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boundinparchment · 9 months

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Blasphemous Rumors - V

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

You peered out between the crack in the doors at the back of the cathedral. Every pew was full. Breakfast, what little you had of it, churned in your stomach. Your hairpins were too tight and you fought the urge to fix them.

The front steps were packed to the brim with common folk shivering in their coats and furs, eager to get a glimpse of you despite the bitter cold. Why would the inside of the church have been any different?

Everyone seemed accounted for. You had gone through the guest list extensively; it was far too long for your liking.

And it was far too late to back out now.

The high collar and long lace sleeves of your dress were soft, rather than irritating; you were right to have chosen the shop you worked with. Your final fitting had induced tears, both of lamentation and awe; you only wished you shared such a moment with anyone other than the Tsaritsa. Who were you to deny an Archon, after all?

She gifted you the veil that now covered your hair and face, as light as freshly fallen snow.

Part of you wished, hoped, that perhaps you might catch a familiar shape in the crowd. But as far as you could see, neither of your parents were present. As expected. Your father wouldn’t have been in good shape to attend, at any rate.

All that waited for you was a Harbinger, dressed in white, and the Tsaritsa beyond.

You rehearsed this for the past few days with the Omega Segment acting in its master’s place. The very act did nothing but weigh on your nerves like your boss weighed his mora. It was infuriating, actually, that Lord Dottore did not deign to show up to his own rehearsal ceremony. He had that luxury. You were required to appear. After all, you had no copies of yourself to delegate tasks to and you were the only one in the ceremony who would do more than just stand and speak.

Typical Harbinger. Others suffered while they reaped the benefits of their positions.

Running would get you nowhere except a shallow grave.

You agreed to this. You gave your word. And such a position would give you plenty of information to pass on.

The music started, the doors opened, and on beat, you began the long trip down the aisle.

Your grip on your flowers tightened as you went. The bouquet in your hands was a monstrous thing, flowers practically spilling out of it in an array of irises, cecilias, glaze lilies, and an overabundance of greenery. The florist had gotten far too overzealous and you wish you hadn’t been so tired during those meetings. Around you, the church was sparsely decorated except for the long carpet you walked on. All eyes were, inevitably, be drawn to you.

Brides were supposed to smile, you reminded yourself. You hoped your smile only felt tighter than it looked.

Lord Dottore was dressed in mostly white and, naturally, not without that feathery mechanical thing draped over his shoulder like a mink pelt. His mask was black with blue accents, different than usual mask he shared with Omega. The tails of his coat were accented with bright blue, matching his waistcoat, and it even looked as though he repurposed the usual dangling tubes into accessories for his suit jacket. Across his chest, a red sash, not unlike the Tsaritsa’s, denoting his station and affiliation. A bright and luminous aquamarine gem was nestled into a pin at the base of his throat, floating above a white cravat.

Despite the upper half of his face being covered, he did a decent job of appearing enamored: a tilt of the head; a charismatic smirk that passed for charming; a shifting of his weight as he fixed his cuffs. If you didn’t know any better, you might have believed it yourself.

As you approached, you realized his shirt wasn’t black but a deep blue, almost as deep as the midnight sky back home.

You caught the quickest glance at his sharpened teeth when he attempted to match your smile. It came off more like a snarl as you passed your flowers to an attendant and took Dottore’s awaiting hands.

You shared his sentiments. Your feet were already aching and the event had barely begun.

The Tsaritsa spoke of a blur of sentiments that, perhaps in any other situation, would have brought you to tears. Selflessness (impossible for the man before you), a reciprocity of compromise and challenge (only out of necessity to keep your job), sharing in the accomplishments of another (again, impossible for your future husband) were things that, surely, the crowd collected here knew to be absolute bullshit. Il Dottore, Second of the Fatui Harbingers, was infamous for his ruthlessness, his lack of humanity, unwavering resolution for knowledge at any cost.

Hell, you even severely compromised on traditions that might have added authenticity. Normal couples celebrated in Snezhnaya for at least two days; a marriage for a high-ranking military official would have warranted far more. Back home, it was still common to practice the tradition of ransom for the bride but that required your parents and you caught a muttered remark about the cost of your ring. Betrothal and Crowning were replaced with a simpler ceremony that would not insult the Tsaritsa while remaining true to Dottore's sentiments towards godhood (absolute bullshit, in his opinion).

He cared little for ritual. Ritual was nothing more than unsubstantiated nonsense to explain a world instead of looking closely for answers. So long as everything was legal, it didn't matter to him otherwise.

In exchange, both of you would instead endure a tour of the main city for photographs before the reception. Pantalone's idea. Of course.

Would anyone really believe the two of you were serious about this…

The Tsaritsa did though.

Didn't she?

You tried not to marvel at Lord Dottore's long fingers when he removed his gloves to exchange vows and rings.

His recitation was, of course, perfect. If he wasn't a scientist, you were certain he might have been a stage actor in another life. Dottore's touch lingered as he carefully arranged both of your rings and slid them home, ensuring they nested into one another perfectly.

Compared to your pair of rings, his appeared plain when you slid it on after affirming your vows in return. Then again, this union meant nothing and his adornments were always more about his rank and their functionality. An unassuming band of platinum suited him just fine.

Touching him was less a sparking jolt at the sensation of skin on skin and more akin to a burn, as if thawing one's hands in front of a roaring fire after a day in the tundra.

The Tsaritsa spoke again, giving closing remarks. You wanted to pull away already but there was little choice in the matter. Dottore's fingertips were curled into yours, the smallest amount of contact you could get away with already, and it wouldn't take much for him to decide that you weren't playing along.

"…your union will be sealed with a kiss."

Lord Dottore's shoulders squared instantly and you felt the tension run into his fingers, now feeling more like curled claws. Fuck. Of all things you had discussed…practiced, even (you stepped on his feet more times than you cared to consider and yet still had your feet). Had both of you truly forgotten…

The longer neither of you moved, the worse this was going to be. You felt expectant gazes and heard a soft wave of whispers. Convincing. This needed to appear true—

You let go of Dottore's hands and you were thankful that he took the cue to lift the edge of your veil. Disappointment sunk in your stomach as he kept his head as level as possible, preventing you from sneaking a look up his mask. You stepped forward to close the distance, cupping his cheek with your left hand before you tilted your head to the side and pressed your lips to his. Fluid, smooth, natural.

That was your role, you reminded yourself. It would take both of you to make this work.

His lips were soft, as warm as his hands (warmer, perhaps, you considered). As human as any other person you kissed before. You pulled away, catching a glimpse of his ears turning pink, before he ducked down and captured your lips again, finally back on track.

He turned his head to break the kiss but didn't pull away immediately.

"Quite efficient, Accountant," Lord Dottore whispered.

His words tickled your neck and threatened to send a shiver down your spine.

The closest you would never get to gratitude.

Touring the city was excruciating. In-between trying to put names to faces and track who was speaking to whom, you waved and smiled from the carriage window, thankful the gray clouds were holding off their inevitable snowfall. Every stop meant a photo, meant standing too close to your husband, all the while hoping you came off as shy and dutiful rather than stiff and uncomfortable.

The schedule left little time for breaks. You managed to nurse a glass of water, fix your makeup, and gather your remaining strength as an attendant bustled your dress before you entered the Palace Ballroom, arm in arm with the Harbinger.

If your husband was a different person, you would have pushed back on his insistence to get the first dance out of the way as soon as you were in the room. But you agreed with him and it was better to get it over with.

As rehearsed, you took your position, thankful all the while he had slid his gloves back on as soon as you were in the carriage hours ago. Bad enough you had to be essentially pressed up against him for this. You would rather eat glass than touch him again, especially if he was going to feel warmer than he truly was.

He smelled more pleasant than you usually experienced. The lack of viscera and disinfectant helped. This close, closer than you had been all day as he led exactly on beat, you caught hints of musk, along with sandalwood, mint.

Dottore pulled you flush against him after spinning you out, angling his head towards the crook of your neck.

"Relax your shoulders," he muttered. "You're resisting the rhythm and making this harder than necessary. All that convincing work earlier can be undone quite easily, Accountant."

"Is that a threat, my lord?" you teased, passing off a playful smile.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth but it didn't stay long. He was quiet in the carriage, professional. Other than his vows, he barely said a word to you all day.

"For once, not from me."

You schooled your face, instead resting your chin on his shoulder as the mantle's feathers brushed against your cheek. It was much softer than you expected.

What had you missed? Other than perhaps appearing, as any person might, a little weary during the tour, you had been nothing but polite and warm during any interactions with guests.

"Even one as erudite as myself knows to move with the music and the flow of the event. Stop thinking, Accountant."

You tried to ignore the slight squeeze of his arm around you; it was a little too tight to be assuring. Focusing on the music, a song you could hum in your sleep by now, you tried to relax your shoulders and hips and follow through with the sway of each step. The song ended; its final note was cut short by the sharp sound of knives on glass. You fought a grimace, realizing your guests were goading you to kiss again.

This time, the Harbinger was quicker, stealing your lips as soon as you lifted your head from his shoulder.

"Better," Dottore whispered as he pulled away. "By the end of this, you might even fool yourself."

You threw him the same smile and demure look as you did in the jewelry store and fixed his cravat to stifle the urge to punch him.

"Are you sure I won't fool you, Lord Harbinger?"

"I'd like to see you try."

The socializing took the longest. The Harbingers themselves, although never without a quip to throw, were civil enough. You led most of the conversations once the two of you reached the tables of dignitaries and nobles, Dottore falling back to either have more in-depth discussions or to observe, as he often did. Eventually, it was just you when he muttered something about getting air and you were determined to get greetings and gratitude off your plate before dinner.

Your head swam as you recalled every single face, every name, every seating arrangement. It wasn't that different from data, from account numbers, balances. No one would call you an extrovert by any means but the only thing keeping you going was the very knowledge that Dottore was not going to do it. Such things were not worth his time. Without his Segments in normal situations, he was protective of his time; now, it was your turn to fill in the gaps.

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes at yourself. Your duty was to the people of Snezhnaya and beyond. Your duty was your family. This marriage was a means to an end. You only played your part because if you didn't, the consequences were far, far worse than you wanted to consider.

You were partway through the final table when you felt a hand on your elbow and you saw everyone at the table straighten considerably, as if they were puppets ready to perform. Instead of any kind of introduction or pleasantry, however, Dottore turned his attention to you, his hold gentle.

"Dorogáya moya, come eat before your plate gets cold."

You felt your face flush at the use of the term, both at the familiarity and the double meaning. Over the last few weeks, you learned that he was not a native to Sneznhaya, as you were, but he spoke the language so fluently one would never know.

With a smile, you let yourself be taken to the head table, where the first course of many sat waiting for you. Your stomach grumbled at the sight of food. You'd been hungry since before the ceremony. Now that you looked, you noticed that the wait staff were well into bringing out dishes, carrying trays over their shoulder.

Funny that he would come find you when he left you alone to tackle the ridiculous social obligations of his station. Then again, Lord Dottore couldn't exactly have you fainting at your own wedding.

"So, I'm expensive, am I?" you asked, glancing through your peripheral at him as you took a long sip of water.

You half-entertained wine earlier but you needed your faculties and wits about you. Water was best.

"If time was a currency, yes," Dottore turned his head to you, fork and knife still poised on the plate. "Surely you can quantify how much of my time could be better spent on almost anything else."

"And surely you know how easily anyone could read into a Harbinger calling his new wife expensive as establishing an amazing matrimonial foundation."

Dottore tilted his head and raised a shoulder, a gesture you always took to mean silent acquiescence. If you could see his eyes, you imagined his eyebrows would be rather expressive as well.

“I never cared for the opinions of others, especially those who never had to try to improve their life, such as most of our guests who were born into their position. There is little reason for you to be anything beyond polite. It is those closest who must be fooled, not the rest of the country.”

“All it would take—” you hissed.

“You’re forgetting who you married, Accountant.” Dottore gave you what anyone else would have called a charming smile. “Unlike you, they fear me. Now eat.”

He needed you to cooperate but if he thought he was going to spend the next year commanding you around...arrogant, self-important, manipulative ass…

You kept your face neutral as you lifted a utensil, pushing away the thought of driving your fork into his leg. It was the least he deserved.

