#wave city executive floor

[kimberly-spirits13]

Rescuer

Pairing: Jason Todd x (hero) reader

Word Count: 2610

Warnings: Mentions of blood, needles, death, stitches, a bit angsty but then fluff, not really proof read

Summary: After getting hurt on patrol, Jason comes to rescue you from your captors, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Maybe you had been captured and moved to a new location. Maybe you were bleeding out in some rat-infested warehouse. Maybe you were- Jason wouldn’t think that. He couldn’t think that. The mere image of your body gone cold sent chills down his spine and sent him into overdrive. 

                  Rain pelted against his helmet as he sped through the streets of Gotham. He knew that splitting up was a bad idea. Bruce had wanted to split the patrol teams up to ensure that Ivy’s shipments were being handled. You were supposed to be fine, the shipment you were going after was meant to be a dud. Bruce had valiantly offered to put himself in danger by going after the suspected live shipment. Apparently, the information had been bad, and now Jason was rushing to your distress call, flying past cars crowding his way and cursing Bruce for making Jason leave you. Jason knew that you could handle yourself, it was why he was okay leaving you alone. You were a match for every member of the family and rouges gallery, he was sure that if you had called a distress signal, something terrible had happened. 

                  Jason felt like he was the only one coming for you. He had left his brothers in the dust when he heard the blaring alarm coming from your comm. The others were coming, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. As he flew through the city streets, he came to a group of warehouses on the West Side where he knew you were located. The signal became stronger and stronger as he reached the roof of the specific warehouse. Looking down, he saw a group of guards standing around you. You were lying on the floor, blood pooling under your body. The site made a harsh wave of fury swell up in his chest. Jason felt his arms go numb and his breathing quicken. 

                  “Those bastards” he thought. They must have been under the control of Ivy’s venom. This was the only way he could justify your current position. 

                  “ETA 5 minutes, do not engage.” Bruce’s voice rang out.

                  “Bullshit,” Jason spat, “I’m going after her. She’s surrounded.”

                  “No, stay low and report.” The voice of Bruce rang into his ear, “Don’t leave post, that’s an order” 

                  Jason observed the scene below him and saw one of the men walking towards you, his foot grazing the side of your arm and applying a pressure that made you wince in pain. Dark circles were forming under your eyes, indicating the presence of Ivy’s venom. At this, nothing could have stopped Jason. 

                  The sound of glass shattering echoed through the building as the man who had his foot on you fell to the ground following a piercing boom. The clank of his gun falling on the floor next to your head sent a heavier pounding sensation through your already aching skull. You groaned and tried to roll over away from the noise, only to realize that it was everywhere. 

                  “Jason must be here.” You thought.

                  Jason saw you try to move, and his heart ached. He knew that you were in pain, incapacitated from whatever happened earlier. The gaggle of men aimed their weapons towards him and opened fire as he ran through the shadows, avoiding the bullet spray as he was trained to. Grabbing for his holster, he drew his pistol and aimed for the would-be leader of the gang. The man dropped to the floor, the familiar sounds of metal clashing against the floor ringing out once more. A call to action rolled through the room as Jason emerged from the shadows, bullets from his pistol now raining on the perpetrators. Two men attempted to tackle him at once, ending in Jason wrapping them together with a line and executing them with little scrutiny of their situation. Another shot at him, nearly grazing the side of his armor before he too dropped to the ground from a shot Jason had sent to him. As the fight went on, Jason steadily dismantled the group, turning his attention to the last man he saw standing who had dropped his weapon, knowing that he was out of ammunition. 

                  The man screamed as Jason leapt onto him, fists flying high and hard, the sounds of cracking under his knuckles filling your ears. Blood spurted from the man’s mouth, signaling not only broken teeth, but internal bleeding. After a minute, the man stopped struggling, Jason continuing his blind rage driven beating. You turned to him, trying to move closer to your only safety when you saw one of the seemingly incapacitated men reaching for a dropped gun from a fallen comrade and reach it around Jason’s head. 

                  “You’ll end up just that like bitch, Hood.” He spat, holding the gun closer to Jason’s head, “Don’t move or I’ll-“

                  The sound of a shot rang through the room and then the clashing of a body on the floor. You had mustered the last of your strength, grabbing the rifle the man who Jason had killed first had dropped next to your head. Squinting to avoid seeing double, you braced against the floor and pulled the trigger once you were certain your aim would withstand against the drug working through your system. With a groan, you fell back once more, dropping the weapon and sprawling against the concreate floor.

                  Jason flew towards you, sliding on his knees on the floor once he came within a foot or so of you. You winced when he picked you up into his arms, still on the ground to assess the damage.

                  “Come on baby, you’re okay. Where’s the wound Y/N/N?” He asked, panic lacing his voice.

                  “Jason” Was all you could say groaning into the pain you felt. 

                  “It’s okay Y/N/N, I’m here. Where are you hurt?” He started stripping your outer gear, searching for a stab, a shot, something that would indicate what was wrong.

                  His hands roaming your side were what found a deep stab wound. Ripping open the clothes in the impacted area, he saw that the skin was already bruising, a green liquid staining the outside of your skin. 

                  “They got her with a venom laced knife.” Jason said into the comm. 

                  “Use the antidote, it should treat it immediately.” Dick answered, finally running into the room where you were, “Inject it by the site of the wound, about a centimeter from the center.” 

                  Dick looked around at the carnage and then saw his brother cradling you in the center. The sight made his skin crawl. Blood was everywhere, a mixture of everyone’s who was unlucky enough the stand in the wake of Jason’s rage. If Bruce didn’t show up, Dick wouldn’t say anything to him. You were almost limp in Jason’s arms, eyes fluttering open and shut every minute or so. Dick heard Jason talking to you gently and his heart sank at your condition.

                  “This is gonna pinch baby. You can do it, I’ve got you.” Jason said, injecting the antidote as quickly as possible. 

                  You groaned, not appreciating the stinging rushing into your side once more.

                  “ETA 5 minutes.” Tim’s voice rang into the comms, “Batmobile is ready for transport.”

                  “Forget it,” Jason said into it, “I’ve got the antidote, get the med bay ready in the cave.”

“You can’t take her on your bike Jason.” Dick interjected, “She’s not in condition for it.” 

                  “You got any better ideas Dick?” Jason said, a tone of frustration coming through his voice, “We’re both on bikes and she doesn’t have five extra minutes in her.” 

                  Jason bound a bandage tight around your side, stopping the bleeding as best he could. You had a vice grip around his arm as the stinging and sheer pain of the antidote flooding through and eradicating the venom swept through your body. 

                  “Fine, you take her to the cave, I’ll handle Gordon and venom recovery.” Dick said, the sound of sirens starting to blare in the distance.

                  Jason gave a nod of thanks to Dick before turning his complete attention to you.

                  “Y/N/N can you hear me, baby?” Jason asked, running a hand over your forehead and into your hair.

                  You groaned in response, not able to muster a “yes”. The lights in the warehouse and the bright red from his helmet that he hadn’t had time to take off yet were blinding you and you shut your eyes once more.

                  “Stay with me babe, I’m going to pick you up now and get you on the bike. Can you handle that?” Jason asked.

                  “Mhmm.” You mustered up. 

                  Strong arms wrapped around you and hoisted you into the air. You instinctively curled into his chest, an arm wrapped around his neck and onto his shoulder. Your head lulled back, all strength to hold yourself up leaving you. 

                  “Good job doll. I’ve got you now.” He said, breaking into a run towards the bike.

                  It was still raining when Jason reached where he parked his bike, sliding you onto the seat and placing himself behind you to support you. 

“This is the hardest part baby; you can do it.” You heard the clink of the kickstand go up and the load roar of the engine coming to life. 

In a sudden motion, you knew you were speeding out of the complex and onto the main road, Jason weaving the bike throughout traffic. Every few seconds he’d glance down to check that you were still breathing. You tried your best to keep yourself up, not wanting to lean against Jason too much as to not throw him off. He seemed to notice this struggle quickly.

“You’re okay Y/N. Relax, I’ve got you.” 

It seemed like an eternity yet only a few seconds before Jason rolled into the Batcave. Feelings arms around you once more, you were picked up and ran to the med bay. 

“You’re okay Y/N, we’re here now, you’re going to be fine.” It seemed like Jason was saying these things, more so to convince himself that you were alright.

“She’s got the antidote going through her system.” You heard him say, “She needs stitches.”

“Lay her here.” Alfred’s voice chimed in. 

You could have smiled upon hearing Alfred. Knowing you were in good hands, you went totally limp on the table, not having a care in the world. Jason’s fingers brushed against your face as an oxygen mask was strapped over your head. 

“Indeed, this is a nasty wound Miss. Y/N.” He quipped, not truly confident that you were listening, but merely trying to cut the tension in the room and relax Jason, “No matter, it’s nothing I cannot handle.”

The clear plastic of the mask you were wearing fogged and cleared, giving perfect indication that you were still breathing. Jason was working on removing your gear as carefully as possible to not get in Alfred’s way. Minutes had passed and the stinging sensation of Alfred stitching up and disinfecting your wounds had subsided. A pain killer must have been administered to you as you were out of consciousness. You heard Jason and Bruce talking loudly but not arguing, something that made you feel better about the entire situation. Loud steps came closer to you, the familiar sound of Jason’s boots making thud noises against the stone floor of the med bay. 

“She’ll be fine Master Jason.” Alfred assured him, “I say the best course of action is having her cleaned up and in bed, not this blasted table.”                

“Will do.” You heard Jason say, “Thank you Alfred.”

“It is my honor, Master Jason.” “I am only glad that you arrived when you did.”

“You and me both.” Jason mumbled, picking you up once more.

“Let’s get you cleaned up doll.” He said gently, walking towards the elevator that led into the rest of the house, “Does that sound good to you?”                   “yea, sounds great.” You answered softly, strength slowly returning to you as the antidote was steadily working against the venom.

You closed your eyes again and the next thing you knew was the cold sensation of marble against your skin. Looking around, you saw that you were in Jason’s bathroom, and he was standing over the bathtub faucet, adjusting the temperature as to not be too hot or cold.

“You alright baby?” He asked, walking back over to where you were and kissing your temple, “You scared me back there.”

“Sorry Jaybird.” You replied weakly, “Got ambushed.”

“It’s okay doll, you’re okay now.” “Just rest, I’ll get you cleaned up and in bed.” He said, “Is that still okay with you?”

“Yea,” you answered, “thanks Jay.”

He nodded, dipping a soft washcloth into the warm water, and lathering soap onto it. The bubbly water tingled against your skin as he dragged the cotton rag against your skin as gently as possible. You felt safe with Jason, no matter how close to demise you had come earlier.                  

“It was stupid.” You thought to yourself, “How could I be so careless?” 

You sighed in disappointment, alerting Jason of your thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Just- stupid of me.” You groaned, “Jumped by a bunch of Ivy’s minions.” “That’s not supposed to happen.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. We all have bad nights Y/N/N.” Jason softly kissed your lips, earning another, more satisfied sigh from you. 

“I guess.” You weren’t going to argue with him after that.

“Besides, we got the venom shipment covered now.” He tried to assure you, “Don’t worry about anything.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to worry.”

Jason chuckled, grabbing a new towel to dry your air as carefully as possible.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom now.” You said, sitting up.

Jason nodded, lifting you out of the tub again and into the little room with the toilet. Closing the door after handing you a pair of his sweatpants, he started cleaning up. You walked back out, hair still dripping on the floor.

“Come here love.” He said, pulling you into a tight, yet soft embrace and kissing the top of your head.

Wrapping his arms around you again, he sat you onto the counter and opened the bottle of toner that you kept on your side of the sink. He helped you pull one of his old t shirts over your head and smoothed it out once you had it on.

“You don’t have to do that Jay.” You said, hands softly gripping against his free wrist.

“It’s okay doll, I want to.” “Just let me take care of you.”  

A soft cotton pad glided against your face as he swept the toner over your skin. After that, he slathered your other skincare products across your face, following the routine he knew you used. Your heart swelled knowing that he had memorized something so seemingly unimportant. It meant a lot that he cared so much to understand you.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Once again, he wrapped his arms around you to pick you up.

“I can walk there.” You said, grabbing onto his arms for support.

“I know you can baby but let me do it for you.” 

Jason carried you to the bed and set you under the covers, pulling them over your shoulders and sliding in behind you. Arms settled around you as you pushed yourself into his chest, taking in the warmth and comfort that he provided.

“I’m glad you’re okay Y/N.” He said, “Wake me up if you need anything. I love you Y/N/N.” 

You mumbled a response under your breath, the feeling of safety and comfort flushing out any troubles or worries you carried with you from the mission.

[jackiepackiee]

Hello! Could I request a Chuuya x reader story (no AU please) where she is someone important like a princess, and they hire the best executive to protect her when she goes to Yokohama? 🩷🩷

𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝓂𝒶𝒻𝒾𝒶

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎

The royal family would do anything to protect their daughter, anything. Including hiring one of the most feared men in all of Yokohama from one of the most dangerous organizations in the world.

The port mafia, with some of the most dangerous executives.

Chuuya Nakahara, that name just yelled power.

Your family was their on business, and most of the guards needed to protect the other members. Only the most trusted, highly trained, powerful people were to be working for the family.

The meeting was set late at night. One of the high floors in the port mafias headquarters. Safe to say, you didn’t exactly expect skyscrapers. But here you were, being accompanied by a woman named Kouyou to meet your new bodyguard.

“You’ll like him, I’m sure of it. He’s a gentleman.”

You looked over, this was the first time she had spoken to you.

Looking to your feet, you didn’t respond.

“I can sense you’re nervous. About meeting him I presume?” She was calm, very easy to talked to.

“I’m afraid to say I’m a bit on edge. Never have I been protected by a stranger.”

The elevator opened, sleek floors of polished marble were to be expected of the meeting floor for a princess.

“Follow me, he should be with our boss in the main office.”

Shoes clicked as the two of you walked. Hers much more confident than yours.

Then, you met with a group of bodyguards in front of some wooden doors. They swung open, revealing a ginger man. He was facing the wide windows overlooking the port city. Adorn in a very expensive looking suit. Very well dressed was he, kinda cute too.

Next to him was a seated man, supposedly the boss. Mori. He noticed you and Kouyou first.

“Well, we have been expecting you.”

Chuuya turned around to see who he was speaking with. He waved politely to Kouyou before taking you in. So simple, yet so classy.

Even if you knew you should’ve said hi to the boss, you focused on your new bodyguard. And he was just as focused on you.

“Chuuya, this is your new assignment.”

He smiled, and tilted his head as a greeting.

“Hey princess.”

Leaving the office, he walked next to you. It was awfully quiet.

“Where are we going?”

“Eh? Oh, just your new place. It’s nice, and right next to mine.”

You looked at him from your peripheral, then back to the floor with speed when he looked at you too.

“Nervous? That’s alright, I’ll protect ya.”

“I’m… not nervous.”

He laughed, well more of a quick one.

“Why is that, princess?”

“You seem very strong…”

You didn’t mean to be so honest. Shit, what if he-

“Thank you. You know, how about we tour the city first? I’m sure it’s your first time in Japan.”

“How can you tell?”

“I have a feeling~”

You felt butterflies in your stomach, was he teasing? Why did this wanted criminal have to be so damn alluring?

“And I have a feeling you’ve never been around a princess with those manners of yours.”

He froze, and quickly stopped smirking. Until you laughed. When he realized you were teasing too, he rolled his eyes playfully.

“You’re feisty. Good thing, I thought this mission would have me walking on egg shells with everything I do.”

Soon, a group of men walked by. They stared at you, obviously not the stares you would want. And hell, was Chuuya pissed.

“The fuck you looking at? Damn underlings, move those eyes before I crush you!”

They quickly looked away, terrified. No wonder he was your bodyguard.

“Say princess, how about that tour?”

He took you through the city. It was beautiful, the port was cool and calming. The ocean smell was like a lullaby.

It was alright, until a group of thugs saw you. An enemy organization.

He grabbed your hand, and hid you in his coat. Gun shots went off, and you thought that was it. You were good at dead.

Until, no bullets hit you.

Screams from the men. You try to look, but he pulls you to his chest.

“No, I’ve got you. No need to look. Stay right here, pretty.”

You hadn’t noticed you started shaking, the guns obviously scaring you.

“Let’s go to where you’re staying. A nice, warm bed.”

Had you started, floating? What in the world?

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ll get you back.”

Soon, the cool air went away. And so did the noise of the city.

He moved your body gently away from his, and your feet met the ground.

“Where are we?”

“My plac- I mean, where you’ll be staying.”

“It’s warm.”

“Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

[kit-williams]

Hoof Care

Yes I was really thinking of Baldamort's voice for Drar (Watch his video on the Master of Executions and well you can probably figure out where I got Drar's voice from)

Husbandry tag list: @egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

thank you @squishyowl for the 40k themed dividers

It was that time of the month again where you'd get a call to go to them they paid you quiet a bit and of course you weren't the only person going... it was always a big big event. You head to the Iron Warrior's base near the city... most Chaos Space Marines' don't have bases but their loyalist counterparts do... though Iron Warriors are an exception not a norm. Though you weren't sure as the Iron Warriors didn't have too much friction with their "traitor" selves? You didn't understand nor really bother too.

The norm would be the fact that there is a Night Lord base being built somewhere given that there were now enough loyalist night lords demanding it. But you made sure your tools were sharp and everything was ready... you knew the only downside of the Iron Warriors was the fact that both loyalist and traitor elements kept pushing and vying for power within their own... faction?

As you backed your truck in and got out you could hear his crooning... he was old had that slightly withered lit to his voice as it croaked out of him as if he had ruined his vocal cords time and time again. "Missy so nice of you to join us." Drar the Warpcutter spoke and if you remembered he said he was the leader of a warband known as the Malefactors of Sin.

"Lord Drar... and hello Helios." You politely said as his Master of Executions followed. The big man behind him looked at you and you swallowed... you didn't get the feel good vibes everyone else got. Your eyes flicked to their weapons... to the skulls up their belt... and you had a feeling Drar enjoyed the fact you were afraid of them. "Where is Vasso..." You ask for the current "chapter master" and you watch Drar wave his hand.

"Busy. The child is going to work himself to death at this rate and I... took the liberty of playing host for him." He says with a grin, "But enough pleasantries... you're the final one to arrive." You flinch as his massive hand pushes against your back and you move into the hanger.

Chaos Space Marines of countless chapters and warbands were here all highly mutated. Heavy hooves clipped and clopped against the floor as centaurs made their way to the designated zone. You headed over to the other ferriers as Drar trilled his goodbye and Helios just gave a nod. You could see where other space marines were watching and learning how to take care of their mutated brothers and cousins as in the far corner you could see iron warriors guarding feral marines that took the offer for maintained care but do not want humans touching them. You could understand as it took you a long time to get over the wrongness of your clients.

At least they behaved better than horses, the massive hooves were clipped and trimmed even polished if they wanted too. The utterly massive Black Legionary stallion... Troc was his name, he would have been such a pretty black horse, brought his own shoes... shiny brass things. He liked his hooves painted a nice solid black.

You could hear Adamatar bellowing as the white minotaur had hurt one of his hooves and so trying to get him to behave enough to put a block on his hoof was feeling like an impossible task. You could spy long tails wagging as fur coats were being brushed... a canine centaur of a Night Lord was half asleep as he was getting his jet black fur coat groomed and nails trimmed on his paws. You trimmed the frog of Troc's hooves just shaping his hoof as he was currently gushing about his bonded... a little girl who had a habit of calling him "pony" or "horsey" when she got overly excited and also calling him "Truck".

The shiny iron horseshoes of a bulky draft of an Iron warrior caught your eye. They certainly liked to feel pretty.... you shiver as a heavily mutated space marine lumbers past... organized chaos of it all and you're getting paid enough that it makes you not have to worry about the slower times of the year.

You could see someone with their body leaning into a massive stomach maw just cleaning the teeth of the marine. You stop looking as you hammer in his shoe and work on cutting the nails and then applying the black hoof polish.... rinse and repeat.

Sure they cooperated more then an actual animal but it was still a lot of hard work. "Hey!" You snapped at someone's apprentice. "Don't just walk behind them!" You said pointing out the fact that they were just walking right behind the centaurs. Which if he was working with actual horses was bad practice.

"They won't kick." They countered back.

"Yeah but they still can't see you and when you work with an actual horse they will kick if you walk right behind you. Give them the same berth as you would an actual horse because if one of these boy's kicks you're going to die." You huff as you resume working on the hooves of the Iron Warrior as someone was working on his horns... it was sometimes easier to do multiple tasks on the same marine as they kept still.

Lunch was provided and it was nice... it felt normal to have that lull in working as you grabbed a coffee as you worked in shifts... went around inspecting other's techniques... watching how some of them were teaching their apprentices, in various fields, or how they were teaching the Astartes on how to take care of their own. Sometimes a feral marine would be brave and try to get taken care of by one of us "mortals" but you never volunteered you had plenty of Astartes asking for you to work on them personally.

But the day blurred on by till you were getting handed a stack of cash of a few thousand dollars with the hope that you would come back same time next month and as well as the cavate that if something changed they would inform you. Again you see Drar as you head back to your trunk and a cup of coffee, that looks so small in his hands, is given to you. "What's this for?"

"Job well done?" He croons.

"Ah yes the usual hush coffee so I don't tattle on Vasso of you playing chapter master huh?" You say ignoring the scowl on his face as you sip the coffee, "or... is it hush coffee to keep me from tattling again to Vasso because you enjoy scaring people?"

"Mouthy little mortal aren't you." He hisses as you cow slightly, far too tired to not be filled with dread as he moves far too smoothly for something so big. He spat to the side, "But something like that."

"And like usual I'm going to be the last one to leave because you like chatting." You say tiredly as you drink the hot brew that made you feel tired. You had enough for a hotel in the city for tonight though... beds were always available here at the fortress. "I have a feeling you're going to chat me up so long I might just have to spend the night."

Drar laughed, it was hardly a pleasant sounding thing... it was dark and ominous... it was downright an evil sounding thing that ended rolling in his chest till it quieted. "You look exhausted."

You just drank the coffee to prevent yourself from making a 'captain obvious' joke, "I might stay tonight or at least get a few hours of shut eye."

"Then let me play the good host once more." He crooned and you just locked your car after placing your tools inside... just a few hours of sleep then you'd make the drive home.

