guys are worried about me,” he rubbed his neck. “It’s been a year, but don’t worry. I have a great mentor in the Monkey King and all of my friends got my back. I’ll be okay.”
He then folded his hands to pray and then rose up once he was finished. MK gave one more smile at the tombstones before picking up his now empty bag and left.
Wukong waited until MK got to his delivery car and drove away. He shifted back into his true form as he landed in front of the tombstone.
Quietly, he gave a bow and lingered for a moment before turning back to his bird form and flew away.
No training today. There was a lot he had to think about.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wukong returned to Flower Fruit Mountain until it was close to evening. He took flight as a bird again and headed to Pigsy’s restaurant. He waited until the shop closed and Wukong watched MK and Tang head home.
He snuck through an opened window, reverted to his true form when he landed and entered the kitchen. Pigsy was in the middle of washing dishes.
Wukong cleared his throat. “Hey Pigsy, I-”
He briefly regretted it as Pigsy yelped, spun around with a wet frying pan in hand ready to attack. Wukong prepared to dodge, but Pigsy froze upon seeing him and blinked.
“MONKEY KING?!”! He cried and cursed before shaking the wet frying pan in his face. “Geez, didn’t anyone ever tell you to not sneak up on people?!”
“Sorry,” Wukong said as he held up his hands. “Didn’t realize this was how you greeted paterons?!”
“It is when people sneak in here after I locked up the place when it’s supposed to be empty,” Pigsy snapped.
Wukong raised an eyebrow and gestured to the window. “Not completely locked up. You missed a window.”
Pigsy frowned, glanced to where he pointed and grumbled. “The one time I forget-” He shook his head. “Wait, nevermind that! What do you want? I doubt it’s about testing my security.”
Wukong’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “I needed to discuss something about MK and you seemed like the best person to ask.”
Pigsy’s eyes widened. “The kid? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Wukong said quickly and rubbed his neck. “But...I didn’t realize his parents were dead.”
The small panic left Pigsy’s face before the cook turned back to scrubbing his pan. “He told you?”
“Not exactly,” Wukong said. “I spotted him this morning and followed him.”
Pigsy raised an eyebrow at him. “So you saw him visiting his parents' graves?”
“Yeah,” Wukong said slowly. “When..did they die? Was it recent?”
“No, years ago,” Pigsy said as he rinsed the frying pan. “He was little at the time. MK admitted to me he doesn’t remember them much.”
“I see,” Wukong replied. “So, who raised him?”
“His aunt took him in,” Pigsy continued as he set the frying pan aside and tackled a bowl. “Known her for years, nice lady. Bit of an airhead sometimes, but she does love MK.”
“But he’s not living with her now, right?” Wukong asked. “I was under the impression he lived by himself.”
Wukong knew the laws enough to know that legally MK was just old enough to be living on his own. It wasn’t common, but it did happen. He never gave much thought as to why in MK’s case.
“He does,” Pigsy replied. “Not long ago MK’s aunt got offered her dream job that requires a lot of traveling. She was reluctant to take it because of how it might affect MK.”
Wukong raised an eyebrow. “So, she didn’t?”
“No, she did,” Pigsy said as he looked up. “She never told MK about the job offer, but he accidently found out about it. So he decided suddenly that he was old enough to move out and take care of himself.”
He huffed. “Although what he defines as ‘caring for himself’ is up for debate, but I digress. MK moved out and his aunt took the job while making sure to send MK rent money to help out. She sends him a postcard about twice a month.”
Wukong frowned. He did recall MK flashing a postcard in his face a few times, but Wukong would often try to redirect the kid towards their lesson for the day.
Pigsy glanced over his shoulder as he pointed a finger at Wukong. “Now, my question is, why are you asking me all of this and not MK?”
“How could I?” Wukong said as he said on the floor and leaned against the wall. “The kid never told me any of this. He must have had his reasons for not wanting me to know.”
It bothered him. Wukong wasn’t fully sure he understood why, but it did. He was MK’s mentor. This was stuff he felt like he should now, right?
“I thought we had a good relationship,” Wukong continued. “This is a big detail to not tell someone. How could-”
Suddenly, something hard struck the top of his head.
Wukong yelped as he looked up and saw the culprit was the frying pan in Pigsy’s hands.
“OW!” Wukong rubbed his head as he growled. “That hurt-”
“Oh, please,” Pigsy snapped. “I know it takes way more than a frying pan to actually hurt you.”
Wukong glared. That might be true, but it still stung. “But what was that for-”
“Because for someone who is immortal you’re not too bright!” Pigsy set down the frying pan. “MK never told you because he didn’t want you to know! The kid just never thought of it!”
Wukong blinked. “What?”
Pigsy sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s hard to explain, but when someone you know dies after a while you just naturally forget who knows and who doesn’t.” He tossed his hands up in the air. “It probably just didn’t occur to him to bring it up.”
Wukong raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help, but wonder if Pigsy was speaking from personal experience.
The Monkey King gave a sigh as he rubbed his neck. “Okay, fine, but we’ve known each other for close to a year now? How could he not think of bringing it up?”
“How would he?” Pigsy retorted. “What do you expect him to do?” He gave a fake grin and waved. “Hiya Monkey King! How’s your day going? Oh, by the way my parents are dead!”
Wukong cringed and pointed back. “Okay, first of all, NEVER smile like that again it’s creepy and second,” he frowned, “I get what you’re saying but still…”
Pigsy’s eyes narrowed. “Let me put it this way, when the two of you have ‘talked’ has it been about MK himself or has it been all about you and his training?”
Wukon raised, but then dropped his arm in thought. MK did mention his friends, but it was usually just some side note before Wukong changed the subject or he recalled a detail from his own adventures.
Wukong didn’t reply, but the silence seemed to be more than enough of an answer for Pigsy.
“That’s what I thought,” Pigsy said as he returned to the dishes in the sink. “I’m just an outsider here, but it seems to me that MK knows a lot more about you than you do about him.”
Wukong’s tail twitched in thought. After a long moment he gave himself a deep sigh. “You’re right.” He shook his head. That was the downside of being immortal. It was a lot easier to forget the world doesn’t revolve around you.
“I need to fix this,” Wukong said aloud. He wasn’t sure if he was saying it to Pigsy or to himself.
Pigsy snorted. “First smart thing you said since you got here.”
Wukong gave a small smile. “Thanks, Pigsy.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Pigsy said as he glared. “Just try to avoid giving me any more future heart attacks.”
“No promises,” as Wukong turned to leave. “Unless you are willing to offer me free noodles?”
Pigsy picked up the frying pan. “Do you want another whack?”
Wukong held up his hands. “Nah, I’m good. See you around.”
He heard Pigsy give another disgruntled snort as he turned into a bird and flew off. As Wukong headed home, plans began to form in his head. He would find a way to fix this.
----------------------------------------------------------
The next day, MK arrived at Flower Fruit Mountain. He was a bit earlier than Wukong expected, but it wouldn’t disrupt his plans.
“Heya, Bud,” Wukong greeted from his seat on his cloud. “Bit early today?”
MK huffed as he ran up. “Pigsy said I could have the morning off, so I thought it would be good if I came earlier.”
“Did he?” Wukong replied and gave a smirk. I wonder if he did that for me, but I won’t question it if he did.
MK swung his staff. “So, what are we focussing on today? Defence? Strike attacks? How to hang upside down without throwing up?”
“None,” Wukong said as he landed and brought out the book he’d been hiding. “Thought we try some of this?”
MK’s eyes lit up. “What is it? An ancient book of spells?! Secret techniques?!”
Wukong laughed as he tossed it to him. “Take a look.”
MK caught it, and suddenly the excitement on his face turned to confusion. “A...cookbook?”
Wukong crossed his arms as his tail twitched. “Yeah, I thought it was time to try something different. Never hurts to take it easy every once in a while, right?”
MK gave a thoughtful frown as he flipped through the pages.
Wukong rubbed his neck. “Something wrong, Bud?””
Did MK not like the idea?
“Oh, it’s nothing,” MK said hastily and laughed as he gave a nervous smile. “I just didn’t think that you cooked anything.”
Wukong raised an eyebrow. “What? Did you think I ate nothing but peaches and peach chips?”
“Um...kind of?” MK muttered with a sheepish grin.
Wukong raised a hand, but then lowered it. It was his favorite snack so he couldn’t blame the kid. He shook his head.
“Anyway,” Wukong said as he wrapped an arm around MK’s shoulder. “Why don’t we try one of these recipes?”
“I’m not a great cook,” MK said, but then gave a small laugh. “Although, I’m a lot better than my Aunt Ling.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wukong asked as they headed to his house.
MK laughed. “Yeah, she once tried to make dumplings and we nearly set the kitchen on the fire.” The boy laughed at the memory. “Granted, if she wasn’t such a bad cook I wouldn’t have met Mei.”
“Oh, really?” Wukong said as they entered the house. “Why don’t you tell me all about it while we cook.”
MK’s face brightened as he told the story and Wukong didn’t interrupt him. In the end, the food they made wasn’t great, but it was worth it for the stories MK shared. It was a small step, but it was one in the right direction.
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thunderc1an · 3 years
Text
po3 rewrite(?) chapter 1:
Table of Contents | Next Chapter
The deep rumble beneath his paws lulled him back into unconscious darkness while the smell of sweet milk soothed him.
Time passed, enough time that the rumble underneath him now had slipped into his mind pulling him from the comforting darkness. Green eyes opened slowly, the soft cream world before him blurred and it was not until he blinked that fur came into focus. He nuzzled into the thick warm strands, chasing after the fleeting unconscious nature that came with dreaming.
“Mousekit,” The fur spoke to him lovingly. “Mousekit, your littermates are already up and playing outside the nursery, why don’t you join them as well?” 
He whines unfairly, and rebels by smushing his nose against the warm mass; it stops him from breathing. When air becomes a necessity, he lifts his head quickly with a huff. Daisy laughs at her kit’s antics, it’s an airy laugh and to Mousekit it brought this deep rooted joy to his chest, he smiles cheekily as a result. And his smile was rewarded with a lick atop his forehead. The kit blinks and looks up at his mother, her blue eyes nudge him away, and he finally complies. Shaky paws support his weight as he stands.
He stays by the nursery’s entrance, looking back to see if his mother was watching him, but Daisy’s attention was pulled to Squirrelflight, the three small dark bundles at her belly sleep peacefully. Berrykit hated them, for they would always cry and make a fuss whenever they did not have a full belly, which was often. Squirrelflight was able to produce milk just fine but not enough for all three kits. The clan was currently going through a shortage of prey, or that was what Hazelkit had told him she heard from the older warriors. When he does scamper into the camp’s clearing he thinks he rather likes them for they have a father that was a loner, and to the small kit that meant they have something in common. Although there was a shortage of prey the clan was still bustling with movement, warriors talked amongst themselves in the shadows of their dens and to the far left an elder was scolding an apprentice’s ear off.
Mousekit’s world turned sharply when paws slammed him to the floor. Green eyes look up and they reveal a laughing Berrykit.
“You spent all sun-high sleeping!” The cream furred kit exclaimed loudly.
And, another voice at his side said: “We were about to go and wake you ourselves” Hazelkit peered down at him, her smile bright with muted laughter. 
“Well, I’m here now” He says, a pout on his muzzle. “That’s true” Hazelkit responded happily all the while pushing Berrykit off him, the cream tom says a small ‘Hey!’ in protest as Mousekit was freed from the weight of his brother. Berrykit may be the bigger one of the three but it was clear that Hazelkit held a growing strength to her under soft white and grey fur.
The kits began to play, or rather the game of the day was to unbalance one another, their delighted squeals and laughter rang above the clan’s quick paced atmosphere. And when they became more rowdy a shadow loomed over the three, tinged with gold but not at all menacing, the kits looked up, their actions paused. Hazelkit’s jaws were clamped down onto Berrykit’s already short tail, and Mousekit had somehow managed to end up with his body pressed against the hard ground again. Brackenfur stands before them, his short, but thick, fur shined brightly with the help from the strong sun planted overhead. “You kits are old enough to know you shouldn’t be making a ruckus in the middle of the camp.” The deputy scolds, but the way he smiles endearingly down at them was clear they would not be in any serious trouble. 
Mousekit thought about how much he liked Thunderclan’s deputy as his littermates and him straightened themselves. Brackenfur was kind and fair with every cat in the clan but the elders had always fussed that the older tom was always too lenient with noisy kits and young apprentices. They said that this was supposedly due to the incident with Snowkit, but Mousekit had never seen a character by the name of Snowkit in camp before and he was mighty shy to ask the deputy himself who this elusive kit was.
“Run along, go find your mother” he meows to them but before he lets them be he takes a glance to the side before leaning in closer to the kits. Mousekit notes there was a small strand of grey fur that stuck to the tom’s golden muzzle. “You may want to go now for I shall share with you what a small rabbit told me at moon-high.” Amber eyes bounce with joy. “I heard that three strong and courageous kits will receive their apprentice names today.” His statement alone was enough to cause the three kits to bolt towards the nursery. Berrykit was first to enter, followed by Hazelkit and finally Mousekit who stumbled inside. “We’re going to become apprentices!” Berrykit announced loudly. Both Daisy and Squirrelflight looked up at their, very, loud entrance. As soon as the words leave Berrykit’s short muzzle the dark bundles at Squirreflight’s belly begin to cry for their mother, afraid at what they must think is an intruder. The red queen is quick to ease their tears while Daisly softly reprimands her son for the noise.
Hazelkit is the second to speak, her words leveled, but still full of the same enthusiasm as her littermate: “Mom, did you know? Brackenfur just told us so.” Daisy's attention is pulled to her other kit, her frown shapes into a smile. “I did know,” 
“Then why didn’t you tell us!” Mousekit squeaks, hurt from the fact that Daisy had not told them such important information. The cream molly giggles “I just wished to have one more morning with you three nestled by my side” And these words cause Mousekit to pause, a sudden sense of sadness washes over his white fur. He wondered if he'd get to be by his mother’s side once more when he would finish his apprentice duties. It seemed that Hazelkit shared his same sentiment for she quickly asked their mother: “Will we ever get to see you again?”. Daisy laughed airily, but this time it caused the sadness to clench Mousekit’s chest, would he ever hear this laugh again?
The creamed molly licked her kits reassuringly. “Of course little ones, you can always come and visit me whenever you feel like it, actually, you three better come and visit me everyday” Daisy orders them, but it does not feel like an order to them, not in the slightest. A yowl sounds from the clearing, a signal of a clan meeting. Berrykit gasps “That must be Firestar! It’s time!” He squeals, being the first to run out of the nursery, Hazelnut leaves as well, her head held proudly as the light from the outside engulfs her. Mousekit stays near his mother, he looks to Squirrelflight “Will you come watch us as well?” He asked politely. The daughter of the clan leader smiles sweetly at his politeness. “For you? Always twerp”. The kit smiles joyfully and runs off as well, he hears the voice of Squirrelflight tell Daisy she wishes her kits to grow into kind cats as Daisy’s kits have, Daisy responds with a giggle but that is all the conversation he hears.
Firestar stood tall, above the sea of cats. His smile was gentle, like a father, as he seemed to be supportive of each and every individual cat. Hazelkit had told him that Firestar was once a kittypet, heard it from the elders she said, a kittypet who saved the clans. Mousekit wondered if this respected cat suffered the same looks his family would often receive for being outsiders. Of course those senior warriors that looked down on his family did not do it openly, but at times when playing with his littermates in the clan’s clearing he could feel the stares. Hazelkit was not bothered in the slightest, but Berrykit certainly was, he always made comments about it to their mother, and Daisy would always soothingly reassure him that it meant nothing, but, every time Mousekit would see this unknown emotion in her eye when Berrykit complained; that was why Mousekit never spoke about the looks. The kit went to stand by Hazelkit’s side, and not too far from the pair of littermates Berrykit sat arguing with Honeypaw. Honeypaw was part of the litter that had become apprentices before the three, her and Berrykit would usually butt heads with one another, and that had not changed in the slightest when she left the nursery a moon ago. Yet, soon their argument is settled when Firestar calls for silence.
He begins the meeting by first calling Berrykit’s name, some words were stated by the leader and then the orange tom called for a warrior by the name of Brambleclaw. Mousekit’s ears pricked, both with unease and clear confusion, as a murmur swept through the clan when a large dark tabby tom stepped forward; the warrior seemed unbothered as the clan’s quiet words fell short of him. The sea of cats settled when Firestar called for the next kit. Hazelkit was given the name of Hazelpaw and the Thunderclan leader called for Spiderleg who gave her an unsightly look when the two touched noses.
“Mousekit,” Firestar finally called his name and the kit’s legs threatened to shake. “Just as your littermates you have reached six moons of age meaning you are ready to become an apprentice. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Mousepaw.” The now made apprentice look wildly at the warriors around him, who will be his mentor? Who will train him? He had not given much thought of it until this moment, it was an important factor if he wished to become a respected warrior of Thunderclan
“Brackenfur,” Firestar stated and Mousepaw openly gawked, the clan’s deputy stepped forward. “You are ready to take on your next apprentice, Graystripe, I, and the entire clan have taught you well.” The mention of the last deputy made a few warriors bow their head almost simultaneously. No one had explained to the apprentice who this Graystripe actually was, the only knowledge he had of the former deputy that disappeared was that they were a slightly carefree and very easy-going. The bright colored tom continued: “You have shown yourself to be fair but equally strong, and I hope all that you have learned will be passed down onto Mousepaw''. Brackenfur lowered his head respectively to his leader and he stepped closer to the young cat. Both touched noses with one another and there was a shyness to Mousepaw as he was face-to-face with such a respected cat seemingly alone in a big clearing.