Flavor exploded in your mouth as you took a bite to eat. Any other time, you might have reacted beyond simply reaching for another forkful from your plate. The finest thing you tasted in months, years, and just like everything else, it was wasted on this moment. A moment you would never get back.

Funny how right he was.

Food helped. Each of you played the part of doting newlywed, dancing, smiling, laughing. You only ever heard Lord Dottore chuckle but never outright laugh. It was almost sweet, how genuine the sound was. Did he even realize it, you wondered, when the mask slipped and for a moment he appeared almost human?

Of course he did. Nothing would ever get passed him.

Except you.

If you made it out of this alive.

It was no secret that a Harbinger's station meant a certain quality of life. Estates of their own, entire wings within the Palace for work and for leisure. After all, the Cryo Archon only had her Harbingers to dote on, who else would make use of the space, you often wondered. Staff were well-compensated and taken care of but the stark contrast between your dormitory and living spaces compared to the soaring ceilings and marble pillars and gilded frames turned what little food you managed to keep down.

You weren't in charge of auditing the annual operating budget (that was exclusively for the Ninth himself) but you could estimate. More than what you would make in your lifetime thirty times over, probably.

The walk from the ballroom to the far reaches of the Palace was shared in silence. Exhaustion was woven into the very layers of your gown and by now face-planting into the bed, makeup and all, sounded like a wonderful idea. After all, it was not as if anything about this arrangement was normal and Lord Dottore himself expected nothing, he had been quite clear about that from the beginning.

He was impossible to read right now, even for you. Mouth in a flat line, shoulders back, arms behind him as he walked as if he were simply out for a stroll. Without the context of a common discussion topic, mostly regarding his funding, you couldn't tell if he was simply bored, exhausted, or annoyed. All three in a stormy cocktail seemed likely.

The rooms themselves were as lavish as the rest of the Palace. Opulent furniture that was dusted but never used filled the sitting room that you walked into, the walls lined with filled bookshelves. Floor to ceiling windows revealed the usual white landscape and the mountains beyond while projecting your reflection back at you from the illumination of a nearby lamp. Your bag, the singular container of all of your packed belongings sat on a sofa, as if discarded hastily.

Through a set of double-doors was a second private sitting room and the bedroom, as large as half of your entire dormitory floor. Dark wood, flowing lines, clearly hand-crafted rather than assembled on a factory line. Too many pillows on the bed.

Did he even sleep?

The only details the space was even occupied were the books piled haphazardly on a coffee table, on a bureau, scraps of paper and blueprints scattered but clearly organized in a way that made sense to someone. A coat strewn across a couch arm. Mechanical parts and a small set of tools on a table where one might ordinarily hold a private dinner party.

You caught sight of a large closet and beyond it, a washroom, each room with their own set of double-doors to close the space off. For a man as arrogant as Il Dottore, perhaps even vain (after all, who made clones of themselves if they weren't?), you expected far more clothes and shoes. His budgets rarely, if ever, accounted for clothing unless it was for a specific occasion but that didn't mean much. And you doubted he would have made room for your pitiful amount of belongings.

On one side of the closet was a large three-way mirror, the kind you dealt with at the seamstress, complete with a platform. Obnoxious. This felt out of place compared to the amount of space in the closet itself. Unless, of course, he did his own tailoring or a Segment did. Would explain the lack of receipts and mentions of it for his budget reviews.

You locked eyes with your own reflection and saw where your make-up was thinning, how your hair had finally succumbed to the weight of the product in it. No matter how hard you tried to keep your eyes open, they seemed to have minds of their own; you were beyond tired at this point.

And the dress was finally taking its toll. The lace was scratchy and the corset was digging into you. Without thinking, you finagled your feet and removed your heels without bending over. You closed your eyes, instantly relieved at the sensation of your heels sinking into the carpet. The pain was still there but it nice to be on even ground again.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt slight tugging on the buttons of your dress and it took everything in you now to jump, nerves frayed and split. Dottore looked up from behind you, mask still in place, and you could only presume he was making eye contact. Harder to determine without facing him.

"Don't tell me you expected to reach every single button yourself, Accountant," he sneered.

"More like I didn't think you would help. Not without prodding."

Dottore scoffed as he undid the buttons running the length of the dress and loosened the back stays of your corset. He tugged slightly at your dress' sleeve but not enough to reveal your shoulders. Never once did you feel the brush of his gloved hands on your skin.

Dottore stepped back when he finished, your gaze remaining fixed on his mask.

"Polite for a man who stepped foot into my office covered in blood on more than one occasion," you remarked.

You were graced with the wide, vicious smile you knew so well, sharpened teeth gleaming.

"Go wash up, you smell like you wandered through a florist's nightmare."

He nodded his head in the direction of the bath but made no attempt to leave the dressing room. You held back a grimace as a sound of disgust escaped your lips.

"You have such a charming demeanor, Lord Harbinger."

You gathered up your dress and entered the bathroom before he could remark further, shutting the doors behind you with the resounding clicks of the latch and lock.

The bathroom was tiled and just as ornate as the rest of the rooms: a large vanity with more counterspace than you ever saw in the dorms; a water closet for the toilet; a standalone shower; a tub that stood on its own feet and looked as if it was intended for at least two people, maybe more. You were beginning to think there was no in-between in the Palace; either everything was utilitarian and functional or overly-decorative and wasteful of resources.

Here too, you could only see a smattering of personal effects. Signs the room was occupied but not necessarily used. Curiously, you picked up a bottle and read the label once, twice, and then again, realizing it was actually some kind of acid and not a mouth rinse solution. Whoever brought your things over from your dorm had at least been insightful enough to unpack your toiletries and you were thankful you would not risk burning off your scalp to wash your hair.

Just as you were rummaging around for your things, you noticed a bundle wrapped in soft tissue on a chair near the door. Weird. Was this for you?

You removed the rest of your jewelry and tugged gently on the lace sleeves, the upper body of the dress coming free without further resistance. You stepped out of the dress, arranging the pile of tulle and lace neatly nearby before turning your attention back to the small package.

Gently, you pulled apart the paper. From the pile of cloth, you plucked the top piece and held it up, frowning. It left little to the imagination. Same for the other half. On the bottom was, you presumed, what was meant to be worn over the lingerie, made of the same fabric with a small bow on the back and ruffles on the hems.

To the credit of whoever put it there, it was very fine material. The kind that was befitting of your newly acquired station. Lace this soft and sheer was painstaking to make and couldn't be machine-replicated.

There was no note in the packaging.

Lord Dottore held no expectations, you reminded yourself. Had a servant put this here? If so, on whose behalf?

You put the lace back down and ran the shower, adjusting the water as you ran through scenarios in your mind.

Was Dottore testing you? Could he have only said such a thing to get you to agree? If he'd changed his mind, it would have been more prudent to tell you. On the other hand, telling you would allow you to prepare and he wasn't in the habit of allowing anyone, subject or not, to have time to skew results. Plausible enough.

Or perhaps Pantalone, in his ever-insistent and nosy nature, had this planted here? Considering the state of your ring situation, this was also viable. He wasn't above planting evidence, arranging scenarios so they worked in his favor without fail. From Lord Pantalone's perspective, Dottore acquiring a wife so soon after their deal was struck would have been immediately suspicious and potentially short-sighted, subject to various tests of his own...

Maybe it was neither and a servant or even a Segment thought the notion would be funny.

But it was too expensive for that. No one paid that much mora on something without a purpose…or at least, most people didn't. Your boss was, as always, the worst exception.

You stepped into the shower, ridding yourself of your makeup and perfume and the rest of the day's trappings.

As you stepped out of the shower, feeling at least a little more human, your stomach sank.

In your frustration with Dottore, you never grabbed a change of clothes.

Because your bag was in the sitting room.

Your heart squeezed as you lamented your poor planning. Really? At this rate, you would be found out. How the hell could you possibly think this was going to work when you didn't even grab your things and put them in the closet?

Why hadn't the one responsible for the task done that? That just made sense!

You could walk out in a towel, go grab your things, and make it even more obvious that you were only doing this because, perhaps, you might get better intel.

And while Lord Dottore wouldn't care about any of that, was it really necessary to make a show of how much you didn't want to show skin around him? No.

He thought well enough of your professionalism. And part of that would be embracing the role you were supposed to play. If a servant were to see you not in lingerie as befitting a wedding night, but in drab pajamas…whispers usually spread like wildfire on a good day.

You dried your hair as best you could, freshened up, nestled the lace against your skin. While you weren't used to the cut of certain things, it wasn't uncomfortable per se. Altogether, it was quite lovely.

Another thing wasted on the wretch in the other room.

When you stepped back into the bedroom, you found Lord Dottore laying on the bed, covers pulled back as he scribbled into a book. Even now, his mask was still present. His hand stilled and he turned his head to you briefly to acknowledge your presence before he went back to what he was doing.

Steeling yourself, you crossed the room, crawled onto the bed, and straddled him. He hadn't changed at all, only bothering to remove his jacket, cravat, and waistcoat. Deftly, you grabbed the book from his hands and tossed it to the floor to force him to look at you. He was solid and warm beneath you, the same as any other, and you tried not to think of how little separated the two of you, how bare you were under the lace.

Dottore tilted his head, lips pulling into a smirk for a moment before it spreads into a full-toothed grin, his hand reaching for and gripping your thigh.

A leg wrapped around yours and you met the bed quicker than you expected to, soft sheets and a firm mattress under you. You blinked, Dottore's grinning face above you, never far from reach. You felt a hand ghost over your side, your breast, your collarbone, before it settled on your neck, caressing your pulse point. Despite your proximity, you never felt him press against you, not even when he brushed his lips over your cheek, where the faintest scar remained.

"I hardly you know, my dear. Besides, I already told you that I have no expectations beyond those in public. Such acts between us are quite unnecessary," he said.

Dottore rubbed his thumb up and down the column of your neck before he angled his head so his lips were near your ear.

"Unless, of course, you're simply needy enough to put yourself in the maw of a wolf so easily for a quick reprieve. You never struck me as the sort but I suppose there's a first time for everything."

Heat flooded your cheeks at the insinuation but before you could protest, the Harbinger rolled off of you and out of the bed. He bent down, picked up the book, and made his way to the door to the sitting room. For a moment, Dottore looked at the leather-bound cover in his hands before he turned his attention back to you.

"There is little need for someone as lovely as you to give more than is asked to a monster such as myself. We leave at daybreak."

Oh. Right. Honeymoon. He took care of that and you still had no idea where you were even going.

Without another word, the doors shut, leaving you alone in the large bedroom. Light bled in through the bottom of the doors. No doubt he would be awake a while longer.

You clutched at the bedspread, embroidered with silk and stuffed with down. It gave easily under your hands, as such soft feathers often did, providing nothing substantial to squeeze. You weren't insulted or even hurt, as many others in your position would have been. Confused, certainly, but your ego was intact.

Seduction wasn't precisely a skill you practiced. Numbers told stories in unique variations and patterns and provided more consistency than people. People were unpredictable. Il Dottore especially.

You fell asleep, wondering when all of this would come back to bite you.

#fic: blasphemous rumors #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #marriage of convenience

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ellitx · 3 years

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Chapter 3: Song of the Ancients

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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art belongs to _01ki_

word count: 3k

If someone would ask Venti what happened, he’ll simply give a smile and say it’s nothing. But in this situation, one can feel the uncanny and dangerous aura surrounding him. It’s either they know not to press any further or they’re too naive to understand what’s going on.

It’s unusual for the happy-go-lucky bard to be silent, there’s no doubt about that. His eyes scanned the grass and see if there’s anything out of place there. Something that might be left behind.

In the old ruins of the former city of freedom, there was nothing for his mind to hang onto. There was no familiar sight of you, no sound of your breathing other than the howling of the air. Only the heart beating in his chest stopped him from becoming frozen like Snezhnaya’s landscapes.

When he twirled around to at least see the tracks you have left, there were none. The only way to navigate you was by the sun, birds, and winds.

He bit the inside of his cheek, drawing out blood unwittingly. The taste of iron meeting his tongue brought him out of his mind. He swayed his head and knelt down, feeling the meadow with his fingers.