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 8: Shot at the Night

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Orm can't do much to help Y/N but he does find someone who can

Note: song is 'Shot at the Night' by the Killers

Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess

We’re breaking all the rules To find that our home Has long been outgrown Throw me a lifeline Cause honey I’ve got nothing to lose Once in a lifetime

“Why did you settle by the ocean if you’re so afraid of water?” Orm asked, sitting on the back porch with Y/N, watching the waves under the moonlight. She was strumming, singing one of her songs. He was starting to recognize them by now and he knew she sang this one because he liked it. She looked at him and shrugged.

“I used to love the water, felt free and happy in it,” she said. “I told you I was accused of something that I didn’t do. I do bare some responsibility for it though, even though it was an accident. Ever since then, I don’t want to go back into the water, but I can’t let myself forget that day. Part of me wonders if it was my fault.” She stopped strumming and set the guitar aside, wrapping a blanket around herself.

“Did you want someone to get hurt?” he asked. She shook her head. “Not your fault, you shouldn’t stay here feeling guilty. What I did…I wanted to hurt people, all of the pain I caused was because I was angry. You didn’t have that malice.” He looked at the water before looking down at his hands. She reached out and put her hand on his arm, instantly calming him.

“Do you remember feeling like that?” she asked. “Do you ever feel like that now?” He shook his head. “Have you tried to make things right?”

“Yes, I’m trying,” he whispered. She smiled at him and squeezed his arm.

“You’ll get there, let the guilt go, but keep becoming better. I’ll help you, we are better together,” she said.

Orm startled awake, the memory fading from his dream to his waking nightmare. He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, sometime right before dawn. Last he remembered his mother and Arthur were still there making plans on finding some kind of proof of who tried to kill Orm. The footage was enough to clear Y/N of active treason, but she still could be held for conspiracy. Conspiracy to commit treason was a capital offense in Atlantis and she could still be executed if they didn’t find and get a confession from the culprit.

He was alone now with a note from Arthur that they had left to find proof in Atlantis. Arthur planned to talk to Hendrix and Atlanna was going to talk to Y/N. Orm went over to Y/N’s place. He hated to invade her privacy but maybe she had something. He started searching, trying to ignore that her bed was still unmade from where they had been together, her same clothes from her birthday on the floor around it.

“There has to be something,” he muttered to himself as he went through her closet. He moved some boxes out of the bottom and saw a small door, probably another small storage area behind the wall. He was able to pry it open and inside was a bag. He pulled it out and sat on the floor, looking through it slowly. He pulled out the mosaic of her and her father. It was cheap but well made, a product of the lower city where technology to film wasn’t as widely available. He set it aside carefully. Next came out a flyer for Atlantis for All, listing their goals as equal status, better living conditions, and fairness in the workforce. Orm remembered his father telling him that all those below the nobility were lazy, they just wanted people to hand them money and food without doing anything for it. At the time he had agreed, but this notice listed things that anyone would need to survive and thrive, which is what he thought his father wanted for all Atlantians. He set it aside also and pulled out a stack of papers. This was what he needed, letters to and from different people in AfA.

I work from morning until night, I never see my family, yet they still starve…

My mother died because we couldn’t get her a proper doctor, the nobility never have to worry…

My father died of the sickness King Orvax released when I was a child. King Orvax made me an orphan…

We can fix this. There is a way. King Orm’s coronation is on the first day of the Great Migration…

Here is what he needed. He read through the letter, it laid out a plan to protest, nothing else. They were to have Y/N sing, and Hendrix volunteered to bring the cracker. This was almost enough, but Orm needed something else. Aria was mentioned as one of the leaders of the group. He had to find her; she might have more proof.

Orm wasn’t sure where else to go so he went to the café. It was empty except for Y/N’s friends when he arrived. They were all glaring at him. When he walked in Dean came up and punched him in the face. It didn’t hurt, but Orm wasn’t expecting it and stumbled back a step. Dean was shaking his hand, wincing. He had probably broken a couple fingers. Aria pushed past him.

“Get out tyrant,” she demanded. Orm stood his ground. “We know you did something to her, no one can find her.”

“I didn’t do anything, but Hendrix took her back to Atlantis to face trial for treason,” he said. Aria froze.

“You’re lying, you gave her up,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

“If I gave her up I would be on my way to trial too. I’m a fugitive just as much as the two of you,” he said. “We need proof that Hendrix was the one who tried to kill me. I found a letter in her things with the plan for the coronation day, it says Hendrix was to get the cracker, but we need more than that, anything that makes it sound like he alone planned the attempt.” Aria was breathing deep, trying to remain calm.

“How do we know you won’t just take the evidence and destroy it?” Vincent called out. “What if you want to use her to get yourself pardoned?” Orm didn’t have time for this bullshit.

“Because I love her!” he yelled. “Because she is everything to me and I won’t stand by while they execute her. I can’t go back, no one will believe me if I say she is innocent, I’ll just get thrown in a cell next to her, but my brother is king. If I am able to get proof to him he can set this right.”

Aria watched his speech and nodded before motioning for him to come with her. She lived only a few houses down from the café and she also had a bag full of letters. She kept meticulous records and correspondence, including from Hendrix. Hours later she jumped up.

“I found something,” she said, setting the letter down in front of Orm at her kitchen table. By then everyone had joined them, watching. “This is from Hendrix, the day before the coronation. I think I received it by mistake. I never read it because well, I hated Hendrix and anything he had to say was worthless to me.” She pointed to a spot that clearly incriminated him.

“These people are idiots. They’re going to give me the crown and not even realize it. Tomorrow Orm will be dead and I’ll be king,” Orm read. This was perfect.

“Bless that asshole’s giant ego,” muttered Amanda from the couch. Orm stood and hugged Aria.

“I know you hate me but thank you,” he said. He looked between her and Dean. “I am sorry for the tidal wave, for everything. I was wrong and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it.” He left it at that, hurrying out of the house and calling Arthur to tell him he had proof.

[photmath]

Comme Les Fleurs - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: First Impressions

Summary: Left with no other options, Kylian must rehab his newly injured leg at a stranger’s home for the next month and she isn’t at all what he expects. Meanwhile, Aurèle has to deal with easily-irritated and sullen Kylian as she opens her home to him. 

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: cursing

Note: At the end, happy readings! (:

“For how long?” Kylian’s eyes shoot between the team’s psychologist, Dr. Minic, and his coach. Both of their faces are unyielding to the reluctance of Kylian’s voice.

“A month.”

“You want me to uproot my entire life for a month? At someone’s random house?” Kylian is quick to his feet, despite the ache that runs through his sore thigh. He shifts his entire weight onto his crutches and uninjured leg.

“Sit down,” Galtier reprimands, beckoning him to take a seat with an outstretched arm. Kylian lets out a scoff before he takes a seat back in the chair. “You’ve had a blow to your calf. One that you got for being careless! If you had just kept your head leveled and never went for that tackle, you wouldn’t have wound up in this situation.”

Kylian stares out the window behind Galtier’s head, knowing the words were true. Kylian had played reckless; not caring for the fouls he was committing and being frustrated that none of his teammates' passes were connecting. He had committed a dirty tackle early on, him and the other player then continuing to butt heads throughout the game.

And then finally, Kylian got a breakaway, but he was so selfishly aware of his inability to execute the ball that he forced himself through traffic when he should’ve passed the ball to an open Messi. After one too many sloppy touches trying to regain the ball, he felt a searing pain rip through his calf. He was quick to blame the Marseille player, immediately rising to his feet and pushing him. Once the Marseille player got up to shove an off-balanced Kylian, he fell to the floor harshly, only clutching onto his leg.

He wanted to argue to Galtier that his calf deciding to strain was not because of the opposing team and the foul attitude they put him in throughout the game, but it was. He was trying to prove to himself and the team that he could tie up the match if he was just given one more chance. It was something he had been doing since the World Cup; trying to prove to everyone that he still had it in him despite the sour taste of finishing in second place. And after another failed season at PSG, the last way he wanted to end the season was with a loss at home. No Coupe de France. No UCL. And now no Ligue 1 title.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to get out of the city, but not be too far,” Dr. Minic inquires. “A change in environment. Somewhere calm.”

“I can do that at my apartment,” Kylian replies. “Or in Switzerland—anywhere, really.”

Noé Martin, the team’s main physiotherapist, shakes his head, “Somewhere preferably that is one floor and where I can visit regularly.”

Kylian tuts, groaning at the idea of being sent away to the ‘middle of nowhere’ for the next month of his break. His injury was still a day old and they already had an outrageous recovery plan.

“Will you be there to facilitate my recovery?”

Martin nods, “I’ll visit. But you’ll be in good hands, I taught her everything she knows, a bright student of mine.”

“I don’t know her.”

Martin waves Kylian’s worries away, “She’s the best. Quick with her thinking and has dealt with these kinds of textbook injuries. She has a nice yard for you to do some running once you get to that point. Oh, and a good cook.”

“Why doesn’t she work with us if she’s the best?”

“She denied my offer.”

Kylian raises his eyebrows with interest, “Why?”

“I guess you’ll just have to ask her yourself.”

Kylian quiets down as he thinks about it. He didn’t have much of a choice now that everyone sided against him. He could try to tell Galtier that it wasn’t a smart idea but if both the physiotherapist and psychologist recommended it for him, there was no reason to continue discussing.

It was just going to be a month. Living with a complete stranger and her healing hands as Martin put it. Somewhere secluded without the presence of fans and overly eager journalists. He hoped that he could invite some of his friends and family to this place at the minimum.

Kylian leans back into his seat, his fingers running along the metal of his crutches, “When do I start?”

“Today,” Galtier advises. “If you want to be fit for the rest of your break and the next season, what are we waiting for?”

Kylian nods absentmindedly, “Fine, let’s get the month started then, and then I’m coming back to Paris.”

------

“This isn’t exactly a one floor house,” Kylian comments as the view of the wooden house comes into view. It was taller than it was wide. The brown was rich because of the previous downpour that the area had gotten. Despite the windows being closed, the smell of the wet grass was enough to make him sneeze.

Martin looks back at Kylian from the passenger seat, “You’ll be staying on the first floor.”

“Perfect,” Kylian whispers.

The van bounces on the rocky surface as it roars up the driveway. As he looked through the lit up windows, he could make out what seemed to be books on shelves in the first room beside the front door. The upstairs blinds had been drawn up, not minding anyone who viewed the inside. It wasn’t like they could see much anyway because he sure couldn’t. And she certainly didn’t have to worry about peeping neighbors because the last house he saw was over five kilometers away.

Martin and Dr. Minic hop out of the car, quick to aid Kylian onto the ramp that led him to the front door. They then grab his duffel bags and suitcases from the trunk.

“Try not to be sour,” Martin warns. “She’s also finding out about this arrangement just now, too.” Kylian can only muster up an unenthused smile as he comes into contact with the owner, but it quickly morphs into a strained cough.

She wasn't what he had in mind. He thought someone older, perhaps in their forties—knowing that Martin had taught at a university many years ago—so that meant whoever she was had to be older, but she isn’t. She’s around his age. That single piece of information has his irritation dissipating out of his throat and the etched scowl leaves his face immediately.

“This is Kylian,” Martin motions, his palm squeezing around Kylian’s shoulder.

Kylian gives her a timid wave, his crutch swinging with him, “Hi.”

“Hi!” She beams, her gaze glancing down at his boot. “I’m Aurèle, but you can just call me Aurie.” He doesn’t realize his own eyes are traveling down to her smile until he chokes, getting lost in the way her cheeks rose. He never thought a pair of cheeks and the crinkle beside her eyes could make his breathing so difficult to control. Not even the most back and forth game he’s played in had him jutting his mouth open for oxygen like this. “It’s nice to meet you, come on in.”

The three of them follow closely behind her, Martin’s strict glare towards Kylian doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Kylian soaks in his new surroundings for the time being. The small area to the right, the one he was able to see from the car, was a small library. A little circled table with two chairs filled the room, floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the walls of them. Towards the side seemed to be a small closet and restroom. The kitchen is pretty spacious despite a wall covering it from the living room. The dining room and living room seemed to be the main focus of the first floor, and a room hidden behind the kitchen that he couldn’t make out. But what caught his eye the most were the abundance of plants that cluttered walls and ceiling. Some were hanging down like vines while other pots were just held by a rope.

He scoffs.

“Take a seat, I’m sorry everything is a bit cluttered,” she apologizes, pointing to a stack of textbooks on the living room table. Besides that, it wasn’t messy at all, very clean and smelled of rustic leather. “I’ve been in and out of the house, trying to have everything perfect.”

Aurie lets out a nervous chuckle and Kylian’s eyes dart towards her, already feeling light on his feet from the rhythmic sound of her giggle. She isn’t looking at him though, instead looking at her mentor, Martin. For a second there, he almost wants to slap his hand across his face for thinking that sweet laugh was directed towards him.

“Anyway, I know you guys have to get back to Paris, so we can start off quickly with any instructions.”

Dr. Minic nods, pulling out the journal he kept in his back pocket, “I want you to start with monitoring his mood closely.” Kylian rolls his eyes now remembering why he was here in the first place. He decides to focus on the many photos and artwork that hang on the walls. “Kylian has a natural tendency to be easily irritable, but if anything seems too over that line, you note it.”

She nods her head, listening to his instructions despite Kylian sitting next to them. It was a bit unusual to discuss the procedures in front of the patient, but everything needed to be as transparent as possible when it came to the seriousness of Kylian’s injury.

Martin chimes, “You know the obvious protocol, but I want to view your treatment plan before you start. We’re going to go ahead and start recovery in two days, that way some of the swelling can go down. But if his swelling hasn’t gone down to a decent amount, wait one more day. He already knows that he shouldn’t be up and moving around.”

Dr. Minic agrees, closing his journal, “I think that was my only concern. I look forward to seeing you next weekend with an update.”

He suddenly stands and Martin follows suit, directing their attention to Kylian to tell him their goodbyes before she walks them out of the house.

It was an awkward and sudden shift for her too. Just yesterday she was setting up the weekly bingo event for the retirement home she worked at, to having a very animated phone call from Martin. He had to persuade her to open up her home for Kylian, having used her home for previous patients but this one was of course different. She wasn’t harboring the star of the world a couple of days ago.

Kylian on the other hand, is busy on his phone, groaning at the slow service. He was trying to find the address, knowing he was somewhere in the outskirts of Paris but couldn’t pin the exact location.

Entering the living room, she greets him again, a little hesitant on what to do with him, “So um, the downstairs doesn’t necessarily have a bedroom. The couch you sit on turns into a bed, so I’ll have to set it up for you each night until you can do it yourself. Restroom is right over there and everything in the fridge and house, you are welcome to have. Your bags, for the moment, will be in this room over here behind the kitchen—it used to be a bedroom but we had to turn it into a little gym and rehab room.”

Kylian slowly nods his head, too focused on his phone to listen to every word she says. The address had finally loaded; he was only an hour away, not all that far from his drivers.

“Next week, you should be able to go up the stairs more comfortably and you’ll have a bedroom up there. So for the meantime, I apologize that you won’t have much privacy,” she says meekly.

What finally pulls him out of his trance is Aurie reaching down in front of him, he looks up, startled to see her this close.

“Go ahead and rest your leg up on the table,” she pats on the wood. He does it reluctantly. “I’m going to take off the brace and get you on ice, we won’t be doing anything today anyway. Any pain?”

He nods, his eyes pinching closed as she unstraps the boot, “Yeah, a lot. It feels sore.”

“It’s a lot more than sore,” she mutters, a smile forming on her face. Her witty remark has him suddenly on edge, it was her first and it definitely took him by surprise. Aurie had attempted to break the tension, but instead, the corners of his eyebrows were drawn down.

“Who even are you?” He sits up, leaning closer to her. His hand lands right on top of hers to stop her from unbuckling the straps. She tugs her hand away from his contact quickly. It was too warm and soft, way beyond the lines of professionalism, but so was her comment, she realizes.

And his harsh gaze caught her off guard. She knew he was going to be upset because of the change and recent injury, but she didn’t expect his eyes to darken the longer she stared at him.

“I’m a physiotherapist and am going to be in charge of your recovery for the time being.”

His hand wraps around the buckle of his boot, clasping it closed, “Are you sure you're qualified?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t look a day older than me,” he spits.

She’s completely taken aback now. Martin certainly didn’t warn her about this, but she assumed this is what ‘easily irritable’ meant. She sits back, her hands clasping onto her thighs, “I’m sorry, it seems we got off the wrong foot so how about we just restart? I’m Aurie, I’m only a couple of months older than you, not that my age matters, but like what Martin told you, he taught me everything I need to know.”

Kylian bites onto his tongue, his eyes transfixed on her hands fidgeting against her thighs. She was just some months older than him and that seemed to make him lower his walls an inch or two. She was trying, while he certainly wasn’t. Maybe he should start. He rolls his eyes at his thoughts, “Martin seems to trust you, but after taking a glimpse at the books you keep on your bookshelf, I don’t think he was right.”

“Do you want me to call him for you?” She pulls her phone out of her pocket, quickly searching for Martin’s number.

This causes a rise out of Kylian, he sits up further, grimacing as he bangs his leg onto the coffee table. “No.”

“Okay then,” she says, forcing a polite smile towards him. Shoving the stack of textbooks to the other corner of the table, she sits down, his leg still in front of her. “I’m in charge of minimizing the swelling for the moment, can you let me do that? Trust me, the faster you cooperate, the quicker I can be done and out of your hair.”

He watches her hands hover over his leg again, pausing to look up at him, waiting for his permission to continue. He silently exhales, giving her a small nod and she unstraps his boot. Before she takes the brace off entirely, she gets up to retrieve an ice pack to minimize some of the pain he was feeling.

Kylian watches her every step, still stunned at how she held her ground. He had felt a bit guilty for his sudden outburst when Aurie was in the same position he was, and the shooting pain he had down his leg settled him back into his senses, knowing that she was the only one able to take the pain away.

“Are you comfortable this way? You’ll have to be seated like this for at least fifteen minutes,” she asks, crouching down at his leg. He silently nods, letting her do her work.

She slides the brace from underneath his leg while he bites onto his lip to stifle any pain he expected but none came. The only thing he felt were her fingers as they maneuvered the ice pack underneath him. His eyes don’t stray from scanning her crouched frame. The simple task of taking off the boot seemed so easy for her to do, and she did it without causing pain in just a few stealthy moves. Maybe Martin was right, but Kylian wasn’t going to admit that anytime soon.

“I’m going to go ahead and start dinner until the timer goes off,” she glances at him.

“Okay.” He’s completely entranced with the way her hands held onto the timer to set it. She tosses it up before catching it, and then walks towards the kitchen.

“I hope you like stew,” she teases. She looks over her shoulder with a grin and his mouth opens, but then shuts closed. His eyes end up giving away his amusement.

------

“Why don’t you work at PSG if you’re as good as they say?” Kylian asks after too many minutes of silence. He was sitting across from her and she could feel his eyes on her the entire time he ate. He didn’t even seem to care when she caught his stares, just continuing to stare right through her.  

The spoon clanks against the glass bowl as she sets it down, “It was just too much of a drastic change. I was there for a month before I refused an extension from Martin.”

“You were there with us?”

“Yes, but I only worked during training, never on the sidelines.”

He nods, it makes sense. He would have definitely remembered her face if he had seen her before because she would’ve stood out like a sore thumb in a group full of men. “Did Martin get on your nerves so much that you decided to leave?”

She smiles, taking in the kind light that glowed on his features. He didn’t seem as upset as before. Once she had taken the ice pack off of him, he took a nap on the couch and that seemed to have awakened a different man than the one before.

“Not necessarily. I was used to chronic injuries and chronic problems, that being around acute injuries was different. I’ve worked with older people extensively, so you know, they’ve lived their lives and dreams and everything they wanted to do—or they didn’t—but are still focused on the positives of their life,” she says. Kylian’s eyes don’t waver away from the smile that sweeps across her face.

She shrugs, “And then I was met with Neymar.” She chuckles and Kylian’s shoulders roll forward as he laughs. “I had seen the poor guy everyday. The more I was with him, the more stories he told me, and how he hated not playing. And then he would return to play, but then boom, be back in the room that same day.

“I got too emotional, too sad to know that whatever kind of precautions he took, sudden injuries were possible. Or in his case, because of the playstyle he has, his ankles were always going to be a problem for defenders. I disliked seeing how heartbroken he was and the others alongside him that it made me sad. How some players fight so hard for something and then it can just be gone that quickly or never comes…”

Her voice gradually fades away into a sobering tone and Kylian has to pry his eyes away from hers. He didn’t want to think of his own injury like that, and he certainly didn’t want to reminisce about lost opportunities.

“I would get too upset at seeing him in that room. He became a great friend, but god, did I dislike seeing him under those circumstances. It was like everything we worked on for weeks, anything new I tried on him, was for nothing,” she shudders and glances at Kylian’s wide eyes. Her words had startled him. “Anyway, I’m sorry about going on a tangent, I didn’t think it would get to that—”

“It’s okay, I had asked,” he waves her off, knowing that she sensed the sudden shift of the room.

“I don’t know how Martin does it,” she retreats. “Being the first on the field in a loud stadium like that, I did it once and froze up on the spot.”

He chuckles, enjoying the way her voice changed to being lively. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

She groans, “It isn’t all that much entertaining. It was a simple cramped up muscle, but I just froze up trying to take out the right bottle so I ended up spraying him with water, having grabbed a water bottle by accident.”

Kylian smirks, “But Martin said you were bright and a quick thinker.”

“I usually am, but that was a bad moment—a rookie mistake. After that, I immediately knew I didn’t belong on the field.”

His eyes trail down to her lips, his own heart suddenly soothing at the sight of it. The bubbling feeling rising in his chest is so unfamiliar that he presses his fingers to his chest to stop it.

“I should probably start washing the dishes so we can wind down, we have a big day tomorrow.” She stands up and grabs his dish, walking both of their bowls to the sink.

“I thought I was on bedrest?”

“You are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go out to the retirement home with me,” she offers. Aurie’s back is facing him so she doesn’t see the confusion that grows on his face. “We have a bingo match to host.”

“Bingo?”

“Bright and early tomorrow.”

“You can’t be serious,” he deflates. “Martin said I needed to stay out of the public, that’s the whole reason why I’m here.”