The clan calls their names, some hesitate but the majority of the clan explodes with noise. Mousepaw looks behind him and sees Daisy and Squirrelflight at the side of the nursery, his mother shined with joy, brighter than any cloudless sky. The cheers around him cause for the shyness to wash away his fur, he’s ecstatic, happy. He feels the weight of his littermates on him again as they joyfully tackle him to the ground. They laugh together in union.
This was the best!
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internalsealpanic · 3 years
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Of Midnight Smoothies and Murder Mysteries
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Summary:  Sneaking out for a movie turns out to be a bad idea. 
A/n: So... this was supposed to com out on Halloween then I confessed about thirst then my priorities shifted. Well, since I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving this is just extended Halloween. It would be funny to do a Thanksgiving thing with the Batfam.  Thanks to @littleredwing89 and @lucy-roo for proof reading this crack. Thanks for @ereawrites for the encouragement. And thanks to @littleredwing89​ for the mood board. (I love you my dear enabler.) Also “[ ]” will indicate characters speaking in a different language. I sadly could not find grammar stuff for the language so you will have to bear with me.  This is still part of the Merc! Reader series. 
Warnings: Gore, a lot of blood, dumb bickering, Dick being a cute dork, and snake bleps.
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Series Masterlist
"Aliens don't exist," You huff around your thoroughly chewed straw, swirling the radioactive green smoothie Dick insisted that you try. You debate on whether to take out the bag of confectioners sugar you bought and pour it in. Dick makes a noise, indiscernible with his own straw in his mouth. You cast a glance at him only to see his neon blue smoothie spurting out of his nose. Your snort quietly, the noise hidden by the rustling of grocery bags against your bouncing leg but based on the way he’s pouting at you, Dick clearly sees your lack of sympathy and takes offense. You shrug at him. 
 Brushing the liquid away with the sleeve of his denim jacket, Dick levels you his best batglare. You give him an impassive half-asleep response of ‘hnnn’ which just gave him flashbacks about talking to Bruce. You’re entirely too focused on the fact that the blue of the smoothie is still alarmingly stark even against the blue of the denim.  “You’ve met Superman, right?”
 You roll your eyes at his piss poor attempt at intimidating you and pinch your straw between your thumb and index finger, trying to break apart the clumps of ice preventing you from getting more smoothie. “-Met is a strong word-” You drawled causing him to sneer.  “Just say he kicked your ass six ways to Sunday like a normal person.”
 “I fought him.”
 “You got your ass beat-” You glare at him sticking your green tongue out at him and in return he sticks his blue tongue out at you. It was true but he didn’t have to say it. This is always how your long-held arguments start. 
 “Besides, aren’t you and Slade metas?” He breaks in after a long moment, instantly cutting off the possibility of weeks of not talking to each other. You smile balefully at him. “Precisely.”
 “What? How does you being a weirdo disprove aliens?” 
 You make an affronted sound through your nose but launch into your explanation in your professorial voice. “The guy’s gotta be some kind of meta and he probably just came up with the Krypton thing afterwards. It sounds cooler, yanno?” 
 Dick looks up to the smog covered Gotham sky, leaning back against the solid brick pillar behind him. “Well, why can’t he be an alien?” He says dreamily tracing unseen constellations with his right hand. You briefly remember him mentioning stargazing with his parents when he was younger. There is something warm in the memory even if it wasn’t yours.  You look down at him, eyebrow ticking. “Ok genius, tell me why there would be aliens that look exactly like us?”
 “Why not?” He says grinning at you. The sterile lighting of the grocery store light filtering through smudgy windows highlighting his features. The shadows highlighting the shape of his cheekbones and the dimples forming at the edges of his cheeks.  When had Dick gone from cute to handsome? You shake your head, avoiding his smiling corscian blue eyes. 
 “Becaaauuuuuse, dipshit, that’s not how evolution works” You bite out. 
 “What about convergent evolution?” He offers casually and your tongue freezes. A light flickers in his eyes and his pretty mouth twitch up into a laugh when you fail to respond. “You forgot about that, didn’t you? HA”
 “I regret this conversation.”
 “HA”
 “Superman fanboy” you accuse, jabbing a finger into his chest. Dick giggles either from your weak deflection or the fact he’s ticklish, either way, your stomach does somersaults.  
 “Just say you’re wrong.” He says grinning, the divots formed by his dimples becoming more apparent.  You feel Yasiri’s tail flick across your collarbone, her body coiling up in response to your irritation. Your mouth curls too but the irritation doesn’t quite boil over as you expected it to, not when  Dick smiles at you like that. There’s a strange twisting in your stomach. You aren’t sure what it is but you’re pretty sure that you don’t like it. You blow out a breath, sound caught between a tired laugh and a long-suffering sigh, and pick your grocery bags before getting up. 
 Not even 5 seconds after you resolve to abandon him, Dick’s already by your side, falling into step with you bumping his shoulder against yours in a placating gesture. Yasiri slithers from the skin on the base of your neck to hiss at him. Dick smiles at her unfazed despite the clear and present danger. He pets her without much fuss from your usually ferocious snake. You make an amused noise at her compliance. 
 The walk is spent in easy companionable silence. The kind you two settle into when Dick knows you need to settle down. You were a sore loser when it comes to arguments but so was he, so you tend to let the other work through it. You grimace at your lightly scuffed shoes. They weren’t expensive or flashy or even one of a kind but they were comfortable, reliable, and most importantly they were from Mr. Wintergreen- Uncle Wintergreen, he insisted. The fact that he’d taken the time at all made your stomach flip-
 Your stomach dropped. Your throat and mouth felt dry. The scent of copper permeating the air as you stared at the red puddle beneath your white shoes, a severed finger poking at you. 
 "Y/n?" 
 You must have stopped abruptly. You turn to Dick mechanically and see his face crumple into worry. Before you can rush out words of dismissal, your ears tune in to the sounds of a haunting melody. Yasiri rattles around your neck once again leaving the safety of your collar bone. Your head swivels mechanically towards the old theatre. Dick looks at you curiously, concern flashing in his eyes when another scream erupts from the theater. You both stiffen, spines straightening. Eyes blown wide, your feet take you toward the theater. 
Dick falls into step with you.”You’re not seriously going, are you? You’ve- Didn’t we just watch a horror movie?”
 “You seem to be going the same way.” You point out, side-eyeing him sharply, the sour look on your face not betraying the anxiety cloying at your spine. In the corner of your eye, you can see Dick huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. 
 “I’m Robin.” 
 “And I kicked your ass just 2 days ago and served it on a silver platter while quoting the one and only Arnold Schwarzenegger,” You grin absolutely, unequivocally unapologetic. 
 “I was protecting civilians!” He protests, throwing up his hands theatrically. 
 “Iieerrelevant~”
 Dick opens his mouth to contest your point but there really was convincing you on that. His face screws up and being the gracious loser that he is, he sticks his still neon blue tongue out at you. You, being the graceful winner that you were, stick your radioactively neon green tongue at him in answer. 
 You continue to bicker about the merits of his heroism on the battlefield 'til you reach the front of the theater. You tuck your grocery bags behind debris by the entrance making sure to keep them well hidden. Dick wants to point out that they’ll probably be gone by the time you two are done but Yasiri was staring at him like she was about to strike at him for real this time. 
  It- It wasn’t hard to get into the building. Dick held out his hand to you as you climbed over another set of debris. You take it. You thank him clumsily. He bows to you a gremlin smile spreading across his face. You sneer but give him a sharp smile in return. 
 It’s dark. The absence of light is thick. It makes the sounds of your heartbeats uncomfortably loud. You swallow. You trace your finger along your skin, the hilt of your knife falls easily into your hand. You trace your finger on your other arm and hand the knife to Dick who shakes his head.  You shrug and let it melt back into your skin. 
 “You have a tracker on you, right?”
 “No-” You eye him, cutting him a look of disbelief. “I-”
 “Relax, I have one too.” You deadpan. 
 Dick sighs. “You’re dad’s paranoid too?”
 “So is yours” You snip, hackles drawn. 
“Bruce isn’t my dad.”
 “Slade isn’t mine either.”
 “Mentors?” Dick offers placatingly.
 “Polite way of saying bossy prick, I guess.” You roll your eyes but concede. 
 “I mean I don’t know about Wintergreen but Alfred taught me some manners.” Dick shrugs, folding his arms behind his head somehow relaxed despite the thick scent of blood in the air or maybe this was how Dick was when he was nervous. 
 The truth was Wintergreen had attempted to teach you manners but he’d run into quite a few problems. The first being that you were a terrible student. Sure, you caught on quickly when you could but anything you didn’t gravitate towards didn’t hold your limited attention long enough to make an actual impact on you. Now that in of itself was fixable with the right kind of bribery. The other problem was less so. Your mentor, if you could really call him that, was a rude bastard. Long story short, you’ve never seen the point, much to Wintergreen’s chagrin and Slade’s amusement. You were, however, a master of mouthing off. 
 “Shouldn’t we call back up?”
 You flick your eyes to him, uselessly, but based on the shifting of the body beside you he somehow got the message. “Go ahead, if you wanna explain to big daddy bats why you’re hanging out with me, sure.”
 Yeah. That wasn’t an option. There was, of course, a silent understanding that bats probably knew about your little hangouts but still. 
You pad the walls with your left hand while your right was gripping Dick’s sleeve, white-knuckled. You cringe every now and again feeling the walls slick with what you weren’t eager to investigate. You strain your ear to listen for odd sounds but mostly to see if Dick, as you suspect, is echolocating. 
 “How are you doing that?”
 “Doing what?”
 “Silently echolocating?”
 Dick snickers. “I am not. You do know B isn’t an actual bat, right?”
 “Oh yeah, I forgot he was just a furry.” You sneer. Dick snorts a sound caught between amusement and offense. He clearly respected Bruce. Not the same way you respected Slade, maybe, but you understood how larger than life the Batman was even if he was the biggest pain in your ass by far. 
 “Do you really have any room to make fun of my mentor when yours has ‘Stroke’ in his name?”
 “I have plenty of room, probably. Why not  echolocate to check just how much room I have?”
 “Listen here-”
 The opera music floods the silent hall, sharp and clear. You feel the air around you catch fire and your fraying nerves. You turn your head to Dick. Despite not being able to see him, you know his mouth flattens and his brow wrinkles the way they do when you two agree to do something incomprehensibly stupid. This time you do not argue or question or even complain. You simply go forward.
A scream, messy and jagged, tangles with the smooth crispness of the opera music. It makes your stomach turn almost as much as the idea of who or, more appropriately, whatever was behind it. You were familiar with the cruelties Gotham’s monsters were capable of. You have, after all, worked for quite a few. 
 But this? 
 This pure, uncut agony in that scream? That was just something you could not stomach. You feel Dick flinch at the sound, almost jumping out of his skin. You squeeze his arm once, then twice, then twice once more. You feel his hand on your wrist, reciprocating the gesture. You smile at him reassuringly not knowing whether it would make things better or whether he can actually see it. 
 Neither of you is particularly good at dealing with people’s pain. That might not be the right word for it. Neither of you coped well. You absorbed too much of it. You were, however, much better at hiding it. Not that you could fault Dick on that. You didn’t even attempt. For Dick, humanity was a part of the job. Compassion? Kindness? That was to be expected of a hero not derided. To uphold that in the face of Gotham’s worst, that took strength. 
 Strength, in your case, was directed elsewhere. Something bone-breaking, more visceral. You suppose that was the problem with keeping company with survivors. Perpetually dancing on the brink of death robbed you of something but you haven’t exactly known any other life besides this. 
 The end of the hall is light by bright lights, sterile white, the kind you only saw in clinics. Your head runs through the catalog of Gotham’s rogues, possibilities of which utter psychopath could possibly be doing this. 
 “We should call the cops.”
 Not really really paying attention, you nod. You should probably. You grip the handle of your knife, flexing your fingers nervously, as another scream cuts through the air. Dick’s body curls, recoiling at the sound. The sound, this close, was enough to make you twitch. 
 “Can’t we just text them?”
 “What do you think this is? Canada?”
 “Ok, fair but make sure to tell them you’re Dickle Grayson.” You tease, smiling way too easily considering the creepy atmosphere. 
 Dick crosses his arms over his chest.“And summon a media storm?”
 “It would get the police here faster.”  
 “I hate it when you’re right,” Dick wishes he could wipe the absolutely smug grin off your face. “We need to back up. You know, in case, he can hear us.”
 “I mean you are the one unarmed here.” You say, waving your arms at him. 
 “No, I’m not. I have my bird-a-rangs.” Dick preens, taking them out from some pocket hidden in his jacket. 
 “Bird-a-rangs.” You echo, raising a brow. 
 “Yup. Bird-a-rangs.”
 “You are officially- no, you are legally not allowed to name things.”
 Dick makes an offended squawking noise.“Oh, come on! Still not as bad as Sharknado.”
 “Take. That. Back. Heathen.”
 “Make me.”
 Both of you still. Yasiri unfurls from your collarbone, her tail rattling. You spin on your heel. Your knife swings out in a wide crescent of light.  Thick crimson splashes across your face. At the end of your knife was a person- no, it was a person in the past tense. It makes a small cry when you wiggle the blade planted in its throat a fraction. Otherwise, it ignores the fact that it is, in fact, bleeding out from its jugular. It’s thick, clumsy limbs reach for you. Your stomach rolls. The thing in front of you, the mangled approximation of what was once a person, is lurching towards you. You think you sneer in disgust but your face is far too numb to tell. 
 “Dick! Just call the cops!” You snarl, panic rising audibly as more bodies emerge from God knows where. You kick the one to your front off to the side, shredding its neck. It takes everything in you not to vomit. In the corner of your eye, you see Dick type as he kicks another one away.   You two back into each other as the bodies close around you, cutting off all the exits. You roll up your sleeve tracing a blood-soaked finger over the lines of your tattoo and producing another knife. Dick pulls out his bird-a-rangs. 
 Dick landed blows but they weren’t hard enough to maim or be fatal. Even if he was to hit them with the sharp bird-a-rangs, he would still aim non fatally. Slade would kill you if you fought so inefficiently or maybe he would just taunt you. Either way, you didn’t care much for Dick’s squeamishness right now as the bodies kept getting back up. As far as you can tell, you’re doing them a favor. 
 The first wave of bodies rushes towards you. Their limbs jutting towards you clumsily. You swing your blade, vicious and precise. You feel metal clash against flesh, against bone. Blood coats every available surface on you.  You hear Dick squawk and you don’t really need to turn around to check that he’s also covered in it too. The spray of blood makes the air thick with the scent of copper. The blood on your skin burns. 
 “Duck!”
 “Goose!” You shout, ducking and slashing down at a row of bodies and legs. You hear his bird-a-rangs slice through the air cleanly and land on one of the creature's shoulders. You let out a huff of air thinking of all the more permanent places it could have landed. He throws a few more hitting them in the face. 
 Dick launches over you, using you as a springboard. You grunt and he winks at you like a showman. His foot predictably lands an impressive blow on one of the creature's faces. You two regroup back to back immediately after he lands. 
 Your eyes widen a fraction when a hand from out of nowhere grabs at your face catching you off guard. Your breath catches when you feel a hand at your shoulder pushing you down. A fist makes contact with the creature’s swollen face and it takes a moment for your mind to realize that it’s Dick’s hand on your shoulder and Dick’s fist making contact with the creature. 
 “Thanks,” You mumble, straightening yourself out. “I had it.”
 “You’re welcome, Pookie.” You flush as Dick winks at you. “You know I literally have your back.” He teases. You groan bending back into a fighting stance.
 “When we get out of here alive, we are working on your sense of humor.” Dick chuckles at that, making your muscles ease. “Says the person who shouted ‘Goose!’.” 
 You land every blow with every intent to make it fatal. Dick is still sticking to his nonfatal method. Normally, it was pure joy to watch Dick as he fights. The sheer control he commands over his muscles was awe-inspiring. Despite his size, he’s able to land blows just as powerful as yours. He would truly be terrifying if he were to be anything but himself. 
 These bodies. They’re too alive, too much. The next wave comes at you more fervently with more bodies. Another wave of nausea hits you when hands grasp at your arms. Your stomach tries to twist out of your abdomen. You try to wrench yourself free. You pull and twist and thrash, only succeeding in getting yourself pulled in deeper. 
 “Dick!” You cry reflexively. The coarseness in your voice lets the fear spill all over your vowels. 
 Dick’s corscian eyes widen with a flash of panic. To Dick, you and death were two separate lines running on parallel tracks next to each other, never quite crossing and never belonging to the same headspace. Completely mutually exclusive as far as he knew.  But right at this moment, right as you’re about to be swallowed whole by the crowd of misshapen bodies, he watches those lines slowly intersect. Dick doesn’t know where his heart has leaped to. 
 “Y/n!”
The world resurfaces in a surge of bright white light. Some small part of you is really hoping that Dick is, for once, right about the alien thing. Quietly you draw in a calming breath. It’s shallow not wanting your chest to rise too much to give away your consciousness. 