Calm down, she couldn’t have gone that far.

Right, there’s no need to panic. Maybe you have started wandering the place out of curiosity and see what has changed. He remembered he marked you with Anemo last night, he could try it to track you.

His fingers twirled and called the winds if there would be any signs of your presence nearby. Expecting a response, only silence greeted him.

No gust of the Mondstadt breeze came by to answer him.

He clenched his fists so hard that nails cut into his skin as his brows dug on his front. He called the gales once more and this time he waited a little bit longer. A minute passed, then five minutes and there was still nothing.

In the grip of silent panic, his eyes dilated and his heart began to race. He hoisted himself up from the ground and looked around in sheer distress. Emerald optics meandered everywhere like the wings of a hummingbird.

How could this be? I swear the mark should still remain on her, the effect should last for more than a day.

Venti’s eyes caught the sight of a small orb laying not so far away from where he was standing. He jogged to where the said item was and grabbed it hastily.

It’s the emblem hanging on your dress.

A slight crack can be seen from it. This was his chance if he can see if there would be any anemo marks lingering. He hopes it would. He can’t bring himself to the thought of losing you, let alone letting you wander with dangerous monsters hidden here.

Once again, he used his powers to summon the winds to look for you. Each second that passed by seemed like an hour, and each time they elapsed the more he tightly grips on the insignia.

It didn’t really faze him when the sharp glass cut his skin. What did was the fact there was no response and it reminded him you’re missing. He shouldn’t have left you. He blamed himself for this.

His pulse raced and breathed heavily, almost as if he would burst. He narrowed his eyes at the insignia and threw it to the ground making it shatter into pieces. Not like you would need that anyway, he can just give you an Anemo Vision and he’ll gladly offer it to you if you asked.

It’s better if you hide the identity of being the former Anemo Archon’s daughter. A certain member of the Four Winds will not be so delighted to know about your existence. He opened his palm and silently watched the blood ooze out from his skin, slightly wincing at the stinging sensation.

Venti carelessly wiped it off using his cape and made headway in his search for you. Where could you be in this time and place that are only filled with nothing but ruins? He hardly remembers what this city used to look like before.

Ah, if only you would sing or just talk or anything that’ll allow him to hear your voice, he can definitely find you with ease. His breathing turned shaky and scanned the area if he could see your familiar silhouette.

Not good. [Name], where are you?

Every step he takes, the more the winds are getting colder, sharper, and stronger. Those poor anemo slimes ran away from him in fear, yet some were unfortunate they were struck by the sharp tip of the arrow causing them to burst.

His slender fingers pressed onto the skin of his forearms, nails biting on the layer of fine dust, drawing marks of cuts. How many times had he hurt himself already? He didn’t bother counting it, what matters is finding you as soon as possible.

And lo and behold, they’ve finally heard his urgent calls and wishes of you. He can hear your voice from a distance that is filled with melodious tunes. He searched for where the source of your singing might be coming from.

His eyes brightened up and now he was brimming with hope. It was hypnotizing, almost like he was enamored by your angelic song. He continued to run and run until it was getting louder and louder.

The edges of his lips tugged upwards so widely and he knew he was getting closer. Your voice was smooth and clear and quiet yet powerful. Soothing, in a way. Just the way he loves it. It was the promise of tomorrow, a new hope. It’s so beautiful, he wished that you wouldn’t stop.

He pumped his legs, gaining momentum with each push. At last, he finally found you with your back facing him, but his smile faltered when he saw your hand was caressing the snout of his dear dragon friend.

Turbulence and skepticism were written all over his face.

“Dvalin…?” Since when did he arrive here? He could’ve known he’s back if he saw him flying from the sky, yet why is he not aware of this unannounced sojourn? Your calm and gentle song was put to an end when you made clear of his familiar voice. You turned your head and faced the bard in wonderment.

“Oh, Venti. I didn’t see you there.” You put down your hand and watched him approach the dragon. He petted Dvalin and lightly asked, “When did you come?” He can feel the dragon’s breathing and so he backed away and stood next to you.

“Not too long ago,” Your eyes widened in surprise seeing a dragon talk right in front of you. It was really astonishing for you how you’ve missed so many things in the past years. Your shoulders tensed when his blue flamed eyes were cast towards you.

“Her song… is she the one you’ve always been waiting for?” Venti’s entire body jerked to a standstill unexpectedly. He closed his eyes and smiled as he pulled you close to him.

“Yes. You’ve been wanting to see her as well, right?” You can sense his grip on your waist was put under a little pressure. Observing his hand, you saw how bloody it was that it already stained your white dress.

“Well anyway, it’s good to see you again— huh?” The bard arched his brow when you took his hand and looked at it. “What happened to you? Your hand… it has so many gashes.”

Carefully handling his wounded palm, you looked around the area if you could find any familiar leaves and flowers that could cure and prevent it from infecting any further. Venti’s posture relaxed, softened, marveling at your heedfulness and concern that is only for him.

Maybe this could be a good opportunity for him to get close to you. You always worry about him and treat him every time he’s injured. Normal thoughts barely formed in his mind before they were replaced with the melancholy longing and fantasies of what could be if he were only brave enough to tell you.

The sunshine had no meaning for him unless he could be with you. He daydreamed about every feature of your face, he recalled every way he had never seen you tied your hair and just let it flow freely. He had logged all of your quirky mannerisms to his brain.

Some call it bewitched; Venti calls it love. For there is an emptiness in the freedom of being alone and liberty in being caught by your divine spell. And so when he sees in your eyes the feelings of his heart, it’s like you’ve been connected with him as one.

And if it isn’t some kind of magic you cast on him, then he can’t say what it is.

He leaned forward and nuzzled between your shoulder and neck, whining your name. You yelped in surprise when he lightly bit your skin and sent you featherlight kisses on it.

A slow smile crept up to his face when you square your shoulders in coyness. “Maybe kissing it would heal me?” His breathing tickled your ear as he whispered so closely with a hint of sensuality, almost like it was only for you to be heard.

You puffed your cheeks at his words and slapped his back only for you to earn a chuckle. “I’m being serious,” you groaned. Venti crooned and buried his face deeply, swaying your bodies together.

His gaze faltered to Dvalin who silently watched both of you indifferently. “No need to fret, love. I can simply heal these away in no time.” It was his first time calling you such sweet names. Though, he does hope you wouldn’t mind if he continues giving you more lovely epithets just to see your reaction.

Seeing you fidgety and flustered really made him want to keep you all for himself and attack you with his love; yearning, longing, and adoration. He wanted to show these to you and he knows— he knows very well you also felt the same for him.

The dragon was quiet, that he noticed. The way he looked at both of them made Venti feel uneasy for some reason. “Barbat—“

“Oh! Were you perhaps yearning for her song as well, Dvalin?” The bard immediately queried the wyvern with a smile, however, it sunk and was replaced with an apologetic demeanor. “Maybe [Name] could entertain you later? She’s not yet accustomed here.”

“I’ll show her around first.” His other hand went down to your back and dragged you as he led onwards. Bewilderment was written all over your face when Venti started drawing you away from the blue creature. “Huh? Venti, what about—“

“My hand? No worries, I know a place where we can treat it.” You looked back to the dragon and dubiously allowed him to lead you. It caused your heart to twinge in guilt departing from the dragon friend you have recently been familiar with will be left all alone here.

You watched your feet take steps across the grassy land, your bare feet next to the shined leather shoes of the bard. Venti lightly swayed your arms back and forth together with his legs carrying him quickly to their final destination whilst he hums a tune.

Your stroll ended and you were in front of a pristine lake. A wave of nostalgia washed over you seeing the familiar lagoon. “It brings back memories, right?” Venti started and neared the body of water along with you.

You nodded in affirmation, quite speechless and surprise this was the only area left unscathed. You knelt down on both knees and draped your hand over the liquid, rippling from the slightest of your touch.

It shone like millions of diamonds when each ray of the sun hit the surface. You’ve spotted there were no signs of fish or goose swimming around. It was quite odd though you just brush it off and ignore it.

Venti sat next to you and obliged when you motioned for him to wash his bloodied hand. The water is cold, nothing he can do about that. You took his injured palm while your other hand cupped the water and wash it over to remove the bloodstains.

Drips of red fell down and slowly died out once the pure and clear lake dissolved it. Before you could tear a portion of your dress, he had already stopped you from doing it by grabbing your wrist.

“This should be good enough.” You pressed your lips to a thin line, his words not really assuring your worries. He laughed at your adorable face and squeezed your cheeks playfully. Heaving a sigh in defeat, you leaned against him and propped your head on his shoulder.

You keep an eye on his hand carefully and observe a teal mist surrounding it. The scars started to close up and his skin was clean from stains and wounds as if his palm wasn’t even injured in the first place.

You clasped it with yours and let the tip of your fingers graze over like a fragile diamond. “Can you still kiss it for me?” Venti asked innocently and peered at you pleadingly.

You hummed in thought then smiled, continuing to draw figures around it before entwining your fingers together closely. Venti puckered his lips and whined when you didn’t respond.

Were you teasing him? It made him nervous yet excited at the same time. You notice how his throat bobbed so obviously like he was struggling to gulp down. You were pushing his buttons when your fingers trailed over his arm. He’s captivated by your charms once more and oh how he loves your approach.

You held up his hand close to your lips and gave it a light peck. “There.” You beamed, smiling sweetly at him. You saw the shock registered on Venti’s face before he could hide it. A small smile played on your lips.

It wasn’t what you said though, your words were like vanilla pudding, sweet in their ordinary sort of way, it was the richness of your tone— luxurious and warm. Aside from that, your kiss surprised him the most. He didn’t get that a lot and receiving it from you was like a blessing.

He wriggled himself from you and laid his head on your lap, searching for a comfortable spot until he relaxed against you. And just as he expected, you removed the hair tie from his braided hair and ran a hand through his hair. It’s amazing how you still remember and know what he wants.

Your voice softly echoed in the vast land, singing the previous song he heard before. So sweet, so angelic. His eyelids started to droop, letting himself get lost in your melodic tunes and drift off to wonderland.

—

The lyrics swam through his cerebral cortex like a wakeful dream, the voice relaxing him, enabling the song to call to his entire being. Your singing could never be something superfluous to him, it is medicine delivered in the most divine way.

Before he was awake, a hum saunters in his dream. The gentle tones of you. The humming began to fade until his mind figured out the melody. He had heard so many ballads and sang them before yet this is something he has never encountered in his life.

His eyes gently opened, and there you are wearing your usual sweet smiles. His lips tugged at the sight of your delicate features and caressed your cheek tenderly.

“Your voice... It’s so beautiful. I can listen to it all day.”

There's a kind of blushing that shows the soul, a sort of compliment to the eyes and the delicate sweetness within. It shows a connection, that the smile and shyness come from some deep emotion... and that's a beautiful thing, that's something real.

“I’ve never heard of that song before. Did you compose it yourself?” Your friend asked as he enjoys himself laying on your lap as a pillow. “Not really. My mother always sings this to me.” You answered and resumed playing with his dark hair.

The sound of bell chiming made your head turn to look down at the small wisp wiggling against you. “Oh, did I wake you up?” You questioned while patting its small head.

It shook its head and cuddled on your soft hands letting out a happy ring. “Seems like he loves your song as well.” The bard remarked and lifted himself, stretching his arms to relieve the cramps.

The wind wisp settled himself on your shoulder and twirled joyfully. “I can’t fully comprehend what the lyrics are though. It’s almost…gibberish b-but beautiful nonetheless!” The young male quickly remarked, not wanting to offend you and your song.

You played with the little creature before turning to him. “Ah that. It’s because it’s a forgotten language.” All in all, you weren’t really insulted by his words, rather it amused you.

Not many people know about the ancient and forgotten language, and you yourself don’t even know what the lyrics mean. The words are stuck inside your head like a broken gramophone together with the tune.

“I really like it. It sounds so enchanting especially with your voice.” He commented and grinned at you. A small blush formed on your cheeks and averted your gaze away from him.