She faces him, picking up the sleeves of her long sweater, “They’re in their seventies, they aren’t going to recognize you. It isn’t what you think it is.”

He tilts his head, “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“You’re thinking it’s some giant hospital or charity event,” she guesses, and he blinks rapidly. She had guessed right. Shaking her head, she turns away from him and starts washing the dishes, “It isn’t like that. Just a little building that’s about a ten minute drive from here.”

Kylian chews on his lip, knowing that he wouldn’t mind leaving to see what this side has to offer. Feeling the need to help her out despite his injury, he gets up quietly and hobbles towards her with his crutches. He stops beside her, grabbing a kitchen towel to dry off the dishes.

“Kylian!” She scolds, looking down at his leg. “You shouldn’t be standing right now.”

“Let me just help you with this,” he shrugs, his arm grazing hers in the process. “I won’t do it again.”

She fights the smile that wants to break through her lips. It was a kind gesture and it made her feel better. She washes the dishes in comfortable silence, Kylian drying each of them as she hands them over.

As she washes the last pot, she faces Kylian as she hands it to him and he’s already staring back at her. His eyes are glued onto her nose and lips; she turns away, her cheeks burning.

He wants her attention back on him, just another moment to savor the feeling of whatever was brewing in his chest. He grimaces, “Your plant is dying.”

“Which one?” she chuckles, flashing her smile towards Kylian and he loses his balance, immediately clutching onto his crutch. She grabs a hold of bicep, her hand is still wet but neither of them care. Her other soapy hand grabs a fistful of his hoodie, “Are you okay?”

He nods, his ears burning with embarrassment. Never did he think someone’s smile would have him losing balance. “Yeah. And erm—the plant on the table.”

She frowns, “Ah, that one is my niece’s. Her dad, my brother-in-law, got her a plant last Valentine’s and she went on vacation, so it dried while she was gone. She was very upset about it and I promised her I’d revive it, but it might be a goner. I’m planning on just getting her a new one. I hate seeing her sad eyes.”

He smiles to himself, thinking about his own nephew and niece. He needed to call them whenever he got the chance. “You don’t think she’d notice?”

Aurie shakes her head, “Well she’s four, so I hope not. I’m just going to repot the new one because if that pot with pink hearts goes missing, that will certainly cause a stir.”

She leans over Kylian to put away the dried dishes that he had already dried on the dishrack. The scent of her hair engulfs Kylian’s nose and he gulps it down. He steps backwards to give her a little more space, “I think you can do it. Revive the plant.”

She walks in front of him to place the pots in the bottom cabinet, “I don’t know, I’ve been trying for a week. At this point, it’s up to the plant.”

He grins, his lips mocking hers, “It’s up to the plant…”

------

Muffled groans wake her up in the middle of the night. She had left her bedroom door ajar in case something happened to Kylian while he slept downstairs.

The groans only grow louder and she sighs, knowing that Kylian was probably in a grave amount of pain by now. His pain medications had to have worn off some hours ago, given that it was two in the morning. She grabs the box of his medicine and makes her way downstairs. The lamp by the couch was turned on, and it could have only been turned on if Kylian had walked to it—but he shouldn’t be walking at all.

She picks up her pace, rushing down the stairs, and once she comes into view with the bed, she almost shrieks in terror at the sight. Kylian had his head buried in his arms as he laid on his stomach, a girl near his legs massaging both of his calves.

“Who are you?!”

Kylian’s head shoots up from the couch and the girl freezes with her hands on his calves. The stark discoloration of Kylian’s calf just continued to angrily scream back at Aurie.

“What the hell is going on?”

Kylian can only gape in shock as he looks at Aurie. Her shirt had risen up while she slept and the joggers that she had worn earlier were stripped into a tiny pair of shorts that his sudden ability to think was lost, too entranced by the sudden view of her legs.

The weight of the bed shifting causes Kylian to snap back into reality as the girl stands up, “I’m sorry—”

“Who even are you?” Aurie stands about a meter in front of them, her eyes glued to the girl.

“I was just giving him a massage, he was in pain—”

“A massage?” She yells, her fists gripping onto her shorts trying to hold in the anger that rose through her. “Massaging a not even two-day-old strain? Are you trying to ruin his career?”

“What?” She gasps, looking back at Kylian and then Aurie, “No!”

“Then what did you think you were doing?”

Her mouth falls open and then closed, Aurie grows impatient with her lack of response.

“Get out of my house.”

Kylian shifts his weight onto his elbows, “Aurie, wait, she was just trying to help.”

Aurie takes a deep breath, and then pinches herself to make sure her sleep wasn’t deceiving her. As if that girl hadn’t just impeded Kylian’s healing process by days. Another pinch to her thigh to hope that she was hallucinating, that Kylian hadn’t actually invited an entire stranger to her home.

Kylian watches Aurie as she tries to calm down, and heat creeps onto his back as he realizes his own mistake. It slowly dawns on him, “Lucette didn’t know.”

Lucette turns, her brown hair swinging towards him, “We didn’t know.”

Kylian gulps, “We thought it was okay—I was in a lot of pain and it wasn’t going away. It felt like a knot…like it just needed to be kneaded out.”

She runs her hand down her face while her thumbs press into her eyes. She was baffled at their carelessness. Especially at Kylian, he should’ve known better.

Not just with his calf, but also for disregarding the basic communication of bringing someone over while she slept upstairs. He had never asked for permission nor even mentioned it as a heads up. It was one thing if it was in the afternoon to be met with a surprise visitor, but at two in the morning?

She was absolutely livid.

Lucette swallows, grabbing her jacket, “I think I’m just going to go.”

“Please do,” Aurie responds, too upset to be nice and beyond the time to be professional.

Kylian’s eyes grow wide, “Aurie.” Lucette walks towards him, bending down to kiss him and Aurie turns away.

Of course he brought his girlfriend to her place and she wanted to be the savior. The story could write itself. Aurie tries to calm down her breathing.

Lucette beelines towards the front door and Aurie doesn’t shy away from eyeing her down. Kylian was going to get mouthful and she was going to have to tell Martin and Dr. Minic in the morning.

She locks the door after Lucette leaves and lets out a slow exhale while closing her eyes.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to her,” Kylian grits, rolling around to lay on his back. “It’s two in the morning and you really kicked her out? C’mon now.”

She stares at him in silence, still debating what she should say first.

“I needed help and you were sleeping.”

She shakes her head, “So you called someone with no kind of medical background?”

His eyebrows crease, “We had read a bunch of articles on Google.”

“Oh my god, Kylian. You can’t be this stupid. You can’t have made it this far and be this stupid. You have a Grade 2 muscle strain! If it was a Grade 1, yeah, sure you can massage it, but are you kidding? A Grade 2?” Her voice is still hoarse from the night as she places her hands on her hips.

Kylian leans forward, wincing at his leg, “Don’t call me stupid. You were nowhere to be found and I was in a lot of pain.”

“My door was wide open, you idiot! I would have heard you if you were calling out to me.”

“You didn’t hear the front door open,” he taunts.

“Because that was the last thing I expected to happen!” She retorts, “I woke up because I heard you grunting in what sounded like pain, so I got up to bring you your medicine.”

Kylian’s eyes grow as he looks at the box in her hand. After having spent the past hour gnawing his teeth, he didn’t realize she carried the very solution to end it.

“I can’t believe you,” she palms her forehead. “I can’t believe you brought a total stranger to this house. I’m just—”

He doesn’t like the way Aurie’s irritation had turned into utter disappointment, it felt too much like the scoldings he would get when he was in school or ruined a perfect pass. He turns away, his eyes instead focusing on her legs—or on anything else for that matter.

Her vision was still blurred from the grogginess of her sudden wake and the dismay of events that transpired. Her head started to pound.

“You know what, I refuse to deal with this,” she rubs her eyes. “I’m not about to sit here and make a detailed plan and timeline of your recovery while you could care less about it. Quite frankly, I’m not getting paid enough for this.”

She starts pacing towards the kitchen, searching for a glass. She fills it with water and walks where he lay. “You’re only making yourself worse and I am not a therapist for a reason. If you don’t want to do your recovery here, then fine, I don’t care. This was a favor for Martin, not you. So you know what, you can go home tomorrow. And here’s your fucking medicine.”

She rips open the bottle cap and sets a capsule beside his water.

Finished and done with the game he was playing.

“And put a damn pillow underneath your leg when you sleep,” she sneers.

Kylian watches her in complete silence. Too awestriken with what just occurred. First she was kicking Lucette out, and now she was giving him the greenlight to leave. He should’ve felt relieved, that he wouldn’t have to put up with whatever this sudden arrangement was, but he didn’t. He felt guilty again.

He knew that he had messed up and knew that he should have asked her before he let Lucette massage him, but he didn’t think much of it at the time. He especially didn’t think it would cause him further injury.

------

Kylian had woken up in a gross amount of pain the next morning. It had rendered him speechless, afraid that if he moved it would radiate through him worse. He breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down but he couldn’t. He wanted to call for Aurie but his mind was still repeating the events from the previous night. How willing was Aurie to still help him despite what she said last night and what he had done?

But there she was. He heard the creak of the wooden stairs as she came to him quickly.

“Hey,” she greets. His eyes are screwed shut and his arms are splayed on top of his face. She touches his arm gingerly and he wants to melt at the sound of her voice and touch, wanting to just inch towards her in hopes that the pain drowns away. It seemed to work because it had subsided by a fraction, but it was enough to have him slowly opening his eyes. “Sit up to take your medicine.”

“I don’t want to move,” he stresses.

Her lips tug into a frown, and he stares at the feature, wanting to somehow wipe away the worry. She stands before he can continue thinking of ways to erase her frown, “I’ll help you.”

Kylian hadn’t noticed that he was profusely sweating through his clothes until she tugged at his waist, his shirt feeling grossly stuck to his body. He cringes as he wills himself up. She adjusts a pillow behind him, her eyes already fixed onto his calf.

He swallows the pill and gulps the rest of the water with haste. Her hands are busy unwrapping the compression bandage he wore. His leg had swelled more, and the bandage being tight was what caused him the pain because as soon as she loosened it, he let out a groan of satisfaction.

She takes a moment to examine his leg. Lucette’s massage had done an extensive amount of damage through the night and Aurie’s job to fix it just slowly got delayed. His swelling and purple bruises only seemed to grow, already putting him two more days behind schedule. Martin certainly wasn’t going to be happy.

“Did she massage your thigh by any chance?” Aurie asks, watching Kylian’s chest heave up and down, sweat dripping down his temples.

Kylian nods, wiping the sweat away from his face, “Yeah.”

Aurie stares back at his thigh, trying to peek at his hamstrings to see if there's any discoloration, but she knows she doesn’t have to look to know her answer.

His month-long stay would now have to be a month and a half. Something that neither her or Martin had discussed. She promised her job that she would be back within a month and that Kylian would be all Martin’s responsibility afterward.

But that was no longer her problem, he was going home today anyway.

She lets out an unnoticeable sigh, grabbing the black compression wrap and starts wrapping his leg back up, making sure it isn’t too tight for him.

“Thank you,” he exhausts, his eyes fluttering closed.

Her shoulders only fell back at the sight of him: sweaty and exhausted, his eyebrows creased and his lips parted open. His hands are clenching onto the shorts he wore, trying to distract himself until the meds kicked in. Even if she wanted him to be gone already, to get rid of the fever dream she and him had both experienced last night, she would have to help him in the shower first.

That was going to take a while.

-

Note: I wasn’t sure to add the people from my other main taglist that I had for my other fics since this is a whole series so uh yeah haha. Just let me know! AHH first chapter, I think I was more excited to finally just get this out here so I could stop looking back at the chapter and trying to add anymore edits--especially after the disappointing loss to Bayern. Anyway, how are we feeling? Any first chapter thoughts? I’ll most likely stay between 6k-10k words for each chapter.

Taglist: @kylianswifey @darlingmbappe​

[vahalia-cress]

⸸ The Inevitable ⸸

Melee/Tournament: DAY 1 @daily-writing-challenge

The breeze in the cabin was cool, something more akin to what she was used to as Vahalia stood looking out over the deep water to observe the ships that could not make port. There were vibrant specks of lights that danced over the ripples and the moon hung above the waters stealing the blanket of night from pure and utter darkness. Not too far off The Red Queen remained, partially one of the few things Vahalia had traveled to Tural for but she would have to be patient.

There was a plan and it had been set in motion for weeks, however, she, Cordelia, Castien, and Wren would have to execute each with care and precision.

Just a year ago she had been in Ishgard partaking in events, jousting tournaments and soirees, a melee of political discussions and meetings that captured her attention. Now, she was leagues away from the comforts of the frigid city she called home.

Could she ever truly consider it a place of respite?

She was born there, grew up there, had family there and it was a place of familiarity but deep down the nagging sensation of more harkened to her. Ishgard was a placeholder, another hole to which her ancestors simply fled. 

Idalia stirred quietly in the bassenette at the other end of the room with Evran still indulging in his cozy slumber. And it was the roaming shadow in the room from the furthest recess that eventually traveled in Vahalia’s direction, the curling whisps of shadows spilled along the floor as Creature materialized behind her, the entity fully unexpurgated as it loomed high above her as Creature often did. His size was nearly immeasurable in some circumstances.

“We leave at dawn.” Vahalia finally spoke, her eyes drifting over the horizon of the hellish depths of the sea before them, her attention now pinning on the location of The Sea Scorpion and the small boats that peppered the roil of slow waves, lights growing ever closer as she knew it to be the mounts they were transporting swiftly from the vessel.

“𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔰𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢?” the haunting voice chittered.

“Nothing short of a perfect performance.”

“ℌ𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔢.” The reply from Creature came swiftly and eagerly, his large eyes turned towards Vahalia and a heavy chill rested on the mantle of her attire.

“In due course.” she offered, her hand diving into the pocket of her robe as she procured a silken cloth, fractures of sapphire resting in the slope of her palm as she unwrapped it and showed Creature to her left, “I need you to track the person this belonged to. This will be your current goal.”

The cacophony of sounds, voices, and hissing was expelled and soon died down as Creature boughed to sniff at the essence of the broken pieces nestled into the cloth, “𝔄𝔥…” he cooed seemingly pleased, “ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔲𝔩.”

“It’s of another Magi. I’ve never been acquainted with what they are capable of aside from deceit but we will find out just how much of a battle this might become. 

“𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰.” he warned her as he dipped his head lower to inspect the pieces, tongue slicking out to rove over the sharp edges and an insatiable sound emitted, hunger striking his core.

“As much as I have suspected. This belonged to another though I cannot tell if it is a regular gem or a soulstone. In any event, much will be expected of you and you will be required to participate in the hunt.”

“𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔲𝔰, ℑ 𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔴𝔞𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔨. 𝔖𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡.” he warned.

A crimson smirk split Vahalia’s lips, a dimple pinned into her cheek as she regarded her familiar with a glint in her sharp eyes, “Since when have you known me not to give to those deserving of praise?” Silence lingered and Vahalia tucked the cloth-covered pieces back to where she had procured them from, “You’ll get your piece and you will be deserving of it should all go without fail.”

[xdreamers-asylumx]

Unspoken Rule

Pairings: PM! Dazai Osamu X F! Reader

Callous remarks and sharp glares did nothing to deter you—cruelty was a love language you had become far too intimate with, and who better to indulge your little game than him? You despised his arrogance and he detested your mutiny. In the end, you were nothing more than two rabid dogs snarling at each other for dominance. A coy smile curved the side of your lips where they left a deep garnet stain on the collar of tonight's lover before linking arms as you made your way down a long stretch of hallway.

Your heels clacked noisily against the tiles leading to the grand doors sealing away the hum of music just beyond them. A party of sorts, you supposed. Dubbed an annual display of your organization's successes and luxury, in reality more of an excuse for Mori to show off Elise in her new dress. Tedious, but not entirely boring under the right circumstances.

"(Y/N)." One of the guards stationed outside the entrance acknowledged courteously. The other offered a forced nod—there was a prominent bead of sweat trickling down the dip of his temple as he remained resolute in keeping his eyes trained forward.

You rolled your eyes, reaching forward to seize the large man’s tie in a manicured hand. What was his name again…? Toru? Toshi? Tetsu?Perhaps it didn’t matter.

A sharp tug to his tie and he was brought down to near eye level. Your gaze flickered up to meet his through long wispy lashes, finally managing to break his seemingly unseeing stare. He swallowed thickly.

"Gentleman, really...” Suggestive fingertips trailed down his chest with a knowing smirk. He flinched. “No need to be so stiff."

A terribly misleading sentiment. One that the man draped across your arm didn't yet grasp the weight of nor even truly recognize; an unspoken rule. No one was permitted to touch you. No one save for one man—and anybody who disobeyed was swiftly dealt with.

The guard who wasn’t currently ensnared by your deceptively soft grasp shot your guest a quick, pitying glance. He wouldn’t dare do more than that. Instead, he asked, “Who might this be accompanying you tonight, Miss?”

You paused in your ministrations, cutting a sideways look to the other guard. There was a palpable moment of silence that followed where nobody hazarded a breath before you quickly alleviated the tension with an airy giggle and a wave of the hand; effectively releasing the man from your hold. “Oh, this is Sato. Such a lovely man, isn’t he?”

The guard sighed, indulging your antics with a curt “yes, Miss” and proceeded to push open the doors, allowing you entrance. You blew him a kiss over your shoulder as you walked in.

Jeweled tapestries clung to the ornate walls in intervals between floor to ceiling windows overlooking Yokohama's starlit skyline. A glittering chandelier high overhead caught and reflected the moon's silver beams in fragments onto the polished marble floor below, already crowded with its buzzing patrons for the night—none other than the most integral members of the city's most notorious crime group. The port mafia.

You were the last to arrive.

Weaving your way through the many wine filled glasses wobbling precariously in evidently intoxicated guest and executive hands alike, you lead your faux-lover by the hand to the bar in the back corner of the ballroom. You weren't oblivious to the lustful stare he had locked on you from behind, though you feigned that you were. Despite his conventional good looks, he was boring and the idea of entertaining him more than you already had outside of your own twisted charade disillusioned you. All golden hair and shimmering blue eyes, he was gullible and easy to seduce.

The complete opposite of him.

Pulling yourself into a barstool, you requested a whiskey on the rocks for yourself and your companion. The bartender nodded and poured you your drink from one of the many glass bottles lined up along the shelves behind the bar. With glass now in hand, you swiveled in your seat, gaze dragging lazily over the other people chatting and milling about.

You brought your glass to your lips and stopped short. There, across the room sat languidly atop one of the plush couches scattered about the room, was none other than the man you had been searching for—and splayed across his lap was a woman in a satin dress attached to his neck. His eyes locked with yours. Dazai.

A smirk pulled your lips back over your teeth, a thinly veiled snarl. So the game of cat and mouse begins.

“(Y/N)? What are you looking at?” Sato inquired, head swivelling to try to find what had you so fixated.

You grabbed him by the front of his button-down without a word, drawing his attention back to yourself rather than give him the opportunity to locate the man across the room. Dismounting your seat at the bar, you sashayed your way to the middle of the floor, lover in tow, completely ignoring Dazai.

This, however, only provoked the man. His eyes followed you the entire way across the room, a bandaged hand pushing the woman on top of him aside. You could hear the indignant sounds of her protest as his gaze burned into the side of your face. Smile like the Devil himself, you finally looked his way again.

Dazai stood and began making his way to you in the crowd.

Eyes ablaze with a growing wrath, you spun on the blonde man behind you and pulled his body flush against your own, staring up at him through your half-lidded eyes as you did so. Seemingly pleased with the sudden attention, he wound his arms around your waist, hands wandering up the curve of your spine to tangle in the hairs that fell at the nape of your neck. You wondered, briefly, if he knew he was being used and simply didn't care.

Sato’s lips descended upon your own, melding your mouths together with an unpleasant force that you tolerated only to get a rise out of Dazai. Your eyes met with his over your lover's shoulder. His demeanor was calm, calculated. A fire ignited inside you.

Wasting no more time, Dazai strode over to the two of you just as you broke away from the kiss. He was there in an instant, mere inches away from Sato with a humourless grin stretching his lips.

"I believe you have something of mine."

The man you were just kissing turned around at the sound of Dazai's voice, confusion furrowing his brow—but Dazai wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you. His eyes were nearly black now as he stared down at you, gaze raking over your body clad in that dress he liked so much.

"You truly are an arrogant man," you mused.

“Hey—“ Dazai side stepped Sato, much to the blonde man’s chagrin. He had no care for what Sato had to say.

Slender fingers caught a stray strand of hair dancing across your vision. Dazai’s dark eyes bore into yours as the pads of his thumb and forefinger toyed with the loose curl before winding it back into place behind your ear. "And you are an insufferable woman."

"What is going on—?” Before Sato could even finish his sentence, Dazai had produced a gun from beneath his jacket. Without adverting his eyes from your own, he pressed the barrel to the head of the man who accompanied you to the party. There was a threat in the thin press of his lips. A promise.

“Stop interrupting.”

You stared back defiantly with the same amount of hostility tensing every muscle in your frame. “Come now, Dazai,” you purred, stepping closer than any other person would dare to a man like him. “It’s quite unbecoming of you to be so rude to my guest—“

“What the hell?” Just then, Dazai’s own companion decided to chime in, apparently having sauntered over a few mere moments before.

You had almost forgotten she was in the room at all until she grabbed your shoulder and jerked you to face her. She glanced between the two of you with hurt in her eyes—she must have truly believed that she had won his affections.

You almost felt sorry for her.

"Dazai, what the hell?” She repeated. “Are you serious? You left me just to come flirt with this—“ she gestured towards you flippantly “—this random girl?”

Almost.

Your eyes narrowed. In one swift motion, you had untangled the dagger from where it held back your hair and pressed it to the woman's throat. "I don't remember inviting you into this conversation,” you stated, plainly. “And I don’t like sharing.”

She gasped, eyes flickering to Dazai for help, but he was too preoccupied gazing at you. “You’re both insane!”

The butterfly hilt glinted under the soft lights, the ruby embedded in the centre winking as if anticipating another kill. You pressed it closer to her throat.

Suddenly, a loud theatric sigh rang through the room, alerting you to the silence that had overtaken it. “Come, children, must you always ruin my parties with your little charade?”