 The opera music is blaring in your still ringing head which isn’t helped by the wannabe opera singer belting his lungs out. Thankfully, that means he’s distracted. You move your limbs checking. Everything seems to be intact AND you seem to be tied up to someone instead of something which was either good or bad depending on who it is. 
 “Mornin’ sleepy head” Dick mumbles quietly, sounding relieved. You click your teeth in irritation. 
 “Morning, Disco Stick. Any chance you magically woke up with a plan or were you just taking a beauty nap?”
 “I don’t need one and sort of.”
 “Well shit, we’re screwed then.” 
 “You’re being dramatic.”
 “I’m sorry which of us is running around doing somersaults when they’re assaulting criminals?”
 “In my defense, flipping makes my kicks land harder.” Which was true but you were feeling snippy. “It also gives them much more time to dodge or counter.”
 “Killjoy.” You roll your eyes, smiling. You know he’s being cute and pouting. Given this is really not the time considering there is a man butchering another man a few feet away from you while singing bad opera. You really did stumble into a horror movie. “Please tell me you called Batman or the police.”
 “Both.”
 “How?”
 “Some of us are good at multitasking.” Dick chirps proudly leaning against you. You scoff judging just how tightly the ropes are bound around you. 
 “Well, you are good at being insufferable while still breathing.”
 “Isn’t that part of my charm?”
 You snicker accidentally tugging at the binds around you. You hear Dick wince likely from what is a bruised rib or, heaven help you, a broken one. “Sorry.” You whisper low and small.
  Shit. What if he had a broken rib. Shit. Shit. 
 “I’m ok, Hon.” Dick laughs making sure to lay the Delaware accent thick. It makes your chest feel warm even though everything else in you was freezing from dread. You snort. “Fine, bleed out for all I care.”
 “Awwww don’t be like that.” You sigh. You hate how weak you are to his puppy dog eyes. You can’t even see it. You decide to change the subject instead. “So what are the odds that we’re escaping if we break out of their bonds now?”
 “Not high.”
 “Even if I get Yasiri to gently inject him with poison?”
 “Please tell me you didn’t bring poison to our hangout.”
 “I mean. Do twinkies count?”
 “No.”
 “Ok, fine. So we’re stalling then.”
 “Pretty much.”
 “I hate this.”
 “You were the one who started heading in.”
 “Why didn’t you stop me then?”
 The man at the surgical table turns to you with a whimsical flourish as the body on the table goes limp. No, not limp. Docile. You have just witnessed a person become a body, you think numbly. The way the fight so easily left its limbs made you shudder, feeling the fight in your own limbs fleeting out. This isn’t how you want to die, not by the hand of a madman. At least, not until you’ve put your own demons to rest. 
 “Look who’s awake,” He drawls, his voice slimy and all the vowels coming out at the wrong pitches. Dick shifts the two of you so that he’s angled slightly in front of you. He squares his shoulder trying to make his lean form look far bigger than it actually is. You smile at his attempt to be protective because deep down you both know you’re the more intimidating one and you’re the one who can take more punishment. Your power and training have those pleasant side effects. 
 You see him draw closer making you snarl. “Come any closer and I swear I will rip your throat out.” You are surprised at how even the threat came out but the distilled ferocity you had put into it didn’t quite show, likely blunted by the fear pooling in your stomach.  
 “Don’t worry I’ll make you perfect too. I promise.” He reaches past Dick, grabbing you by the back of your neck. The grip on you is bruising and callous. He forces you to bow your head and look down at the bloodstains on your clothes. The browning blots of red stain your white Wonder Woman shirt. You swallow.  You felt like a lamb being dragged to slaughter. Dick, likely without thinking, bites down on the man’s wrist.
 The man pulls away with a cry, cradling his bleeding wrist. “Are you ok?” Dick asks, spitting blood out, eyes shiny with concern. You gulp down air before nodding. Dick presses closer to you reassuring you. Shaken, you press back, careful not to press hard enough to hurt him. 
 Your floundering mind comes to one conclusion. You can’t let him touch Dick. You use your strength to shift your positions so that Dick is completely behind you.  Dick tries to move you back but you plant your heels preventing him from even inching. 
 The man grabs you by the collar of your shirt, pulling you off the ground. You hear Dick’s breath hitch. His heart rate kicks up and so does yours. Fury burning in the man’s eyes. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” He screams, shaking you. “NO. NO. NO. MY- I’M- NO! PERFECT. I NEED- I NEED TO BE PERFECT.” Somehow the spit flying in your face grosses you out more than the blood probably drying on your face. It’s only winning by a small margin though. 
 Bile is rising in your throat. Still, you grin, sneering and taunting. “Trust me you didn’t need help in the department,” You jeer. Dick squirms behind you. Urging you to stop. You don’t. “You think those pisspoor excuses for creatures you sicced on us were perfect. HA!” You can feel Dick shaking his head behind you.  You nudge him assuring him you’ve got a plan. You did. Sort of. It’s more of a goal really. Take his attention off of Dick. 
 “[Y/n, please no. Don’t do this. I know what you’re doing. But I can take it. Moon, please.]” Dick pleads, voice hoarse and desperate. ‘Shion’. Moon. The endearment glances of your ribs like a well placed kick to the chest. You don’t let your eyes flick to him. “[Which us is meta here?]” You whisper back in broken Romani. You cringe a little knowing just how badly you butchered the sentence.  Dick makes an affronted noise.  “Cham.” You whisper quietly, trying to shape your vowels and consonants correctly. Dick’s breath catches. Sun. Sure, the endearment seemed inadequate, too succinct, when compared to how much you care for him but as of right now it will have to do. 
 The man shakes you again dragging your attention away from Dick. Your smarmy grin cuts across your face as if you’re not pissing yourself from fear. A large hand grabs your face. Your entire body braces itself for your neck to be twisted but it does not come. He tilts your head back side to side. “You’re going to need a lot of work.”
 Your heart stops. Dick thrashes behind you. You want to elbow him. You want to scream at him to stop fucking moving but you’re entire body is numb. Your eyes flick to the man, no, the body on the table. It is breathing and writhing in agony. Your breaths pick up. You- you don’t- you can’t-
 You hear a crash and the fall of debris on a dozen bodies. 
 “B!” Dick shouts distantly. The grip on your collar disappears. A black clad fist hangs in front of you. Your eyes trace up the arm in front of you only to be met with the scowling face of the Batman. You swallow nervously while Dick lets out another enthusiastic ‘B’. Batman makes quick work of your ropes, all the while glaring at you for what you don’t know. Maybe somehow he knows this whole situation was your fault. 
 Once released, the first order of business, at least for Dick, is to throw his arms around Batman’s shoulders. Awkwardly, he reciprocates your friend’s affection. The hold he has on Dick cannot be mistaken as anything but protective. You find humor in the fact at how obvious their familial connection is yet they deny it. A teasing remark rises up your throat but is abruptly shoved back down by Batman’s unrelenting glare. Was he born glaring? 
 “What are you doing here?” Less of a question and more of a growled accusation. 
 “Careful, his rib might be broken.” You stumble out dumbly.  Dick glares at you but compared to Batman’s it looks more like a pout which is, again, hilarious. Batman loosens his grip on Dick and apparently, this is now the time Dick chooses to realize that his mentor (read: dad) is trying to turn you into ash with a scowl.     
 Dick peels away from him stepping in front of you. He widens his stance to shield you from the larger man. Dick feels an odd surge of protectiveness and he’s not about to let B attack you, especially not after what just happened. 
 They stare each other down. They seem to be having a silent argument. You want to cut in but you’re afraid you might actually turn into ash with the intensity of Batman’s gaze. 
 The loud blaring of sirens mingle with the still playing opera music in the background as a tidal wave of police officers and paramedics rush in.  
  -----
You pestered the medic to let you stay with Dick. 
 “So, what do you plan on doing?” Dick asks, leaning against you pointedly ignoring the paramedic's instruction to be careful. You let him lean into you. You know he needs all the comfort he can get.  You rest your head against his hair, placing a kiss on his scalp. Dick doesn’t comment afraid that you might withdraw if he teases you too much. 
 “Maybe grow out my hair,” You joke, pinching a lock of hair between your fingers. “Might as well considering how grounded I’ll be. Well, if uncle Wintergreen has anything to say about it.”
 Dick extricates himself from your shoulder and turns to you with a pensive look. Tilting his head, he looks at you appraisingly, wrinkling his brow. You can’t blame him. He’s never seen you with long hair mainly because you’ve never let it get too long. Too much of a hassle, too much of a health hazard. 
 Dick places his jacket over your head, draping it over you like a wedding veil. You chuckle at him, barely able to keep the smile off of your face. 
 “How do I look?” You joke twining your fingers around the cloth. You think you see Dick blush but it was probably just the cold. Dick coughs poorly disguising his laughter. He covers his mouth, depriving you of his dimples. “ Like you’re going to get married in a jean pants suit. I have dibs on walking you down the aisle.” 
 You tilt your head. Your smile tilts along with it.  “Nah uncle Wintergreen has dibs on that.”
 Dick huffs, his shoulders sag in disappointment. It’s the closest he was gonna get to being your groom, he thinks. 
 I want you waiting for me at the end of the aisle. The thought makes your heart twist. You swallow it along with the huge lump in your throat.  “You can be my last dance though.”
 You concede. Dick brightens a little at this but not by much. 
 “You sure Deathstroke wouldn’t mind?” 
 “This implies he’ll show up. He’s a busy man.” Dick laughs at that. Genuine and very Dick. This time you don’t fight the smile off of your face.  
 You smile at each other and laugh. A million unspoken sentences hang between the two of you. 
 This love of yours is reckless.
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a/n: Thanks for reading. Also yes I did have to include good dad Bruce and bastard mentor Slade. I only have one braincell and it is dumber than shit. 
tag list:  @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes ,  @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical, @ereawrites​
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soranihimawari · 3 years
Text
Bella Donnas & Love
This is the final installment of the Hanahaki Disease AU featuring the Seijoh Four. This is a Mattsukawa Issei x Yin (YN/Reader) story.
Word Count: 4.3 K
Warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal attempts, mentions of burn out, and intrusive thoughts
Recommended Audience: 17+ (minors recommended to not read because of the warnings attached)
Pairing: Mattsukawa Issei x reader// MIA->MIF [Mattsukawa Issei angst to Mattsukawa Isei fluff]
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Mattsukawa Issei is a simple man. He sees the world in copious amounts of black, white, and gray; it isn’t because he is colorblind either. It is because he knows his worth. Truthfully, his parental figures were always a bit worried about their son especially given the profession he has chosen to pursue. Being in the business of burning and or burying the dead, Mattsukawa Issei is a fan of the loneliest times in a lifetime: they say when we are brought into the world, we are alone, and when we pass on, we too exit the world alone. There is nothing wrong with finding a job in the business of death, but even angels have demons. And for Mattsukawa, you are an exquisite example of the dichotomy between his dark side and your eventual akin to the brighter side.
It is a known fact in Japan, the pressure to be perfect or to fit into the mold of society has been a fatal flaw throughout the years. This is the main reason why at exactly two fifty-five in the morning, Mattsukawa Issei notices a young person, hanging out on the edge of the skyscraper across his workplace. There was a late night arrival to the city morgue; he just needed to be there to sign the paperwork to turn over the embalming processes to his mentors. It was the deceased wishes to be buried in the mausoleum in the home town of their forefathers: the mountain side of Nagasaki.
You were having a rough day: you were told you by your employers that you’ve been slacking for too long getting numbers for the statistics presentation coming up with business partners across the South China Sea. Then your grandparent were strictly feeding toxic lies to your parent(s) about how you would never find a suitable partner to marry you. Quite frankly, because you put your career and studies first, you had no issues putting your family in their place. The intrusive thoughts, snide comments about your appearance, was enough for you to glance at the sleeping pills that were prescribed to you to assist in a normal pattern, to invade your subconscious. The events which led you to climb the fire escape up to the rooftop garden in your kitten heels made for a daring flirtation with death. There have been nights the last couple of months where your heart is heavy in your chest, your lungs are intoxicating you with the poisonous belladonna petals.
“What a time to find out I’m going to die a lot sooner than I thought,” you sighed into your palm. Your eyes scour the hazy city in the afterglow; after a tizzy of a day you had, you chose that perhaps this might be a sign of the universe you were better off dead. Either that or your soulmate would be in extreme pain and you didn’t want to disappoint their perception of your love. Then again, you wouldn’t know what love, honest, and kind would feel like even when you’re about to let it all go.
You are devoid of emotion as you bring yourself to your feet. A hand of yours drags across your face. The drop is high enough to entice little to severe damage like broken legs, or severe head trauma, but to be truly free, you wish to be put out of your misery as quickly as possible.
Mattsukawa sees the figure clad in a lighter powder blue and his eyes are wide with fear. The morgue worker and delivery driver had already gone off into the night to complete the rest of the deliveries of bodies to the funeral homes. As soon as he finished locking up and registering the corpses, Mattsukawa was determined to see your hair wind blowing on the rooftops. The blurred vision he sees makes the twenty-seven year old shiver. Even in his line of work, this was the second instance he wanted to save someone. He knew of you: the business woman who was suffering from a similar ailment to him. The belladonna hues from your rebellious highlights enticed him to notice how you seemed a bit off at the coffee house you frequent by the funeral parlour he had been working at.
“Excuse me,” you said, holding on to your mug. Your knuckles were white with tension, so Mattsukawa did something unexpected of himself: he gave you way, but instead of sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant cafe, he sat directly across from you. The crowd was getting to be a bit noisy, but you and him sat there staring off center, hyper fixating on the number of people sign in either direction.
“Why do you smell like belladonna?” You asked. You had a glance meet you with a harsh smile.
“It’s part of my line of work. I use it to bury the dead at the request for all nameless suiciders that wind up on my table,” Mattsukawa explains. The oils from his embalming course was enough to mimic actual belladonna, but has he noticed from her, it wasn’t coming from just his hands: it was coming from her hair. He asked a question about why you seemed so strung up lately and like a fool, you told him everything which was bothering you. If anything, this man was a silent confession box. He seemed like the genuine article, so when you check for the time, you realize it was time to leave and head back to the office to grab the final jump drive for the presentation. Things at work seemed to have gotten better since the next time you’d see your precious Mattsukawa would be in the next life. You never truly disclosed your name to him, so he made a note call you Bella or Donna (whichever you preferred really). His smile is flirtatiously coy and you felt your cheeks grow a bit warm from the moment he told you his name.
For whatever reason, perhaps Mattsukawa was feeling a bit lucky, he asked you to dinner the day before yesterday. He wanted to know you, truth and all, bruised and damaged as you were, the meds your doctor prescribed were starting to cushion the intrusive thoughts. However that changed the moment you give him a nod, he grabs your hand as you’re about to leave the cafe; gently he squeezes your fingers for reassurance.
“You’ll do great Miss. I believe in you,” Mattsukawa whispers in the last part. The cafe begins to echo again, so you couldn’t hear the last part, but you were sure it was an encouraging word. Mattsukawa was the first person in a long while to give you something so few in your battlefield mind would want (or need): hope.
“Goodbye Mattsukawa.”
With that said, you were gone from the cafe and headed back into the office where a different manager made your life hell because their normal assistant was very organized, but the constant comparison was enough to make your head explode.
Presently, you stand on the ledge, glancing down like a superhero vigilante, but just as you were about to take a dive, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your waist. The hands are interlocked under your empire waist line and if it wasn’t for the fact your hair was probably in a ponytail prior to this predicament, you’re sure your band was lost to gravity and the wind. You thrashed about in your captor’s arms, not realizing this person was about to save you from an awful mistake.
You see, Mattsukawa Issei is a funeral employee; he dresses sharply like an agent of the Grim Reaper. He is suave and debonair; he loves watching the life cycles of the various flower arrangements in his mentors stores go throughout the seasons. His heart and soul is full of vibrancy you have yet to comprehend; Mattsukawa was always a strong individual and you could ask anyone of his friends in school what kind of person he was. So, what made you so different? Sure you were stressed out, anybody could see that, but Mattsukawa picked up on the depressive aura you emanated. Did he really want to sit in front of you that afternoon? Sure; it was mainly because he couldn’t shake this feeling ever since you were ahead of him in line to order that he was supposed to meet you here (even if you were at your lowest post appointments at the business office downtown).
You struggle to let go, but the owner of these hands does not wish to loosen their grip on you; you ask twice kindly to be left alone and the soft ortund tone of the stranger’s voice from the cafe stops you from thrashing about further.
He tumbles back and lands on his arse with you sitting on his lap, pressed against his broad chest. His sleeves from the black oxford shirt he wears is rolled up to his elbows, and his hands still are in an interlocked position. Mattsukawa has seen some pretty fucked up causes of death recently, yet this time, he wanted to save you, not bury you. He wants to see you tomorrow night at dinner in the diner close to his loft; he wants you to understand maybe death isn’t all that grand and if you struggle with your mind everyday, he wishes to someday be of importance to you. You’re in charge of your own autonomous decisions, yet Mattsukawa wants you to give him a chance to prove to you that love, hope, and for the very fortunate, miracles exist (even if you weren’t shown any).