Your cheeks are as round as your face. They’re always rosy as if you’re shy all the time, which isn’t a lie at all. There has been only one time when he’d actually seen you ashamed. Not only your cheeks, but he can see clearly the tips of your ears burning red.

He hadn’t known you feel more than you express, until then, when you turn to hide in the most gentle way. What happens next he's going to want to remember for a long time, so while his gaze is soft he doesn't drop his eyes for a moment.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #yandere venti x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fanfictions #genshin impact venti x reader #genshin impact venti #venti #genshin impact reader insert #yandere #tw yandere #elliwrites #Illusory Sense #yandere genshin #venti genshin impact

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monsterfloofs · 3 years

Text

Demon (Oren) x Anonymous Reader Part II (Sfw)

(AHHHH Here we are, part two is finally here! I hope you enjoy it and thank you for all your kind words on part one and your patience! (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

Oren takes a sip from his teacup, peeking at his brother Wyrn who was sitting across the table stirring his tea. It was normal for them to meet every once a week and enjoy tea together. The two youngest siblings had always been very close. “Is there. . . Something on your mind?” Oren asks sweetly. Wyrn was usually a quiet creature by nature, and a day dreamer. He was always lost in thought thinking about something, but today he was more distracted than usual. Wyrn blinks and looks up, frowning lightly. "You haven't told them yet have you?" He asks, the point blank assumption making Oren wince as if stung.

Oren's face turns pink as he flusters, "N-no! I have not." He looks away, fussing with his vest and bow time. “I didn’t think it would be the r-right time-- m-maybe I shouldn't. . ." He rambles nervously as Wyrn tilts his head, the star trinkets that decorate his horns tinkling as they bump into each other. "And why not?" the older sibling prompts gently. Oren fidgets, "Why? B-because--" He huffs cutely, his mouth wavering, "Because," Wyrn finishes the sentence without batting an eye. "They're human?"

"I don't see why you're so worried." Wyrn muses, his eyelids drooping as he raises his cup to his lips. "It is obvious they like you, and plain enough to see, that you like them as well. It wouldn’t hurt to invite them to go on an outing with you, perhaps go to the festival together. Go and enjoy it when all the work is finished." Oren turns his cup in his hands, his pink and yellow eyes drooping. "It’s not that easy you know. I d-don’t have that kind of confidence and I have my worries. . . o-of course. What if I deeply embarrass them? Who would want to, I mean, be with someone like. . ." He trails off and Wyrn raises an eyebrow.

". . .You're afraid of hurting them accidentally, or something to that effect?"

Oren slowly nods, his eyes wandering around the room refusing to look across the table. "Humans are fragile, a-and I don't wish to hurt anyone," He whispers fearfully. "Let alone-- I. . . I could never forgive myself i-if--" Oren his shoulders shrugging up as he stares transfixed into space. His hands shake as he continues to turn the cup in his hands.

"I think you're worrying too much,” Wyrn says with a soft sigh, “You are not one to be careless, and as your brother, who has known you for almost five hundred years now. I can assure you, you will treat them as if they are royalty,” Oren fidgets more, his cheeks turning pinker and pinker from his brother's words. “I wish I could be more like you,” Oren laughs weakly, “You are rarely bothered by such worries.” Wyrn’s eyes soften, and he gives a light smile. “Ah. . . but there you are wrong, I most certainly am. I am just very good at hiding it.” Oren perks up before giving a wobbly smile, “I say this is the perfect opportunity to ask them to go with you and see the flowers,” Wyrn advises, “Both of you have been working hard, so it is only natural you both should go see what you have been working so hard to create.”

Oren was still busy with his brother while you were running about doing your usual chores. Still planning for the festival meant that you had been very busy. You had help of course, and Oren had been more than accommodating as the two of you had tried to puzzle out the staffing, vendors and all the little problems that had cropped up along the way.

It had been four months since you first had begun to discuss preparations for a festival with Oren. The floral festival was almost upon you, there were a few last ends to tie up, but soon the main street will be bursting with vendors. The streets soon to be lined with the colorful flowers that had been so carefully grown. You gave a soft sigh of relief, not that you hadn’t anticipated all this work, but you would be happy when it would finally take place and you could go back to your lighter routine. You pause in the doorway, your eyes flitting over the contents of his library, papers scattered all over the table. A slow breath aching out of your lungs as you stoop to gather a fallen piece of paper.

There was one thing you would miss when this was over though, despite how hectic things had been. You felt you had gotten really close to him as you had been working on a project together. This was the first time you felt he had slowly started to become less nervous around you. There was always this underlying sense of caution in the way he did little things. Stepping around you and keeping a polite distance, but you had seen this demeanor start to melt over these past weeks. Even if it was just a little glimpse, it was something you really had welcomed with open arms.

You reached up and slipped the papers up onto the table, lost in your thoughts. You weren’t really sure how you felt exactly. It was a warm feeling that was hard to describe, whenever you thought your mind could get a grasp on it, it would slip from your fingers. Perhaps, you just wanted him to be happy, and not be so nervous. As you walk around you spot a rumpled blanket set on one of the couches and you realize that there is a soft smile that slowly spreads across your face.

He must have stayed up late going over the last little details papers. Your eyes turn quickly away and you laugh awkwardly to yourself. Running a hand through your hair, trying to focus on cleaning and less on your thoughts. You spot one of his large books, looking it over before you square your shoulders. He would be upset if he knew you were trying to lift it, but it’s place on the shelf was only a short walk away and at your height. You huff shuffling over to the shelf with the book in tow, lifting it up and carefully sliding it into place. You grin triumphantly and dust your hands before you pause your expression faltering. A large shadow blocking out an intimidating shape around you.

“Well, hello there.”

That wasn’t a familiar voice, and so you quickly turn around. Your head and eyes slowly travel upwards over the large demon towering over you. He had dark slate colored skin, and huge ribbed horns. Luminous purple eyes bored down on you. Your mouth opening but no words coming out. You knew what the other district leaders looked like, as you would see them every once in a blue moon. . . but you’ve never seen anyone like him before, he was hulking, easily bigger than Oren. . . And since there were no other giant demons you knew of, that could only mean. . . this must be Deimos. The oldest brother of the five, the one who was vicious and who was supposedly locked away.

There were so many rumors abound since no one had ever seen him, apart from his brothers. And here you were, feeling your very bones quavering underneath your skin. Trying not to tremble as you stared up at him wide eyed. “H-H-Hello--” You managed to mumble.

He grins widely at you in amusement, stooping on one knee, to kneel in front of you, “I didn’t know my brother had any humans on his staff. . . let me get a good look at you.”

You were close enough to see his pupils dilate and you take a nervous step backwards, your breath catching in your throat. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” His grins at you. You can vaguely hear Oren’s voice unusually high as he calls your name. You blink your eyes, snapping out of your trance and turning your head, to see Oren, hurry to your side. “D-D-Deimos! I-I- What brings you here?” Deimos voice rumbles with a deep chuckle, and it makes your hair stand on end. “Can’t I see my youngest brother?” Oren very carefully scoots you behind him as he gives a weak smile. Deimos’ clawed hand lands between Oren’s horns, teasingly wobbling Oren's head back and forth. You don’t have to see Oren’s expression to know that he’s extremely nervous. Deimos grins wickedly and rolls his eyes, “Jus’ checking up on my favorite little brother! You haven’t visited me in a while! So I thought I might as well get some air! It ain’t like I’m locked up in there,” His grins wider thumbing the thick metal collar around his neck teasingly. “And what have we got here? No one told me you got a new assistant! I’ve been out of the loop for so long!” Oren stiffens, “Ah y-yes. . .” He begins to wring his hands nervously. “I th-thought it w-would be helpful for multiple r-reasons.” Deimos raises his eyebrows, and Oren quickly looks down, bumbling awkwardly over his words.

Deimos snorts, shaking his head in amusement. "You don't have to explain, just curious is all." Oren swallows hard and nods shakily, not meeting the eyes of the taller demon. Deimos smirks, looking over his brother before his eyes shift to stare intently at you. His grin widening. "Well. . . I can see you two must be busy~ But dear brother, you must come visit me soon, it gets so lonely being so far away from my siblings." He purrs and chuckles darkly. "I do hope you bring the little one with you. I am eager to know all about this new arrangement. . ."

Oren stiffens as a tremble goes through him, but he keeps his eyes down. His face turning red and blotchy. He stays frozen until he is sure Deimos has left, then he visibly droops. Putting a hand over his heart and giving a shaky sigh.

“That was. . . Deimos. . . ?” Your voice came out softer than you had expected. Oren flusters giving a little wince. “Ah, y-yes. . . That w-was certainly unexpected w-wasn’t it?” He gives a sweet wobbly smile, “He can be a l-little intense, honestly if I had known he was going to visit. . . I would have let you go home.” He rubs his shoulder, shrugging up nervously. “That was v-very strange, I would have expected some s-sort of summons. . .” You nod, biting your lip, “But d-don’t worry!” Oren squeaks quickly, “H-He d-doesn’t s-stop b-by often-- I-it s-surprised me t-too.”

He didn't mention the last thing Deimos had said before he left. . . but you were all too happy to forget about it. Those violet eyes boring into you made your skin crawl. “Would you like me to make you some tea. . . ?” Oren blinks a couple of times, tugging out a handkercheif and mopping his face. “Th-th-that s-s-sounds quite l-lovely actually-- Ahhhh-- what am I saying!” He closes his eyes shut and shakes his head, “I’m n-not going to have you go th-through that t-trouble for m-m-me!” A determined look crosses your face, and you turn on your heels. “It’s not trouble at all!” You call over your shoulder, “I’ll be right back!” Oren twitches, his tail looping nervously around his ankle.

"B-b-but-- Ahhhh-- Th-They’re gone already--” He presses his hands to his face in utter embarrassment, he is literally the bigger person here-- he should have done it ahhhhhhhhh!

You were all too happy to give yourself something else to do. Giving a small sigh as you wait for the kettle to boil. “Jeeze. . ." You mumble to yourself, "That poor boy looked like he was about to fall apart. That must be one intimidating sibling." At least you can make him some tea. That always seemed to help calm his nerves, well that and his terrible addiction to sweets. You laugh quietly, there it is-- that feeling again. You rest a hand to your cheek, “One way or another he is going to have to learn to accept my help,” You say out loud. “After all, we. . . we’re a team.” You shift, crossing your arms and you can feel your cheeks raise with warmth. Thinking quietly to yourself until you hear the water start to boil.

You are careful to take the kettle back to the library, holding onto it with two hands wrapped in oven mitts. “I’m back!” You call out, finding Oren sitting at the table looking nervous, he is quick to stand up and take the kettle from you. Hurrying to pour the hot water into two cups and busy himself with preparing the tea. “I’m so sorry--” He repeats shakily,

“For what?” You ask, scrambling to your seat and beaming. “It wasn’t a big deal! Besides I offered! I can’t have you doing my work! I’m your assistant after all!” You stretch your arms over your head, before letting your hands sink onto the table. “You are so self sufficiant, there’s not much I can do for you--” You cut yourself off quickly, “Ah shoot-- I’m s-sorry me and my big mouth.” Oren looks at you sadly before he looks down. “Really I didn’t mean,” You try to say quickly but he cuts you off, “I-it’s alright.” His eyes glance around the room before he smiles gently, “I- er. . . know. . . I just. . . I just.” He breathes deeply, “I do not want to be a bother to you.” The corner of your mouth curls up into a lopsided smile, “But sir, that’s my job? I mean other than fetching papers or little tasks, I sincerely want to help you.” You watch his eyebrows lift sadly, expecting another apology.

Oren takes a few deep shakey breaths, “Ah-- Well I--" He nervously burbles, "Th-There has been something I have been meaning t-to ask. . .”

You stand overlooking the festival, a cool wind touselling your hair. You lift your face up into the breeze and enjoy the peaceful moment. Wearing your best outfit for the festival, your hands tentatively picking at your clothes to make sure they were pristine. You hear Oren stutter your name and you turn around. “Y-y-you look lovely,” He stammers shyly. You smile at him and hold out your hand, “Ready to go look around?”

His hand pauses mid-motion, before his clawed fingers carefully fold over your hand.