The voice was deep, amused, but there was an underlying edge to its tone. The sea of onlookers who had gathered around you began to part. Some, who were new to this fairly run of the mill debacle, were gawking—likely guests of other port mafia executives. Others, well acquainted with yours and Dazai’s tumultuous relationship, regarded the scene with tense fear. When the final person stepped back, none other than Mori himself emerged from the crowd.

“I think it’d be best if you and your…” he glanced between Sato at gunpoint and the woman currently pinned beneath your blade, “guests settled down. My dear Elise must be so frightened!” He wailed.

Elise, miraculously appearing by Mori’s side as if summoned by the man’s call, delivered a swift kick to his shin. “There you are!” She pouted. “I thought I asked you for cake!”

Mori glanced down at the young girl with adoration, apparently forgetting all about the situation he was attempting to diffuse. “Elise! I was just on my way to get you some, I swear! I just got a little sidetracked—“

Another kick to the shin. “Now!”

And with that, Elise was stomping away in the opposite direction. Mori stared after her, dejected.

“Yes, yes.” He sighed. His focus turned back to the both of you, renewed disapproval souring his face now that Elise was gone. “As you can see, I have my hands quite full with Elise. I really must insist you lower your weapons.” His eyes glowed dangerously. “You’re disturbing my guests.”

You straightened, allowing your dagger to fall to your side at the warning tone in Mori’s voice. The woman, who was all but a statue mere moments before, took this as her opportunity to advance on you, seemingly alight with a newfound fury. She had her hand raised as if to slap you, tears brimming in her eyes. You raised a brow in amusement.

Dazai was not so quick to oblige to Mori’s command. He never lowered his gun. And with a quick cock of the trigger, his index finger squeezed down.

Once.

Twice.

A final resounding bang followed by a cacophony of shrieks punctuated the thud of two bodies hitting the ground. Blood spattered your face.

Before Mori could react, your wrist was seized in a vice grip, fingers cold as ice digging into your pulse, and Dazai was heading towards the exit with you in tow. The room was frozen as you departed.

No words were exchanged as you were lead out of the building into the parking garage and began weaving through row upon row of flashy cars. You twisted in Dazai’s grip, trying to free yourself from his quick pace that had you stumbling behind in your heels. That was until you found yourself at a particularly expensive looking corvette. Sleek and black, windows tinted so dark that it was certainly not legal, and a jagged slash where you had keyed the driver’s side door in a fit of rage.

Dazai’s car.

He stopped suddenly, yanking you in front of him until he could trap your body between his car and his embrace.

“Belladonna…” he purred into your ear. “That was quite the stunt you pulled in there.”

His hands wandered over the curve of your waist, finding purchase in the loose silk around your hip and pulling you back tight to his chest. “Says the man with a purple bruise beneath his earlobe.” You growled.

A deep, sultry chuckle radiated from the man’s chest pressed firm behind you. “Now, now… there’s no need to be jealous, my love.”

Craning your neck to glare into those cruel, shadowed eyes you knew so well, you forcefully peeled yourself from his grasp and huffed. Despite the familiar flames growing hot in your belly, you removed yourself entirely from Dazai’s all encompassing heat to spin on him, jabbing a sharp nail into his chest. Dazai merely growled, eyelids lowering with lust as he gazed down upon your figure.

“I am not the jealous one here, Osamu—“ a deep groan escaped his lips at the sound of his name on your tongue, taking a calculated step closer to cage you further between him and the hood of his car, “—you are the one that shot my date.”

“The date you brought to get a rise out of me, (Y/N),” he whispered, bending to ghost his lips along the shell of your ear. “Lest we forget that you were the one who started this little game.”

His warm breath fanned over your neck making your knees wobble despite yourself. Bracing your hands on the hood of the car behind you, you turned your head away to avoid his now piercing gaze. “You participate just as freely, Dazai.” You growled. “Or was the lady you brought a mere coincidence?”

He chuckled, but did not dignify you with an answer which only riled you up further. Hands back on your waist, Dazai retreated from your neck to capture your gaze with his. Fingers like cold silk ghosted up your sides, along the swell of your breasts, the dip in your collarbones, all the way to the curve of your jaw where they stayed, finally forcing you to look up at him with a touch none too gentle.

The sharp sting of pain that ached through your neck at the abrupt pulling of your chin closer to his elicited a soft whimper, one that Dazai revelled in. It was only him who could see you like this. Submissive and meek. Eyes clouded with desire and a willingness to please. His nerves felt alight with fire as he slowly pressed the length of his lithe frame to your softer one.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he purred.

Your lips were a breath away, each letter enunciated by his tongue felt by the brush of his mouth ghosting over yours. You released a shuddering breath, resolve crumbling. He pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth and pulled away. You tried to reclaim the distance between the two of you with a quick move onto your toes, but Dazai was quicker. You whined, displeased.

“I’ll give you everything you desire in due time, Belladonna,” he promised, darkly. “But only if you say the words.”

Your teeth caught purchase in your lower lip, in turn dragging Dazai’s attention downwards. His own resolve was being shaken.

“Osamu,” you whispered.

A sharp breath slid between his clenched teeth. You grabbed him by the front of his suit jacket and yanked him down. The honeyed brown that began pooling in his irises had you entranced—but you wouldn’t cave to him so easily.

“I don’t belong to anybody.”

His lips crashed onto yours with bruising force, tipping your head back with thumbs pressed firmly into the underside of your jaw. Soft brown locks tickled your cheekbones as he dipped his head lower to deepen the kiss, parting your lips with an authority that had your body trembling. Tongues met, beginning a war for dominance, one that you knew you would lose but never seemed to mind.

Your fingers found purchase in the hair at the back of Dazai’s head, tangling and tightening until your knuckles were brushing against his scalp. It must have been painful, but Dazai only gasped quietly into your mouth and kissed you hungrily.

His teeth nipped at your already bruising lips, hands sliding down to squeeze at your throat until you were gasping for air and your eyes were glowing with lust. Dazai’s knee slid between you legs, pushing them apart and forcing your back down onto the hood of the car.

You stared up at him in the dim silver light of the moon straining to breach the darkness of the parking garage. His hair was mussed, bandages falling loose over his face, and blood blooming like a rose petal at the corner of his mouth where you bit just a little too hard. But as he knelt over you, unbuttoning his dress shirt torturously slow with eyes so dark and hungry you felt like you’d be swallowed whole… you could swear the angels above would weep at the sight of this devil’s beauty.

“You don’t think you’re mine, (Y/N)?” He said lowly. His hand trailed higher up your thigh until goosebumps were left in his wake and your dress was pooling around your waist. “I’ll make sure everybody else does.”

[naisilla]

The Emperor's New Muse Part .9

Odyssey Kayn x Reader

content: The exchange goes horribly wrong...

A/N: Thank you for supporting this story and thank you to those who motivated me to continue writing.

The Fractal Shear landed on the Royal Military Station, next to the Royal Palace. You were once again being walked through the palace port, passing by thousands of troops. No soldier paid you any attention, remaining stoic and ignoring your situation with one glance at the Ordinal leading your group.

You had to walk through the massive expanse. Lead past various subways of bullet trains that transported the military throughout the planet via an underground train system.

It didn't even feel like you had left the Fractal Shear. With how everything in Demaxia is made of cold, dark metal and sterile lighting, it felt like you were inside an expansion of the ship.

"So where is this exchange happening anyways?" you ask, unable to bear the deafening silence among your group.

It only felt fitting that Kayn continued his usual behavior during the most critical moment of your escape plan. His calm demeanor was unnerving, you were certain that he was just waiting for the right time to pull something cruel on you, to take away your hopes. The closer you got to the edge of the district the more nervous you became.

"We're taking you into the grand courtroom. The Morningstar will land on our military station and the ship will be confiscated until after the exchange. Wouldn't want your friends trying to leave too soon."

Crap Kayn had thought of everything. By having the exchange happen inside the palace, you and your team are in a lot of danger. You'd be trapped in an unfamiliar environment infested with demaxian soldiers overseeing everything. Plus with the Morningstar being so far from reach, it would be almost impossible to pull off a flawless escape.

As you continue to walk down the corridors of the Royal Palace the intensity of your emotions increases. You feel nervous about how your team might pull off this getaway. With how crucial this situation is, the entire scenario could go south.

Sometimes foreshadowing is relatively obvious.

You were brought into the Demaxian Palace and immediately your breath was taken away. The grand size of Demaxia's ships and cities could not prepare you for the Palace itself.

The sheer size and opulence of the Demaxian Palace was breathtaking. You have never seen such extravagant architecture before. The palace was imposing and dwarfed everything you have ever seen before. The grandeur of the rooms and the length of the halls make this entire structure seem more like an entire city, instead of just a place for the royalty to live.

The Demaxian Palace was a dramatic shift from the Military Station and subways leading toward it. Instead of the cold and dark metal scheme that you were so accustomed to, the Palace stood out in its contrasting palette of ivory and silver.

The grand courtroom lived up to its name. There was a balcony floor that overlooked everything similar to that of a theater room. Hundreds of executive chairs with elongated bodies were immaculately tucked into long lines of marble tables. Giant pillars arched above holding up the grand ceiling decorated with beautiful paintings depicting the galaxy.

Kayn and his soldiers waited at the center of the room, standing before the center table and staring at the adjacent entrance.

Eventually, you pick up on marching footsteps approaching, and the grand doors part open. A troop of soldiers enter, along with your friends Yasuo, Jinx, Malphite, and Sona. You immediately notice their lack of weapons. Yasuo was without his sword and Jinx was missing her barrage of weaponry.

It becomes apparent that your odds of survival are even slimmer than anticipated.

The moment your eyes meet, Jinx smiles and begins to wave excitedly "(y/n)! you're still alive!! How was rooming with Kayn?~"

You roll you're eyes, Jinx sure does have a weird way of saying things. Jinx waving her hands and trying to interact like nothing was wrong despite being escorted in was such a Jinx thing to do. It was both nerve racking and comforting to see that she seemed so normal despite being stripped of all her weapons and held by Demaxian soldiers. If there was one thing you knew about her, it was that you could count on her to always be herself no matter the situation that she was in.

"Absolute torture. How have you been?"

"You know, same old running away from Demaxian enforces. Yasuo was so stressed out- HEY!" Jinx protests as a soldier nudges her with his gun demanding her to shut up.

The group of soldiers escorting the Morningstar crew continues to usher everyone further into the courtroom. You stole a glance at Yasuo desperate to see the confidence of having a plan in his eyes. But there was no twinkle of hope or a smug smirk there was only fear.

Without his weapons and surrounded by armed Demaxian Soldiers he looked more vulnerable than you had ever seen him look before. The only thing you could hope for now was that the rest of the crew had some sort of plan because clearly Yasuo did not.

Your gaze desperately flicks over to Sona, the only member of the Morningstar you had faith in. But Sona merely looked directly at Kayn with a solemn look, she unlike the others (excluding Jinx because she's just insane) showed no fear toward the Ordinal.

Despite the circumstances Sona remained quiet and calm.

Kayn was solely focused on the Templar. "At last, Sona. The secrets of the Ora Gate will be mine!"

Yasuo steps infront of Sona, blocking her from Kayn with a stern glare. "Have you fulfilled the terms of our agreement?"

Kayn nods "Yes, the charges against you for your brothers gruesome murder have been dropped."

"And the bounty reward?"

"A sum of two hundred billion credits have been wired over." Kayn brings up a hologram projection from his wrist showing that indeed the money had been transferred.

"And your promises to my crew?."

"Malphite has been recommended and accepted into the Demaxian Academy Of Clinical Medicine." As proof an acceptance letter was put on display. "As for the loose canon, you'll find a shipping container of our weapons has been loaded onto your Morningstar. The hologram projection switches to live security feed from on board the Morningstar showing a team of Demaxian soldiers loading said container into the cargo port.

Even though Kayn had kept his promises so far Yasuo's gaze remained hard. "Now give (y/n) back."

You feel Kayn's hand latch onto your arm in a steel grip.

"The templar first".

It's not like Yasuo had much of a choice, they were surrounded by a few hundred soldiers all armed with plasma guns. The soldiers closest to your friends were nudging Yasuo to step aside so that Sona could freely walk over to where Kayn and you stood.

Sona takes initiative and begins to walk her way over to your side of the courtroom. Her strides were hidden under her dress giving the illusion of her gracefully floating across the floor. The dark visors of every soldier turning to follow her movement.

You realized you were holding your breath when she finally made it over to you. Yasuo's narrow eyes dart between Sona, Kayn, and yourself.

"Now let (y/n) go."

Kayn's grip releases from your arm and his boot makes contact with your back as he kicks you away forcing you to stumble forward. You scramble to your feet and look back at Sona.

You look at her desperately trying to find solace in her expression, for her to assure you this was all part of the plan. There was a plan, right? But Sonas eyes only stared back with the same solemn expression as before.

Your heart sank now that you'd come to the realization that there was no plan. Yasuo was actually going to give Sona up. You could feel tears of frustration welling in your eyes and you glared at Yasuo. How dare he actually let Kayn win, He just doomed the universe for some materialistic rewards.

All eyes were on you as you traded places with Sona, you had barely reached your spot next to Yasuo when Kayn speaks up. His green eye casts down on you. "Kill them."

Instantly all the guns in the courtroom train on you and your friends, the synchronized clicks and hums of hundreds of plasma riffles echoing in the giant room.

Everything happened so quickly, You were in an impossible situation and you had no chance to avoid a bloodbath. Everyone freezes in their tracks, unable to move an inch as you stare in terror at the sheer number of guns pointed right at you. Everyone there is now at the mercy of the Demaxian Soldiers who have no reason to hesitate to pull the trigger. It seems that this is the end of the line for all of you.

With a resounding crescendo, your vision is abruptly blinded by a golden light. Everyone is shaken, the Demaxian soldiers have been briefly knocked down. At the center of it all stood Sona, who wields an orb of aura between her hands.

Using a fluid motion of her arms she sends out another wave of pure ora, the raw energy blasting everyone with the power of an extreme blizzard. From across the room, her eyes connect with yours and a single message is telepathically spoken.

"Run".

Yasuo grabs you by the arm in a desperate grip and everyone takes off towards the massive entrance. Along the way, Jinx swipes the guns of various soldiers still knocked out by the blast. She throws one for you to catch while she continues to sprint, wielding a riffle in each hand, a sinister cackle coming from her.

As you run you feel your body becoming lighter allowing you to speed up. You breathe a sigh of relief as Sona joins your side, her celerity spell boosting everyone towards and out the grand door. The moment everyone is out of the grand courtroom you turn to look at the mess in your wake.

Chairs had been blown to the ground, and many Demaxian soldiers remained limp, only a few were left moaning and twitching. That blast of Ora was powerful enough to incapacitate targets. But to your horror, standing in the center of it all was Kayn.

Unlike the sea of men slumped over, taken out by the ora. Kayn stands tall with his scythe planted firmly on the ground, its center growing large as it draws in the golden essence.

How was this possible? Everyone else got destroyed in the blast, there's no way he survived that. You could only watch on in horror at what Kayn did next.

Getting up from his kneeling position and straightening himself Kayn stood with a proud posture, his arms spread out. The palm of his right hand glows with ora. From the bodies of the fallen rise tendrils of golden essence that get pulled into his outstretched hand. Kayn was absorbing everyone's ora. His green eye sparkles and glows, becoming more golden.

You and your friends find yourself in a large hallway, in the distance is the sound of charging footsteps. It wouldn't be long until more Demaxian soldiers flooded the scene. Yasuo takes the lead, remembering the way that he and his crew were escorted through.

Jinx mounts herself onto Malphite's back holding onto his dorsal plates and begins to shoot up the palace interior, squealing in delight. More soldiers begin to emerge from the palace halls, flooding into view in giant waves.

They just keep coming, more come in to replace the few you can manage to take out. It's like an infestation of roaches emerging from a nest. You are forced to run, there was no time to try and take care of the imperials.

Kayn rushes through the wave chasing you from behind, The mass parts for the Ordinal who shoves everyone aside. His actions are rough and erratic, his teeth are bared in a permanent snarl, and his green eye glints.

With long and powerful strides, Kayn manages to catch up to you. He covered a large distance in an impossible display of speed. It was like a nightmare where no matter how hard you pushed your body to flee the monster was always faster.

In his left hand is Rhaast, glinting with each stride Kayn takes. It's center of Ora warps and shifts like an eyeball staring down its prey. Within the sea of noise, Rhaast's voice cuts through the sounds of yelling and gunfire.

"Rip out their organs Kayn!"

With a mighty leap, Kayn launches himself into the air. He flys above you looking down like a bird of prey. He swings Rhaast upwards preparing to bring down the scythe to slice your entire team down the middle.

"SONA! LOOK OUT!" You scream gesturing to the templar in with a single gesture. She nods understanding you and builds up a core of ora between her hands and lets it out in a radial blast just like earlier.

You expect Kayn to be blown away and knocked down by the force emitted but to your horror, he breaks through. While the rest of the imperials are instantly stunned and fall to the ground, Kayn remains untouched by the blast. And he continues to fall through with his downward strike attack.

There is no time to react, Kayn is hurtling toward you at a flat-out speed. You can't even brace for impact-

A golden shield instantly appears forming over you and your friends, you look up amazed as Kayn is slowed down. He was inches away from killing all of you, yet as he made contact with the ora shield he is effectively blocked. You turn to Sona relieved that she managed to stop Kayn, you were almost certain Kayn has outpowered her.

But Sona wasn't casting the shield, she looked back at you, her eyes wide in confusion. Her hands were not manifesting ora, she was frozen in a defensive stance using her arms to shield her body. Within these split seconds, your mind raced. If Sona wasn't shielding you, then who was?

You look to Kayn whose enraged state has vanished into an expression of shock. He stands next to the force field that protects you his eyes trained on something up and ahead of you. Following his gaze you look towards a grand balcony where a mysterious man stood.

A stoic man stood tall before you, shallow lines carved his face in a mature charm. Tufts of medium length dark hair peeked out from an elegantly decorated barbute helmet. His large frame was mantled with a set of sleek streamlined armor. In his right hand was a grand lance and his left hand was outstretched. He was the source of the ora shield.

It took a moment to notice the Demaxian colors of gold, white, and blue and how ornate the man's armor was that you figured out just who he was.

King Jarvan IV.

By how surprised Kayn seems by the King's presence you deduct he wasn't expecting Jarvan to be here in the palace.

"My King- I thought you were meeting with the High Priestess on High Silvermere." Your deduction was correct.

The King only stares back at the Ordinal sternly. "Why are there space pirates and a templar being chased in my palace?"

You watch as Kayn instantly switches from his enraged state to mirroring the same serious composure as the King.

"My King, this is Captain Yasuo. He's a fugitive murderer resisting his arrest and his crew are also fined with a plethora of crimes."

King Jarvan raises an eyebrow. "Why are they here in my palace? Shouldn't criminals be taken to the prison on Dawnhold?"

Kayn is quick to respond. "These fugitives in question have been evading my locus armada and have been a menace to the empire-"

You continued to watch Kayn talk to King Jarvan, the exchange between King Jarvan IV and Kayn makes you more curious about the relationship between these two individuals. The King seems to hold a position of authority over Kayn, yet Kayn doesn't seem to hold back in speaking his mind to him.

As King Jarvan talks back and forward with Kayn, you and King Jarvan lock eyes with each other. The King's eyes are soft and kind, he doesn't seem like the kind of man who would take pleasure in causing pain or suffering. As they continue to stare at each other, you can't help feeling like he's evaluating you in some way.

You decide to speak up and interrupt the two males. "Captain Yasuo is innocent!"

The conversation was broken by your interjection and now you had the attention of both men. King Jarvan speaks first.

"And who are you?"

You stare up at the King on his balcony with a sense of confidence. "I am (Y/N) of Navori. Your Empire invaded my home world and destroyed both my people and planet with your brutal expansionism. I was forced to live as an immigrant working class. Ever since I was wrongly treated by your loyal Ordinal I've been on the run with the Morningstar crew"

You speak with a fiery passion and the King's expression darkens as you speak. He listens to every word you say and never once does he interrupt you or try to change the subject. You notice that Kayn is staring at you in silence with a look of contempt and hatred. He's trying to hide his feelings but you can tell that he's annoyed at you.

A defeated sigh escapes from Jarvan's lips. "Yes I'm aware that there were a handful of countries that became barren wastelands after out attempts at colonisation went wrong."

Kayn's eyes narrow further into tiny slivers as if he can't believe that you would have the audacity to speak out against the Empire like that in front of the King.

Yet Jarvan's eyes showed remorse for the actions of his empire in the past. The King did not resemble the tyrant you imagined. For a brutal and merciless empire, the ruler seemed mellow and meek.

Perhaps he would understand. Maybe you should try talking to the King to stop Kayn from opening the ora gates.

"Please you majesty, hear us out. My team and I have been dawodhaowhdoawdad

Kayn interjects. "My King, do not believe these space pirates! They are criminals manipulating you with grandiose lies to avoid their sentencing and arrest!"

You snap back. "What kind of King lets his soldiers take over his empire, you've become an absent ruler unaware of the corruption abundant in your empire and how your loyal Ordinal threatens the universe!"

Jarvan is taken aback and turns to Kayn and calmly asks. "Shieda, What is she speaking of?"

You watch as Kayn grounds himself, he must remain equally calm to persuade Jarvan to ignore the Morningstar.

"They are space pirates. They only speak lies. Let me handle them my King". Kayn grips his scythe.

There is a pause for the King to contemplate, he lowers his arm deactivating the shield around you and the others.

Yasuo acts immediately grabbing you by the arm and making a sweeping dash forward, breaking through the soldiers who had gathered before you.

Jinx and Malphite also join in, the loose cannon firing at the guards who chase after you while Malphite pounds his fists into the ground sending out a shockwave that. Sona hesitates, looking at the King desperately before turning to also join the fleeing team assisting their getaway with a boost of her ora.

Kayn stands still staring between the escaping Morningstar crew and the King. An unamused scowl present on his face. "I think my point has been proven".

The Morningstar was quiet. You had managed to escape Kayn and the empire once again but it came at a cost. The ship had been badly damaged in the escape, it now operated at a much slower speed, barely getting away from Demaxia_Alpha. In fact, it should have been impossible to escape like you did. It was almost as if, Kayn had let you go, on purpose... Meanwhile, back at the palace, Kayn had a lot of explaining to do.

"Shieda. I have a lot of questions regarding what just happened". King Jarvan says, his tone low and serious as he paces about the room.