“You’re sick,” he closes his eyes. Apparently, you pick up on the frown in his voice and somehow, you’re sixth sense of empathy decides not to fight his tonality, but rather when you subconsciously agree and call your mental state one of a landmine, he doesn’t make a fuss. It was a short exam and you realize may be life is worth living for a nano-second. You could have an entire relationship with this man from the cafe in a span of two hours, if that. The fates must have had a wicked sense of humor when pairing either of you to the other: one who works with and around death, the other has an affinity to try and cross into the next life every moment things in the sea turn too rough.
You slowly stop trying to fight him the moment you hear his voice toss in the wind. Instead, you move your hands to hover limply on his, leaning back and letting his breathing calm you. The smell of belladonna from your hair oil wafts through the air. “Suicide is not how I want your story to end.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about or-o-or,” you stammer on. “Perhaps I don’t want to be alive anymore because people keep interfering.”
This causes Mattsukawa’s heart to gain a solid crack. You toss your head back and land harshly against his sternum, causing him to grunt and inhale sharply.
It rips seamlessly to his soul. In the past six to eight years since he entered his chosen profession, he has seen corpses from all ages, the youngest being eight who suffered from a myriad of health issues including Hanahaki because the playground friend in their preschool years was going to be theirs when the time properly came. Mattsukawa, the night he was on duty for the wake, anonymously donated the flowers that would have made the child laugh on wishes. Sure, life does have it’s moments when it tests us, yet he couldn’t wrap his head around the burn out business person from earlier this week, who was now in his arms, safe.
Unintentionally landing on his back with you on top of his chest was not how he had pictured becoming a hero. Just for one night, Mattsukawa Issei, the stern and most silent of the volleyball players in high school, was a hero worthy of saving a life.
“Argh,” he groans.
He coughs quietly away from your face when his hands loosen their hold. You chose to not chastise him about not wearing a sweater in the middle of autumn. After all, this man was the only one who would be daft enough to try and stop you. You curl into him, hiding your face in the satin finish of his dress shirt; you promise to buy him a new one as long as you let him hide your eyes and you break down. You’re crying over the smallest inconvenience and on top of feeling like a burden to the man, you consistently apologize by saying it’s no one’s fault especially his when you catch yourself in your darkest moment.
Mattsukawa listens to your request: with one hand, he covers your left side of your face, the right is patting your hair down, reassuring you that he will console you until the sobs stop and the sniffles remain.
“You’re lucky I live and work not too far from here doll,” he whispers into your hair. You’re calming down as you hiccup the last couple of bubbles of air. You nod in understanding the words he was saying, but you still have your eyes closed to shield himself (and keep your pride intact) when he would peer into your bloodshot ones.
“Don’t worry about me tryin’ anything either. You’ve been through enough tonight. Just let me take care of you for the rest, ok?”
“Mmhm,” you agree. He sits up half way and you rise with him, your eyes ever looking westward until you see one of his handkerchiefs from his back pants pocket dangle in your line of sight. You stifle a laugh, utter a thanks, and begin to dry your face. Mattsukawa, when you were done, doesn’t hold your face anymore, even if it pains him to do so. Your free hand decides for both of you: your left reaches for his and you bring the calloused hand, opened palm, to your cheek. Your skin is soft and sticky from the tears, but if anyone were to ask Mattsukawa what it felt like to save a life, he would humbly point you out in a crowd and say ‘Ask ‘em yourself.’
“I lost sight of the things that brought me joy,” you say quietly. You’re breathing in his cologne and it smells like whiskey sours. The scent grounds you, as you recall your therapist giving you stress-relieving tricks such as naming five to ten things your senses pick up on. Your cheeks feel soft like mochi ice against Mattsukawa’s open palm; you see the neon lights hazily glow in the city below you; and finally, you hear his shirt ruffle against the shell of your ear when you finally calm down.
“Everyone does,” Mattsukawa agrees. “Can you do something for me?”
“Mattsukawa-san,” you said his name and he chuckles in surprise. You remembered his name? This was even better than before. He finds himself falling gently in like with you. The love between long lost friends is what keeps him afloat. Unwillingly, you find yourself amusedly smiling at his tanned skin glowing with a soft hues under his eyes. Was this man blushing?
“Call me Issei or Mattsun,” his voice says when his other hand loops around your waist. He buried his head on your right shoulder.
Tonight you learn that even strong and by your standards of “fine men” do in fact cry. You blink a couple more times and he just cries a mixture of tears he has no control over.
“Mattsun,” you say, voice soft like the breeze sending a boat to sail. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“You could have said you weren’t feeling well if you didn’t want to go out with me,” Mattsukawa jokes, turning his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his tear stricken face to the side. He asks you, if you felt comfortable enough, to just stay still for a moment.
The rooftop rendezvous was not what you had in mind when you came home from clocking out, but considering you were heavily contemplating ending your existence earlier, this one request was not too hard to fulfill. The belladonna in your bronchioles seemed to dislodge itself into your lungs. You stay as still as your companion had asked and you breathe in time together. His curls are soft to the touch and when he relaxes his shoulders when you run a hand through his hair, you feel him grin on the right of your shoulder blades.
Was this what it felt like to be you every hour before you both met at the cafe? This profound sadness doesn’t leave his heart nor does he quite shake the feeling of the leaves of the belladonna flowers taking root in his lungs. The flowers bloomed slowly since his twenty-third birthday were the same ones you dyed your hair for. You’ve been suffering with the hanahaki disease for quite some time, you confess back to him.
“Is that why you were here? Trying to jump?” Mattsukawa asks an innocent inquiry. He seemed like he was about to be scolded for the first time in seven years, yet you thought it was kind of adorable. And so you do something you haven’t done in a very long time: you scoff (although you were sure it was closer to a giggle.
“No,” you reply. “I was contemplating jumping because all my triggers hit at once, so I’ve been in a depressive episode for quite some time before we met.”
“Oh,” Mattsukawa acknowledges. “Do you want to stay the night?”
“…that’s awfully forward of you,” you say. Your pragmatic inner voice says to decline, but there is a mischievous side of his mannerisms, nonetheless you are curious. It is late into the evening already, so perhaps the offer is a better one. After all, you think the change of scenery would do you some good, so you humbly agree.
Roughly an hour later, you find yourself in Mattsukawa’s living room area. Offering his shower to you, you ask if there is something he can lend you. It is an old shirt with his high school cactus logo on it, but the shorts he tosses to you has a VBC and his old number stitched on the back pocket. Mattsukawa hands you a spare towel and tells you how to work the shower in his bathroom. Twenty minutes later, you sit close to the kotatsu even if it’s not too cold outside at the moment, you tend to sleep better underneath one.
Prior to your shower, Mattsukawa-san graciously gave you a small tour of his loft when you arrived. The walk wasn’t too far from the rooftop building and so you two walk side by side until the loft complex came into view. Mattsukawa says hi to the doorman who makes a joke or two about how he had almost pulled another overnight at the funeral home.
“Be careful with that one miss, he’d work himself to death! Ha! Work himself to death,” the doorman says, wiping a faux tear from his eye. You snickered covering your smile with the back of your hand. When you put it to the side of your body, Mattsukawa notices how dazzling your smile is. How would someone who smiles this much at a pun, hold so much carnage of self-doubt and depressive thoughts in their heart? Is that why your flowers and your scent are wrapped in poisonous belladonna? Mattsukawa shakes this thought to the furthest parts of his mind. You’re here now, in the next room, safe under the same roof.
The master bedroom door is opened just a crack once Mattsukawa is half-dressed in his pajama pants, parading around shirtless fetching a glass of water from the kitchen. You were already seated on the barstool peering out the sliding glass door of the patio outside. Jumping was not the way to die for you, you think. Perhaps if you died with love, perhaps you’d have a better chance of reincarnation than you thought. The ambient sounds of the refrigerator and the water spout being used brought you back to hold the gaze of your host for the evening. You made a conscientious decision to cash in on your PTO at your work location for the next two weeks via e-mail. You explain to the HR representative you were feeling burn out and your therapist was working with you to battle the depressive episodes you were going through. The automotive message came back saying someone from the office of internal affairs would look into the chain of command in your division. However, you could care less about work at the moment, since you were enjoying the company of the person who helped kept you tied to this world.
“You like what you see?” Mattsukawa says smoothly. The water glass is placed on the counter in front of you. After graduation from Aoba Josai, running and other kinesthetic stretches were included in his workout regiment. You froze, placing your phone face down to the extreme left of the counter space. The granite glowed in the soft lamp from behind you, casting shadows in the grooves of his muscular features.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” you tease. “But I do like the person who saved me from making a huge mistake.”
Mattsukawa nods as he leans forward to rest his chin in his hand.
“I’ll always come running to you Yin,” he gives you a nickname close to the currency your country uses. This causes you to roll your eyes, yet you reassure him it was filled with endearment.
“You sound like you’re going to love me until the day I properly die Mattsun.”
He wasn’t expecting you to climb halfway across the granite counter, stretching your back further parallel to the floor (your feet are balancing your lower half on the chair).
His hand finds its way to the small of your back and he says a quick, “pardon me.” The onyx eyes he owns close and crinkle upward like small crescent moons before you feel his pursed lips press against your forehead.
“You’re safe here,” you hear him say. His warmth is a welcomed blanket of comfort for you; his words are kinder than your own thoughts.
“Will you kiss me properly?” You ask.
“In the morning, first thing,” he answers. “But first, sleep.”
Mattsukawa walks around his counter to keep you from hanging in the balance thus lowering the risk of you falling knees first on the floor.
“Remember how you fell on top of me?” Mattsukawa’s voice is low. You swallow nervously; you affirm that you do. “Good. Now hold on to me sweetheart.”
He leans back against your left side of your suspended body and he wraps an arm around your mid-section and you push off with your elbows. The next thing you are aware of, you are being carried like a drowsy child to the living room where you sit on Mattsukawa’s lap like before. You raise a hand to his smooth face, your fingers tracing the highest points of his features; his eyes flutter close to the sensational spell you are casting; he is about to fall in the in-between of sleep and lucidity when he feels your lips press firmly against his. When you back down, he stops you with one word: “More. One more time.”
You turn your head at an angle the moment you feel his hands turn you around to straddle him more comfortably.
“Better,” you confirm. Your nose teases his own and he languidly looks at you before he pushes your back playfully and your lips meet his again.
You sigh against his lips when your knees come into contact with his cushion; his arms move away from your hips to your ribs. The callouses he earned over the years of playing volleyball in high school memorizes the map of your skin. Together, the aroma of belladonna almost dissipates the pain in your lungs the longer you are breathing in everything the young man in front of you is giving.
This was as brave as you wanted to be right now. You’d be more adventurous months into your new found relationship with your restaurant-cafe rendezvous man. Your hands trace his collar bones before they found their purchase on the sides of his neck.
“I like that,” you say when you are given a chance to catch your breath. Mattsukawa’s hands rest on your love handles again and he pushes you into a loose embrace. Your hair tickles his shoulder when you rest your head against his pectoral.
“I like this too,” he says, running his fingers lightly up and down your spine. “Close your eyes and rest for a while Yin. We can talk about this in the morning, ok?”
You stifle a yawn, agreeing.
A few minutes later, after you are truly asleep, Mattsukawa supports you in his arms and he carries you like a child, careful to support your neck as your legs rest limply above his hips, to his room. He lays you down first and then proceeds to tuck you in; staying above the duvet, he watches over you breathing in and out steadily, the last small petals escaping your lips when you cough softly in your sleep. Mattsukawa stares at the last shriveled one on the corner of your lips and swats it away.
“Pretty angel, don’t scare me like that. I don’t want to lose you,” Mattsukawa reaches over to hold your hand; fingers intertwining around your own and you squeeze his back. “You’ll be alright and I will help you keep nightmares away.”
“Why?” Your voice is laced with sleep. “Why do you want to love me?”
“Because our story is just beginning my love.”
Mattsukawa rubs his thumb over your knuckles and when he lies down further on his bed next to you, he rests a protective arm over your shoulders.
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lesbianologist · 3 years
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RE: fate the winx saga — i have this theory that i’m working on and i still haven’t really fleshed out the details, so feel free to expand on possible theories you may have in the reblogs (or a separate posting crediting me if you use any of my theory), but here is a summary of the points that i think are integral somehow, on the basis of actual facts... (it’s lengthy lol)
let’s set up some basic facts first. FACT 1: rosalind has been lying to all parties (told farah/ben/andreas/saul she evacuated aster dell and it was only burned ones there, told beatrix that alfea destroyed the families - fairies - and she [rosalind] had a crisis of conscience, and later told bloom that the people were blood witches). FACT 2: farah knew how powerful bloom was (s01e03 last scene she tells ben/saul that she lied to bloom about rosalind being dead. when ben asks “why?”, farah responds with “bloom has the potential to be one of the most powerful fairies the otherworld has ever known. if rosalind is calling to her, there’s a reason. we can never let the two of them meet.” this suggests a few things. it seems to be implied that ben would have liked bloom to speak to rosalind, while farah would want bloom to never meet her. given how they initially set us up to be wary of farah, i actually think she didn’t want rosalind and bloom to meet because she was terrified of rosalind either hurting/killing bloom, or using her for some ulterior motive (e.g. steal her powers, use her for evil, etc.)
so... let’s go into this with the belief that farah’s intentions are pure.........
in s1e4, beatrix recalls the story of aster dell from what she’s been told. at 35:20 (approx) we’re given this scene juxtaposed by beatrix’s narration:
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later, in s1e5 (39:05ish) we see this exact same shot again via farah’s narration where she explains what happened and she’s standing amongst the carnage (see below): 
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frankly it’s at almost the exact same time but most importantly: it’s the exact same shot coming into focus, and it’s FARAH, NOT ROSALIND LIKE BEATRIX NARRATED IN THE FIRST SCENE.
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with this, i am going to propose a theory that i think farah rescued bloom, not rosalind. rosalind likely did rescue beatrix (evident in andreas raising her) and told her a part of the (lie-filled) story, but i think farah rescued bloom. i think rosalind found where bloom was when farah stashed her away, and burned the memory into her mind so she could use it to manipulate bloom later. i think she’s lying when saying that she rescued bloom, that she would always look out for bloom, and that farah couldn’t give her love (yet another damn lie). 
i think this also explains a few things RE: farah and bloom’s connection (farah finding bloom in the first place which isn’t explored much at all, farah fussing over bloom, having a motherly bond, and lastly why farah is overcome with emotion when hugging bloom). it may also be why bloom trusts farah to an extent, repeatedly going to her to ask for the truth, and extinguishing herself when she briefly realizes rosalind is manipulating her in the final episode. 
like, imagine.... you burn down a village because your mentor tells you to, and you’ve obeyed her for years. so you do, then when you realize she’s betrayed you, you decide to save the one life that you are able to. you find this girl a loving and stable home but you know that eventually she’s going to need to come to althea because of how powerful she is. so you watch her from afar for years like a fairy godmother. finally, you step in and bring her to hew new home when she becomes too erratic with her magic, but she uncovers your darkest secret. she tries to get you to open up, but you’re terrified that she’ll never forgive you, so you continue to hide the truth. eventually she starts believing the manipulation of her memories, and ultimately your mentor threatens to destroy your life again 16 years later when this rescued changeling comes to the school you now teach after you’ve watched over her for years. farah wanted to mentor her correctly unlike her mentor had done. she wanted to tell her what happened with time. but farah’s mentor stole that from her. she felt immense guilt killing the citizens of aster dell and wished to make amends for that by mentoring bloom in a positive manner, but rosalind manipulated her, almost killed bloom (again), but successfully got bloom to prove why she’s so powerful.
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It’s Gaara Week! - just kidding, Gaara Week is in January - this is Gaara Weekly. So I heard the topic this time is:
“what Gaara would do together with Shinki if he had some time off” 
now that’s just wholesome, how could I not at least *attempt to* provide some headcanons?
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*side note: I have no idea how I ended up with this mess of a post but here you go*
So we know their hobbies: Gaara likes “battling” according to the second databook and by the time the third came around, he added “cultivating cacti” to the mix. Shinki likes both “gardening” and “embroidery” according to character trivia from Boruto. Makes sense that they would bond over tending to plants right? In fact, most would probably assume that Shinki adopted this hobby from his father. And while I do believe they get some rare father-son time tending to Gaara's cacti together - I don't know if that's what they would actually choose to do if they had a significant amount of free time.
If I was being realistic: They would probably spend their days off training.
_________________________ Yeah I hear you people in the back screaming “booo” - but this seems to be the most realistic scenario - to me at least. So let me explain:
His people and village always seem to be the priority for Gaara and Shinki is the future of Suna, not only as the Kazekage's heir but simply as part of the next generation who will take on leadership positions after the current decision-makers retire. There is not a single doubt in my mind that Gaara views mentoring future generations as one of his top priorities. Shinki wants to make his father proud and properly represent his family and village. He is hugely appreciative of any training time his busy father can spare for him - such an opportunity doesn't come every day. Both of them have very no-nonsense, goal-oriented personalities.
- So if Gaara had a couple of hours to spend however he wanted, he would invest them in the future of his village: Shinki. If Shinki had the chance to get some in-depth one-on-one training with his father, he would jump at the opportunity.