Orens face turns bright red but he laughs in spite of himself. "I-is. . . is this alright? I mean-- I-- you're not--?" You smile up at him and shake your head. Oren squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before his pink eyes slowly open. His mouth wobbles as he carefully fixes the silk flower on his blazer with his free hand. The two of you walk down the steps of his library into the city street.

It was beautiful, a rainbow of colors as far as the eye can see. You smile, watching the faces of the people as they stop to take in the sights. Children holding hands and pointing out the carefully sculpted arrangement of fragile yellow stars that adorned the fountain in the center of town.

As the two of you traverse the grounds there is a softly swishing tail from a figure in the distance. Wyrn smiles warmly as he watches the two of you, holding a bouquet of blue and white flowers carefully nestled against his shoulder. “Getting along well I see,” He muses, “Good, good.” He casts one last smile over his shoulder as he pays for the bouquet. Giving the shopkeeper a gentle nod before making his way out of town square.

Part 1

#monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #fluff #sfw #demon x reader #demon x human

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leo-interactive-fiction · 3 years

Note

Wait!! What about a mirror World scenerio where the ros meet their counterpart like alter E is a big bully or something and for more angst alter MC died to save the ros please ಥ‿ಥ

Haha, that’s an interesting ask! There might be some slight spoilers, so beware. I’ll just label them as Alt’X’ for each character’s mirror. Let’s see...

E: Though they bare a similar appearance, AltE carries a hollow glare over a blood-flecked face. Each step they take dispairs E, who bites back their sunken dismay. “What happened to you...?” AltE glowers, “Everything that didn’t happen to you. But I still have power, and I’ll use it to take back everything I lost.” “Our power wasn’t meant for that--” “My power is meant for whatever I need it for,” AltE interjects, readying their stance, “Kill me if you think you can. I’m not changing course otherwise.” “Wha-- No, I...I don’t want to kill anyone...” “Then you’ll die more pathetic than most.”

R: a figure dressed in a gold-lined suit passes their brimmed hat to their consigliere, causing R’s expression to sour. “Ran back to him, did you?” “A half-truth,” AltR crosses the threshold between them with a chilling levity, “The family isn’t something to disregard. Not when we all could benefit. Isn’t that what we wanted? A carefree life. Is the price of carrying along with a simple deceit really worth giving that up?” “I’ve heard that before.” “Our father did everything in his power to solidify our family’s stability,” AltR extends a manicured hand, “It’s not too late to return, you know. There’s plenty of uses for people like us, and no amount of comfort unavailable to you. Our father can assure to that.” R turns away the hand, “Your father, perhaps. I think I’ll take chances down my own road.” “I’ve yet to hear a truer misfortune. Your abilities were a keen reason to extend my hand, which makes this an unfortunate loss,” AltR turns away, waving to their partner, “Plan B. Get rid of the outliers.”

L: AltL approaches with a familiar Hospian blade in hand, its polished surface casting light into L’s eyes with a deadly sheen. “So you’ve chosen violence...” “I’ve chosen Victory,” AltL stabs their sword into the ground, raising their fingers to the laurel pin in their hair, “The wisest method of achieving peace is through that selfsame method. To conquer is to unify. This is the future I foresee, and the one I aim to bring about.” “I only see the destruction and pain you’ll bring.” “Then you’re short-sighted. Every fire begets flowers in the spring. The rubble I create will bear materials to rebuild for a better tomorrow.” “Any future built upon the sacrifices and anguish of the innocent, even in the name of a greater good, is one I can not abide by!” AltL reclaims their arms, “Abide in your grave! I see only one path before me, and you stand before it!”

V: V aims their pistol at the slender figure before them, a hesitance resting on their trigger figure as AltV stares at them with an expression of heavy grief, “They’ve done so much to you.” V steadies their hand, “Who are you? A spy? Why are you...” “Don’t you recognize yourself?” “You’re different.” “I never ventured over that hill.” V freezes, losing their hold on Silvy and allow the firearm to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. AltV takes a tentative step closer, a hopefulness in their tone, “I can give you a second chance! Don’t you want to see them again?” “Them...?” “You know...the Nomads. Our--” “No, no!” V covers their ears with an agonizing cry, “Get them out of my head! I don’t want to see it again! It’ll happen again!” AltV watches on in grim sorrow, “They’ve done so much to you...”

P: P’s eyes narrow on the golden wreathed spear their doppelganger carries, their tone very nearly spitting acid. “Seeing myself wield that so easily pisses me off...” “And seeing you still wallowing in your weakness makes me sick. I guess they never taught maturity in this world.” “Shut the hell up before I fucking pike you with that damn spear.” “Is creating a string of expletives the height of your vocabulary?” “You must not’ve gotten a good ass-kicking when you were younger if you turned into such a pompous little shit.” The two of them huff, their words crossing over each other simultaneously: “At least I’m not as insufferable as you.”

M: M’s brow raises at the anguished look their alterego gives them past their glasses, their own eyes gazing over the neatly tied hair and manicured outfit until the alter ego speaks up. “You look like an absolute mess! I don’t know how I feel seeing my own body in such an awful condition.” “I don’t...wear glasses...” “What? I’m...” AltM touches their glasses with a puzzled look, “...You know we’re far-sighted, right?” “I can...see fine...I think...” AltM comes close and holds their hand up in front of M’s face, “How many fingers am I holding up?” “...Four...” “It’s one finger.” “That’s...okay...” AltM gives a scrutinizing look, “Are you an idiot?” M gives a light laugh. “How many fingers...am I holding...?” They ask before sending a solid punch into their doppelganger's face. Wiping off the small patch of blood welling on their knuckle, they hum over the unconscious body, “You had glasses...so...I’m a little...surprised...you couldn’t see that...”

Ra: Raven paces around their alter-ego with a darkened glower. Mirroring them, AltRa backpedals with a fretting look. “Are...you okay?” “Look at you,” Raven seethes venomously, “Still being raised on lies, or maybe they’re now truths to you. By that witch.” “I was glad to have been raised by--” “Don’t!” Raven nearly pounces on them, shutting down their vocalization with their own vehement protest, “Don’t you dare say that name!” “What happened between you...?” “Nothing!” “Ka--” “No!” Raven looms over their cowering alter, their fingers tightening around the grip of their knife, “I’m -- We’re -- Raven, and...we’re going to have an...eventful discussion...”

S: S gives a hard look to the figure before them, adorned in a racing jacket emblazoned with a cogwheel symbol etched in gold. S reacts with a voice of clear animosity. “Well, would’ya look at that. Rightfully sponsored, and by Gear no less.” “Ya gunna get on me for makin’ good on an opportunity? Were ya plannin’ on livin’ in that hovel scrapyard forever?” “That’s home to me! That’s where all our family is!” “Our family was better relocated.” “What?” S’s shock gives way to a rising fury, “Ya sold out the yard?! That was...Everything. Ma an’ Pa gave everything to that place!” AltS’s brow creases into a stony countenance, “An’ it wasn’t workin’ out. Family ain’t just gunna pop our dinner into existence.” “Shut the hell up ya damn sellout. I’d rather starve.” “Guess this world ain’t one for common sense,” AltS mutters, taking off their jacket, “Ah well. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

F: They cross their arms upon coming face to face with AltF, glancing over their baggy street clothes and unkempt hair with a displeasure at their mouth. They easily recognize the bow hanging over their shoulder. “You’ve come to the wrong place for sport, I’m afraid. Your hunt has ended before its begun.” AltF shakes their head, “I’m here for you. To appease you, as ruler of my own world.” “A ruler who would wrap themselves in pauper’s wear. A testement to the sorry condition of your nation, brought upon by weak ruler. But I will be different.” “You misrepreset me. We have relinquished much of our material wealth, but those still yet present hold spirit beyond their means. But such rulership that you anticipate will alienate our proud people--” “I’ll not have you lecturing me upon the finer points of my actions,” F snaps coldly, “Ruling is my birthright! In the progress of my livelihood have I carried the expectation of my duties, and I will spend the rest of it in assurance that I fulfill them, even should it come at a cost to the rest of the world. My duty is to Frenza foremost.” “I see now that it may be unwise to continue a discourse. You’ve blinded yourself to your place in the world, content to your familiarity.” “You think yourself more righteous than your station, Husk. Morality holds little place here,” F releases a self-satisfied smile, “Should my people call for injustices and bay for blood, who am I to refuse their pleas?”

Thank ya for the ask, it was fun to write though it took some time to come up with stuff haha. I hope ya enjoy

#triaina academy #romance options

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permanentlyexhaustedpossum · 3 years

Text

Madatobi - The More You Know: A gift for peppymint1986

I posted but forgot to @ ppl. Sorry! @madatobigiftexchange @peppymint1986

Elements:

Miscommunication, Scantily clad men, public indecency

Inspiration:

Marriage Hunt, Red eyes are blessed, Hostage for peace

Music:

Part 1: {The Moon over the Ruined Castle - Japanese Folk Music : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7IqryOGvLAE}

Part 2: {Final Fantasy X - Hymn of the Faith [mashup] : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOiWCXzrBq4}

Part 3 & 4: {Most Wondrous Battle Music: "And The Sky Shall Unfold" by Johannes Bornlöf : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bP4eWOEnY9Y}

It wasn't his intention to get caught. In fact he shouldn't have gotten caught at all. Tobirama sat bewildered at what was happening, staring at the fine silk robes on the four mattress tall futon surrounded by flowers. As if this counted as being "caught." He looked down at his wrists, bound by chakra seals in cuffs that would have been mistaken for beautiful bangles had they not been chained together. Where did the Uchiha get such luxuries? They always looked less off than the Senju in battle. He huffed, thinking about the Uchiha's lack of armor, the recycling of used kunai and senbon. The way most of their people wore old sandals. He'd noticed. And he was sure Hashirama had noticed too. Maybe that was why he always held back against Madara.

Right. Madara. The one who had caught him. Tobirama sighed internally, then rubbed his face waiting for the genjutsu to wear off.

Except it didn't. The beautiful robes and flowers were still there. The four futons were still there. And here he was, barely dressed in what appeared to be some kind of expensive fabric in a way he'd never seen anyone dress before.

"You look confused." A familiar voice barked, laughing. Tobirama sneered, looking behind him and Izuna smirked in return.

"Shouldn't you be dead?"

"On the contrary. I think my act worked rather well. Even Aniki didn't figure it out until we returned from battle." Tobirama made a face. Izuna had always been a crafty rat but to not let his brother in on a plan, well, that's just risky on Izuna's part. He turned fully to face him and the Uchiha spoke again. "It was the only way I could separate you from your people."

"Be done with this farce, Izuna." Tobirama growled. "I was prepared to die when I came here gathering intel."

"Die?" Izuna tilted his head. "Oh no, Senju. You've got it all wrong. You're not going to die. It's going to be far worse."

"So torture then? Be plain, Izuna."

"Ooo, so familiar, Tobirama-san." Izuna snickered mockingly. "You're a hostage for peace."

A beat.

"Is that what all this is for? A bribery?" A pale hand gestured to the extravagance. The younger Uchiha brother shoved off the open door frame and strode into the room.

"Nope. That would be preparation for the Marriage Hunt."

"The _what_?" Tobirama's voice dropped several octaves, a dangerous and threatening tone.

"The m-a-r-r-i-a-g-e h-u-n-t." Izuna drawled, grinning from ear to ear, all teeth. Red eyes narrowed at the man before him.

"Marriage to whom? I'm assuming you mean me as one of the intended parties."

"I do." Izuna sighed, "If only you'd been a woman. This would have worked out perfectly for everyone involved." He shrugged, running a hand through his bangs.

"And why is that?" Tobirama's wheels were turning already. If being a woman would get him out of this, he'd have no choice but to use _that_ jutsu. He frowned internally, it wasn't like it wasn't useful, because it was. He had, on more than one occasion, used his disguise jutsu to turn himself into a beautiful naked woman to gather intel. He just hated being anyone else. And a sexy jutsu just wouldn't be-

"Well, then you could bear heirs."

Tobirama's mind skidded to a halt, screeching at painful speeds into a flaming dumpster of chaos.