Kayn stands before him, tall and confident, masking the concern about where the King is going with this questioning.

Jarvan continues "Firstly I found it strange that you would arrange a hostage exchange here in the palace, it risks the security of the empire and of course" Jarvan pauses to gesture to the ruined grand courtroom. "Can lead to grand acts of destruction."

Jarvan's blue eyes look over the grand courtroom, while intact there were various sections where the marble erodes as a result of plasma and ora blasts. Most of the furniture had been obliterated and the once-polished floor had a massive ugly crack branching across.

The repairs towards this room alone would cost a grand fortune, let alone compensation for the hundreds of imperial soldiers who were injured or killed. Just thinking about the number of paperwork ahead of Jarvans day was giving the King a migraine.

"I also found these "space pirates" very peculiar. Even a formal bodyguard wanted for murder wouldn't require to be arrested here on Demaxia_Alpha."

Kayn shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his shoulders become loose, and his head hangs to the side as he adopts a more casual stance. By responding to Jarvan's serious demeanor with one of nonchalance Kayn has the potential of lowering the king's guard and lessening the tension.

"My King you know me, as an Ordinal I take my position seriously. What happened earlier was a failed sting operation. I wouldn't endanger the security of the palace if I didn't know what I was doing. I lured those space pirates in with a deal they could not refuse in order to get them somewhere they could not slip away."

"These are just space pirates, not high profile criminals. I fail to understand why they were treated as such." Jarvan was quick to continue his questions, Kayn was not going to change the topic and get off the hook so easily.

Alright, a casual approach was not the quick resolve Kayn was hoping for, time to switch his approach.

"These space pirates are a far greater threat to the empire than you could assume my King. The Captain, as you know. Brutally killed a soldier of mine, his own brother." Of course, Kayn was purposeful to leave out the details that Yone was not his soldier but in fact, a double agent who managed to free Sona from his interrogation cell. And of course, that he was the one who killed Yone. Ripped his body apart into bloody shreds with his newly acquired scythe at the time.

"I understand you must have had a personal vendetta against the Captain for murdering one of your men, but even so, arresting him here in the palace through a hostage exchange was not the right approach. You should've arrested him somewhere else that doesn't put the security of the palace in danger, you could've done so-"

"I've tried that already!" Kayn yells his voice suddenly booming, Jarvan looks at his friend slightly shocked, noticing how the Ordinal's fist clenches in frustration.

"I have been tracking the Morningstar for almost a year, and I have encountered them countless of times. In deep space, on alien planets, and on colonized market planets where they had stopped to restock. Every time they continue to evade me and my locus armada. With how dangerous Yasuo is I had to go to radical measures to ensure the safety of our empire."

Kayn was beginning to lose it, just his luck the King had hit a sore trigger spot of his. He needed to keep it together, and really convince Jarvan of how important it was to have the Morningstar crew taken down, even if he had to lie to him.

"Amongst them was a Templar, a powerful one with an affinity for ora from what I saw. What was she doing in the middle of all of this?"

"She was their hostage, she has been held captive against her will by these space pirates. Another reason as to why they are so dangerous." Kayn was instantly crafting lies to manipulate the King and staging the Morningstar as real threats that needed to be eliminated.

"But why?"

"You saw it for yourself, the Templar is powerful. She has the strongest of abilities to wield ora, what space pirate wouldn't want such power to themselves?"

Jarvan nods seemingly beginning to agree Kayn who was portraying the Morningstar as quite the threat to their empire.

So why was there doubt? Why was it that when Jarvan looked into Kayn's golden eye there was something dark lurking just beyond.

Golden...

Jarvan recalls the way the Templar looked at him so desperately, it was so odd that a hostage would be so willing to help her captors escape. She could've stayed behind and been rescued, but she choose to leave with the Morningstar.

Something wasn't right.

That other woman in their crew also tried warning him about Kayn, something about the universe being in danger...Jarvan sighs.

"Kayn I've noticed some concerning changes. I'm worried for you. You've grown distant and I can tell there is more going on here concerning this "Morningstar".

Kayn began to grow impatient, why couldn't Jarvan just leave this be? He had already forced Kayn to let them get away by staying here to talk, precious time catching up to them was getting wasted. The King has been so content in the past to let him take over to let the Ordinal enforce the law on his behalf, why now was this absent King being persistent?

"The man you follow is weak Kayn, you and I both know that he is only showing interest now because he senses something wrong. He senses your intention. He is catching on to your plan."

Rhaasts voice whispers in Kayns mind, dark and foreboding. A grim reminder to the Ordinal of the situation he is in. Stuck in a position he hates, performing duties for an overcautious king who refuses to have the clarity of mind that he does, the strength that he does. Rhaast was the sign that Kayn needed to pursue his ambitions of leading the empire toward the greatness it deserved, that Kayn deserved.

"I've grown sad, sad that we've become an oppressive and dominating symbol that outliers such as the Templars, Sundicate, and Subjugated alike kick against. I don't like being seen as a monolithic force, I hate being seen as an unyielding authoritarian. Your imperial policy has forced us to become less tolerant in recent years and I've grown to hate it."

"He rejects your strength Kayn. The King is still a bleeding heart full of delusional ideas of progression through peace. He is not like you, he is far weaker. The empire would benefit a ruler who isn't afraid of war, someone ruthless and pragmatic. Someone that is-"

"Me."

Jarvan looks at Kayn who suddenly spoke aloud. "What was that Kayn?"

Kayn merely stood tall and approached Jarvan with slow calculated steps, his boots crunching the rubble of the destroyed room. Then he lowers his scythe and his shoulders slouch, a pained expression appears on his face.

"I realize that we have differing opinions on how the empire should be ruled. My ideals were crude and radical compared to yours."

Jarvan notices how Kayn's body language has suddenly changed, his tone is a much more submissive one. Though his intentions remain hidden behind his words. Jarvan stares at Kayn who continues to look down with his shoulders lowered. He's showing his vulnerability to gain sympathy and trust from the King.

"While I can't say I always agreed with you, I can see how my way has driven the empire into an unstable state between it and its people."

Jarrvan nods, agreeing with Kayn.

"We've gone too far Kayn, we need to change. For the betterment of the Empire".

Jarvan turns away from Kayn and takes a step back. His eyes were no longer full of annoyance and suspicion but now filled with disappointment.

"If only I had taken charge sooner, I could've stopped the descent of our empire. I hope that it isn't too late, we've already laid claim to almost every planet in the universe. I feel like we've gone past the point of return."

Kayn walks over to Jarvan placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"As a Military tactician and as an Ordinal I have seen how war can affect a nation. In our empire's name, I have fought and killed. While we bring a great progressive future to our core worlds it came at the cost of forcefully imposing our empire onto them and spreading across planet systems creating a heavily separated class system between the metropolis capitals and the lower class trapped in endless poverty. It's time we changed that..."

Jarvan nods quietly once again, he's being won over by his friend's charisma that seems to be radiating from him with a newfound compassion and sense of reason. With his back turned to Kayn who stood slightly behind him Jarvan did not notice the way that Kayns scythe began to raise.

"Do it"

Suddenly looking down, Jarvans blue eyes transfix onto the curved neon blade that peaked through his ribs. The King gasps finding his lungs failing to take in breath. He lets out a pained scream as Kayn's scythe twists within his innards before slowly pulling out through his back dragging out the sound of wet ripping. His chest feels hollow and hot blood begins to cascade out splattering onto the cracked marble floor.

Jarvan falls to his knees, collapsing with a thud. His head felt light and his vision began to double and warp, everything was too bright. None of it distracted from the pain that ravaged his chest.

With eyes trembling Jarvan stared up at Kayn in awe. Kayn was close to him, in age and as a friend. They had grown up together, Jarvan as a royal monarch and Kayn as a promising knight. When Jarvan was crowned King after his father he entrusted Kayn to become the first Ordinal, his most loyal lapdog. Given the power to bring order to his empire, Jarvan was foolish. He was blind to the corruption Kayn brewed behind his back. As a law enforcer, Kayn was in charge of planning war strategies when invading new planet systems and protecting the growing empire from dangerous threats. Yet it seemed that the Morningstar was correct and that indeed Kayn was the worst threat of all.

He was suspicious, he grew concerned with Kayns violent ways of serving the empire but this was Kayn: charismatic, charming, nonchalant—a well-spoken man. He was fooled.

Was it from the beginning? Or throughout their friendship, Kayn had come to turn on him? How much of their history was a facade?

That would be a dying question left unanswered as finally Jarvan's body gave out and he slumped onto the floor his lance clattering against the marble, Jarvan was still and breathless.

"You let him bleed out a long and painful death...why?"

"Pathetic beings incapable of acting aren't worthy of a Nobel execution."

With the King dead the empire was finally ready to be claimed. It was time Kayn finally got what he wanted, what he deserved. But becoming King could wait, he practically ran everything as an Ordinal already.

He didn't waste time, all it took was a simple order. All the palace guards who witnessed the Morningstar escape were dead. No one could contest Kayn who just announced that Captain Yasuo had just Murdered the King.

And now that Kayn had made a public announcement to all of Demaxia he now had the entire Empire on a manhunt for the Morningstar. Things were finally coming to an end.

Part ten: Here

[loloschive]

╰┈➤ ❝ is she the girl from the video?❞

0.1 THE LIVE

wc: 2.03k

JUNE 13TH, 2020. 09:34PM

BENEATH THE SOFT GLOW OF AMBIENT LIGHTING, the dance studio floor becomes a canvas of motion— a sleek, polished hardwood masterpiece eagerly awaiting the poetry of footwork. it’s more than just wood; it’s the silent partner in a dance romance.

and in whitney joy’s case, it led to a breakup. A terrible breakup. for she was, so fucking tired of dancing for the day.

“you did well.”

her instructor approached her with a satisfied smile and a bottle of water, which in whitney’s eyes looked as if she was extending a lifeline to quench her thirst. the studio, now a sanctuary of tranquility, resonated with a sense of renewal as the refreshing ambiance envelops both the exhausted dancer and the departing echoes of her peers.

in the gentle aftermath of an electrifying performance, whitney catches her breath, each inhale a rhythmic echo of the steps she just executed. calming her heart, she gracefully retrieves her scattered belongings, the soft glow of the studio lighting casting a subtle radiance on the remnants of her artistry. the dance shoes, now in her hands, murmur the tale of the choreography.

with a determined gaze, she departs the studio, the click of the closing door harmonizing with the fading echoes of mats being rolled up—a seamless transition from the dance floor to the outside world, carrying the essence of her performance.

“ah” the girl looked ahead and there stood her head body guard jeremiah.

“sorry to keep you waiting jer”

the man only let out a small chuckle, opening the car’s side door for the girl “it’s alright hun, don’t worry bout me. everything alright in the studio tonight?”

the girl smiled fondly, recounting all she’s accomplished tonight. “yea,” pausing to take a sip of water , ”u remember that part in virgo’s groove? (yes, that virgo’s groove) i finally figured out the direction i wanted to take. god, when concerts are resumed, i’m gonna be so stoked to perform that”

jeremiah smiled proudly at the girl- no- young woman as she continued to give a play-by-play at how her practice went; whether it was describing the stage lights they chose, or the new dancers who joined, even down to the panelling in the floor being replaced.

they spoke in delicate murmurs as the car drove through the illuminated streets of los angeles, the city lights casting a vibrant glow on the bustling boulevards. the palm trees lining the roads sway gently in the warm night breeze, while the distant murmur of the city’s nightlife adds a rhythmic soundtrack to the journey.

about ten minutes later, they arrived at her complex. jeremiah exited the car first, doing a thorough sweep around the exterior, checking for any hidden cameras, misplaced items, or visitors. once deeming it safe to enter, he returned to her side of the car and opened it. leading her to the door, she gave the man a quick hug and a wave goodbye, and entered the condo.

the tired girl wearily locked the door, the weight of the day still lingering. in the soft glow of the hallway light, a pair of luminous eyes peer from a cozy corner.

the cat, sensing its owner’s arrival, gracefully stretches and pads over with an air of deliberate nonchalance.

the owner, feeling the gentle nudge against her leg, looks down with a faint smile. “hey there, cutie” she says, crouching down to greet the feline friend. the cat, tail held high in contentment, responds with a soft purr and s delicate head-butt against the owner’s hand.

as the owner sinks into the couch, the cat jumps up, claiming it’s favorite spot on their lap. “missed you too, hun.” suddenly, she felt vibrations on her stomach, that definitely weren’t coming from her feline. “andd i stink, and i’m hungry. so lets go take care of that first, alright?”

carrying the cat like a swaddled baby, the girl walked upstairs, carefully watching her step to ensure she didn’t fall. the girl collected her necessities for a shower, taking out her phone to queue up some music. 10:05pm.

hmm, still pretty early. she thought.

“hey, you think i should go live, bee?”

the feline—bee— only responded with a meow.

JUNE 13TH, 2020. 10:42PM

“hello my honeys! how are you all?”

the young star smiled gleefully as she watched the numbers rise and the abundance of hearts appear on her screen.

“as far as i go”-she grabs her phone, panning the camera to her waist to show her attire- “i got out of my dance practice about an hour ago, took a shower and decided i’d chat with you guys and answer some questions while i eat”

“oh! and before i forget,” the star cleared her throat, “today i’m eating an acaí bowl. you guys suggested that i try it the next time i came to L.A. my manager went out this morning and put it in my fridge, isn’t she the sweetest? also, the colors are so pretty” she put her container up to the camera, rotating it while making “ooh, ahh” noises. snorting, she put it back down on the table.

“alright, enough of that and time for your questions!”

“will we be getting a dance cover anytime soon?”

“ah, that’s a good one. as y’all know, my last dance cover was almost a year ago. honestly, it all had to do with me not being satisfied with the material out on the market. it just wasn’t what i was motivated to dance to.”

“but,” she paused ,” i will say, a song came out 4 months ago that spoke to me. and i just-so-happened to use it during my session today. completely enjoying it.”

tiny7forlife: OMG

winniestan23: IS SHE FR

not.thepooh: YALL WE MADE IT OUT THE TRENCHES A COVER IS COMING

lowkhater08: WHAT SONG?? WHO WAS IT??

“i can’t tell yall the song or the person, that would ruin it… buuuuttt i can give some hints”

whitneycoutoure: this bitch think we’re dora the explorer or sumn shit

hbicwhit: girl do we look like sherlock???

DDGisahoe: doing all of this extra shi when she could’ve just told us SMH

never.that: yall ungrateful as hell yk she gotta be extra!!

iluvwhit: here she goes w/ a damn speech

she rolled her eyes at her fans. they could be so sassy. “anywho. i’ll describe it.”

“first of all, i wanna start out by saying the entire album was amazing. seriously. i truly feel like this artist is constantly evolving. normally, when you’re in the game for as long as they are, you start to slack off. you’re not as experimental anymore. you get comfortable. and although there’s nothing wrong with that— it just gets boring as a listener.

ngl, when you guys find out what song it is, you’ll think I’m ridiculous for having this reaction to it. but honestly, when i first heard it i cried.

‘how did she cry to a song like this? it’s a sexy song thats perfect for grinding, she’s so sensitive’ well, it’s a simple reason— i empathized with the artist.”

“as y’all know, i was thrust into the entertainment industry at a young age. luckily, i had parents who were very involved and wanted to ensure both my well being and my safety. unfortunately though, i missed out on alot of things.

i feel excluded from my peers at home. even myung-hee & cleo. they experienced things that i didn’t get to. i’ve never been to an amusement park without cameras following me. i haven’t had late night ice cream with friends without the promise of collecting content. it becomes so unbearable that you can’t live life without it translating into money.

“in this particular song, the artist expresses satisfaction of their achievements, while listing the differences between them and their friends. a very guilty, almost shameful tone, takes over the first and second chorus.

i also view it as them showing just how valuable time is, and that they understand that the time in their youth was basically lost. because they spent that time working towards where they’re at now, instead of living how their peers would at that age. that last bit is just how i interpret it.

the second verse, is about how they still feel as though they’re a child. because they haven’t completed the full “simulation” if ya will. they question, that even through the success, if they’re doing things right. just general anxieties about life and their career.

the bridge, is basically where they make the decision that from here on out, they will change. and the third and final chorus, is where it truly struck me yall. because the tone, the overall mood changed to hopeful and determined. they changed the “ i can’t” to “i will”

as you guys know, i’ve been on this self discovery journey this past year. one of the goals i wrote down was to live for myself, and essentially take back my own life. so, you can understand why i broke down like an idiot in my bathroom after hearing this. it also didn’t help that i had the shower running, so the steam just worsened my headache, but alright”

“since you guys like to snitch on me” she playfully cocked an eyebrow, staring down at her phone “ i’ll just say this ahead of time so the artist can understand what i’m saying”

“thank you for capturing the confusion young stars have. we’re put in a situation where we’re forced to grow up with adults that we essentially, have to leave our peers behind. many say ‘oh you’re young and successful, it shouldn’t matter’ but it matters now that you’re unable to do those things in peace. i’m never not thankful for where i’m at in life— i don’t have to worry about bills, student debt, what i’m gonna eat and where i’m gonna stay. but damn, do i wish i my shot at childhood once again” [spoken in korean]

liarx3: WTF

beebeestan:SHE SPEAKS KOREAN??

number1honey: yall fake as hell if u didn’t alr know that ngl😭😭

looking at the chat, she smiled. “well, you guys have probably figured who i’m referring to, but if not you’ll find out either via twitter or whenever i post the cover!!”

“i’m gonna call it a night on live, i’ll see you guys when i do, alright?”

after bidding her fans a heartfelt farewell to the livestream, the young celebrity, bathed in the soft glow of her room, ends the broadcast with a genuine smile. as she tapped the screen to conclude the virtual interaction, a sense of contentment and exhaustion finally settles in.

as she makes her way to her bed, the phone in hand vibrates incessantly with notifications - a testament to the fervor of her dedicated fans.

upon reaching the bedside table, whitney places the phone down, its screen lighting up with a dazzling array of messages, likes, and emojis. the room is filled with a soft hum of admiration as the celebrity, now clad in comfortable sleepwear, slides under the covers.

as she lies her head on the pillow, the phone continues to buzz, a symphony of digital appreciation. with a fond smile, the celebrity glances on last time at the glowing device before succumbing to the quietude of the night, leaving her fans enthusiastic expressions to serenade the room.

A/N:

hope you all enjoyed it! this has been sitting on my mind ever since golden was released, and i’m glad i’ve finally just said f it and did it!!

[lingerasthesmokeoncedid]

What Do the Lonely Do At Christmas? 

A Battinson Holiday Fic

After years of not celebrating holidays, Bruce Wayne is trying to do something different. But when he hires a professional decorator to deck the halls of Wayne Manor, Bruce finds that it's not just his home and holiday that will be different - his heart just might change, too.

I. They’re Singing “Deck the Halls,” but it’s not like Christmas at All

On days when he went into the downtown highrise office that bore his name, Bruce Wayne didn’t take the executive elevator. Ever since the beginning of his New Gotham project, he tried to connect with the people on a human level. To not be their boss, but someone they could talk to, who could hear their grievances and worries, who could do something in his considerable power to help them, even without his mask.

Funny thing about that, though. As it turned out, no one wanted to ride the elevator with The Boss. 

He would approach the elevator bank and people would scatter. A few would smile and wave uncomfortably when their eyes met, but none of them would brave even a few minutes with Bruce Wayne, the scion of the richest family in the city.

So, he rode the elevator alone. Always. 

At least…until one day in December, when the wind was biting and the snow tasted like change. 

“Hold the door, please!”

For a half-second, Bruce didn’t even realize the disembodied voice was addressing him. No one ever rode with him; now someone was calling after him, begging not to be left behind? 

“Hold the door – thanks!”

But then she appeared. An unremarkable stranger, running for the doorway like her life depended on it, shuffling past her frozen colleagues as she jugged several ill-stacked boxes. Bruce didn’t recognize her, but all the same, he couldn’t help but stare.  

Framed by the brass elevator frame and backlit by the strings of gold and silver lights on the lobby wall behind her, she beamed at him, beatific as an angel atop a tree. 

Bruce awkwardly shuffled to the side as he held the doors open to allow her inside. Not enough, apparently, because as she jostled to manage her tower of packages, she pressed her back against his until she was safely inside and could maneuver better. 

It was an accident, he told himself. And it only lasted a moment. Less than a moment. But he’d caught a breath of her scent, felt the shift of her body against his…and it now felt burned into his skin. 

“Thanks again for that. Sorry I kept you waiting.”

He pressed the button for the top floor, his stop, and was surprised when she informed him she was going to the same place. 

They rode in silence for awhile, Bruce in the corner of the elevator, shifting his weight across the balls of his feet, trying not to look at her slightly fuzzy reflection in the elevator mirror. She hummed along easily to the holiday elevator music playing above them, still carefully balancing her boxes. 

It was like riding with someone who didn’t know he was Bruce Wayne - or someone who didn’t care. Either way, he decided to break their silence. 

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” He asked, in that slightly stilted way of his. After so long in the shadows, it took time to adjust to normal human interaction. 

“Just a temp,” she chirped. Then, she gestured to the boxes, which, upon further inspection, contained red ribbons and garland. “I’m a professional decorator. I’ve been doing the building here.” 

“Oh, so you’re responsible for all of this?” Bruce asked. This time, it was his turn to gesture - to the tinsel hanging from the ceiling above them. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she replied. 

“No, no,” he said. Shit. He really was out of practice. He’d barely said a few sentences to this woman, and already he’d accidentally insulted her. “Your work is great. It’s just that all of this holiday cheer, it’s just not me.”

He expected the conversation to end there. He’d embarrassed himself, he’d screwed up already - no wonder no one wanted to ride the elevator with him, and her floor was fast approaching. But she surprised him. 

“Really?” She asked. 

It was obvious, wasn’t it? Bruce Wayne, tabloid badboy recluse with greasy hair and too-big clothes and too much money? Of course he didn’t immediately strike anyone as a Buddy the Elf type. But she seemed genuinely surprised, as if she saw something besides darkness when she looked at him.  

Strange. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had seen the good in Bruce Wayne. Batman, yes. Bruce Wayne? No. It had been a long, long road since then. 

“Now you say it like it’s a bad thing,” he lobbed back.