We know that Gaara, unlike Naruto with his son, has at least somewhat regularly been training Shinki in person. He has mentioned how he taught his son 'everything he knows' and Shinki actually training directly with his (very busy) father just makes sense: The two of them are the only people we know of with their kekkei genkai - and Gaara is the only one with abilities almost identical to Shinki's. It’s true that Gaara only knows the basics when it comes to iron sand - or rather, that was confirmed to be the case until at least the early blank period. But he would know next to every use of regular sand and that’s still more than any other jonin in suna. Of course, as the Kazekage, Gaara simply doesn't have the time to do the majority of Shinki's training - but I wouldn’t question that he's the one giving the crucial advice, reviewing his training progress and telling his son what abilities need more work.  
So if he has a little bit of time to spare - I have no doubt he would (and does) put most of it into training Shinki. And that includes days off. 
_________________________
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But y'all didn't come for that - don't lie.
*enter Part 2: “But what if we talk about cats instead?”
We love these two (and the entire Sand-family for that matter) so naturally, we want to see them use their time off for anything BUT work or training. Gaara and Shinki are definitely the worst offenders here, they always seem like those people who would rather work on their duties than cut cake on their birthdays - Gaara more so because he seems very focused on always putting his own pleasure behind doing 'something useful to others' and Shinki because he's just beginning to realize the value of friendship. *Insert mlp meme here*
So for the sake of fun, we will just assume SOMETIMES Gaara decides that his son should do “normal activities” instead of training and ends up going somewhere with him. But where? If for some reason, Shinki were to accompany his father to another village for a diplomatic meeting, I think they would definitely walk around that village a bit and just take in the local culture: food, sights, and the like. Imagine the way Lee and Tenten showed Gaara and Kankuro around Konoha in episode 497 and had them try ramen for the first time - kind of like that. But this example also shows just how rarely Gaara seems to get time off during official visits: it took him being Kazekage for 4 years until he ate his first Ramen - but ok, if the war hadn’t been in the way I guess Naruto would have made him try it sooner. Now, if we are talking about “regular” time off, the place would definitely need to be in Suna - Gaara is important for the protection of his village so he can’t just leave whenever he wants.
I’m also going to assume that Gaara can walk around relatively freely without being bothered by crowds - if simply for the fact that we have seen him do so before, at least in other villages. Gaara strikes me as a character who could very much enjoy new experiences - there was once a time when most things “normal” people did were foreign to him and he had to go through a very steep learning curve after his first encounter with Naruto. I can see him trying new things when he gets the chance and also wanting to encourage Shinki to do the same - so long something falls not too far outside both of their comfort zones.
.
We established all the little details but no one has gone anywhere yet. So if we are going for something interesting: > how about we bring cats into this?
Gaara and Shinki strike me as having a lot of, for the lack of a better word, “cat-people energy” - were they aware of this before this fateful day? Probably not. Were they aware of it afterward? - you bet!
Gaara felt a bit confused when he heard that Suna would be hosting a big pet show for the first time in a few years *he had to sign the paperwork after all* - what was that again? People bring their cats and dogs to show them to visitors and a jury?
“Must be another unique way humans manage to be vain about their property” - the concept of placing much importance in the things one owns and how they reflect on you was something Gaara understood as a concept but never fancied.
He didn’t understand very well why visitors would want to see such a spectacle until Kankuro said something along the lines of “sometimes people just want to see animals do cute stuff I guess? You know how girls and kids are - show them a dog rolling over and they will go crazy - don’t worry too much about it, I’m also not much of a fan.”
On a second thought: “Oh but maybe Shinki likes that stuff? I mean he’s a kid - ..... although he doesn’t behave like one most of the time.”
- and with that comment, the deal was settled: there would be father-son bonding time scheduled and they would go observe cute animals!!
Shinki wasn’t very thrilled but what can you do - he wanted to train but was too well behaved and respected his father too much to object any of his decisions - no matter how strange some of them sounded.
In the end, none of them had high expectations for this trip but they went anyway because “At worst we have made a valuable experience” - Gaara
*Shinki didn’t dare question what could be “valuable” about this*
As it turned out, the date they picked for their visit was designated for cats of all breeds --
Of course, both Gaara and Shinki had seen cats before - from afar. No one in their family owned any animals - if you didn’t factor in the deer raised on the property of the Nara-clan.
But they had also HEARD about cats before
--------- mostly because Shukaku never seemed to miss an opportunity to insult them: “cats are the most useless creatures, it goes to show how stupid humans are for domesticating them” - “and you are sure you aren’t just saying this because kids always seem to mistake you for one?” -Kankuro would add
*Needless to say: Kankuro still enjoyed provoking people he really shouldn’t.* -------------
Well now the two shinobi were in front of one - their first close encounter with a feline - a big sand-colored persian with her owner, a friendly-looking old lady, standing next to her.
“Well I suppose they are quite endearing with their big eyes” -Gaara noted
Old lady: “Oh dear would you like to come closer? She really enjoys being pet behind her ears - she’s even calm with most strangers”
Gaara was a bit hesitant
When you’ve only ever heard bad things about cats and their temper you might think twice about petting them when you get the chance - at least until you take the courage to hold out your hand and they start purring like you are their best friend and they will love you forever.
Now, if anything gets Gaara - it’s being shown unconditional love and acceptance in unexpected places
yes apparently this does not exclude kitties
*holding out his hand while the cat is purring and meowing* Gaara : O.O Shinki, next to him: O.O Both of them internally: "ohhhh so THAT'S what all the fuss is about"
- Instant non-verbal agreement that cats are awesome
After that encounter, both might or might not have been extremely tempted to adopt a cat.
But since Gaara knew no one in this family had much time to spend at home - *and because he had this lingering sense that the cat might develop a taste for his succulents* - he had to resist.
This however wouldn’t mean that their next “family day” wasn’t already planned to be a trip to the local animal shelter. _________________________ Bonus:
eventually, Shukaku finds out about their trips and is NOT amused that they considered bringing one of “those things” home.
Yes- he’s still fuming from that one time he was carried by Shinki in his more “compact” form and a toddler pointed at them saying “oh your cat is so chubby! can I pet it? Pleeeeese!!” (*needless to say both Shinki and Gaara were mortified back then and hurried to get Shukaku away from the little girl before any casualties were to occur*)
He continues to sulk for at least a full month about this “betrayal”.
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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years
Note
can i request something where the reader is a higher vampire who lives with regis like as his assistant or smthn and has a crush on dettlaff?
A/N: oof this took in a mind of its own. I may or may not do another installment of this... the reader in this is a younger vampire that Regis sort of took under his wing and mentors. Also vampires get headaches??? And they blush??? Let’s say yes 😂
***
You kicked your feet back and forth, watching Regis as he mixed two foamy substances together. 
“Can you hand me the vial to your left, Y/N?” He asked without looking in your direction. 
You looked to your left, clicking your tongue absentmindedly. You picked up the vial and passed it to him. 
“Thank you, my dear.”
“When are you going to let me do the fun stuff?” You sighed. You leaned back on your hands, still kicking your legs. 
“Can you tell me what these two ingredients are?” He stood up, placing the vial down on to the table you sat on. He held up the jar with the combined foamy substances. 
You looked at them, scrunching your nose up. 
“No. But they have a horrible stench.”
“They do. It’s buckthorn and skunk cabbage.”
“How was I supposed to know what they are?”
“If you studied like you should, you’d know what they were.”
You groaned, letting your head fall back. 
“Regis! Not everyone can sit and read a book in one hour.”
“Ever the dramatic, you are.” Regis smiled a little, shaking his head. “I don’t sit and read one book in an hour.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. 
“Regis, you sit and read three books in an hour when you have nothing else to do.”
“To expand my field of knowledge.”
You groaned again. 
The door to the crypt creaked open. 
You sat up a little straighter and leaned forward, peering around the corner to see if you could see who it was. But you heard his heartbeat, inhaled his scent before you ever saw him. 
“It’s Dettlaff.” You smiled.
“Pass me the bowl next to you, Y/N.” 
You picked up the bowl and handed it to Regis. 
As Dettlaff came around the corner into the main room of the crypt, you slid down from the table. You hadn’t paid attention to the tablecloth being under you. When you moved, you pulled the cloth and the contents of the table down into the floor. 
“Oh, damn it!” You cursed, looking down at the mess. 
“No need to fuss over it, dear.” Regis told you, sighing softly. “We will just have to try this again tomorrow.”
You groaned. 
“Having fun, I see.” Dettlaff spoke, his deep voice making goosebumps rise across your skin. 
“Regis is having all of the fun.” You frowned. “He won’t let me mix anything together.”
“The last time you tried to mix ingredients, you nearly blew the crypt up.” Regis reminded you as he began to clean up the mess of broken glass on the floor. 
You brought your eyes to Dettlaff. 
“It’s been a while since I last saw you.” You tried to hide the excitement you felt just from seeing him, from being in the same room as him. You didn’t want to creep him out.
“I’ve been.... busy.” He nodded, blue eyes lingering on you for a few moments. You swore you could feel your heart racing against your chest. “I came to speak with Regis, but it can wait. I don’t want to interfere with your learning.”
“I think we were about due for a break anyways.” Regis said. “Once I get this cleaned up, we can chat.”
“I’ll be outside.”
You watched the vampire leave, your chest tightening. 
“Of course you came to see him.” You muttered once you were sure Dettlaff was out of hearing range. 
“You should tell him how you feel, Y/N.”
“You are an absolutely brilliant man, Regis. But that is a very stupid idea.” You moved to grab a cloth to help him clean the foam off of the floor. 
“I think it’s rather foolish to keep your feelings to yourself. Our lives are long and can be rather lonesome if you don’t have someone to share it with.”
You got down on the floor on your knees, wiping the foam up. 
“From the way this is going, I’m going to be your apprentice forever. We’ll have each other.” You chuckled a little. You sat back on your knees, looking at the cloth in your hand. “After what happened with that human, the Duchess’s sister, I doubt he’d ever want to be with anyone ever again. I don’t blame him. I want to gut the whore for what she did to him.”
“But we won’t lay a hand on her, will we, Y/N?” Regis raised his brows at you. 
“No.” You muttered, standing to your feet. “Because we don’t like to mess with garbage. It makes us stink.”
Regis chuckled softly at you. 
“I’m going to go out and talk to him. Will you clean the rest of this up for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
***
You spun a vial around on the table, trying to amuse yourself until Regis returned. 
You were a little frustrated. Why couldn’t Dettlaff pay at least a little bit of attention to you? Maybe you were annoying to him. Maybe it was because you weren’t as sophisticated and elegant as most vampires. Your sense of balance was absent and you always managed to break anything you touched. 
You picked the vial up, sighing heavily, and turned to move across the room. 
You jolted, sucking in a breath at the sight of Dettlaff standing in the doorway to the room. The vial fell from your fingers and hit the floor, shattering into a billion pieces.
“Oh dear.” Regis spoke, walking out from behind Dettlaff.
“You scared me.” You told them, kneeling down to pick up the broken glass. 
“No worries, dear. I shall go fetch some more vials. I think we could use them, especially with so many breaking this evening.”
“I’m sorry, Regis. I’ll pay for them.”
“Nonsense.” Regis shook his head at you. He held onto the strap of his satchel that crossed over his chest. “I believe there was something you had to speak with Y/N about, Dettlaff. Isn’t that right?”
The dark haired vampire kept his eyes on Regis. 
“I’ll be back later.” Regis looked at you and nodded his head once before disappearing in a cloud of gray smoke. 
You glanced up at Dettlaff momentarily, cursing in your head when your eyes met. 
“What can I do for you, Dettlaff?” You asked, placing the chunks of broken glass on the table. You’d need to fetch a broom from the other room to clean the rest of it up, but you didn’t want to move. Right now, he was standing in the only doorway leading out of the room and you couldn’t bring yourself to move any closer to him. You didn’t want to scare him away anymore than what you probably already did. 
“I just…. There’s a matter I need to discuss with you.” He spoke, his deep baritone losing a bit of its confidence. “Perhaps we should go outside. There’s so many fumes in here, it’s beginning to give me a headache.”
You would probably have agreed with him had you not been so used to alchemy. 
“Okay.” You quietly agreed. 
He stepped out of the doorway and motioned for you to go first. 
You smoothed out your blouse before moving to exit the crypt. 
You concentrated on each step, not wanting to miss one and embarrass yourself in front of Dettlaff. You thought you were in the clear, that you had- for once -made it up those old and deteriorating steps without tripping. But on the last step, the toe of your boot caught the stone. You started to fall forward, hands flying out to catch yourself. 
Strong hands found your hips, catching you before you could hit the stone. You didn’t realize he had been following you so closely, or perhaps he had just moved so quickly you didn’t notice it. But his body was close to you. You could feel his body heat, smell his scent, hear his breathing. 
“I must say, I’ve never met a vampire so….”
“Clumsy?” You guessed, stepping out of his grasp and out of the crypt entirely. 
“Less than graceful.” He nodded. He was trying to be polite, to not point out how ungainly you were. 
“I’ve been told our kind shouldn’t have balance issues. We shouldn’t break everything we touch.” You started to move away from him, feeling anxious. Now that he’d pointed out how clumsy you were, you knew that was all he thought of you. A graceless, foolish child. “But I have been cursed with the ability to never know how to walk properly. Nor can I seem to hold anything properly in my hands without fucking dropping it.”
“You’re young, Y/N. You’ll learn.”
“I’m seven decades old.” You glanced over your shoulder to him.
“Still young.” He said. 
He clasped his hands behind his back as he moved towards you. 
“Have you…. Do you…. You don’t have anyone.”
Dettlaff’s words caught you off guard. You furrowed your brows together. 
“What?”
“Romantically speaking. You don’t have anyone. Do you?” He was so blunt that you weren’t sure you had heard him correctly.
“I-I don’t.” You sputtered out. “No.”
He nodded, as if fascinated by your answer.
“Why not?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked back to the ground to watch where you were going. 
“It’s probably my personality.” You muttered sarcastically, a little irritated. You came to a stop, the irritation festering beneath your skin, and turned to face him. “I just finished explaining to you what is wrong with me, Dettlaff. That’s the reason I have no one.”
He tilted his head to the side a little, brows drawn together. 
“I don’t think that’s what’s wrong with you. Your clumsiness isn’t a flaw.”
“Then you are the only one to think that.” You turned to start walking again. “You and Regis. That saint of a man never loses his patience with me.”
“Do you…. fancy him?”
“Gods no.” You crinkled your nose, shaking your head softly. “He’s like a father to me, one that I never had. What did you want to talk about besides my lack of a romantic partner and my oh so graceful nature?”
He chuckled softly, a noise you rarely heard. It was deep and in his chest, he didn’t part his lips, but an amused grin came to his lips. 
“I wanted to…. I asked Regis if it would be appropriate for me to ask you to join me for dinner sometime.”
You came to a sudden stop and spun around to face him. Your eyes were wide, panicked. Was he joking? Was this some sort of cruel prank? Had he overheard you and Regis talking earlier? Of course this was a joke! He’s witnessed first hand the destruction you can cause! How could an elegant, sophisticated man like Dettlaff ever want to go out to dinner with you?
“I-I- With me?” You pointed at yourself.
He nodded his head. 
You licked your lips and tucked a few pieces of hair behind your ear.
“Yes. I’d-I think that would be lovely.”
A little smile seemed to tug at the corner of his lips. 
“You think so?”
You turned to take a few steps away from him, full of so much excitement you thought you’d explode. But your boot caught on a tree root sticking out of the ground. You had just a split second to fall towards the ground, then Dettlaff was there catching you again. 
“Damn it.” You cursed, one hand on his bicep and the other on his forearm. 
He chuckled softly. 
“Sorry.” You murmured, cheeks blazing red. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your eyes were stuck on a buckle on his coat. 
“Don’t apologize.” Dettlaff spoke. He hooked two fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head up. “I think it’s quite adorable.”
You wanted to scoff, to roll your eyes and tell him it’s cute when a toddler has trouble walking, but not a seventy year old Higher Vampire. 
But you lost your voice. It was caught somewhere in your throat. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to jump out of your ribs. 
Dettlaff leaned in, icy blue eyes flickering down to your lips. 
Your hand came up to the side of his neck, fingertips just barely brushing into his dark hair. 
Your lips met in a tender, gentle kiss. He was hesitant, not wanting to force himself upon you in any way. You appreciated this. You didn’t want your first kiss with him to be fast paced and clumsy. 
Your hand trailed around to the nape of his neck, ebony hair sliding through your fingers like silk. You pulled him a little closer to you, your hand on his arm drawing him in. 
He broke the kiss first, breathing heavily. Your noses brushed and his arm slipped around you. 
“I’m afraid you’re holding on to my arm too tightly.” He chuckled softly. 
You didn’t even realize your grip on him had tightened. Immediately, you released him. 
“I-I’m sorry-,”
“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. It’s easy for one to forget their strength.”
You looked down to where you had been holding him, afraid you’d left a bruise or something. 
Dettlaff took your attention away from the mark, turning your head back to him. 
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.” He admitted a little quietly. 
You smiled, happy that he was interested in you. 
“Me too.” You nodded. 
He smiled softly. It was foreign, something you knew the man very rarely did. 
“Come on. I believe you have a mess to finish picking up.”
You sighed, nodding your head. Dettlaff turned, taking your hand in his. Together, you walked back to the crypt.
Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24
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Pretty Blue Bird pt 7.