"What." Was all he managed to get out before Izuna started laughing. His mood quickly soured. "Your jokes are not appreciated-"

"Who said it was a joke? I was being honest-"

"Izuna." A deeper voice cut the air like a hot knife and both men turned to see Madara standing in the doorway. Tobirama's eyes were quick to assess the situation. A just bathed Madara in sleeping yukata with his hair braided, most likely for bed as Tobirama assumed his hair would tangle like Hashirama's throughout the night. He looked slightly flushed, as if maybe he had been training before hand? Or maybe he'd soaked too long in a hot spring. Madara cleared his throat. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" Izuna looked from his brother to Tobirama before exiting the room without another word. Silence fell into his empty space and Tobirama waited for the boisterous yelling that always commenced between Madara and his brother to erupt into this scenario.

But it didn't. "Are the accommodations to your liking?" A very quiet Madara inquired, throwing the albino for a loop.

"No. I would prefer a dungeon. Perhaps be bound with rope like any other normal captive." His eyes narrowed. Madara's face twisted, and for a moment Tobirama thought he might laugh but he just sighed instead, irritated.

"You're not a normal captive."

"I'm not some stolen princess."

"Right." A long pause by the Uchiha. "Suppose I should fill you in then, Prince."

The Senju scoffed, attempting to fold his arms but unable to do so with the chained bracelets and instead awkwardly let his arms hang. Madara continued, not moving an inch toward Tobirama. "This is no bribery. Though I suppose it looks that way. You're a hostage for peace. I should take care of Hashirama's little brother, keeping him safe, Hashirama is most likely to agree to our terms of peace instead of a Senju dominated treaty." Madara was making sense however,

"That doesn't explain the misuse of clan funds for such luxuries. And I know you don't make enough money personally for all this." Tobirama wasn't intending to be mean, it was just a fact.

"You'd be wrong. On both accounts." He paused. "I have been saving my mission funds since I was eight. Every Uchiha does for a time such as this."

Now Tobirama was really confused as he was sure it was plastered all over his face. Madara looked him in the eyes. "For their intended bride."

"I am no bride." Tobirama snarled, teeth and eyes sharp, feeling his defenses raise like a cornered wolf.

"No? I guess I'll settle for a groom."

"_You_?" The albino was exasperated now.

"Yes. Me. You will be marrying me, groom." Madara stated plainly.

Tobirama's mind whirled to life again. So Izuna set this up, acting as if he was mortally wounded to lure a Senju here in the hopes it would be him, to capture him as a hostage and force him to politically marry his brother.

"Why not just ask?" Tobirama confessed his curiosity. Political marriages between feuding clans or lands often brought peace along with it and though his family had never considered the option because the Uchiha head family was also all boys, it was clear the Uchiha didn't carry such prejudices among them if their Head had preferences such as ... this. But the look on Madara's face was nothing short of offended.

"Like you would have agreed to this otherwise." He growled. "I'm no idiot, Tobirama. It is and always will be an intellectual battle of strategy with you." Though Tobirama was always matched against Izuna, he couldn't help but feel a bit prideful that his prowess was acknowledged by someone else of Hashirama's caliber. Then again, he should have known. Madara was no fool indeed.

"What makes you think I'll agree now?"

"You will." Madara seemed sure of himself, which in any other situation Tobirama might have admired such a trait but right now it scratched at his last nerve. He huffed in return. "Sleep well, groom. Your room is guarded by the best Uchiha have to offer and a priest. I don't suggest making a break for it either. If you care about your brother's peace, you'll play nice for at least a few days. Give yourself an opportunity to see things from our perspective." Madara turned, back to Tobirama, a bold move for a shinobi then looked over his shoulder at him. "By the way, you look delightful." His eyes spun red and Tobirama instinctively looked at his throat instead, mind spinning, confused and wondering what that meant. He looked up when the door shut and he finally was alone again.

Part 2:

Madara was beside himself when he caught Tobirama sneaking into the compound after Izuna's supposed injury. The albino clearly didn't mean to get caught but Izuna had laid enough traps that both Madara and Tobirama would run into each other on purpose. The surprise on both their faces sent Izuna cackling right into the koi pond.

He sighed, looking over at the Uchiha children, too young for battle, scampering around the scantily clad Tobirama and asking him a million questions about his appearance. Apparently, the Senju thought him a monster.

"I am just a man."

"But you're so pale!"

"How'd you get a blank Sharingan?"

"Why's your hair white? Are you old?"

Madara laughed to himself. Surely Tobirama didn't expect this kind of treatment but to say Madara was entertained by it was an understatement. He paused outside the temple waiting for Tobirama to catch up.

"Persistent."

"They're eager to learn."

"Do you not teach them of the White Demon?" Tobirama spat. Dark eyes looked at his contemplative for a moment.

"No." Was all he said, leading Tobirama inside the temple.

Tobirama admitted to himself, he'd never seen a temple like this one before. Long black drapery hung from its rafters, a simple washing basin at the entrance.

"Follow my lead and try not to be disrespectful." Madara chimed, moving to the washing basin, systematically washing his hands and face then praying and shrouding his face with a black veil. When Tobirama did the same, a gloved hand reached and stopped him, handing him a white veil instead. He frowned. Insistently, Madara shook it at him silently. Tobirama rolled his eyes and took it, putting it over his head and following Madara behind the fabrics and soft candle light.

A large statue of a woman emerged, surrounded by flowers of crimson color and other Uchiha, the men shrouded like Madara, the women were not. They didn't look up at him. All except the male at the front, unveiled, a priest Tobirama supposed. A priest that bowed to him when he entered. The albino attempted to bow in return when the priest stopped him,

"No. Among all the people here, it is you who is most honored." The look of confusion on his face made Madara snicker. The priest continued, "You seem puzzled, Moonchild."

"Very."

"I will recount for you then." The priest nodded to Madara who left Tobirama's side and knelt in prayer next to his kin, "Our lineage hails from Indra and his wife, Amaterasu." He gestured to the woman. "It is from Indra we received our eyes but from Amaterasu we gained our love."

Red eyes gazed up at the woman holding the infant in her arms. The priest continued, "After the death of his brother, Ashura-"

A lie. Ashura lived and Indra died.. Ashura is Senju lineage.. Tobirama thought to himself, listening.

"Amaterasu was heavy with child and was kidnapped for the unborn child's potential." It didn't take a genius to know where this was headed and Tobirama stiffened. "The child was taken from her before it's due time and it didn't make it. In her rage, Amaterasu burned the entire valley with black flame that none could extinguish. When she returned to Indra, in her distraught, she thought she would never again bear a child." A long pause. "But she was wrong. She was blessed with a Moonchild. The babe grew and from her, our clan was born. A child with skin as pale as the moon, eyes like red stones, and hair as white as snow."

Tobirama wasn't an idiot. This was a description of him.

"So, naturally, we hail Moonchildren as blessed. As heaven sent. And you, even though you're the enemy, to kill a Red Eyed Moonchild will bring the wrath of Amaterasu down upon us."

It all made sense now. Tobirama looked up at the rubies that was set as the child's eyes. The reason why most Uchiha would never touch him, only retaliating out of fear of their lives. The whole reason why Izuna never outright killed him when he had the chances. Why this whole situation had occurred. Silently, he looked at the priest. "Only women are permitted to speak in here. Of course besides myself and.. well.. you." The Uchiha were making more sense with each day and part of him hated that they did. He just wanted to go back to when it was a simpler time, attacking the enemy just because they were the enemy and not understanding them at their core.

The women, less of them in battle than Senju, were guardians of the home, the most powerful and most protected by the Uchiha men. The reverence they have for their women, the understanding they have of life and death. And the way they gazed upon him as if their very insides were confused. He barely noticed when he and Madara returned to the head house.

"They're conflicted." Madara spoke at last, escorting Tobirama to his captive room, almost as if reading his mind. "People like you... are a blessing and they think the Senju have been blessed above us. They lost hope when you entered battle against us."

The silver and gold bangles clinked as Tobirama entered the room, contemplating all he'd seen and heard in the past few days. "They seem to have hope before my capture."

"That-" Madara began, standing in the doorway, "-is because of me." And with that, he closed the door, leaving Tobirama sneering to himself of how self-absorbed Madara really must be.

Part 3:

"You've got it all wrong."

"What do I have wrong, Izuna?" Tobirama sneered, it was the end of day three and he had yet to decide for himself what he would do.

"Aniki said we lost hope seeing you in battle, but he never said he was the one to bring us hope. He said it was because of him we have hope."

"You're speaking in circles." Red eyes narrowed, sitting on the floor, still refusing to use the many luxuries provided to him in the room.

"He said he'd bring you to our side. Well, more specifically, he said he'd marry you."

"Excuse me?" The albino pursed his lips, "You expect me to believe that your brother said that when he was a child?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything." Izuna set the very plain cloth down on the floor. "He said he would. We all laughed because of course, it wouldn't work. You're a male. But it occurred to me.. that marriages don't require children to be valid." The younger said, as if he'd had a revelation. "Political marriage specifically. So here we are." He put his hands on his hips, waiting for the answer.

Tobirama sighed, he'd seen and heard many things in the past few days, most of which did in fact, sway his original opinion of the bloodthirsty Uchiha he'd grown to hate and respect over the years. They were a clan gripped by a love deeper than the Senju, crazed with the pain that losing that love brings. It was Hashirama's dream, this peace. Tobirama could never really imagine it in his head, but he could theorize on how to accomplish such a feat. Many policies, many treaties, and so so much trust would be needed. But this... this capture turned everything on it's head. He could single handedly stop this centuries' old war. Him. The second born of the Senju Head. Not the Mokuton User. Not the first born, his brother who shone like the sun and commanded respect with his very presence.

Him. A child of water and moonlight and darkness.

It was a long moment before he reached for the garment silently. He could hear Izuna's breath hitch. Was he really going to do this?

"Tell me how it works."

Part 4:

When he stepped out into the open with Izuna wearing only the loin cloth provided, he held his head high and walked straight to Madara. Surprised, the Uchiha flushed an interesting pink from his face down his chest, which only made Tobirama's eyes wander. They were dressed the same, and as per Izuna's instructions, everything looked to be in order. "Betrothed." Tobirama drawled bored like.

"You're going through with it?"

"Yes. Hashirama isn't the only one who wants children to stop dying." Tobirama huffed, hand waving. "Though I've never entertained the thought of a man before." Madara raised a brow. "There isn't much time for such things in war."

That was a lie, Madara knew quite well that sexual encounters were not just the norm in war time, it was honestly the quickest and most effective way to blow off steam. Every shinobi had done it if not with both sexes, then at least one or the other but from the look on Tobirama's face, he was unfazed. "Have you ever..."

"I don't think I need to be here for this conversation," Izuna nearly yelled to not hear whatever response had tumbled out of Tobirama's mouth. "Okay you've got your instructions. The marriage hunt begins now. Get going!" He flickered away and like that, the two men were standing nearly naked and alone at the forest edge of camp.

"We need to get going before they catch us." Tobirama only nodded at Madara's remark, gesturing for him to lead the way. With that, Madara darted into the forest, Tobirama on his heels. It was intensely quiet for a long period of time, Madara scanning the forest with his Sharingan as they put space between them and the compound. He paused on a branch, pulling Tobirama into a hollowed tree trunk with him. Except he didn't account for Tobirama's height and his eyes widened when the albino's head smacked on the opening with the force of his pull. A pale hand went up to hold his face and Madara tried not to laugh, listening to see if the loud thud had given them away. Tobirama looked unimpressed, but followed him into the tight space, surprised at just how bulky Madara's torso was compared to his own. Chest to chest, they hid inside the trunk, whispering and keeping their senses open.

"I sense fourteen at seven position." Tobirama whispered.

"They're not close enough for me to see yet." Madara looked back at the pale chest before him in the dark, trying not to flush again with their proximity.

"What's your plan?"

"I say we cross into Nara territory and wait out the rest of the day. The sun is rising." Tobirama scoffed looking bewildered at his shorter companion.

"I am NOT hiding nearly naked in NARA territory even if it is for peace."

"You could always hide fully naked." Madara immediately looked away as both of them flushed and scowled. "If we don't hide, we'll spend all day running and by night fall, the clan will be upon us. And I know their tenacity. They'll keep coming until we're both captured and if we want peace, we can't let that happen."