“It’s just…you just don’t really seem like a Grinch. Not even an Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Last year, he’d spent Christmas covered in someone else’s blood, standing over some nameless, faceless criminal who’d had the misfortune to try to rob someone at gunpoint near Batman. This year…he liked the idea of spending it at home. Giving out presents to kids in The Narrows. Doling out Christmas bonuses. Stuff like that. 

Sure, he’d probably Batman on Christmas Eve. And probably Boxing Day, too. But for one night, maybe he could help people as a man instead. 

“Call me a recovering Grinch. I just haven’t celebrated any holiday in a long time.”

She looked like she wanted to ask him why. He appreciated it more than he could say that she didn’t.

The doors opened on her floor then, and she smiled at Bruce before she left him. 

“Well. Maybe you should try something different this year.” 

II. It’s Beginning to Look a lot LIke Christmas

A few days later, Bruce Wayne was in the attic of the Manor, hauling things around like a man possessed, searching for something he hadn’t seen in many, many years. 

But then, a crackle on his watch, and suddenly, Alfred’s voice filled the musty attic room. 

“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve just been buzzed on the gate intercom. I have eyes on a woman, and she claims to have been invited by you–”

Bruce could picture it. The butler at the bank of security cameras monitoring Wayne Manor at all times, suspiciously eyeing some strange car approaching. 

His chest tightened. She was here. She was going to be here, in his house. A woman in Wayne Manor. Since his parents’ death, that was even less common than holiday celebrations. 

Bruce checked the time. Damn. He hadn’t meant to be up here when she arrived. But finding the boxes took more time than expected, and – 

There. There was the box he was looking for. Caked under a thick layer of dust, a box marked “CHRISTMAS/HANUKKAH” sat in the corner of the room.

He spoke into his watch, then reached for it. “I’ll take care of it, Alfred.”

A skeptical pause from the other end of the line. 

“...Very good sir.”

But Bruce’s understanding of very good, sir in that context must have been quite different from Alfred’s, because when he found his way to the atrium some ten minutes later, his attention was drawn away from the front door, where he expected her to be waiting, to the nearby sitting room. 

Despite the grand doors being shut, Bruce could still hear Alfred’s cool, modulated tones and a soft, female laugh. The clinking of fine porcelain. Soft Christmas music from a record player. 

Bruce’s shoes squeaked on the marble by accident. In the sitting room, Alfred excused himself and materialized in the hallway with Bruce a moment later. 

“You let her in?” Bruce asked, hating how he sounded like a petulant child, but not enough to let go of his frustration. He hadn’t wanted to explain all of this to Alfred. He’d hoped she would be able to decorate today, then leave before Alfred was any the wiser. He should have known the old man would find his way to interfere. 

“I couldn’t very well leave her out in the cold, could I?” Alfred said, his smug tone telling Bruce everything he needed to know. I wanted to snoop and I wasn’t going to let this girl go without getting to know her. “She’d have frozen if I hadn’t gotten her a cup of tea and brought her in, that’s how long it took you.”

Bruce grit his teeth. Yeah, this was mostly his fault. Not that he was going to admit that. “I was busy.”

“Busy with what? And what’s that?” he asked, gesturing to the box Bruce carried. “Old junk for the cave? Sir, when you have a date come over  –”

“We’re not dating,” Bruce said, quickly. 

“Apologies, I’m sure you’re keeping it casual, right?”

Dammit. He was going to have to explain now. Couldn’t have Alfred hearing wedding bells – the old man was convinced that was the only way Bruce would ever fully give up being Batman. If some woman came into his life and he hung up his mantle for her. “She’s here to decorate the manor. The boxes are our old Christmas and Hanukkah stuff.”

Alfred blinked. Finally on the back foot. Finally surprised by something. 

“She…what?”

“It’s the holidays, Alfred,” Bruce said, as if he hadn’t been avoiding them most of his life. 

A scoff from the butler. “First time you’ve noticed in ten years.” 

“I’m trying something different.”

Not good enough for Alfred. Bruce took a different tack, his lips quirking up in a slight smirk. 

“Come on. You should be proud. I’m finally starting to act human again.”

III. Your Eyes are Like Starlight Now

A few days later (Christmas decorating a manor of this size couldn’t be done in an afternoon, apparently), Bruce was set up in his office, trying not to think about the strange woman currently in his house. He didn’t let people into the Manor very often. It was private, a sanctuary - no, more like a creaking, heaving monument to the past. To let people in this house was to let them into a life he’d left behind. To poke around at the ghosts and peer around corners for his secrets.

So, as she worked, he was very aware of every creak and groan of the house. And he was also very aware of her humming those festive songs - the tunes echoed through the halls and to his desk as though they were meant for his ears only. 

The idea of someone else in his space, someone besides Alfred, unsettled him. But, as the days went on, he realized it was the disquiet of a man learning to dance for the first time. Awkward, then oddly comforting. 

Their shared conversations in the hallway as they happened to pass each other, their laughter in the kitchen as she took her lunch break while he just so happened to be there making a cup of coffee, the wave they always shared – him looking down from the window, her looking back at the mansion as she went to her car – at the end of each day….they all added up to something, something Bruce couldn’t ever quite name for himself. 

Even if he knew the word for this feeling – and he suspected that he did – he didn’t want to examine it too closely. Too complicated. Too confusing. Too risky. 

That afternoon, her voice carried across the house. This time, it really was meant for him. 

“Mr. Wayne? Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce left his desk and followed the sound, until they met together on the sweeping second-floor landing. He blinked as he approached. In the hours since they’d parted, she’d gotten busy. Christmas lights and dangling ornaments were everywhere. Had the house ever been this bright, this cheerful, before? 

“There you are, Mr. Wayne,” she said. “I was just–”

“You can call me Bruce, you know.”

He hated being called Mr. Wayne. It felt like carrying his father’s tombstone around his neck. 

“That’s allowed?” She asked. 

An understandable question. This house didn’t radiate casual, cool, boss energy. But he also thought, when he impulsively hired her that day after their first meeting, that she hadn’t seen him as only a boss. But as a person. 

A boss, you call Mr. Wayne. A person, you call Bruce. He wanted to be Bruce. God, how badly he wanted to be Bruce for her. What a peculiar feeling.  “I’d like it if you did.” 

Their eyes met. When he finally pulled away, he was convinced he’d looked at her for too long, but he wouldn’t have traded a moment of it. The Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes were hypnotic. 

He cleared his throat. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’m decorating the tree,” she said, waving down towards the first floor. She’d had a tall fir delivered bright and early in a snowdrift that morning as Bruce watched her from the second story window. “I thought maybe you’d like to put up some of the more sentimental ornaments?”

Bruce remembered decorating the tree with his own parents, but that had been so long ago. He assumed professionals like herself would do everything; that’s part of the reason he hired her. So he wouldn’t have to live out those painful, happy memories of his parents again. But, still. He didn’t want to be labeled as weird. If this was the done thing, he would do it. “Is that something your clients like to do?”

“Not usually. But I always like to offer. It’s how my family and I used to get ready for Christmas.” 

He wanted to ask her why she said that in the present tense; he then remembered the restraint she’d shown in the elevator. 

He’d been avoiding the holidays for years because they reminded him of his parents; it seemed, at least to him, that she was holding onto them because she didn’t want to forget hers. 

He’d been suffering for years. She seemed pretty happy. Maybe he could try her way. Just this once. See if it made him feel better. 

“Well. I don’t usually do that,” he said. Her face fell for only a second before he picked it up just as quickly. “But I remember someone suggesting that I try things differently this year.” 

Moments later, they were down in the grand atrium, where she and her team of delivery men had erected the fourteen-inch tree she’d spent the entire day decorating. The scent of fir and snow filled the air, immediately making him think of her. She’d smelled the same when they’d first met in the elevator that day, when she’d first shown him the kindness of treating him like a person instead of a name. 

As he stepped deeper into the room, towards the box he’d brought down a few days ago, he examined the splendor she’d brought to this usually drab, forgotten place. Of course, the Christmas tree stood like an elaborate mountain in the corner near a big, snow-dappled window. Holly and garland had been strung, the photographs in this room had been dusted and lined amongst hand-me-down nutcrackers and tchotchkes. His mother’s Hanukkah decor and family relics had been arranged, too, given a place of prominence on a long side table running the length of the room. 

It was…perfect. Like she’d borrowed a memory or a dream from the warmest, most sincere, deepest buried parts of him and brought it to staggering life. 

She looked like she was made to stand near his fireplace. Like she belonged there, in his room, in the warmth of this holiday scene she’d created. He tried not to think about that when he began picking through the sentimental ornaments she’d left for him to hang. 

“I haven’t looked at these in a long time,” Bruce muttered. He ran his chafed, scarred hands over some of the artifacts of Christmases past. 

The woman beside him, so close they brushed when she breathed too deeply, brightened. “You’re in for such a treat. There are some great ones here. Like….” She dug around in the box and produced a scuffed, chipped ornament from almost thirty years ago. “Bryce’s first Christmas.” 

Bruce chuckled. “My father gave that one to me. He’d been somewhere in Europe just before Christmas and apparently that country didn’t have have too many Bruces. This was the closest he could find. My mother said they probably had Bruce ornaments, but he brought this one home anyway. Always loved a joke, my dad.”

The words fell out before he could catch them. He stiffened when they stopped, then fully aware that he’d been soft, vulnerable, to this woman. Sensing the shift in mood, she offered: 

“I’m sorry - would you want to do this alone? I don’t want to intrude - ”

Yes, please go, every fiber of his being wanted to say. But he overruled the feeling. He’d been masking himself in shadows and isolation for years; maybe if he wanted to be a different man, a different Batman, he had to once again return to the land of the living. 

“You’ve still got some decorating to do, right?” He said. A small smile escaped him. Teasing people wasn’t really in his repertoire, but he gave it a try: “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

She rewarded him with a smile of her own. “Thanks.” 

For awhile, they worked in silence. One by one, Bruce would take out the ornaments – paper stars he’d decorated in kindergarten, a wedding bell given to his parents on their fifth wedding anniversary, a Dick Tracy ornament given to him by Lucious Fox after watching the movie in the guy’s office every time Bruce would go to Wayne Tower after school…

Each one was a fresh papercut. A memory of someone or something he’d lost or forgotten. But at least he was feeling something besides rage. Something besides vengeance. 

At least he remembered how deeply he’d loved people before. Even if he’d lost them. 

Every few minutes, his focus shifted to the woman who’d accidentally brought a blizzard of change to his life. She hadn’t precipitated the change. He’d been looking for ways to make himself a better man outside of his suit ever since The Flood, and she’d just been there at the right time. 

Exactly the right time. Looking exactly right. Talking to him exactly right. Making him feel exactly right, even in her small, subtle ways.  

At that moment, she struggled on tiptoe to fill an ornament gap about halfway up the tree.

“Is everything okay over there?” Bruce asked.  

She cursed softly under her breath, half-laughing to herself as she did. “It’s my own stupid fault. I wasn’t thinking and already brought my ladder back to the car. I’ll just have to run out and get it again.”

An instant war sparked inside Bruce. His natural instinct to help kicked in, but the darker parts of him, the ones that wanted to remain stoic and remote, kicked into defensive action. Don’t offer to help, Bruce. She has the ladder. You can carry that for her if you want to – 

Bruce paid that voice inside him no heed. He’d decided that he was going to try acting like a normal person, rather than a bat vigilante who only occasionally donned a human suit and pretended to be one. This was another step in that process. 

“Would you like - ” He cleared his throat and lightly flexed his hands in an awkward suggestion of lifting her up. “Could I help you with that?”

Her eyes sparked, then shrugged. “Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

Smothering a smile – if only she knew how strong he was, what damage his hands currently cupping her waist could do, how easily he threw over fully grown men three times her size, she wouldn’t have said anything – he lifted her up. 

In his life of extrajudicial crime fighting, Bruce had endured many painful moments that stopped time. But he couldn’t remember any pleasant memory that managed to manipulate time for him. In his experience, torment lasted interminably; happiness was fleeting. 

All that to say – holding her in his arms might only have taken a moment in reality. To him, though, the world tilted into slow motion, and it occurred to him how little kind touch he’d had. How nice it felt to touch someone else without wanting to hurt them. How perfect she felt in his arms. 

When he finally returned her to the solid stability of the hardwood floor, the world snapped back into proper rhythm, but still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She’d brought light and warmth to the manor again. She was mesmerizing. 

So mesmerizing, in fact, that he hadn’t thought to release her. 

A flush traveled across her collarbone, but there was a teasing note to her voice when she said, “You can let me go now.”

Bruce stepped away like she’d electrocuted him. “Oh. Right.” Then, he added, mumbling: “God, I’m a cliché.”

“You’re not. What’s a cliché at Christmas, anyway? We call that tradition.”

This time, he braved a joke. “So…it’s your tradition to spend Christmas in some guy’s arms?”

She smirked. “Only if he’s lucky.”

IV. Warm in December

On a bitterly cold December night, the Batman apprehended a series of criminals robbing an apartment building of its presents. At the scene, he lingered as the detectives and police officers investigated the aftermath. 

One man, Romero, was bent over a series of spent bullet shells (the robbers had been well armed), when he looked over at the hulking figure looming nearby. 

“Bats, what do you do this time of year? Hibernate?”

“Clearly not,” he said, gesturing to the fact that he was very obviously not sleeping off the winter somewhere. 

Romero’s cocky bravado dripped from every word, taunting and pointed. “I mean, really. I’ve been thinking about it, and I just can’t picture you by the fire, wearing mittens and Santa hats on those ears of yours, Mrs. Batman waiting for you under the mistletoe…”

Something must have shifted in his expression - or maybe his fists had clenched -  because in an instant, Gordon was in between the man and the bat. 

“Cut it out, Romero.”

Romero protested, but Gordon snapped again. “Go back to GPDHQ. You’ve got paperwork.” 

With one long, sharp look at Batman, Romero complied with the order, grumbling something like can’t believe I’m working Christmas Eve, should have worked Thanksgiving under his breath. 

When he was gone, Gordon took over his cataloging duty. Batman again hovered. 

“That wasn’t necessary.” 

“No, it wasn’t. But consider that your Christmas gift. Romero’s got a smart mouth; it was time someone put him in his place.” 

Batman silently nodded his thanks. 

“He’s right, though,” the detective said. “Not natural for a man to be this way.”

Gordon didn’t have to explain what he meant by that. The Batman knew. It wasn’t natural for a man to be so alone. 

But maybe he wouldn’t be alone this year. Maybe he would try something different. 

V. Underneath the Mistletoe

Bruce didn’t sleep much that night. After stitching himself up, he usually passed out for at least an hour or two of rest before starting a new day. Instead, he found himself pacing the holly-lined hallways, taking in all the work she’d done to the manor, thinking about her and what he would do the next day when he saw her. 

It was a big risk, this plan. He’d ever done anything like it before. He probably shouldn’t. What a terrible idea. But what if it wasn’t? What if it turned out alright? What if letting someone else into his life wasn’t the end of the world, but the start of a new one? 

He wanted to inspire hope in Gotham now, not just fear. What if that started at home? What if he stopped being so afraid all of the time – of everything, of every one, of every feeling – and actually let hope grow where rot once had? 

He didn’t know the answer to those questions. He only knew that when he finally found her the next morning, putting the finishing touches on a gingerbread display in the front hall, he spluttered: 

“Do you have any plans for the holidays?”

If his sudden appearance and even more sudden question surprised her, she didn’t let it show. She was probably used to it by now, he figured. His strange behaviors, his unsocialized difficulty connecting. Where other people might have recoiled or flinched, she merely smiled as she dusted powdered sugar snow over a perfect 1/35 replica of Wayne Manor. “Black and white movies. A big glass of wine. A defrosted pumpkin pie and probably some Thai food.”

Bruce shuffled. The next question was the part he’d been dreading. He didn’t want to seem like some creepy guy fishing, but he needed to know before he asked…“Alone?”

“Yeah. Alone.” A flicker of pain crossed her face. Again, she didn’t offer, and he didn’t ask why. Her voice quiver gave her away, though. She may try to seem brave, but there was pain under the surface and excuses. “But it’s better, really. I mean, that way, I get to, you know, do what I want on Christmas. No one to tell me what to do or anything. I pick the menu, I pick the movies...My Christmas, My way.”

A twinge of melancholy echoed in those last words. Bruce might have shivered; he’d never seen her anything less than the chipper holiday angel before. But, he had a plan.  

“Well. If you change your mind…” he said, as casually as he could manage. “It’s just going to be me and Alfred here this Christmas. It might be nice to have company.” 

Their eyes met. She froze. 

“We could have Thai food,” he offered, suddenly unsure. Shit. Had he misread this situation? Was he imagining feelings there that didn’t exist? Had he fucked up his first attempt at trying to open up to someone else?

She took a step forward. His heart jumped into his throat. 

“Not exactly traditional Christmas fare, though, is it?” She asked. 

Translation: You don’t have to do that for me.

He took another step forward too, braver than he felt. “We could try something different this year.”

Translation: There’s nothing I’d rather do.

They were impossibly close now, lingering beneath one of the countless arched doorways that made up this creaky old manor. For a moment, he thought she might reach up and kiss him. 

Then, her eyes flickered upward. “You’d better watch out, Mr. Wayne.”

He followed her gaze. Ah.  “Mistletoe.”

“I didn’t put it there,” she said, taking a step back, clearly afraid to give him the wrong impression. 

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I know you didn’t.”

Because he had. He’d hung up the mistletoe last night. 

All the same, he took a polite step back. He might have hung the mistletoe as an excuse to kiss her – knowing his courage would probably fail him without it – but now, he knew better. She would kiss him. And when she did, he would be ready. 

VI. Although it’s been said many times, many ways…

Being at Bruce Wayne’s house, as Bruce Wayne’s guest, was a very weird experience. He was the most famous man in all of Gotham city. She was a professional decorator, barely making ends meet. Totally anonymous and random. If not for a chance elevator meeting a few weeks ago, their paths would never have crossed. 

But the circumstances around her invitation weren’t the only weird thing. Bruce himself was weird, too. 

A nice kind of weird. An unsocialized kind of weird. She’d noticed it that first day in the elevator and chalked it up to him being an awkward first impression. Not great with people he didn’t know. But the more time she’d spent with him, the more she realized he just didn’t know how to be around other people.

Must be isolating, she thought. To be so alone. No parents. No friends. No girlfriends either, if the papers were to be believed. Just his money and his house and, (she imagined as he was the head of a major corporation and a huge power player in politics) many, many enemies. 

It broke her heart. Because it seemed to her, through their days spent in this house together, that Bruce Wayne had a lot to offer people. He just didn’t know how. So, she gently peeled back his layers, finding more and more depths and complexities to him than she ever could have imagined. 

This was a crush. She knew that. But the guy had invited her over for Christmas dinner. Just the two of them and Alfred. That had to mean this wasn’t one-sided…

Right?

Or that’s what she thought, anyway, until she was ushered into the formal dining room and placed at one long end of the table while Bruce sat at the other end.

Formal, indeed. 

During the soup course, she cleared her throat and raised her voice. “I can’t thank you enough for having me.”

Bruce glanced up from over his bowl. “What?”

“I said I can’t thank you enough for having me,” she repeated. 

He answered her, but it was completely unintelligible. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” She asked. 

“I said –”

Oh, screw it. Picking up her napkin and her wine glass, she waltzed down to his end of the table and planted herself in the seat next to him. 

“This doesn’t seem like you, Bruce.”

“This is what people do, right? Besides, you decorated it so well in here. It would be a shame to waste the atmosphere.” 

Pushing away from the table, she headed straight for the swinging kitchen door. 

“Where are you going?” Bruce called. 

“Just give me ten minutes.”

And then, she was gone. After so many days here, she knew the manor like the back of her hand. She navigated the stairways with ease, and set about improving this celebration. What was Christmas? Closeness? Coziness? Whimsy? Wonder? 

She thought it was probably a combination of those things. But really, it was just one day where everyone could feel like they belonged. And she hadn’t belonged in that stuffy dining room.

Neither, she suspected, did Bruce Wayne. 

And so it was that, less than half an hour later, she was leading Bruce and Alfred into the house’s cozy basement breakfast nook, which she’d taken the liberty of redecorating with repurposed holiday decor from the rest of the house. This was better. A simple four-top table, cheesy plates retired from an old Christmas party, a mismatch of wine glasses and coffee mugs because she didn’t know her way around Bruce’s kitchen in the slightest. 

It wasn’t like any other Christmas she’d ever had before. But for the first time in a long time, crowded around that tiny table with a billionaire and his butler, she felt very much at home. 

When the night came to an end, Bruce walked her to out. So close his warmth radiated through his jacket. Far enough away that the slight air between them crackled with possibility. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said when they reached the grand entryway. It was a stupid farewell, but the first thing that came to her mind. Her body was too focused on the we’re going to say goodbye in a few minutes and he still hasn’t kissed me, is he going to kiss me, oh god do I still have garlic breath from that last course questions to think of anything cleverer. 

“I’m glad you came,” Bruce replied, opening the door and unleashing a blister of cold air into the manor. They lingered in the doorway together. “I know it’s not easy giving up your traditions.”

“Even if your traditions include brooding alone and not celebrating the holidays?”

He bent his head and ducked behind that shaggy curtain of hair he never seemed capable of managing. An admission of guilt. 

She shrugged. “I’ve been alone for a long time. I thought I’d try something different this year.”

“Glad you did?” Bruce asked. 

She was breathless. Anticipating. This was her moment. Her last chance. “Take a step closer and I’ll tell you.”

Bruce glanced upward at the doorway. A slight furrow developed between his thick eyebrows as he saw what hung between him and his guest.

“I didn’t put any mistletoe there,” he muttered. 

“I know. I did.”  

And with that, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him in for a kiss, oblivious to the snow falling all around them, or the hammering of Bruce’s heart as she unknowingly picked up the broken pieces and put them back together again. 