Ending
Summary. A villain is forcing quirks on regular people with plans to sell them to villains as weapons. Reader is forced to accept a quirk that resembles Hawks and he finds her and saves her. He helps her with the quirk while trying to ignore his bird instincts
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Hawks had been captured by All For One while on his pursuit for the villain forcing quirks onto civilians. All For One was ripping his feathers out one by one , crumbling them in his hands till they were nothing. The villain crouched down by Hawks face tapping his forehead till Hawks eyes fluttered open. He had a massive headache and his back hurt. He could see the crumbled red feathers by his face. The villain tapped his forehead again till Hawks gave him his attention.
“I suppose i should tell you who i am. I'm The Gift Giver. I bless people with quirks. “
“It's not.. a blessing.” Hawks choked out . Slowly he raised his arms to fold them , pressing a button on his watch. “Its a curse.. if anything. You are selling them for weapons.”
The Gift Giver stood up to pluck out a red feather and inspect it . “So red, so fierce I bet they are.. sharp.” He grabbed Hawks arm holding the feather to his wrist but nothing happened.
“They can be. But I need to make it that way, sorry mate. “
All For One dropped Hawks kicking him to the wall . “Wheres the blue one. We need her.”
The Hero choked out some blood as he tried to steady himself on his shaking knees. “Why would i tell you? Im Hawks. Im all you need.” Feathers shot out at both villains and Hawks grabbed one turning it into a long sharp feather sword.
•••
Meanwhile you were in such a sad state that your feathers were falling out and drifting around the house. They could always return to you but instead you let them wander Hawks home.
Tokoyami had gotten you out of the nest and got you to join him in the living room and that's when your feathers started to wander. You only ate a little bit and still enjoyed Tokoyamis reading about birds and his stories of UA but you missed Hawks, you brought his glove everywhere with you. You were worried sick. At some point you sang a sad song that brought Tokoyami to tears. He had to turn away of course , but Dark Shadow hugged you , crying big wet tears into your hair. He held you for as long as you needed. He even gathered up your feathers to bring you them and you thanked him warmly.
Tokoyami was worried about his mentor. Sure he had a laid back personality and never got scared but he was still human. Damn bird . Where are- hit watch buzzed and in a flash Tokoyami looked at it to see a red dot on a map. “Dark Shadow.” He said getting up. Dark Shadow wiggled over to Tokoyami . “Yes? Did you find him?” Tokoyami turned to you to see you curled up hugging the glove . He put a blanket on you talking low. “I'm going to go get Hawks. Do not leave this house. Im trusting you to stay here.” You nodded pulling the blanket over your head, your feathers crept to you too going behind you and under the blanket. ”please bring him home..”
Tokoyami left in a flash , leaving you to hug the glove close, singing quietly.
••
You did as Tokoyami said , you had no reason to leave the house anyway. The world scared you now, quirks confused you, villains terrified you. Trust was all jumbled up and a mess for you now. But despite all of that , your life being forced to change without your consent. There was good. The darkness that surrounded you had a bright light in the center, and you grabbed it, with no plans to let go.
At some point during the night you heard fussing outside the door and weak laughter following what sounded like a lecture. The door opened and a scet caught your nose. His scent.
•••
It did not take long for Tokoyami to find the location on his gps. Hawks had also left a trail of feathers for Tokoyami to find that led right to the building. Dark Shadow stretched getting big and scaled the building with Tokoyami close by climbing just as fast. They both slipped through the window to see Hawks in The Gift Givers grip pressed against the wall with his hand on his throat. Tokoyami went for the Gift Giver, grabbing him and sending him flying into All For One. Both men fell to the ground and Dark Shadow grabbed Hawks while Tokoyami tied up both men. All For One laughed burning the rope and the two vanished. “We will be back..”
Tokoyami sat down groaning and Dark Shadow put Hawks down. He stumbled over to his sidekick after petting Dark Shadow . “What would i do without you Toko?” The man rolled his eyes crossing his arms. “Die, you would die. Sometimes i just don't know about you.” The Number 2 Hero chuckled sitting down with his friend putting his bloody arm around Tokoyami and Dark Shadow wiggled over hugging them both.
••
“You smell, awful.”
“I dont think blood is supposed to smell good Toko. Cmon i can barely walk”
“Whos fault is that? If you would have just followed my advice and actually cared when you are fighting you would not have a cut in your leg.”
“Dark Shadow hes so mean to me.”
“Fumi!! Be nice to Hawks!!!”
Tokoyami rolled his eyes and Hawks laughed leaning into his door. He could already smell your stressed out scent. “Thank you, both. For everything.”
Tokoyami folded his arms with a ‘hmph’ sound and Dark Shadow hugged the winged hero happily.
••
Hawks opened the door getting hit with your scent . He frowned, closing the door behind him and saw you on the couch with your wings around you. He sang softly limping over to you petting your wing. “Pretty blue bird….”
You peaked through your feathers to see him. He smiled picking you up, trying his best not to drop you. Your wings fell to your back and Hawks rubbed his nose on yours as he slowly limped down the hall.
“You are hurt.. let me fix it.” You said crying into his torn shirt. Hawks slumped on the wall still limping till he got to his room. “Blue Bird, i've missed you. It can wait. I should probably patch my leg up though .. but while i do that. ..” he nudged his door shut. “Let me tell you what that song you sang means. And let me show you, too.”
@loxbbg @marydragneell
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
BONUS PREVIEW FOR FULL NEST CHAPTER TWO
It had been a couple months since Hawks returned. He was given a few weeks off after encountering The Gift Giver to tend to his wounds and spend time with you of course. When he did return to his Agency the first thing he did was go to Tokoyami with a silly grin on his face explaining his new situation. Dark Shadow had extended himself to almost the ceiling screeching happy noises while Tokoyami was trying his best to calm the damn shadow down. Hawks watched happily. Hands in his pockets and his wings spread out.
He didint just need a bigger nest. He needed two.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
A/n. Biggest thank you to Blue Bird Anon for requesting me this idea. Im so happy you are enjoying it and like the way ive written it., also big thank you to everyone who also has enjoyed it with me😭But its not over!!! Stick around for Full Nest !!! ;))))
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thran-duils · 3 years
Text
Sex and Candy
Title: Sex and Candy Summary: Fem!Reader x AU!Dean (S15), Fem!Reader x AU!Castiel. Based on the alternate universe presented to us in Season 15 with the trust fund versions of Dean and Sam. The reader is married to Dean but is forced to face Castiel again, a past flame from her time at the hunter academy. After a fight with Dean, she finds herself asking Castiel to join her at a hotel, unable to let go of the past. Words: 3,818 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Angst, infidelity, smut Author’s Note: This was purposely left the way it was for you guys to make your own conclusions about what happens! ;)
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I smell sex and candy here, mmm Who's that lounging in my chair? Mmm Who's that casting devious stares in my direction? Momma this surely is a dream, yeah Yeah, momma this surely is a dream, dig it --Marcy’s Playground, Sex & Candy
Dean’s hand was at your lower back, guiding you through the door. Headquarters were fairly quiet, which was out of the ordinary. Many of the hunters in the area were not around having been dealt with an influx of monsters somehow escaping purgatory. Word was it had something to do with two rogue hunters who had messed around with some extremely powerful supernatural artifact and it had caused a rift in between the two worlds. You detested hunters who had not been given formal training through the academy and kept within the reins of John, your father in law’s, circle. They made your jobs all the more difficult more often than not.
The two of you stepped into the elevator, nodding in greeting at the guard standing nearby.
Once the doors closed, Dean told you, “Dad’s in a bad mood.”
“Oh?” you asked, barely feigning a tone of interest. You adjusted the silver Tiffany’s bracelet on your wrist, thinking to yourself that this was not news; John was usually not in a good mood. He was overbearing to say the least. It had taken everything in Dean to tell him he wanted to move out of the house with you. Luckily for you, John had a soft spot for you due to your hunting skills and had not put up much of a fuss. You had held back a scowl though when he had chirped that at least Dean had a homemaker to take care of him. You did not have to clean up after him, thankfully, considering the staff at your home. You loved Dean, there was no doubt, but his less desirable traits – being dependent and needing to be coddled at times – left you with a sour taste in your mouth more and more often.
Pulling at his collar to straighten it out, Dean sighed, “Yes. Apparently, he’s found out who the hunters are and wants to do something about them.” Your gaze slid to him and by the look on your face, Dean held up his hands, his gold cuff links catching the light. “Sammy refused.”
“Sam always refuses things like this.” Sighing, your fingers dug into your clutch. “He has got to stop punishing you sometime for moving out. He needs to start doing some of the dirty work.”
“I hardly think searching them out to ask them what the heck went wrong is dirty work, Y/N.”
The elevator door opened, and you closed your mouth, not wanting to continue this discussion outside the privacy of it.
You cut in front of Dean, your annoyance apparent. You heard him sigh heavily behind you, but you did not care, making your way down the hall towards John’s office.
Knowing better than to just enter, you knocked on the door and heard John beckon you in. Swinging the door open, you felt Dean at your back as you entered the room.
John was sitting behind his intricately carved desk that he had had imported in. Papers were stacked neatly, him working on one thing at a time. He was adamant about keeping his desk clean and to do so, he would not be rushed. One of the other board members for the academy, Arthur, was sitting opposite John.
Taking his glasses off, John moved to put his pen back in its holder. He gestured at the empty chair beside you, and you sat, keeping your back straight. Arthur was watching you out of the corner of his eye and you stiffened even further. He had been particularly hard on you as one of your mentors in school and you had not forgotten.
“You look upset, Y/N,” John commented.
You waved him off and said, “I am just impatient about learning who caused this latest mishap. And what is going to be done about it.”
“Impatience has always been a fault of yours,” Arthur commented, and you bit back a comment as John continued, “Well, it turns out it was two of the academy’s.”
“Are you joking?” Dean blurted from behind you where he was standing.
John shot him a look and Dean closed his mouth. “That is not something I would joke about, Dean. It was a major, major bungle. Yes, it was two that should know better, but I am not surprised at the same time. Novak and Crowley.”
His eyes were on you as he revealed this and unable to stop yourself, you closed your eyes, letting out a small sigh. Of course, it was. And no wonder Sam would turn this down as he knew yours and Castiel’s history; anything to put Dean and you in an uncomfortable position.
A small smirk on his lips, John told you specifically, “I thought it would be best to send you. And of course, Dean would go as well. You two are partners.”
“Naturally,” you responded tightly.
This was the last thing you wanted to do with your time. Being in Castiel’s presence never ended up being dressed in the past. Circumstances were different now and you were going to have to try to break that trend. You were already on edge and this was not going to help you to keep your composure seeing the smug look on his face.
<> <> <>
“Why am I not surprised they would be in a place like this?” Dean asked as the two of you ascended the short staircase to the bar.
It was a rowdy place, placed in an urban center.
“They are the dive bar type,” you told him, speaking louder as the swell of the music met you at the door. You held out your ID for the bouncer and he quickly waved you through, not even bothering to look at Dean’s considering he saw what your last name was already. Winchester got you into many places and underground establishments without the bat of an eye.
It did not take you long to locate them inside. They were waiting to play the next game of pool; Castiel was leaning back in his chair, legs propped up on the table, drink in hand. Crowley was next to him, dressed in crisp black as usual. Castiel’s hair was loose, his beard growing to a 5 o’clock shadow.
Crowley spotted you and Dean first. He nudged Castiel and said something to him as the two of you approached the table. Castiel turned his head and a smirk grew on his face seeing you, chuckling as he looked back down at his drink. He brought the pint to his lips and took a long swig.
“We need to talk,” you told them over the music, standing beside Castiel, glaring down at the pair of them.
“John Winchester sent his lap dogs instead of coming himself?” Crowley asked, giving you a scornful look.
Your mouth fell open slightly and before you could retort something nasty, Dean stepped forward. “It would be appreciated if the two of you could cooperate. It would make things so much easier. It’s not just my father; it’s the whole board.”
Castiel cleared his throat, moving to drop his feet off the table. “I suppose we are about to get our asses handed to us based on the demeanor here.”
“You’re damn right,” you spat.
“Oh, language,” Dean told you over his shoulder and you did not miss the smirk on both Castiel and Crowley’s faces. “No need to stoop to their level, Y/N.”
Castiel gestured across the table. “Sit.”
Dean looked apprehensive about sitting on the chair, no doubt worrying about his pressed slacks. You on the other hand, did not care in the slightest. You sat down, placing your wallet on the table between you and Dean. Castiel’s eyes were following your movements and you shot him a vexed look and clenched your jaw when he winked in return. It went missed by Dean as usual, him being too absorbed in keeping himself clean.
“So, what does the old man want to say?” Crowley asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass slowly. He was not going to let his disdain for John go.
Clearing his throat, Dean said ignoring the jab – or perhaps it went over his head, which was more likely –, “He wants to know what happened, why it happened, and how you propose to fix it.”
“Well, that is a lot of information and could take some time –”
“Give us the short version,” you snapped, interrupting him.
Crowley cocked his head, drawling, “You’re as charming as ever, Y/N.” You said nothing in response. “Fine. We were trying to send a monster back to purgatory –”
“What?” Dean demanded at the same time you blurted, “Why?”
“Well, if you would let me explain myself,” Crowley said tightly, narrowing his eyes. “We wanted to see if it could be done. Why continue wasting resources killing the monsters when we could just open a rift and send them to purgatory?”
“And you decided to do this without, I don’t know, discussing this with anyone else? Or asking for help?” you asked.
“Didn’t think any of you tight asses would be up to it.”
“And for good reason!”
Holding his hand up at you, Crowley said, “That is exactly why we didn’t ask for help. We researched it on our own, found the artifact we needed, and preformed the ritual ourselves. It did not go as we planned but we did do it. We opened a rift. Now, if we could perfect it –”
Dean cut in, holding up his hand, “Yeah, that’s not going to be happening. The Board wants you to turn over whatever artifact you used so we can keep it hidden to prevent this from happening again."
Crowley and Castiel exchanged a quick look, an entire conversation happening in a matter of moments between the two of them.
“And if we don’t hand it over?” Castiel questioned, coyly.
You exhaled impatiently as Dean scoffed, “You can’t be serious to want to defy the Board.”
“If we give it up to them, they’ll never pursue the idea.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“But they’ll take our hard work and claim the credit for themselves if it ends up being perfected.”
“That’s the point of the Board and the academy. It is to keep all of our collective research in one centralized place so everyone has access to it.”
Crowley cut into their conversation angrily, “That is exactly why I hated attending that bloody academy. The stuffed up, old pricks—” Dean flinched at the insult. “--there want to keep everything to themselves while the rest of us do the groundwork for them.” Castiel nodded in agreement, taking a drink of his beer.
Dean looked at you for support and you leaned forward, catching both of the men’s attention across the table. “Look. You know there’s two ways this is playing out. You agree to hand it over or we go back and tell the Board they’ve got two hunters they need to get information out of.”
“You mean, you two won’t be the ones shaking us down?” Castiel quipped, a playful glint in his eyes.
You were tired of him flirting, pushing your buttons that he knew how to press all too well.
Annoyed, you retorted, “They’re not sending Dean and I to get our hands dirty by forcing information out of you two. We are here as liaisons.”
“No. No, I suppose they wouldn’t be sending the pair of you,” Crowley said. “You haven’t done hard work in years. That’s for the grunts, isn’t it?”
You had had enough. Pushing the chair back with a loud squeak, you stood up quickly, grabbing your wallet. “I’m finished with this conversation. Dean, if you would like to continue trying to reason with these idiots, I’ll be in the car.”
It annoyed you even further to see Dean quickly get up to follow you. Part of you hoped he would have had the backbone to continue trying to coerce them, but then again, he seemed to always be following your lead.
“No, I see a lost cause when I see one,” Dean said, standing close to you.
You tore your eyes away from him to look at Crowley and Castiel once more. Castiel was taking a swig, his eyes running up your body and you had the urge to smack the glass out of his hands, spilling the contents all over him. You gave a disgusted scoff before turning and storming away from the table. Hearing Crowley crow after you to have a good night made your blood boil even more.
<> <> <>
Dean walked out of the bathroom in your bedroom in the suite, robe wrapped tightly around him. He was brushing his teeth while searching for his slippers. He found them and disappeared back into the bathroom. He had not wanted to go back home tonight, opting to pay for a luxurious room for the two of you to lounge in. You were not relaxing though, still infuriated with the salacious way Castiel had kept looking at you. It had set you aflame to feel those same lustful feelings when you had seen him. The man rubbed you completely the wrong way and yet, you still yearned to turn those feelings of annoyance into passion.
“Well, we tried,” Dean told you, emerging once more.
Rolling your eyes, you said, “Not hard enough. They should not feel the right to refuse a request like this.”
“I don’t know what you thought we could do more.”
He was so ready to give up. Dean typically gave up at the first signs of difficulty and passed the buck to someone else to handle. You had been okay enough with it at first with your brazen personality you had no problem picking up tough situations and making sure they got solved. But tonight, after seeing Castiel, the stress and annoyance was boiling over.
“Are you fucking serious, Dean?” You demanded. His mouth fell open at your cursing and you said, “Oh, come off it! Are you serious? We could have done it ourselves. We could have brought them in. You know I would have been able to get them in cuffs myself.”
“Y/N, that would not have worked. Two on two? And you would have caused a scene in the bar. There’s no reason to get police involved.”
Snapping, you shouted, “Dean, can you just for once do…” You caught yourself, closing your eyes. You had been about to lose your temper and say something you were going to regret. Breathing deeply, you tried to push the anger back below the surface. You needed air; you needed some release. Turning and snatching your purse, you searched for your shoes. “Never mind.”