"Then we go north into the mountains."

"Are you crazy? It's nearly winter and you want to go into the mountains, in less than a fundoshi?"

"There's a hot spring-" Madara pulled Tobirama down to his knees, nearly flush with his waist as the top of the trunk was shattered over them. Ignoring the placement of his face so close to an erogenous zone, Tobirama took the initiative and lifted Madara onto his shoulder, bounding upwards as kunai trailed after them.

He picked up speed, silently thanking the gods that Hashirama had grown into the thick tree trunk brother he became or Tobirama would have never gained the strength to pick Madara up like this and bound away. With Madara using wind jutsu to cut down trees to block the way of his kin as he berated Tobirama for carrying him like a sack of rice, the sun seemed to spark brighter over the horizon and through the leaves. Suddenly, the albino tumbled forward, nearly planting them both into a cliff face and dropped Madara who squawked as he not so graciously caught himself on a hanging rock.

"What the hell, Senju?!"

"I should be asking you the same." Tobirama spat, holding onto another rock.

"I was helping you!"

"By hitting me with wind jutsu?"

"By propelling us forward faster!" Tobirama paused, a tactical moment when he realized Madara wasn't just limply hanging onto him, he was trying to work with him the only way he knew how. He opened his mouth to respond when a fire jutsu flashed between the two hanging on the side of the cliff and they both bolted upwards for the edge to keep going.

"You should have warned me you'd use that tactic!"

Madara just gave his companion a dirty look as they raced through the next bout of trees, fire licking at their heels. It wasn't long before they both broke through to the other side, right into a farmer's field. "Where the hell are we?"

"Oh gods damn it." Tobirama face palmed, then turned. "They're right behind us. Hurry."

"W-what?!" Madara squawked as Tobirama yanked him through the rice field, past the very confused farmer and into the bushes on the other side.

"They'll have to slow down through the field or risk burning it." Tobirama raised his voice over the sound of the wind as they ran, Madara too focused on the hand grasping his wrist to do anything about it.

"And we just-"

"Izuna didn't say we couldn't be seen. He said we couldn't be caught."

"That's not the point-"

"Then what's the point?" Tobirama looked around, engrossed in the chase now, body flexing as they stopped for a moment to reconsider their surroundings and listen for their hunters. Madara's eyes wandered over the companion before him and huffed, tearing his eyes away to scan the perimeter of their line of sight.

"It's not about the chase. Well it is but-"

"Izuna said-"

"Izuna didn't say-"

The two jumped as they were interrupted by a hailstorm of senbon. Madara tackled Tobirama, and the two rolling down a hill into a creek, fall leaves jumping into the air as they went. Madara groaned, now they were wet and cold, and- his brain stopped when they stood up and Tobirama looked around.

"What's wrong with you?" The albino snapped his fingers in Madara's face who blinked and suddenly looked up.

"You uh.."

"I what? Spit it out, Uchiha."

"You lost your cloth."

Tobirama's lips pursed as he decidedly did not look down to check and tried to decidedly not blush at his nakedness. He could hear Madara swallow. "Not something you like?" He hissed, touchy about the subject of his body.

"On the contrary." Madara cleared his throat, "You're quite gifted-" He ducked as another senbon went whizzing over his head. "But we can discuss who's riding who later-" Red enveloped Tobirama's entire body leaving him less agile than he'd like, especially when Madara snatched him up and took off running away from the approaching Uchiha trying to stop them. All he could think now was how nice peace would be. No running. No fighting. A warm body to wake up to.. and maybe.. just maybe someone to banter with.

#madatobi gift exchange 2021 #madatobi shenanigans #peppymint1986 #this was gonna be way longer but my entire house got a vomiting sickness twice #the basement also flooded #i had a panic attack

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alwayspondering · 3 years

Text

Roots Intertwined

Hi! I’m absolutely honored to have had such a wonderful artist to work with in @mysme-rbb : Loli! Their art style is spectacular and it is a perfect visual for the story below. Check out Loli’s Instagram HERE! ^^

Note: I posted this before, but accidentally pressed the wrong button and deleted the original post. If you could leave a note to build it back up to what it was, that would be lovely!

Warnings: some implied reference to neglect and abuse, spoilers for Rika’s Behind Story, religion

Finally. A moment alone with my thoughts. That was rare.

As quiet and serene the ancient walls of the cathedral were, it was rare to find a moment of peace.

Perhaps “peace” is a loose term. Peace can be defined in countless ways, flexible from person to person. One thing is universal – everyone gets peace of mind from security, from support, from compassion. Peace of mind is one thing, but surviving is entirely different. Too much security is dangerous.

I had learned that early on. No matter what happens - or whoever enters my life - that mindset will always be with me. It protects me. That is the only thing I know for sure in this world.

V tells me that he is my security, the one I can trust, the one I can love - my Sun.

V tells me he will help me rid of the darkness in my mind.

I want to believe him. I want to trust him. I want to love him as much as he loves me. I want to be worthy enough for the handsome, sentimental man that had so sincerely promised his life to me.

A part of me wants to embrace the darkness that I pushed away for so long. Is that so wrong?

The all-too-familiar feeling of dread washed over me. I suddenly saw Mina, curled up on a church pew. The screeching voice of Mother - of the Pastor - berading every thought that could have spun the flashback away.

“This is just a ritual to cleanse the devil from you-”

“Serena, you’re possessed by Satan-”

“This thing will spread its germs! Dear Lord, smite this fiend out of this place-”

“Begone!”

“Satan!”

“I need your help, good people of God!”

A small, trembling hand reached to point at the Preacher, tears streaming.

“Amen, amen...”

Though a million different phrases raced through young Mina’s mind, nothing dared escape her lips. Mina was silenced. Serena was silenced.

“Lord, protect us from this Satan!”

I was silenced.

“Do something about her! The Satan might reach out to us, too...!”

“Get her! Now!”

Silenced. Restrained. Helpless.

Slowly - painfully - the image of Mina soon began to shift. Mina’s emerald doe eyes faded into vibrant golden ones, filled with the same amount of helplessness. Her wavy blonde hair faded into a tousle of red.

“...Miss Rika?” A soft, mouse-like voice snapped me out of the nightmare.

Saeran.

I knew how to recover quickly from these episodes. I learned how to don a mask of innocence and happiness for the rest of the world, at the flip of a coin.

Saeran needed someone who was stable - someone who could be his rock. Just like V was for me. I had to be that for Saeran no matter what. I could never abandon him.

“Hello, Saeran.” My once-dazed expression melted into a smile as he ran to meet me on the bench in the prayer garden that had become my escape.

“I’ve missed you, Miss Rika! So, so so much!” Saeran nearly tackled me into an embrace that I returned warmly.

“V and I have missed you just as much!” I heard my own voice chime out, the smile on my lips genuine now as the lingering dread washed away.

“...You did?” Saeran pulled away from the hug, his head tilting to the side. His eyes were just as doe-like as Mina’s. The same innocence - and fragility - she had once had was evident in him, too.

“Of course we did. How could we not miss such a goofball like yourself?” I rustled his hair, a light-hearted giggle escaping the young boy’s lips. The small peal of laughter was soon interrupted by a sudden expression of uncertainty.

“A ‘goof-ball’... Is that a bad thing?” Saeran enunciated each syllable of this new word, unsure of himself. My own expression shifted as I could sense a new anxiety in the young boy. One that was very familiar.

“A bad thing? No, absolutely not. Being a goofball is one of the best things to be, Saeran. It’s a good thing.” My voice was reassuring, almost motherly.

“A good thing... Hm.” I could see the cogwheels turning through Saeran’s mind after he spoke, and then - “Mother says I will never be anything close to good.”

Tears began to form in Saeran’s eyes but it was obvious he was trying his best to hold it all in. It seemed like he had experience with holding in that emotion. Just like Mina.

“Saeran…” I watched as he struggled to keep an unbothered expression.

He was fighting hard.

His thoughts were so obviously spiraling.

“...Saeran… You don’t have to hide any of those emotions from me. Okay?”

Saeran’s expression remained as stone-cold as he could muster. His eyes glared back at me with bewilderment. It was as if he’d never heard reassurance like this from anyone.

I figured that was accurate, from the way little Saeyoung had spoken of their mother. There was obviously a reason he never talked about her.

Without another word between us, I enveloped Saeran into a nurturing embrace.

As if a burden had been lifted, he sunk into my arms - effortlessly, as if he had belonged there.

His heaving sobs were silenced as he buried his head in the ruffles of my dress. His breathing soon became hitched - broken - gasping for air.

I could only hold him tight, and comfort him as best as I could. That was the least I could do for this poor child.

Soon, the gasps turned into hyperventilation.

“Saeran, darling - Breathe…” I spoke tenderly, in the most comforting voice I could muster.

His breaths were still fast - too fast. “You are safe here with V and I. You are safe with me… Please, just breathe…”

Slowly, but surely - painfully - Saeran’s breaths began to calm.

“That’s it - just keep breathing… Three counts in, three counts out…” I recalled the breathing strategy V had coached me through countless times. Saeran followed my advice, and soon his breathing pace settled further.

I held Saeran close, like I always wished my mother had. I held him tight. I wanted to protect this child from this world. Even if it meant sacrificing myself.

“...Can you talk to me, Saeran? Tell me what’s swirling through those thoughts of yours.” I asked gently, taking care not to overstep and push him away.

In response, Saeran pulled away from the embrace, staying close but retracting in by wrapping his arms fully around his small torso.

The young boy’s sniffles were the only sound other than the birds chirping in the near distance.

A look of deliberation - of hesitancy - suddenly appeared on Saeran’s face. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his torn, thin shirt. A bony wrist moved to roll up both pant legs to reveal two raw, red bruises around his ankles.

A sharp gasp instinctually escaped my lips at the sight.

Though I kept it hidden, rage for the monster that shackled this poor child boiled up inside.

“It hurts…” Saeran whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. The tears trailed down his cheeks silently.

“Your mother did this to you…?”

A sharp nod in response.

“A mother should never treat their child that way.” My voice was suddenly colored with a new darkness.

“...Why does she?” The young voice chirped, pining for an answer. That was an answer I wanted to figure out for myself. I could hardly fathom how anyone could even think of hurting such a weak, broken child.

A child who needed someone to help him survive in this world.

“Some people in this world are evil, Saeran. Unfortunately, your mother is one of them.” I spoke in a calculated, composed tone. There was no need to let my true emotions out.

“‘E-vil…’ Is that something bad?” Another inquisitive chirp.

I nodded in response before taking his small hand in my own. At first, he flinched at the touch - but soon relaxed.

“...But you know what? I know how to spot the evil people in this world.”

“You can…?”

“Yep, I can. It’s my super power.”

“Wow, really?”

“Well, not really. But I’ve never been wrong about a person, ever.” A laugh escaped my lips before my expression shifted to that of true sincerity. “...I want you to know that I’m going to do everything I can to protect you from her. I will always protect you, Saeran.”

“...Why me?”

I considered this for a moment. I had to gain his trust. I had to be careful. One misspoken word, and I could lose everything.

“Believe it or not, you and I are actually quite similar, Saeran.” I wiped a tear from Saeran’s cheek and realized he was entranced at my words. My eyes searched the ground, settling upon a burst of yellow just beyond the shadows of the bench. Reaching down, I deftly picked it from its shady haven.

“...You and I are like this daffodil. Fragile, beautiful, sprouting even from the darkness.” I spun the stem in between my fingers. “...This daffodil needs someone to take care of it. Someone who will protect it. Someone who will help keep it alive.”

I took a moment to phrase my words - cautiously.

“I will be that someone for you, Saeran. Will you let me be?” I handed the delicate flower ever-so-carefully to Saeran. He twirled the stem in between his fingers, his expression colored with new melancholy.

“You… really want to protect me?” Hesitant curiosity coloured the child’s voice now.

“Of course I do,” I continued, “I’ll care for you, protect you, and help you survive in this world, Saeran.”

Saeran blinked in an almost disbelief, a tear trailing slowly down his cheek. That disbelief melted into a hopeful smile.