[knifedancer]

Dancing In The Rain

Prompt: Rain In which Felix learns that Paris at night is much more beautiful when he dances in the rain…with Marinette.

~~~~~~~

It was a rainy Saturday in Paris, the city of love and magic, of superheroes and villains… One would expect to be charmed by a gentle sprinkle on such a lazy day! However, standing under the sopping café umbrella that threatened to snap shut under the weight of the current downpour, we find a boy who feels the polar opposite. Felix Fathom was unimpressed and just plain irritated with Paris – he didn’t even want to be here! It was not the city itself but his week that had put him in such a foul mood. He took stock of his life up to this point and was convinced he was on a bad luck streak – one that built with each passing day until this very moment.

Why, you may ask?

Monday he was shipped off to Paris by his mother to visit his oblivious cousin for two days. Two days of pretending he didn’t know Gabriel was Monarch. Sure, what could go wrong?

Well, he must have jinxed it or angered a random omnipotent god because this week must be divine punishment…

On Tuesday, he discovered his favorite fountain pen had exploded all over his new book and the contents of his book bag.

Wednesday his mother joyously announced he would be staying for the whole week due to work obligations on her part. Phenomenal.

Thursday he was targeted by an akuma – which, in all honesty, he had instigated the akumatization… but only because that damn waitress had dumped his iced coffee into his lap!

If the akuma seemed a little too hostile, well, Uncle was likely gunning for him…

On Friday, he discovered Gabriel had someone ransack his room – likely looking for the peacock miraculous. Felix suspected it was Uncle Gabe himself because half his clothes were ripped asunder by someone expressing a lot of frustration! And he was not sure what that awful odor rubbed all over his boxers was!

Although he was unsure what his uncle would have burnt to leave a random trail of ashes on the floor…

But this morning?

Oh ho ho, this fucking morning was the pièce de résistance!

Saturday brought forth quite a surprise! He awoke in Adrien’s bed, in his cousin’s pajamas, and a note on his forehead from said conniving cousin telling Felix to ‘fill in’ for him on a photoshoot while he spent the day with his friends. Felix had no idea how the model had gotten out of the house, although he assumed that he would find some of his own clothes missing from his closet if he checked. How did Adrien even get him from his room down the hall without waking him?!

That wasn’t even the worst part.

Halfway through the boring photoshoot on the outskirts of Paris, there was an akuma attack. Stormy Weather appeared after being slighted by the meteorologist at the news station – something about Stormy’s predictions being wrong? He didn’t fully know, he only caught part of her monologue before running for cover. They had been hit by hurricane level winds, sleet, and snow so suddenly that half the equipment had to be left behind. Le Gorille had rushed him to the car to make a quick getaway however, just eight blocks away, they had hit some black ice and popped two tires on the curb. Gorille sent him to go find a place to shelter while he called the auto club, but nothing was open due to the attack. So, Felix made the executive decision to walk back. He was about halfway across Paris when the wave of ladybugs purified the area. Finally, his day was looking up!

Felix pulled out his phone to call Le Gorille…only to find the battery dead. Great.

He was stranded, in the middle of Paris, with a dead phone and no money to even hail a taxi with. ‘This day could NOT get any worse!’ Felix thought in a huff.

That was when the rain started.

You see, Stormy Weather – Aurore, whatever – had predicted an unseasonable rain coming that day and the chief meteorologist had scoffed at the teen. Felix was suddenly very supportive of the akuma’s desire to correct the idiot! The blond ran down the street to a café, only to find it was closed due to a shortage of staff. Luckily there was a left-out patio umbrella that he could take shelter under until the rain lightened up.

Except that it didn’t. It grew heavier by the passing minute and Felix found himself huddled under a flimsy, soddy, dripping umbrella in seemingly the worst rainstorm to hit Paris since the Great Flood of 1910. The wet blond mused over the fact that somehow, someway, this was not caused by an akuma. If that were the case, then could all these linked bad events just be coincidence? Or was he simply that unlucky? Once he returned back to London, he would definitely need to ask Duusu if kwamis could curse people…

Just as Felix was about to settle for getting drenched in the rain, a flash of pink caught his eye. There, across the street, moved a lone hazy figure with a polka-dotted umbrella and pink galoshes. As he turned to look at them fully, he realized this figure was not walking down the street but dancing; kicking up puddles on the sidewalk while humming a little ditty as they crossed the intersection nearby. As the figure got closer, he could make out dark hair pulled back into pigtails… pigtails that reminded him of…

“…Marinette?” He hadn’t seen her since that disastrous night at the Diamond Dance!

The girl jolted with surprise when she heard her name, her bluebell eyes taking in the damp blond boy huddled beneath the dripping canopy. He looked exhausted and just as shocked as she was.

“Ad-Adrien? W-what are you doing out h-here?” she squeaked, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

‘Ah, she thinks I’m Adrien again…perhaps I could trick her into letting me borrow her umbrella,’ Felix thought strategically.

He plastered on his imitation model smile and approached her as far as his sparse covering would allow. “I uh… I had a photoshoot today, but then there was that akuma attack? Then my phone died! And, well, it’s a long story...” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Wow, talk about bad luck. But are you lost? Your house is this way,” the young designer pointed in the opposite direction that Felix had been headed.

The blond blinked and muttered a curse under his breath. “I guess I got lost with everything going on… Would you mind if I walked back with you?”

“Oh…um…s-sure,” Marinette lifted her umbrella to accommodate his taller frame. He ducked under but quickly discovered that she would shrink slightly from their proximity and cause the umbrella’s armatures to smack him in the head. With a gentle smile disguising his irritation, he offered to hold it for her, and she quickly acquiesced. They fell into a companionable silence as they walked. He knew he needed to say something, Adrien would obviously be chatting with her…

“So…what were you doing out in this storm, Marinette?”

“Oh…uh, I was out running a delivery for my parents.”

“Really? In this dreary weather?” Felix asked with obvious surprise.

“Dreary? No, I love the rain! There’s something magical about it…like having a million sparkles falling from the sky!” He watched as her eyes twinkled and he could almost imagine the raindrops glistening just from the brightness of her smile. “It’s special to me,” she finished with a blush.

“Is that why you were dancing in it when I saw you?” He chuckled remembering her hops and twirls on the sidewalk.

Her cheeks flushed dark red, her eyes dropped to her fidgeting hands, and her smile faded with her embarrassment. “Ooh…you saw that? I just…,” Marinette paused, unsure of how to proceed. “I’m not any good at dancing but…it’s fun,” she finished with a whisper.

Felix frowned at the change in her behavior, he clearly recalled their short dance together and her natural grace on the dancefloor. Perhaps she was just self-deprecating because she was intimidated by his cousin? Adrien would surely attempt to cheer up his friend – perhaps girlfriend – wouldn’t he? With not a second longer in hesitation, he stopped and held out his hand to the bluenette. She stared at it for a moment before turning her impossibly blue eyes toward him. “Could I have this dance?” Her eyes widened and she blushed, taking his hand bashfully. He handed her back the umbrella to hold over his shoulder as he wrapped her in his embrace. With a soft hum he began to lead her in a gentle waltz down the sidewalk.

Slowly but surely the warm smile returned and brightened before his eyes as he guided her into bigger and faster spins, keeping them both in tempo to the steps long ingrained in his limbs by dance instructors his mother had insisted he learn from – much to his dismay at the time. ‘I guess I’ll have to thank her now that those silly lessons were finally of some use,’ he thought while a grin spread unwittingly across his face. He lost himself to the movements of their dance, a comfortable warmth growing in his chest. In a rather large puddle he spun Marinette, her foot fanning out in a way that caused the standing water to splash in a great wave over the curb before she settled back into his arms for another set of steps with a giggle. The warmth grew as Felix dipped her, watching as her radiant smile turned up towards the heavens as raindrops danced across her face.

They progressed down the street, both of them smiling and laughing as their hair and shoulders were moistened by wayward drops that missed the umbrella. Eventually they slowed to a stop as they waited for the crosswalk light to change; he gazed down at her – noting the flushed pink cheeks, sparkling eyes, and wide smile. Felix wasn’t sure what came over him. He glanced down at her lips, parted and panting from their energetic dance, and suddenly wanted to know how they felt. With hooded eyes he leaned forward, his arm tightening around her waist as he felt her rise up slowly on her tip toes as if to meet him halfway…the umbrella dropped from her fingers as they slid to the short hairs on the back of his neck, but neither could find it in their minds to care about the rain falling on their heads…

Just as their lips were about to touch, a car came careening around the corner and hit the large puddle forming at the blocked drain. Felix quickly rotated them so that he would shield her with his body. Within seconds a massive, brackish tidal wave splashed over them both and left them drenched. Feeling the cold, dirty water sliding down his spine, the blond let out a string of English curses that even his mother would be ashamed of. Marinette seemed to jolt at the noise and stared at him while he pushed the very wet hair from his face – unconsciously putting it back into his normal style – as the heavy rain continued to pour on their heads. He missed the calculating look she gave him before that gave way to a small smile, then to a chuckle, then a full belly laugh. Felix looked at her dumbfounded before he, too, began to crack up at their situation.

“You look ridiculous,” she giggled out.

“You look like a drowned mouse!” Felix laughed back, unable to contain himself.

“At least I don’t look like an overgrown komondor!” They laughed harder, tears springing to their eyes as the rain plastered their hair to their heads.

‘When was the last time I laughed like this?’ both thought to themselves wryly.

They both eventually calmed down, wiping tears and hair from their eyes. He fished the umbrella from the sidewalk and shook some of the water free before offering it to Marinette. She shook her head and motioned for him to keep it. “My house is just a couple doors down from here. You need it more than I do. The mansion is just up this street,” the blue-eyed girl pointed down the adjacent road.

He furrowed his brow slightly, realizing that their stolen time was coming to an end; he found the warmth in his chest had turned to an ache – he would miss her presence. “You’re sure? At least let me walk you home.”

Marinette quickly shook her head, her wet pigtails flinging droplets of water with the motion. “I’ll be fine, besides you need to get back, so you don’t catch a cold.  We’re both soaked to the bone!” He watched as she hesitated for a moment before sliding in close, pulling him down by his shirt collar, and kissing his cheek. “Th-thank you for the dance, Felix.”

With a distant clap of thunder, a red flush crept up his neck and onto his face as her soft lips pressed against his cheek. In the seconds that it took for him to register her words, she had taken off at a full sprint and disappeared into the heavy rain – returning to the pink blur he first saw by that café. Felix stood there in the rain, speechless and flustered as he touched his cheek. He couldn’t say how long he stood there, staring off, but it was long enough that the downpour had finally become a light drizzle. He looked down at the umbrella in his hand as if looking for proof that this had not been a dream… He gripped the handle a little tighter. It was solid, tangible, real.

A small smile spread across his face. Perhaps his luck wasn’t so bad after all.

~~~ BONUS SCENE ~~~

On Friday after school, while Adrien took care of his extra Chinese lessons and the others were out of the house, Plagg decided to do a little reconnaissance. He carefully zipped across his holder’s room and phased through the wall, floating down the empty hallway until he got to the end. Once there he passed through the door and ducked behind a garbage can while he surveyed the room. A wicked gleam and mischievous grin lit up the kwami’s face; the room was empty!

It had been about two months since Tikki told him about the Adrien knockoff showing up with Duusu and making a mess of things. The London blond had been very combative with Ladybug but oddly protective of Marinette. Tikki was hopeful that Felix might be reformed and join their side – his other half was so optimistic like that. The cheese wheel was always half full with her!

Plagg though? He was a ‘it’s a half a damn wheel of cheese’ type of cat – he jokingly liked to say he was an ‘optipissed’: pissed off optimist. Could things go right? Sure, but things could also just be what they appear.

Plagg didn’t know if Adrien’s cousin was redeemable and didn’t care to figure it out; planning was Tikki’s thing. He preferred results. That’s why he decided to curse that fluffed-up popinjay with a little bad luck! Well, that was mostly because the tiny cat god wanted revenge. Tomato, potato. Right now, the cat kwami intended to get results by taking the peacock miraculous and get it to Pigtails ASAP. Plagg hoped that Felix had left it behind in a hidden compartment or spot in the room while not in use. If it was on his person, the black cat wasn’t sure what to do!

“Duusu!” the black cat called, “Hey Duusu! You in here?” There was no answer.

“Tsk. If I was a feather-brained, pompous, jerk face, where would I hide a broach?” Plagg asked himself as he looked around the room. He decided to check the desk first – rifling through the neat stacks of paper and pens – before dive bombing into the bed to phase through the mattress and pillows. No dice. He proceeded around the room, passing through lamps, tables, and books with increasing irritation. He didn’t even sense the miraculous nearby! He swatted a pillow with his tail in agitation.

Well, if he wasn’t going to get what he came for, he might as well enjoy himself…

Just then the door opened and Plagg hid himself inside a lampshade, watching with great suspicion as Gabriel entered the room to do his own snooping. The cat kwami stayed silent as his holder’s father dug through the closet and dresser, ripping apart jacket and suitcase linings in search of something. After about five minutes, Gabriel let out a soft growl and stalked back across the room to the door. With one last glance around the room, he slammed the door behind him.

‘Seems he didn’t find what he was looking for either!’ Plagg thought suspiciously, he wondered what the kid had stolen this time.

The black cat kwami slowly exited his hiding place, making sure no one would be near to hear his next actions. Then he phased into the closet and began to toss the remaining collection of trousers, vests, and pristinely pressed shirts all over the floor while he cackled with glee. When it was in proper upheaval, he gathered up one each of Felix’s socks from the dresser, called upon his cataclysm, leaving only a small pile of dust on the floor as evidence of their existence. Plagg then burrowed into the underwear drawer, intent to claw some holes in the materials there when the door opened again…

“Plagg?” came Adrien’s hesitant whisper.

Popping his head out the leg of a pair of boxer briefs with a cheesy belch, the kwami called back, “hey kid, I’m over here!”

Adrien quietly closed the door and stalked across the room, tripping on a shirt and unconsciously kicking up the small pile of ashes as he recovered his balance. Plagg watched with satisfaction as the ashes settled to litter a bigger portion of the floor. “What the hell are you doing in here? Felix will be home any minute!”

“Just lookin’ for the miraculous, kid. Figured we know sourpuss has got the peacock, perhaps he’d leave it unattended, then we could get it back to the guardian.”

“Did you have to make such a mess?” the blond pressed his hand to his forehead as he looked over the random piles and ripped items on the floor. “I’m already stuck doing that photoshoot tomorrow instead of hanging out with Nino; if Father thinks I destroyed Felix’s room, I’ll probably be grounded for life!”

Plagg landed on Adrien’s shoulder, “About that kid… I got an idea. Why don’t we…,” as he whispered quietly in his ear.