“Can I do what?” Dean pressed when he recovered from your outburst as you made to go grab your jacket.
“It’s not worth it,” you dismissed him.
Dean stepped closer, concern laced in his features. “Apparently it is if you’re this upset.”
“This is what I’m talking about,” you said exasperated, gesturing at him. “You should be mad at me for being mad at you and yelling.”
“Why would I do that?”
Letting out a small growl, you turned and stormed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” He called after you, worried.
“Out!”
‘It’s late, Y/N!”
“Don’t wait up for me then.”
<> <> <>
Lying on the bed naked, you waited, flipping through your phone. You had gone down the street, paying for a room at a far less extravagant hotel in cash. No paper trail was going to be left for John to find.
When you heard the key at the door – you had asked the front desk to hold one for pick up – you lowered your phone. The door opened and Castiel walked in.
“Jesus, Y/N,” he snapped seeing you and rushing to close the door and lock it behind him.
You ignored his outburst, leaning over and placing your phone on the bedside table. “Figured you would have slowed down on the drinking after seeing me. I like being right.”
“History does have a way of informing my decisions,” Castiel replied, taking a few steps further into the room. He was looking at your bare skin, eyes lingering. You made a hum of approval, lying back on the bed, legs crossed, giving a shielded view of your pussy. Castiel tore his eyes away and asked, “Is this a trap?”
Smiling coyly, you asked, “Do you want to risk the opportunity to find out?”
“I suppose not.” He removed his jacket, tossing it on the chair next to the desk. His fingers hooked into the hem of his shirt and he pulled it over his head. He was not going to waste time giving you the opportunity to change your mind about all this.
“Come here,” you ordered him, sitting up and getting onto your knees at the edge of the bed.
You undid his belt and his pants, allowing him to shimmy to let them fall to the ground. His boxers went next and he pushed you back onto the bed, crawling on top of you.
“You got a condom?” he breathed into your ear, letting out a low groan when your hand found his cock.
Stroking, you whispered back, “No.”
“No?”
“Did I stutter? You’re safe, right?”
“That’s romantic—” Castiel started to say but your hand cupped his balls and he groaned again. “Yes. Yes. I got tested a couple weeks ago, actually.”
“How fortuitous,” you answered, stroking him again. You were rewarded with a throaty chuckle from him and his lips landing on yours. He drug his lips across yours, relishing in the taste.
Castiel growled, losing patience. He pushed your hand away and lined himself up with your entrance. He slid in, slamming his mouth to yours as you opened up for him. His composure was slipping feeling your tightness around him as he began thrusting in and out. You knew he was not this crazy for anyone else. You kissed him back with fervor, falling into the familiar rhythm; you had not felt him like this in over a year. The last had been shortly after you and Dean had gotten married and you had held out for this long by avoiding him up until tonight.
“I missed you,” you gasped, dragging your lips along his jaw before coming back to nip at his lip.
His tongue slipped past your lips and you moved to wrap your arms around his neck as he continued to steadily move in and out, you dripping around him.
You pushed him away and he looked at you momentarily confused. You began to shift position, and he followed your motion, pulling out to let you guide him. Climbing on top of him, you slid down his length. You rode him, each dive pushing him deeper until he bottomed out. Increasing your speed, your hands planted on his chest, moans leaving your throat. Praises fell from Castiel, his fingers digging into your sides.
“You look so fucking sexy, baby,” he grunted, his eyes following your tits bouncing.
You were close and you let go of him to put your hands on the headboard. Gripping tightly, you used it as leverage to quicken your pace, crying out as his cock brushed your core.
“Cum for me,” Castiel said. “Come on, baby, I wanna feel it.”
You cried out, losing your rhythm. Castiel took the opportunity to hold you in place tighter, continuing to plummet into you as you saw stars. You barely registered feeling Castiel fill you up, his fingers bruising with his grip.
Collapsing on the bed next to him, you breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself.
Silence fell between the two of you, both staring at the ceiling. It was becoming too much, being this close to him. You had messed up yet again. You knew the moment John told you who you were going to go after that you would, but you had tried so desperately to lie to yourself about the inevitable outcome. You needed some space or something to drink to make yourself relax.
Clearing your throat, you asked, “You want a drink? I bought a bottle.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and got out, walking over to the mini fridge. You pulled out the bottle of whiskey, placing it on the counter to be able to reach over and grab two of the Styrofoam provided cups. He had not answered but you were pouring him one all the same.
You tossed a look over your shoulder at Castiel. He was propped up on his elbow, looking at you with longing.
“What?” you asked lightly, although your heart was pounding. You knew that look.
“I still love you, you know.”
The admission made you falter, as you put the cap back on the bottle. Recovering, you quickly screwed the lid back on and put the bottle back in the fridge, grabbing one of the cans of pop to split it between the cups. You tossed the can into the recycling bin.
“I’m fully aware, Cas,” you finally said shortly.
You heard him chuckle behind you. “You were always terrible with affection, Y/N.”
Now you turned to him, shooting him a glare. “Like you’re the poster child for it.”
“Touché.”
Swallowing sharply, you threw your hand out. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cas.”
“You almost told me earlier. You said you missed me.”
“Well… I do.”
Castiel sighed, “But you can’t just come out and say it.”
Scoffing, you said, “Cas, I’m married.” It was his turn to scoff, and he swept his arm around at the messed-up sheets and the scene between you. “You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t. Explain yourself.”
“I love Dean,” you snapped, and his mouth formed a tight line. You knew he hated hearing that, despite the fact it was the truth.
“You can love more than one person at a time, Y/N.”
Shaking your head, you told him defiantly, “No. No I can’t. Not for my own sanity.”
“You reached out to me. You cut me out and then the moment you saw me again, all that resolve you tried to have disappeared almost instantly. You know there’s a reason for that.”
Opening your mouth, you closed it again, at loss for words. He was staring at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.
He was right and it cut deep knowing he was right. You had feelings for them both and it was for different reasons. Dean would never be Cas and Cas would never be Dean. Why could you not have them both? It was not possible, but you wanted it. So badly.
Raising your gaze again, you met his burning stare. “Fine,” you whispered. “Fine, Castiel. I do love you too.”
“Then do something about it.”
~~~
CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas
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wandlores · 4 years
Text
Game On
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Neville Longbottom Words: 1,197 You can also read this on AO3.  This is for the @hprarepairnet and @slytherdornet Professors Challenge! I am also dedicating this to @lysatullys. Ily Em. Thanks for always being there!
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Neville Longbottom never expected Scorpius Malfoy to be his favorite student once he became professor at Hogwarts. Not only was Scorpius the complete opposite of his father, he was also a brilliant student. It reminded him of his good old friend, Hermione Granger.. only Scorpius Malfoy was much quieter and much shyer than Hermione had ever been.
It alarmed Neville when Scorpius's grades started to decline in the middle of his third year. Herbology had always been one of his top subjects; Scorpius had even talked with Neville about wanting to replace him once he retired. It made his heart swell that he could actually be a mentor or at least a positive influence to a Malfoy after everything. Scorpius got his kindness from his mother, that was for sure.
But it was then that Neville heard about Scorpius's mother. She died from complications regarding her blood curse; Scorpius was inconsolable even if he didn't show it. That meant that his grades started to flop, and his best friend Albus couldn't even pull him out of it. 
That meant one thing, it was time for Neville to call in Scorpius's father for a parent-teacher conference.
Neville hadn't seen Draco in years, and he wanted to keep it that way. Neville spent most his time alone now anyway unless he was in a pub with Ron or out on a nature hike with Luna. He occasionally saw the Potters, but they were busy with their own lives and children. After his divorce from Hannah, he would be lying if he said he hadn't become sort of a hermit. Maybe it was the shame that his marriage didn't work out; maybe it was the fact that Neville kept it a secret that he was actually gay. 
So he would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous as he wrote Draco Malfoy a letter in his lazy scrawl asking him to meet with him about Scorpius's class performance. He knew Malfoy's penmanship was perfect; it was just another thing he could knock him on after all these years. As the owl flew away, he took a deep breath and put his head on his desk. All he could do now was wait. 
To Neville's surprise, Draco responded almost immediately to his owl. He did not have any snide comments in his note back, he just told Neville he would meet with him the next day after classes were over.
Neville fussed with his shirt collar as his first years left his class. He could see some of them eyeing him suspiciously while others were blissfully oblivious; he missed those days. 
After his last student walked out of the greenhouse, Draco Malfoy sauntered in right on time. He looked impeccable, as always. His suit was neatly pressed, and his collar was perfectly angled in a way that Neville's would never be. He could feel the back of his neck heating up at the thought of his own imperfection. 
"Longbottom," Malfoy greeted him. He didn't say anything more. His steely grey eyes just pierced through Neville's, and it made Neville have to swallow a ball in his throat. 
"Malfoy," Neville finally responded. He motioned for Draco to sit down in front of his greenhouse desk.
Once they took their seats, Neville started to fiddle with his collar again. He had no idea how to start this conversation, so naturally, Draco did.
"I can see you are still quite the conversationalist like you were in school," Draco commented snidely, "I'm not sure what else I expected."
"Shove off, Malfoy." It was childish, and it was the first response that came out of his mouth. This made Draco smirk.
"I can still get under your skin too, I see. Why don't we just talk about my son? I have things I need to do."
It was then that Neville noticed the bags under Draco's eyes. He was exhausted, and it dawned on Neville the toll that losing his wife must have taken on him. Neville suddenly felt sorry for him.
"I'm-I'm sorry for wasting your time, and I'm sorry about Astoria," Neville fumbled, "She-she was incredibly sweet. I only met her once, but Scorpius is a lot like her-"
"And not like me?" Draco commented. He didn't seem offended, but Neville was embarrassed.
"That's not what I-"
"But it's the truth," Draco told him, "I'm forever thankful Scorpius only took after my appearance, and I appreciate your condolences. It has been.. hard.. losing my best friend."
"I can imagine."
"Was that how it felt when you lost Hannah? I mean, I know she didn't pass but-"
This comment stunned Draco. Of course everyone would know. The wizarding community was ultimately small, but he didn't think Draco would bring it up in a way that wasn't to mock him.
"It was," Neville told him, "But it was for the best. It just... was never going to work out."
"Why?" Draco pressed.
Draco had leaned forward in his seat with his hands in his lap. They were knotted together, but Neville noticed Draco's breath quicken in his chest. It was as though he could hear his heart beats, or maybe that was just his own.
"I-I.."
"You don't need to explain," Draco stopped him, "I.. I get it. Astoria and I had a particular.. understanding... so it worked."
"U-understanding?"
"Yeah," Draco told him, "She knew I was gay, but she was aromantic. She didn't care, she just wanted my companionship. She genuinely was my best friend."
The bluntness threw Neville off. He could feel his eyes widen, and he watched Draco's mouth turn up in a slight smile.
"I can tell by your look you really do understand, but I get the vibe that Hannah did care once she found out."
"I-"
But before Neville could even comment on what just happened, Draco changed the subject, "We should talk about Scorpius's performance. I just want to let you know that I am taking him to talk to someone. Astoria recommended it to me before she passed. I'm sure his grade will improve once some time has passed. If it doesn't, let me know."
All Neville could do was nod.
Draco got up from his seat then and didn't say another word. He just walked toward the exit of the greenhouse, but then he paused. It made Neville hold his breath.
When Draco turned around, Neville noticed that his cheeks were slightly pink. It was the only color Neville had ever seen in his old foes face.
"I-I was wondering, Longbottom, would you like to get a drink sometime.. or right now? If you have another guy you are seeing, I completely understand but-"
He was nervously rambling, and this made Neville smirk. He got up from his seat and approached Draco. They were now the same height like they never were in school. Neville watched as Draco's gaze flicked to his lips.
"I can see you aren't the conversationalist you used to be," Neville teased, "But I think I can handle a drink with you."
Neville wasn't sure where the confidence boost came, but Draco gave him a smile that was a challenge. 
Game on. 
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thgfanficinspo · 3 years
Text
Fear of the Water - Ch 18
Finnick deals with the fallout from Annie’s breakdown (some sexy Capitol Finnick) (Henry Cavill was my fancast for Finnick before the movie came out)
My AO3 - Chapter 1 - Jonsa - Coryo - Discovery of Witches
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(ANNIE)
When I wake up, I’m in a white tube. It’s small so small and I’m strapped down – arms, legs, body, even head. There’s a whirring, buzzing sound coming from within the walls. Then there are voices.
“Aw, shit, she’s awake.”
“Should we put her back down?”
I struggle against my bonds. Are they going to kill me? Why am I here? What are they doing to me?
“Yeah, she’s gonna fuss.”
There are footsteps now – coming toward me. I try to tear my arms out of their bonds but nothing happens. I scream. The voices yell to one another and I scream and I scream and I scream. I don’t want this. Finnick and Mags said it was over now and I was safe and I don’t think they’d lie to me but maybe they did or maybe they never said it at all I don’t want to die.
There’s a sharp pain in my right thigh. Then it goes dark.
(FINNICK)
We’re supposed to go back to that damn waiting room with the grey walls and floor-length windows and fake orchid.
I skulk around in the hallway after the others have gone inside, hoping to catch a moment alone with the female doctor who flirted with me. She comes out through a doorway which she locks behind her. She’s too distracted by the papers in her hand to notice me. I clear my throat and she looks up.
“Mr. Odair. Shouldn’t you be in the waiting room?”
“It’s a bit stuffy in their for my taste,” I say. “Especially after all that drama.” I straighten up and close the space between us.
“Yes, that was really something,” she agrees. Her eyes rake my body up and down. She has to turn away.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?”
“I haven’t personally.”
“No?” I’m not nearly as smooth as I usually am. I’m too anxious to be charming. “Annie’s something special then.” I step up behind her and move her hair away from the side of her neck. “Like you.” I press my lips to the side of her neck and she nearly collapses. I keep my arms tight around her waist and pull her against me.
She gasps my name.
“Will you tell me something?”
“What?” she asks breathlessly.
I flick the tip of my tongue over the pulse-point of her throat. “What are you planning to do with Annie Cresta?”
“Anthea!” We both look up. Her male colleague is standing at the other end of the hallway. He’s a good ten years younger than she is, but he has an air of superiority about him. And he looks pissed.
The woman – Anthea, I guess – goes ramrod straight and tosses off my arms. “It’s not –”
“We need to talk,” he says simply, his glaring eyes locked on mine. Anthea hustles down the hall and through the door the male doctor came through. He and I maintain eye contact as long as possible, until the door shuts behind him.
I growl under my breath. “Fuck.”
I’ve definitely made things worse. If that other damn doctor hadn’t come in . . .
Mags is pacing around the room with one of her hands over her mouth when I come in. Proteus stands a few feet away from me, apparently deep in thought. Eefa has made a surprise visit, which she clearly regrets. No sign of Broadsea, but that’s no surprise. He’s probably passed out in his own puke by now. I normally wouldn’t care but I feel that since Eefa made it here, he should’ve at least tried.
Proteus raises an eyebrow at me, silently asking what I found out. I shake my head.
The same two doctors as before come out to speak to us after about twenty minutes of waiting. They’re much more serious. “She did suffer trauma to the head while in the Arena,” the man says.
“But you don’t think that’s what’s causing her issues,” Proteus says.
Anthea nods. Gone is the quivering woman in the hall, replaced with someone cold and angry. She’s going out of her way to not look at me. “The tasks we had her do when she first woke up didn’t indicate any neurological or physiological issues. We did scans, too, after her tantrum at the recap, and they didn’t show anything out of the ordinary.”
“Tantrum?” I repeat.
“Then what’s wrong?” Proteus asks over me.
“We believe it’s mental illness,” the male doctor says.
None of us know what that means. We don’t have mental illness in the districts, at least not the words to describe it, but the Capitol has words for everything. They have enough leisure time to think about things like that, to come up with ailments to explain their every mood.
Our faces must betray our inability to understand because they take a different route.
The female doctor is the one to speak. “We are going to have Annie Cresta declared mentally insane.”
“What?” I spit.
Proteus speaks over me again. “Isn’t that a bit premature? She hasn’t been out of the arena for long.”
“We believe a swift announcement is in her best interest at this time,” the male doctor says.
“Her closing interview with Caesar Flickerman has been canceled,” the female says, totally ignoring our reactions. She may have succumb to my charms and looks before, but now she seems immune. “President Snow will make the announcement during that time slot instead.”
I don’t know what to say.
“What would you like us to do in the meantime?” Proteus asks after a moment, voice totally neutral. The crease between his eyebrows is the only sign that he’s troubled by all of this. The only sign.
I could kill him.
“She’s currently under anesthesia, but I recommend you board the train back to your district soon,” the woman continues. “Before anyone gets wind of this.”
“Why?” Eefa asks, brows creased.
“What do you mean, Why?” I ask.
“Why are you declaring her insane? What exactly is wrong with her?”
“Why do you think?” I snap. The first thing I hear her say in a week and she asks something stupid like that?
“I’d like to hear the diagnosis,” Eefa says.
The woman doctor sighs and looks down at her clip board. She knows we won’t understand any of it. “She shows symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, attention def –”
Proteus holds up his hand. “That’s enough.” He has no idea what any of it means, either. “Eefa?” he asks, turning to her. She nods, satisfied with what she’s heard. Maybe she was making sure they covered their bases; we generally accept that mad people are mad, but you need real proof to declare a victor mentally insane before the whole country.