Adrien’s eyes lit up and he chuckled, gathering up a few pieces of clothes from the floor to use as his disguise in the morning. “That’s sure to put him in a fowl mood!”

~~~Author's Notes: yes I referenced a historical event (Great Flood of 1910), a specific breed of dog, and made a peacock pun.

AO3 Link

[hyungseos-cafe]

Pairing: Neighbor!Sangyeon x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff and comedy

Warning(s): None

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: Being the new lead executive manager meant moving to a new city and new cities mean new experiences. New experiences included receiving a fresh matcha latte on your door step every morning before work. For weeks these lattes showed up until one day you finally caught.... Your neighbor?

A/n: Hi ally! Tysm for placing your order with Hyungseos-cafe! I hope you enjoy! I also made Sangyeon to be a clumbsy and silly boy  ₍ᐢ.  ̫.ᐢ₎  One more thing! I ended up doing some light research on matcha and heavily referenced this page!

Order for @winterchimez

┊⋆ ˚✯✩. Songs to listen to while reading: Blue - Kamal, Patterns - Chelan + NNAVY .✩✯⋆ ˚ ┊

Taglist: @deoboyznet

000. 

“I just can’t find any coffee shops that make good matcha lattes here” Sangyeon heard coming from the hallway. He had just come home from a long day of work when he heard the unfamiliar voice speak. His interest had suddenly peaked at the prospect of a new neighbor since his previous one left about two months ago which left the third floor of the building relatively quiet. He began rounding the corner when his eyes where the voice had come from. 

You just moved into the older apartment complex after your job transferred you to the newest branch where you now have the role of lead executive manager. Finding your way around the big new city was easy, however finding a coffee shop that makes a matcha latte just how you liked it… Difficult. Your search for a good coffee shop began as soon as you landed. Coffee shop-hopping, that’s what your best friend on the phone said when you told her your troubles. 

Making eye contact with your new neighbor, you whispered to your best friend who was on the other line about calling her back later. 

“Hey” Sangyeon waved 

“Oh hey! I’m your new neighbor I guess” You waved back 

“I’m Sangyeon! Welcome to the neighborhood!” 

“Y/n, thanks”

That was it, that was the only interaction Sangyeon had with you. Oddly enough this short interaction fueled his desire to make you his best matcha latte… Erm, well after he learned how to make them. 

001. 

“Wait, so there's two grades of matcha?” He thought out loud, there are two grades of matcha, ceremonial grade matcha and culinary grade matcha. 

“Ceremonial grade matcha is used in Japanese tea ceremonies and culinary grade matcha is used for coffee and baking” Sangyeon jotted down in his notebook. The poor boy had 10 different tabs opened on his laptop. 

“Alright, so next step is to buy some matcha” 

The next following days Sangyeon spent researching the best tea houses to visit and inquired about their matcha tea powders. After hours of research, Sangyeon settled on ‘Lucid Dream Tea House’  , the city's most highly rated tea house. Upon arrival, he noticed the delicately decorated interior. High ceilings with floor to ceiling windows, brick walls, dainty fairy lights and wooden countertops with mismatched wooden stools. 

“Hi, welcome to Lucid Dream Tea House! How can I help you?” The kind barista greeted him. 

“Hey, thanks! I was actually looking for some matcha powder, do you sell that here?”

“We do indeed, would you want to try some?”

Sangyeon nodded as the barista walked over to the bar and prepared a matcha flight. The barista began by soaking the matcha whisk while sifting some matcha powder into 3 different cups. The barista then poured a small amount of hot water into each cup before one by one whisking. 

“Alrighty, so the first cup here is called the Matcha Sunrise which has a base of our culinary grade matcha from Shizuoka prefecture with milk and a fresh mango puree” The barista explained while handing the cup over to Sangyeon. The latte has a slight bitterness from the matcha that is cut with the tartness of the mango puree. 

“Next, we have just our classic Matcha Latte sweetened with a simple syrup infused with vanilla bean from Madagascar” The barista explained, the latte was a perfect balance of sweet and bitter. Sangyeon nodded, pointing out the unique flavor of the vanilla bean. 

“These are delicious! Before I get to the last one, I would love to buy some matcha powder to make some lattes at home” 

“That’s really great to hear! I’ll make sure to send you home with our signature matcha powder” The barista smiled. 

“Okay, our last and final latte is a bit of an experiment for us I would admit, so it doesn’t quite have a name yet. This latte is again our signature matcha powder with milk and a sweetened black sesame paste” The latte was delicious and had a slight nutty flavor from the sesame paste. 

Sangyeon sat at the bar contemplating which latte he wanted to recreate and after some deep thought, he decided to start with the classic latte. It required very minimal ingredients and was rather simple. Once he mastered that, he could move onto more complex drinks. Meanwhile the barista went to wash the cups and retrieve a can of matcha powder for Sangyeon to purchase. 

After the barista returned with the matcha, Sangyeon stood up to follow the barista to the register. “Have you decided which latte you’d like to recreate?” The barista gently questioned. 

“Yes, I actually have! I want to start with something simple, so the classic matcha latte you made seemed perfect!” 

“Oh wonderful! Just a quick tip though, as you are just starting out, you don’t actually need to buy madagascar vanilla. It’s actually quite expensive, so just a simple vanilla extract from the supermarket will do the trick” 

“Thank you” Sangyeon bowed as he finished paying. 

002. 

“Okay so, first step is to soak the matcha whisk in hot water, done. Next heat up some milk in the milk frother, done” Sangyeon spoke to himself while he prepared the vanilla infused simple syrup. Taking the barista's advice, he went for the cheaper vanilla extract. The simple syrup was just equal parts water to sugar with a splash of vanilla. 

“Now we take out the whisk and sift some matcha into a bowl” He began taking a mini scoop of the matcha and delicately sifted it into a small bowl and poured some hot water over and began whisking. 

“Last step, pour the frothy milk into a cup with a bit of simple syrup and then pour the matcha on top” 

Before rewarding himself with his hard work, Sangyeon began cleaning his work station. Cleaning up his little mess from the milk splatters on the counter top and a mini matcha explosion from accidently sneezing when he sniffed the matcha. 

“Let’s hope this tastes good” Sangyeon said to himself before going in to take a sip. His face contorted, bitter. Too bitter. 

003. 

“The cup I made last time was way too bitter,” Sangyeon noted as he began researching on his laptop. Apparently the bitterness was due to the water being too hot, the matcha was required to be heated at a certain temperature. 

Taking what he learned from many failed attempts, he went back to the kitchen to heat up some milk in the frother once again before lowering the temperature for the boiled water. This time, he made sure not to sneeze again because this matcha powder isn’t cheap… 

Using the leftover vanilla simple syrup, he mixed the matcha and gave it a quick taste…. 

004. 

While practicing his matcha latte making skills, Sangyeon made an effort to pay attention to when you left for the office every morning. 7:30 am, that was the time you always left which meant he would have to wake up at least an hour before to prepare everything. Honestly waking up at 6:30 wasn’t too bad considering he used to wake up earlier for his previous job. Now that he worked a less strenuous job that didn’t require him to be at the office until 10 am meant he had ample time. 

The next morning, Sangyeon woke up 15 minutes before his alarm that was set at 6:30. He was so excited to surprise you that he rushed to get ready. Once he entered his kitchen, he began laying out his tools. Milk frother, matcha whisk, sifter, cups, milk, matcha powder and the second batch of vanilla simple syrup he made the night before. 

Pouring the milk into the frother and soaking the matcha whisk, Sangyeon began placing a small heaping scoop of matcha and sifted the matcha into the small cup below. He poured over some hot water and took the whisk from the water and started to gently whisk while the milk was heating up. After the matcha was slightly foamy, he poured a bit of the simple syrup into another tall glass cup before pouring in the frothed milk. He then took the matcha he whisked and poured it over the milk with the back of a spoon to not splash the matcha. 

Sangyeon checked the time “7:15” it read, meaning he had 15 minutes before you left to drop the latte off at your door. Quickly, he jotted down a short note on the back of an old receipt and headed to your door. Calming down his breathing, he placed the drink onto your door mat leaving the note next to it and knocked on your door. He sprinted back to his apartment, watching through the peephole he saw your face light up with a smile. Seeing your eyes light up taking a sip made him smile. 

005.

“I’m telling you! Someone in my building keeps dropping off these amazing matcha lattes for me! I don’t know who it is” You spoke on the phone, you had just left the apartment complex before hopping onto the train with said latte in hand. The note attached to the latte read “Hope you’ve been enjoying these lattes! They’re so matcha fun to make” You smiled, shoving the note into your pocket. 

From the other side of the door sat Sangyeon on the floor giddy with excitement. Now that he knows you’re enjoying his lattes, the next step was to upgrade the notes. He had been scribbling notes onto old receipts and he knew that you deserved better. Sangyeon turned to get ready and headed out to the nearest stationary store. There, he picked up some memo pads and nice pens. He picked up a variety pack of fruit memo pads and a pack of nice gel pens. 

The next morning, Sangyeon woke up a little later than usual, 6:45 am which meant he only had half an hour to prepare everything. Sangyeon quickly got ready and rushed into the kitchen to soak the matcha whisk while heating up some water. Surprisingly, everything went well considering the limited time. As soon as he finished garnishing the latte with some matcha powder, he took a memo sheet from the stack he bought yesterday and jotted down a quick note. 

“Have a great day ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ” the note read, however little did he know, you were behind the door leaving a few minutes early. Your boss had to call out suddenly which left you with more work than you could manage. As soon as you opened your door, you were met with Sangyeon. His eyes slowly widened as he realized the situation. 

He abruptly shoved the latte (with a lid of course) into your hand and quickly turned around with the note dropping from his hands. He was caught. Sangyeon was surprised when you knocked on his door with a sheepish smile. 

“H-hey neighbor” You began holding tightly onto the cup so as to not drop it from nervousness. 

“Hi, I’m sorry if you thought someone else was making you lattes” Sangyeon sighed, not looking into your eyes. 

“Oh, no, these are delicious! I was wondering who made these, so I’m really glad I found out it was you” 

“Really? I’m glad you like them! I can always stop if you want, I didn’t want to overstep your boundaries”

You smiled, your neighbor was this shy, incredibly talented and handsome man, yet he was quite modest which made him all the more adorable. You stood there smiling at him, but it was your turn to be shocked as the time passed. 

“Shoot, I’m so sorry, I really need to leave now. Gosh, work got really busy. Will I see you later?” You hurriedly sputtered out as you headed towards the stairs, turning to hear his response. 

“Yeah, no worries! Get to work safely” 

006. 

It slowly became a tradition that Sangyeon would make you a custom matcha latte every morning adorned with latte art and a sprinkle of matcha. You woke up every morning expecting cute latte art and honestly, you were never disappointed. The notes slowly became sweeter until one day the words scribbled shocked you. 

“Meet me at Lucid Dream Tea House tonight at 6, I want to ask you something” the note read, your heart began beating outside of your chest. Did your neighbor just as you out? Unfortunately for you, work came first, so you sat through a long meeting… Which could have been an email that dragged on longer than expected. However, luckily for you, the tea house was just a block down from your office. 

Once you arrived, your eyes met. It was Sangyeon, he sat at the table near the large windows with what looks like another latte? He looked handsome with his hair slicked back, he was dressed casually in a sweatshirt and jeans. It was a simple look, but something about it made your heart tingle. Maybe it was the specs or the hair? Or maybe it was him. 

“You’re here” Sangyeon beamed, his smile was gorgeous, almost as gorgeous as his face. 

“I am, thank you for inviting me”

“It’s no problem, I actually brought you here so I could as you something”

“S-sure” You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, the worry in your eyes evident as your lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well, now that you know it was me making you these lattes” he gestures to the latte in your hand 

“I– I uh, well, I was uh” Sangyeon struggled to get a coherent sentence out as he cleared his throat.

“Wou– would you like to go out sometime?” 

“M– me?” You pointed to yourself, the shock was evident in your face as you sat back in your seat. 

“You seem shocked, did I say something wrong? I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?”

“No, not at all! You just took me off guard, I wasn’t expecting you to return the feelings. That’s all” 

It was his turn to be shocked, it completely shook his world that his neighbor, the one he’s been making lattes for actually returned his feelings? The endless trips to various tea houses, the hours of research and many failed lattes made it all worth it. You were worth it. 

“We’re the perfect matcha, don’t you think?” You giggled at your own pun. 

“Absolutely” Sangyeon smiled, he reached across the table to take your hand in his.

[goroaix]

〘 'What did a spirit know about love?' Cyno wished he knew the exact answer but, apparently, it was more than him. 〙

Cyno x gn reader. No warnings

In Sumeru it is said that if one were to incur the General Mahamatra's wrath, then that day would be their very last. The rumours of his steadfast nature, unyeilding to the bribery of researchers, sages or crooks alike were things that were founded in reality and in exaggeration.

It was true that Cyno did not let the lofty desires of others to corrupt his own morality. There were countless times where he had to inflict judgement upon scholars who were on their last legs, who had resorted to commiting one of the six cardinal sins in their desperation to keep up with their academics. Cyno wouldn't say he was immune to their pleading, their begs to be pardoned, but he had grown accustomed to it and considered their circumstances.

However, the exaggeration came from the higher tier criminals. They were the ones that brought upon harsher punishment, one where the spirit within him would take control and do as it saw fit to those who dared to tamper with human life or explore beyond sensible means.

Nonetheless, what everyone got wrong about Cyno was the fact that this god - Hermanubis as it were - was quite the character when it wasn't using him as a vessel to channel justice and good.

It didn't speak to him unless Cyno had allowed full control, and even then the possession was short and used only for the most heinous of crimes, but it spoke to him nonetheless; often he wished it wouldn't.

The return to Sumeru City after days of endless, scorching heat was likened to that of a diamond underneath endless rubble, but that hardly meant his job was over. He had returned with only the henchmen of the criminal he had been tailing, and now he had gotten word that the leader had returned to do trade.

If all went well, then he would have them in custody by nightfall.

The plan was simple in its principle and execution. He would have someone pose as a potential client for the 'archon residue pills' before arresting them.

"They're the ARC capsules?" They said and Cyno found it rather impressive how easily they could win the favour of others, the trader not suspecting a thing as they produced a bag from their sidebag. "How many?"

The person he had entrusted with the task of deceit was someone he had gotten to know over the course of two years since Kaveh had introduced them as a friend of his. They were reliable, hardworking and Cyno trusted them above all to do the jobs he needed some assistance on.

"Enough for a horse."

"Alright." And, as they feigned reaching into their pocket to bring out the money, Cyno let the spirit take over.

The sensation was familiar, his consciousness intact but his body moving of its own accord with power surging through his veins and encapsulating him. Electro burnt at the tips of his fingers, crackling through the air as the offender was apprehended, thrown to the floor with the weight of a god and it's vessel at their back.

The Matra moved in swiftly, Cyno's grip easing while the handcuffs kept them in place. There was no second spared in securing and moving them and he would have left had it not been them that had helped him.

From the distance, they began to walk over - waving happily - and Cyno felt the irrational, irregular beat of his heart. There was nothing too extravagant about their clothing but it matched them perfectly, pairing with their skintone and complimenting it.

Now, he was not a person to deny the obvious and the 'obvious' right now was the fact that his friend, Kaveh's friend, was pleasing to the eyes. Their smile was always radient, ever present, and he felt his heart skip again once their lips curled up into a smile.

'Interesting.'

Cyno paused, concerned at hearing the deep timbre of justice incarnate reverberate through his head.

'Is everything alright?' he thought, the inscriptions still circling his arms, the spirit yet to relinquish control.

'Is that not the person you adore?'

'They are my friend, yes.'

'Do not try to keep up formalities with me. I can feel each beat of your heart and the speed of your pulse.'

'...Yes. I do have positive feelings for them.' There was no attempt made by him to hide. It would fail miserably regardless.

'Then what is keeping you from admitting your feelings? I know you are swayed by the sight of them.'

Was he getting lectured about love by a god?

He tried to think of a reply, only to fall flat at anything that was more complicated than a simple 'it's not as easy as you make it out to be' that had the spirit laughing.

Laughing...

What was this coming to? The thing that had caused him so much pain in his formative years, hours of agony as his body tried to adjust to the presence of something that radiated power beyond his imagination and comprehension, was laughing at his love life.

'Boy, you are most entertaining. No matter how well versed you are in judging others, it seems none of this talent has transferred to any romantic capability.'

'Is this your area of expertise?' What business did it have judging him?

'It need not be. Any creature with a sense of self would chase after a thing they deemed worthy. Perhaps I should take control,' it mused and Cyno panicked. He couldn't imagine that they would enjoy the sight of his possessed self stalking towards them and he would prefer not to put them through that.

'That won't be necessary. I'll do it myself within the week.'

'Hm. I'll see to it that you do.'

The connection was cut and Cyno pushed his hair away from his forehead, catching sight of the topic of conversation coming towards him - concern in their eyes.

"General Cyno, did everything go as it should?"

Perhaps it was the jitters that made him nod, mouth refusing to move as he looked around for any sort of escape. If he said anything in this moment then he would only serve to embarrass himself.

"Cyno?" They tried again and red eyes glossed over them, taking in every detail that made them someone he revered. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, fingers curled around his staff before he inhaled, air filling his lungs to max capacity. Their name rolled over his tongue before he verbalised it, and their pretty eyes connected with his.

"Yes?"

"Would you be able to meet me tomorrow at the Puspa Café? I have something that needs to be told to you in private."

Curiosity brimmed within them while nervousness filled him. "Good or bad?"

"That is your decision to make."

"I see. Then I will meet you for lunch?"

"Yes."

There was no time wasted as he turned around and left, his footsteps hasty as he groaned to himself.

'See that, boy? It was not difficult.'

All he could do was press his hands over his ears. He didn't need to hear anything else.

[suitetarts]

cloud nine (part 1)

Astarion x Original Female Character, Dark Urge Tav (Good) Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Eventual Smut (Link to AO3) A much needed discussion about freedom and what it means for two rebellious spawns (Bhaal and vampiric, respectively) in the aftermath of Lorroakan's defeat. They are both free to discover their own desires, and Delilah really wants to fuck Astarion in running water while she still has the chance.

The intention was to just write beach smut where my OC Delilah and Astarion get sunburns but it completely went off the rails. So here's part 1, the angsty lead up to a smutty smutty part 2. You can go to the AO3 series for the other gen one-shot fics I have for my OC, or click here and there.

The second floor of the Elfsong was scrambling to quickly don armor, fill bellies, and otherwise prepare for the day’s events, which happened to start with chasing Aylin through the city streets during the small hours of dawn. The aasimar’s whereabouts were no puzzle to solve, however; she had rather loudly announced her plans to storm Ramazith’s Tower and confront Lorroakan under the spell of her mother’s moonglow. The logistics and planning blur into Delilah’s memory of the fight itself – the crackle of her storm magic piercing through the summoned elementals like a hot knife in butter and the Sword of the Moonmaiden cleaving the wizard’s torso from shoulder to hip.

All at once with earth shattering speed, the tower was quiet, save for heaving chests and the sheathing of weapons.

Once the adrenaline of battle wore thin, Aylin appeared to lose her strength and resolve. A numbness falling over her that even her darling cleric could not mend. The sudden loss of her inner fire seemed to cast a gloom over the party, although the others did their best to move past it. Gale accepted Rolan’s thanks to the party, trying to leverage some assistance in retrieving artifacts he desired. Karlach and Shadowheart mulled about on the promenade and gossiped in the passing clouds. Astarion, though…

Where was he?

A half smile pulled at Delilah’s features as a location came to mind, tempered only by the mood at the top of the fallen wizard’s tower. She immediately made the executive decision to take the rest of the day off even though the sun had not yet reached its highsun crest. The others barely noticed her slip away to the portal, and if they did, they must have thought little of it.

The vampire and drow were rarely apart, if not constantly on top of one another. If one wandered off, the other would not be too far from their heels. And for the rest of the tadpoled adventurers, they were better off not having to be subjected to the constant public display of sickening and often off-putting affection.

Her boots raced through the Basilisk Gate and through Wyrm’s Crossing, down the path winding around Ilmater’s church. The fresh air caressed her like fine spider silks as she found her way to the bay, a markedly more welcome scent than the dead fish and industrial waste of the main city port. She veered away from the visible shore onto an animal’s path snaking through trees and eventually approached a stone wall overlooking the churning waters where the fresh muddy Chionthar met the salty clear Sea of Swords. With an incantation and a wave of her hand, she floated over and down to her favorite secret: a small sandy beach, far away from the stink of Baldur’s Gate.

Delilah looked down as she flew, the two pairs of crimson red eyes locking together as Astarion smirked up at her through the flapping of her skirts. Blood rushed to her face as she made a show of it, swinging her knee out in a curtsy motion and flashing him with what she hoped would be a better glimpse of her underclothes.

“Don’t you think it’s rather early to be so forthcoming?” His usual flamboyant and chiding tone did not match his body language as he caught her gently by the waist. He recognized the incongruence, and so to compensate, shifted his grip around to her ass as her feet met the ground.

“Saer, I’m just being polite. What are you implying?” She played along with his temperament, her arms twisting loosely around his neck to pull him close. “That it's forthcoming to offer you my respect and deference?”

He genuinely laughed, a hearty singular ‘ha’ escaping his chest. “When have you ever been deferent to me, my dear?”

Delilah faltered for a moment, the response to their banter withering on her tongue. When had she been deferent to him, indeed?

Her tadpole writhed against her eye as flashes of her other life splattered across her vision like so many bloody victims of her gruesome crusade. She had previously obeyed her “mother” and the Spider Queen, her true father, his dreadful blood coursing through her veins, and, to some extent, apparently even Gortash. The memories she could recall of them were surely a drop in the ocean compared to what she had forgotten, and she knew she was better for it.

More specifically, when it came to Astarion, nearly every suggestion of his was taken with a grain of salt. Not for a lack of love and care, he was just consistently not thinking things through and seemed to overall acquiesce to her preferred methods without too much complaint. But… Truly the one thing he ever seriously asked of her, to help him complete the ascension ritual for himself, and she basically said no. The pinched fury in his brows and the way he tensed around her in Cazador’s grand chambers in the immediate aftermath still haunted her. He later insisted that he was grateful for her clarity, for saving him from himself. But anxiety chewed through her resolve and made her question herself.

She sighed around a bitter smile as she returned to the present, shielding her eyes from the morning light as she looked up at him. “I can’t recall, my love.”

The jesting tone between them had evaporated in the bright sun, which drenched the small stretch of sand in a near blistering heat if not for the breeze coming off the harbor.

“Yes, right,” he said, clearing his throat. 

The pair of rebellious spawns stood in silence, neither of them sure how to start the inevitable post-battle discussion that was sure to cause more painful memories to bubble to the surface. 

“Astarion… Why did you leave us in the tower?” she asked tentatively, cautiously, as she took a step away from his embrace and pulled him down to sit on the warm sand with her.

“To be dramatic, of course.” 

He waited for Delilah’s eyes to roll before softening, combing through the granules of sand with his hands as he avoided her gaze. 

“It’s just… It’s hard to see someone go through that. It’s unfair, to feel so empty after finally getting what–” He cleared his throat with a purse of his lips. “What Aylin wanted. Like justice denied.”

Delilah was tempted to say that she understood, but truly she didn’t. She wasn’t sure if it was even possible to get a chance to face Bhaal the way that Astarion and Aylin were able to face their tormentors. She was honestly a touch jealous, but she also couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to bring upon the end of those who hurt her so deeply. At least it made sense that an entity as untouchable to mortals as the God of Murder would be difficult to extract closure from. And yet, on the other hand, it was so impossibly unfair for someone like Cazador to die swiftly in the face of multiple human lifetime's worth of suffering.

Instead of speaking, she simply leaned into him as they watched the crystalline waves lap at the shore. He mirrored her, resting his ear against her shoulder.

The biological warmth of her pressing against his head mixed with the radiant, near overwhelming heat from the sun and its reflection off the sand felt like a drug, the anxiety and numbness sloughing off of him like molting snakeskin. The manifestation of his greatest desire, for Cazador’s death at his own hand, had not been what he dreamt of, but it still happened. His sire was still dead, while he was now richer than his master had ever been, even with the entirety of Baldur’s Gate at his gilded fingertips, thanks to the tadpole’s gift of the sun and his friends and lover at his side. He and Aylin were still free.

“Still,” he said after a minute of rest, his tone steady and composed. “The Nightsong’s fair-haired fool is done. That’s what matters.”

Her thoughts lingered on her predicament with her father. 

“Is it?”

Astarion’s brows pulled together in confusion but kept his head tucked under her ear. A mocking tone entered his voice as he spat, “Surely you don’t think that charlatan twig could possibly come back to life after being cut in half.”

“No, not like that. I…” Delilah’s words trailed off as she began to lose the nerve to give her thoughts weight by speaking them aloud. She set her jaw and pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Whatever.”

He made a frustrated sigh. Even after all their time together, he found that she still took him too seriously at times. “My love, you know I didn’t intend to silence you.” 

“I know.”

“You make it so easy to give you grief.”

“I know.”

He pushed more of his weight into her for a moment, allowing the two a brief sway. “Go on then.”

“Fine,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You said Lorroakan is done. And that’s what matters. So is killing what matters?”

Astarion waved his hand with a non-committal yet affirmative, “Well…?”

“I– I don’t know. Aylin looked so tired. And I’m tired. Killing is what I’ve always done, endlessly. Even now that I’m trying to change and be better, I’m still killing. And I’m still enjoying it. I don’t want killing to matter to me anymore. I want what happens afterwards to be what matters.”

Delilah emphasized her final point by taking his hand, intertwining their fingers with a firm grip. 

Astarion’s involuntary response was for his heart to jump into his throat at her implication, before it dissolved into a warm fuzziness spreading from his chest to his toes. In his old life, there was never an “afterwards” worth having. After they’d used his body up for all that it was good for, if they weren’t already drained of their blood by Cazador or left in some dungeon to rot for centuries, who could possibly want him after finding out what a monster he was? 

But everything was different thanks to the tadpoles. He began to think about it all, became overwhelmed, and deflected. 

“I really do think you’re making a stink out of what I said. Killing and revenge can be mutually-exclusive actions, but they are so delicious when served together.” 

“Perhaps,” she murmured, letting out a small breath from her nose.

Taking her response at face value, he continued. “Honestly, don’t worry about all these Dead Three worshippers. Enjoy their blood if you want to, I sure am.”

She slowly stilled, her breath light enough to not disturb a feather.

His voice dropped as he doubted himself, “Listen, with–”

“I put on a good show, Astarion, but I’m tired,” she interrupted him softly as she laid her head on top of his, wiping her smudged eyeliner into his white curls.

His lips pulled to a taut line, unsure of how to best respond. His first choice was always to make a joke, and she was morbid enough to enjoy his humor, but definitely not at this moment. He could offer to do all the killing for her; he wouldn’t mind, although the battles to come as they approach the Absolute may prove overwhelming without her participation. 

Or, going against his learned nature to please above all else, he could tell her hard truths.

“We’ve got at least two cults and an elder brain to contend with before we’re done with all of this.” Astarion took his other hand to cup their conjoined fingers. “But we’re so close. Don’t give up just yet.”

“Who said anything about giving up?” She bristled, her voice rising as she spoke. “I’m just looking forward to a morning where I leave my trance without being terrified I’ve hurt someone again.”

“Being tired, giving up. Six of one, half dozen of another,” he retorted, meeting her volume as his hands pull away from hers to gesture, only to return to her hold as his voice lowered. “You can’t lie to me about this… I know it far too intimately.”

She hummed, a light airy thing that contrasted heavily with the tense hold of her muscles.

Silence. 

Neither made an effort to disentangle from the other as they sat in their anger. 

Until he twitched.

“Gods, I hardly need a reflection when I’ve got you,” Astarion breathed, the affection in his voice strong enough to choke him unconscious. “A complaining, stubborn, impatient little wretch.”

He always knew how to make her smile.

“I promised that we will get your freedom, like you helped me get mine. We’re close. Just be patient,” he asked, petting the back of her hand. A twinge of guilt threatened to churn his eternally empty stomach, as it did every time he told this sweet lie of a promise that he knows he can’t guarantee. Her freedom wasn’t as simple as vampiric chains between sire and spawn.

“It’s hard to be patient when there’s so much to look forward to.” Delilah pulled him in closer by his waist, the words turning sour as she said them aloud.

When did imagining the future become so painful?

It had started in the wilderness of the Sword Coast, when she was at her most lost and before he even cared for her in the slightest, in part as an exercise to keep spirits high and hope alive. The first idea he had shared with her was an exaggerated tale of another loveless and passionate tryst, except in a feather bed with Cazador’s head on a spike. The dreams became less grand and more real as feelings progressed, and simultaneously more terrifying. 

She was the first person he truly cared for, the first person to truly care for him. And yet, mortal peril was stalking them both around every corner, snuffing out their dreams before they could even give them life as spoken word. Why would Delilah tell him that she will forsake every god on every plane to be at his side, on adventures or in domestic bliss or whatever else he wanted, for the rest of her days? Why would Astarion tell her that after a brief mortal life and 200 years of slavery, he had so many more firsts to experience and he wanted all of them with her? Saying such things would only cause them more pain should they fail.

She cleared her throat.

“But I will be patient. We’ll figure it out,” she stated with an impostor’s confidence. “And I’ll– I’ll do what I need to do.”

She pressed her ear further into his hair, holding onto his thigh for balance. “Once they’re all dead and we’re free, we’ll have so many nice mornings.”

“Ooh, interesting,” he sang, ever the opportunist, seizing upon a chance to shift in the mood in a less self-pitying direction. A dramatic grimace painted his elegant features as he continued, “I’ve heard the rumors. I don’t even want to think of what sort of hedonistic rituals come after a mass killing with you Bhaalist freaks.”

“I– What? Gods, just–” She thrusted her shoulder up in aggravation, hitting it against his ear rougher than she intended. He yelped and clutched at the side of his head, but even so he seemed proud of himself for riling her up. “Get your mind out of the gutter for five seconds, Astarion.”

“Five seconds?” After a brief moment of dramatized thought, complimented by a hand gesture and a flick of his wrist, he continued the countdown.

“Four…” 

He made a show of removing his gloves, an act that always got her undivided attention. 

“Three…”

Delilah generally had an even and intimidating poker face. However, at this moment, she was failing to keep her amusement and desire under wraps. 

“Two…” 

Astarion firmly grabbed her arms with his trademark mischievous grin.

“One…”

Don't fret, I've already got over 2300 words written for Part 2. Coming soon!