“There is one piece of permanent physical damage I ought to mention,” the female doctor says. “Due to the stab wound in her abdomen, she won’t be able to conceive or carry children. There’s too much tissue damage.” No one really cares about that right now. What we care about – what I care about – is getting Annie out of here without adding to the damage that’s already been done. “I thought one of you ought to tell her once you’re back in your district and she’s had a chance to calm down.”
“I think you should get ready to leave,” the male doctor says. “She’ll be up in –” he checks his wristwatch and bobbles his head as he does the math in his head “– ninety minutes, give or take.”
“Yes,” Mags says distractedly. “Yes, of course.” She blinks several times.  “I’ll start preparing. And have Brae send for the train. Proteus, please get Annie’s stylist so we can get her ready to go.” The others go – Eefa practically sprints out – and I want to move, too, but my muscles won’t let me. Mags’s hand finds my shoulder. “She’s alive, Finnick. That’s what matters.”
I nod again because I can’t think of anything to say.
“Go. Clean up. Clear your head. I’ll be along in a few minutes. I just want to check in on her.”
When I get upstairs to our rooms, Greer rushes towards me and starts making a lot of gestures. I’m not sure what she’s asking until she runs her hand down her hair in a smooth, wavy motion. Like the way Annie’s hair falls.
“Annie?” I guess.
She nods.
I’m too tired to explain it all. “She’ll be all right.”
I start undressing before I make it all the way into my room, discarding my clothes as I go. Somes picks them up as he follows behind me.
I blast the water in the shower to its highest setting and make the temperature as cold as I can bear. I only take hot showers in the Capitol when I’ve just seen a patron. Different temperatures for different problems. It helps me compartmentalize. Keep my head straight.
I’m good at that. Compartmentalizing, keeping my mind focused on the task at hand. I always have been. A lot of victors simply can’t do that – it’s why they turn to drink or drugs. But I haven’t. And I won’t.
I don’t notice the slip of paper folded on my pillow until I start dressing. The paper is off-white and thick – the sort of expensive, heavy stuff they only use in the Capitol. I open it up, and the custom watermark at the top of the page informs me that this is from C.X.S.
President Snow has left me a handwritten note of congratulations.
The others have all gotten them, too.
Mags says he always does for the victors of the winning district. Etiquette, she says, is the most important thing to Coriolanus. Not for the first time, I wonder how well Mags knew him when they were young.
Broadsea whips a lighter out of his pocket and sets the note on fire before dropping it in an empty metal bin. He hasn’t even opened it. Eefa drops her own note into the bin; Mags gives Broadsea her letter to burn, too. I don’t know if she’s read it. Proteus tucks his away in his jacket pocket and tells me to do the same if I want to be smart. I don’t have a reason to save it; I’ve already memorized every word. But I decide to keep it anyway. In case I ever need a reminder.
Mr. Odair,
Congratulations on your very first victor. This is an exciting time for your fellow victors and all of District 4. It is an especially important time for you, as this is your first time mentoring a victor.
Of course he adds a little statement of regret at the end of my note containing a veiled threat:
I hope that you will not be bogged down by the weight of responsibility. It would be unfair for anyone to expect a young man such as  you to take on the burden of Miss Cresta’s care.
It seems innocuous enough, but it’s another little reminder to stand back and just let things unfold. Men like Finnick Odair don’t get involved with that sort of thing, and girls like Annie Cresta never really go home.
My best regards to you and your new victor,
President Coriolanus X. Snow
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mikauzoran · 3 years
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Adrienette: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Forty-Four
Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...out of lust.
“Am I doing this right?” Adrien looked nervously to Luka for guidance.
“Perfect Fifth, you’re a natural,” he chuckled, grinning fondly as he set the drinks he’d just fetched from the kitchen down on the side table. He sat on the couch next to Adrien and gently nudged Adrien’s elbow a little higher. “There you go. Just like that. Just keep her head supported, and you’re good.”
Adrien frowned uncertainly. “You’re sure? I don’t have much experience with babies, so please tell me if I’m doing something wrong.”
Luka rolled his eyes and tussled Adrien’s hair, causing Adrien to relax a bit. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to hurt her. Xavier-Yves uses her as a free weight sometimes, and if he hasn’t hurt her doing bicep curls, I doubt you’re going to do any damage sitting with her on a nice, safe couch.”
Adrien looked up wide-eyed at XY sitting in the armchair cattycorner to the couch. “Do you really?”
“Hey, she likes it,” XY snorted defensively, jabbing at the air at Adrien. “And I am very, very careful with my daughter.”
Adrien nodded and would have put up his hands in surrender if not for the baby in his arms.
He looked down at little Élodie Couffaine-Roth and smiled as she gave a wide little baby yawn, blinking her enormous aquamarine eyes sleepily.
Adrien chuckled as a surge of warmth welled up in his chest. “She looks a lot like you, Orpheus.”
Luka laughed, reaching out to stroke his daughter’s head with a knuckle. “Technically, she looks like Juleka, but…”
“She looks more like me,” XY corrected brusquely, crossing his arms. His foot bounced with nervous energy as he watched Adrien holding his daughter, Luka hovering with his arm along the back of the couch behind Adrien.
“She definitely has your nose,” Adrien agreed, looking up with a grin that faded as he realized that XY was scowling at him. Adrien’s brow furrowed in worry. “Am I doing something wrong, Xavier-Yves?”
XY looked away, jaw clenched. “Nah. You’re doing it right.”
Luka glanced up from supervising Adrien with Élodie to find his husband pouting and antsy. “…Prune? What’s wrong?”
XY shook his head, trying to play it cool. “Nothing.”
Luka arched an eyebrow knowingly, his expression clearly reading, “Come on. Seriously”.
XY shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s totally dope.”
“Xavier-Yves,” Luka gently pressed, stretching out his leg to tap his husband’s foot with his own. “Talk to me.”
XY pursed his lips, giving Luka and Adrien a gauging look. “…Don’t get, like, all defensive or mad or whatever.”
“I won’t,” Luka promised.
XY let out a weary sigh.
He’d never been good at putting names to his feelings or picking them apart to figure out what they meant. Bob Roth had strongly discouraged his “imbecile son” from thinking too much and had never really cared anyway about what XY was feeling or what was going on inside of his head. It wasn’t until XY met Luka that he’d started to learn that it was okay to express himself. Nearly ten years later, he was still in the process of figuring out how to do so.
“Okay,” he finally agreed, meeting Luka’s eyes with a guilty expression. “I don’t really like it when Adrien holds Élodie.”
Luka’s brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to push down his own hurt so he could focus on XY’s feelings. “What? Why not? I thought you two were friends now.”
“We are,” XY assured, fidgeting under Luka’s searching gaze. “Me and Adrien are cool. It’s just…” He bit his lip and muttered in a rush, “It just makes me uncomfortable watching you go all goo-goo-eyed over your ex with our daughter.”
Luka’s jaw dropped.
Quickly composing himself, Luka slid off the couch and onto the floor to kneel at his husband’s feet. He took XY’s hands in his own and leaned into XY’s space to rest his forearms on XY’s lap.
“Xavier-Yves,” he cooed softly, fixing his husband with an intent look. “It’s not like that. It has never been like that between Adrien and me. You know that, Prune.”
XY looked away, mumbling, “Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that you love him.”
“No,” Luka agreed patiently. “It doesn’t, but the important thing to think about is that Adrien and I are both very happily married, and we wouldn’t trade our partners for anything.”
Slowly, XY looked back at Luka, studying his face for even a shred of dishonesty.
“I get why you’re upset, and it’s okay to feel uneasy or insecure, but remember that I picked you,” Luka coaxed, giving XY’s hands a squeeze. “There’s no need to be jealous. I’m yours.”
XY’s shoulders hunched up to his ears as he grumbled, “I know. I know it doesn’t make sense to get all pouty. I don’t really get my feelings; I just have ‘em.”
“It’s okay,” Luka comforted, leaning in to give his husband a quick kiss. “Are we okay?”
XY nodded, relaxing a little. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“Good. Thank you,” Luka breathed with a warm smile, giving XY’s hands one last squeeze before letting go and going back to his place on the couch.
“Xavier-Yves, if you’re not comfortable with me holding Élodie, I won’t hold her,” Adrien offered turning to hand the baby back to Luka as he got settled.
“Nah, it’s cool,” XY assured, pushing himself up out of the armchair and coming over to the couch. He motioned for Luka to get up. (Which Luka did with a puzzled expression.)
XY took Luka’s vacated seat, even going so far as to put his arm along the back of the couch and around Adrien’s shoulders. “The problem isn’t you holding her. It’s him looking at you like he wants to have babies with you when you hold her.”
“Oooooh.” Adrien stretched the word out over three syllables, grinning impishly as he scooted closer to XY until their knees were touching. “Good to know I’m not the problem.”
“Nope,” XY snickered, resting his hand on Adrien’s knee and sneaking a look at Luka’s reaction.
Luka rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and shook his head as he smiled good-naturedly. “You two are such dorks.”
“He thinks we’re sexy,” Adrien stage-whispered conspiratorially.
XY nodded, giving Adrien’s knee a squeeze. “He has a thing for blondes with daddy issues,” he confided solemnly.
“That explains so much,” Adrien chuckled.
Luka groaned. “Guys.”
“Sorry,” Adrien apologized with an innocent smile. “Is our combined sexiness overwhelming you?”
Luka’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. “I hate you.”
“Not in front of the baby, Six Strings,” XY chided. “Don’t be teaching our daughter to be a hater.” He turned to Adrien. “Sorry about him. He gets cranky when he’s all hot and bothered.”
Adrien broke out in a startled burst of laughter.
Luka glared at his husband. He then took a deep breath, went over to the armchair, and decided to be grateful that peace had been restored, even if it had been at his own expense. It was good to see XY and Adrien joking and playing around.
“All joking aside,” Adrien remarked when he’d recovered from his giggle fit, “thank you for letting me come over to learn about babies and letting me hold Élodie. I learned a lot today.”
“Of course,” Luka assured. “Always more than happy to train a willing future babysitter.”
“I don’t get why anyone would want to watch someone else’s kid,” XY confessed, leaning back and removing himself from Adrien’s personal bubble now that the joke was over. “I mean, I like Juleka and Rose, but their kids are little terrors.”
Luka arched an eyebrow as he tried not to smile. “You do remember that you’re the biological father of one of them, don’t you?”
XY shook his head. “Yeah, but I’m not Violetta’s dad. Trust me on this one. Just because a kid is biologically related to you, that doesn’t make you their dad.”
Adrien and Luka both mumbled their assent, thinking of their own experiences with fathers.
“So, yeah,” XY sighed, reaching over to stroke Élodie’s hair gently. “I don’t get why you’re so excited about learning how to make a bottle and change diapers and all the not-fun stuff.”
“Well, it’s never too early to learn,” Adrien responded with a sheepish shrug.
XY tipped his head to the side. “You thinking about having one?”
Adrien blushed, looking down at Élodie thoughtfully. “I mean…I’ve always wanted a family…and I really am jealous of my friends who have settled down and started having babies already, so…”
“So make your own baby,” XY encouraged, gently elbowing Adrien, mindful of Élodie’s position. “If two dudes can do it, you and your wife should have no problem,” he laughed, not seeing the way Adrien’s face lost all colour.
“Prune?” Luka called gently. “You haven’t shown Adrien that new track you made yet, have you? He made this crazy remix of the Promenade theme from Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition.”
“Oh, yeah!” XY glowed with excitement as he easily took the bait. “It is mad sick ballin’! Let me go get my laptop. You have got to hear this.”
Without waiting for a response from Adrien, XY was on his feet and heading for the bedroom.
“You okay?” Luka inquired softly when his husband was out of earshot.
Adrien shook his head, gently bouncing Élodie as she began to fuss. “…Just busy wishing I was allosexual. You know. The usual.”
Luka got up and went over to sit on the couch beside Adrien, placing a comforting hand on his back. “Hang in there. You have a wife who loves you exactly how you are, and you guys are going to figure this out together. You’re not alone, Adrien. You two are Paris’s greatest team, aren’t you?”
A small smile peeked out from the corners of Adrien’s lips. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”
“You are,” Luka confirmed, ruffling Adrien’s hair. “And you’ve got plenty of time, so don’t stress. You guys will make it work, and, someday, you two are going to have beautiful babies. Just hang in there, okay?”
Adrien nodded, beaming with gratitude at his brother-mentor-friend. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” Luka assured, giving Adrien a pat on the back as XY came back into the room.
“Hey. Hands to yourself, Six Strings,” XY pouted. “He’s mine.”
Luka rolled his eyes fondly at his husband’s antics while Adrien got caught off guard by a laugh.
“Oh, really?” Adrien chuckled. “When did this happen?”
XY snorted as he took a seat on the couch on Adrien’s other side. “Dude. Like, five minutes ago. Keep up, Agreste-Dupain-Cheng.”
 “I’m home!” Adrien called, locking the front door behind him.
“Living room!” Marinette responded from the back of the house. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, I did,” he replied, making his way down the hall. “Élodie is a real cutie, and it was nice spending time with Luka and Xavier-Yves. What are you up to?”
He turned the corner to find her sitting cross-legged on the couch, her sketchpad propped up on her knee and reference materials scattered all over the coffee table in front of her.
She looked up with a wide grin. “I got inspired out on my walk this morning for a new line of autumn smart casual dresses, and I just finished getting my initial ideas down. Wanna see?”
“Sure,” he agreed with a fond grin, loving her enthusiasm.
He went to sit beside her, and she flipped through her designs, chattering excitedly about potential fabrics and colour schemes.
“You’re so talented,” he breathed as she finished explaining her plans for a pumpkin orange dress that zipped down the front with a cute, front-tying cloth belt and zipper pockets.
“I know,” Marinette chuckled, chest puffing up with pride. “That’s why you married me.”
“I married you because I couldn’t live without you,” he corrected, leaning in to capture her lips in a needy kiss.
Marinette hummed in pleasure, setting her sketchpad and pencil down on the coffee table. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingers twining in his hair in encouragement.
He gently pushed her back and down onto the couch, moving with her so that his knees were to either side of her thighs.
He pulled back to catch his breath and steel his nerves. He swallowed. “Marinette…let’s make love.”
She responded with a passionate kiss, pulling him down on top of her.
“I meant…make love for real,” he clarified the next time they stopped for air.
Marinette paused, eyes widening as she understood his meaning. “Really? But you hate sex. Like, you hate sex as much as I hate oysters. Are you leading up to telling me you broke another one of my flowerpots, or did I forget some kind of special occasion or something? Not that I’m complaining,” she quickly added with a coy grin. “I am more than happy to have my husband spoil me, but…”
The teasing tone dropped out of her voice, and she gave him an earnest look as she stroked his face. “You don’t have to do this to make me happy. What we normally do really is enough, so don’t push yourself. I know how uncomfortable it makes you. I know you don’t like it.”
“I want this,” he stressed, voice only shaking slightly. He looked away and sheepishly admitted, “This…This is for me.”
Marinette frowned in confusion, searching his face as she gently pushed his hair out of the way. “You want this?”
He nodded, face reddening not just from the physical exertion of making out.
“I want…I want to have a baby,” he confessed in a whisper.
Marinette’s lips rounded into a silent “o” as understanding hit.
“I know we could pay for in vitro, but it would be a huge hassle, and most of the burden would fall on you, and that’s not fair. This is my problem, and I just want—”
She cut him off with a kiss.
“Adrien,” she cooed lovingly as their lips parted. “This isn’t a problem, and, even if it was, it wouldn’t be yours alone. We’re a team.”
“I know,” he mumbled shamefacedly. “I just…”
“I know.” She gave his cheek a soft peck. “Here. Let me up.”
He quirked an eyebrow but did as requested, backing up so she could get out from under him. “Are we…not making love?”
She shook her head, taking his hand and threading her fingers through his. “There are only a couple days a month I could potentially get pregnant, and I don’t track my cycle closely enough to know where I am because it’s never been an issue.”
Adrien deflated, shoulders slumping and expression turning mopey. “Oh….”
She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll start keeping track so we can figure out what our best window of opportunity is. We can start trying next month.”
His ears perked up as his mood immediately lifted. “Really?”
She nodded, smiling sweetly. “Yep. And, until then, we’ll start researching what we can do to increase our chances.”
He grinned, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You’re the best. Have I ever told you how much I love it when you come up with a plan of action?”
She shrugged, glowing with pride at his praise. “Yes, but I won’t complain if you tell me again.”
“I love it when you come up with a plan,” he sighed, happily, pulling his wife into a hug.
His joy was short-lived as a realization hit him. He pulled back slightly to gaze down at her in concern. “…It occurs to me that I didn’t ask if you wanted to have a baby right now. It’s…kind of a big deal. I mean…I would understand if you didn’t—”
She put her fingers over his mouth to cut him off before he could slip into a downward doubt spiral. “Adrien, I don’t think there’s ever going to be a good time to completely upend our lives and start a family. We’re both always going to be busy with our careers, and nothing is ever going to be ideal, so…and I do want children with you, so let’s just do this now. We’ve been married for about a year, we’ve settled into our new house, our careers are going well, and our finances look good, so…let’s have a baby.”
“Thank you.” His voice almost cracked with emotion as he leaned in to kiss her in gratitude.
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