That was the smile of a child who was fit for the Paradise I had been dreaming of.

“...Okay.” Saeran’s gaze flickered back towards me, his golden eyes as doe-like as ever. He twirled the stem giddily in between his fingers.

Saeran was the daffodil - as delicate and fresh as the tiny flower he held so carefully. I will do everything in my power to keep him from being crushed, from being choked out by the weeds he would inevitably find himself ensnared in.

No weeds would ever dare ensnare anyone I deemed fit for my Paradise.

#mystic messenger #mysmerbb #rika #mystic messenger rika #saeran #mm saeran #mystic messenger saeran #mystic messenger fanfic #hurt and comfort #read on ao3 #ao3 #angst #wholesome

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higuchimon · 2 years

Text

[fanfic] Encounter In Pain

Shun winced as he picked his way across what had once been a beautiful park. Now it was little more than ruins, shattered and bent metal everywhere, and a few other things that he didn't want to look at, because if he did, he'd probably start understanding what they were, and he'd never be able to sleep again.

Yuuto ghosted along behind him, feet as quiet as his Phantom Knights, eyes darting everywhere. The way he looked at it all worried Shun more than he cared to admit, but he never asked. Neither of them went out of their way to make noise. Noise could attract Fusion scum and there was more than enough of those wandering around without that kind of help.

Unfortunately, the sort of people who went around invading other worlds didn't wait patiently around for permission to commit even worse acts.

They'd been on the way to what had once been a grocery store and was now going to be a supply drop between one of the nearby cities and Heartland City. Fusion soldiers guarded a lot of the usual places they used for that, so Shun and Yuuto both hoped this could be kept secret for a while.

Perhaps it might have been. If they'd ever made it there.

The explosion came without warning. Shun wasn't even sure of which side it came from, only that it wasn't in front of them. Behind or to the side; it really didn't matter. What mattered was that it blew up several of the still standing buildings - not that there were very many of those left. But what was left was enough to cause more trouble than either of them wanted.

Pain tore into Shun, sending him sprawling forward, long gouges tearing into his coat and pants, a streak of flame exploding across his chest, and sharper agony flowering across his arms and one leg. He twisted and bucked, fighting back the screams that wanted to tear out of his throat. If he screamed, the Fusion soldiers who did this would find them, and he wouldn't be able to stop them. He wasn't even sure if he had a duel disk anymore right now. He'd have no way to fight them off.

Yuuto? Was Yuuto all right? He'd never been happier that Ruri hadn't come with them today. He didn't want anything like this to happen to her.

Hands touched his shoulders, and he jerked, wanting to scream even more, but Yuuto's familiar hand touched his lips, keeping him quiet. Shun wasn't even certain which way he faced right ow. Why couldn't he even see anything?

"We're going back," Yuuto whispered, voice close to Shun's ear. "You're in no shape to continue."

Shun wanted to tell him no; they needed the supplies, and there weren't many who could make this run. But whenever he tried to scrap together words, nothing came out of his mouth. Finally he just managed to nod. They'd figure out what to do later. If he couldn't even manage to walk, then they weren't going to make this supply run. Though how they'd be able to get back he also didn't know.

Something was tucked over him. Shun figured out a few seconds later that it was Yuuto's cloak. It seemed in better shape than his own coat was right now. Very carefully, Yuuto - he guessed it was Yuuto, there wasn't anyone else around who could - tugged him away from where he'd fallen and into a somewhat cooler place.

"You're going to have to stay here while I go get some help," Yuuto murmured to him. "I can't get you back on my own."

Shun wasn't so sure of that; he knew Yuuto was a lot stronger than he looked. But he wasn't really in any condition to argue right now. So he didn't even try to protest. Not that he could have done a good job of that right now. Just the thought of moving hurt. So he stayed where he was and hoped that Yuuto would get back soon.

Shun figured out very quickly that he didn't like being here, unable to defend himself or even move to a safer place if anything happened. He didn't blame Yuuto for going back for help, though. Neither he nor Yuuto knew that much about medicine and if they didn't find someone who did, then his odds of getting back home in one piece were practically nothing. He wasn't going to let that happen. He had to be there for Ruri.

They were the only ones that they had left right now. Their parents hadn't survived the initial invasion. Neither had anyone else on their street and very few people from their neighborhood in general. Only a handful of people they'd known before remained. But so many others - cards, or worse. Shun hadn't known what 'worse' could be. At least, he hadn't experienced it. Now he had. Now he'd sen not just the cards of people he'd once walked past or seen in stores, but he'd seen their bodies, torn apart at times, or just laying there in the rubble - or someone mentioned that they'd not gotten away before whatever building fell or the Fusion forces struck.

Why? Why did those invaders do this? What did they want? Shun wanted to scream his questions at someone who would answer him, and he knew that even if got answers, he wouldn't like them. There just wasn't any reason for it to happen at all.

How long had Yuuto been gone? Shun still couldn't see what was going on. He thought his eyes were closed but he couldn't be sure. How badly had he been hurt? Every part of him throbbed and ached and there were plenty of place where he'd been sliced by whatever it was that had blown up. He could feel something sticky on various parts of his body and guessed that was blood.

Ruri wasn't ever going to forgive him for this. She'd told them to stay safe and he'd not done that. But he looked forward to hearing her telling him how stupid he was. Ruri would do that quite loudly and roundly. She made a habit of doing it every time he got back from any sort of mission, whether she’d been on it with him or not.

The pain didn’t ease, but it didn’t get any worse, either. He’d take that. A faint breath of wind blew against him, chlling what parts of him it could reach, and he wondered how much longer it would be for Yuuto to return.

The sound came without warning. Footsteps! Shun tensed as best that he could, hoping that this was Yuuto and whatever help he'd brought along. Though - was it too soon? He couldn't be sure and he still couldn't see anything. So he refused to move, no matter how much he really wanted to. If he was wrong and there were Fusion soldiers there, then he'd never see Yuuto or Ruri again.

"Are you sure you saw someone?" Not a voice that he knew, but it sounded regardless. Shun tensed, straining against the darkness. He thought he saw a few shapes moving in the shadows that surrounded him, but he had no idea of what they were, or if they were anything at all.

"I'm sure I did. If we can find whoever it is, we can card them."

That wasn't what Shun wanted to hear. It was what he expected to hear, but not what he wanted. He couldn't move enough to be sure he was out of sight, and he thought that Yuuto's cloak had fallen off. He still had no real idea of where he was or how concealed he might be. If those Obelisk Force soldiers found him, there wasn't much he could do to fight them off. He'd be a card in no time flat.

Footsteps, coming closer. Those weren't Yuuto's. He was certain of that. He thought they sounded like boots on rock. He strained to see better, but nothing worked. The steps came closer and closer.

The voice that spoke wasn't one he knew. It was quiet, and he thought female. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll get them away from here. Just stay quiet."

Was he actually hearing that from a member of Obelisk Force? Those who had wreaked so much destruction on his world? Shun didn't believe it. This was some kind of trick. But he couldn't argue or resist. Whoever it was turned around and walked away.

"Well, Himura?" That was one of the earlier voices. "Find anything to play with?"

"No. Nothing but rubble back there." It was the same voice that had spoken to him. Shun would have frowned if he could. Why was she lying to them? Just to keep him safe? He didn't believe that. She had to want something from him. But how would she get it? What could it be? It wasn't as if he had anything to offer.

He couldn't even ask what she wanted. All he could do was listen as the other Obelisk Force grumbled, unhappy they hadn't found someone they could card or worse, and they all headed away.

Himura. He didn't even know what she looked like, but he would remember that name.

He had no idea of how long he stayed there, but it was starting to get a little chilly by the time Yuuto and a couple of other people - who he still couldn't identity - came back. Yuuto raced over, resting one hand on Shun's forehead.

"He's still alive," Yuuto reported. "Can you help?"

The voices weren't ones he could identify right away but they did sound familiar. He'd probably heard them around camp. Whoever they were, they hurried over to him and started doing incomprehensible things. Pain that had more or less toned down to throbbing aches and half-dried blood shot up all over again as they checked him over. A few noises managed to make it out of his throat this time, but nothing that could be called 'words'.

"All right, I think he's in good enough shape to head back to camp. If we move him carefully. It looks like most of the damage is lacerations, cuts, bruises and a possible concussion. And his coat needs to be replaced."

Shun wasn't sure of how much of that was true; but he'd never taken medical classes, and the little bit that he'd had to learn since the invasion hadn't covered this. So he couldn't argue, as the three of them settled him on a makeshift stretcher and started to carefully make their way back to the base. He wasn't sure anymore if he couldn't see because of damage or because the sun had begun to slip behind the still standing remains of the city buildings, sending sable fingers of shadows across the land. Or possibly because his head throbbed so much that he could hardly think, let alone look at anything.

Yuuto stayed by him the whole time, murmuring about how Ruri intended to deliver the worst lecture to him as soon as they got back, and some of the younger rebels would probably admire the scars he would have. None of that surprised Shun. He considered himself lucky just to have survived the explosion in the first place.

The thought of 'Himura' hadn't escaped him at all. He just didn't have time to wonder about who it was, and he wasn't going to tell anyone else. He would find out what she wanted before he mentioned anything to Yuuto or Ruri. He thought they'd understand, but he wasn't going to change his mind. She wanted something; he just didn't know what it was.

But whatever it was, he wouldn't give it to her. His world had paid enough for the knowledge of other worlds, and all he wanted was for them all to leave everyone he cared about alone.

The End

Notes: I want to write this from Yuuto’s POV, and maybe something from Akane’s. This contributed to her decision to tell Asuka what the invasion was really like. But will she and Shun ever get to discuss this?

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo arc v #febuwhump2022 #kurosaki shun #yuuto #osiris red girl #himura akane

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second-chance-stray · 3 years

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RP Log: Bertram helps Cravs with a bug problem. They meet each other, but fail to connect the dots...

Cravendy Hound pants heavily as she BOOKS it, sprinting away from a swarm of bugs and microchus that nip at her heels. She hadn’t even been doing anything prior - just going on a walk by the stream. Just enjoying the crisp, cool air. But it would seem that the elementals had had enough of her target practice, and now the woods don’t seem as peaceful as they were in the past.

Bertram Windshadow had been attempting to do the very same with his own time on this particular day. There were always a myriad of things upon his mind these days. It did him good to simply step out and move without particular direction and unrestrained pace. Wherever to the wind lead him. That is, of course, until he spied a roegadyn woman being harried by the denizens of the Black Shroud. 1/2

Bertram Windshadow came to a stop within the canopy of a moderately sized tree before dropping down to the forest floor so that he could get a better assessment of the situation. He wasn't about to leave someone in trouble . .. in trouble. 2/2

Cravendy Hound stretches her arm back, aims her gun at her pursuers, and fires a couple of rounds. Some of the shots hit microchus, splitting them from the mob momentarily...though, with every one that was dispatched, two would spring from the bushes and take its place. Meanwhile, for the bugs, I simply present to you this question...have you ever fired a gun at a housefly? Would that work? The answer is no. No, it would not work.

Cravendy Hound: “Godsdamned, bleedin’ flyin’ pieces of shite! Overgrown spinach!” Cravs swats at the air as bugs relentlessly buzz around her. In an attempt to get them off her back, she jumps off the side of the cliff and into the river...however, she misjudges the depth of her target. It’s much too shallow to keep the bugs away from her. And now, she’s drenched AND annoyed.

Bertram Windshadow watches quietly for a moment as the stranger attempts to ward off the pests with her firearm. An attempt that causes the highlander to wince slightly just before she plunges herself into the drink . .. well, at least as much as she could manage in the relative shallowness. 1/3

Bertram Windshadow could only assume that the single-minded focus of these creatures could only come from one place. She'd done something to annoy the Elementals. Not enough to rouse them to outright *anger*, but . .. enough to peeve them. It was an easy mistake to make and Bertram figured they'd more than learned the lesson no need for further assault. 2/3

Bertram Windshadow reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a small orb. With a firm press, and a quiet click, it began belching out a stream of smoke or fog. The man then quickly rolled it in the direction of Cravendy in the hopes of helping disperse the swarm of bugs! 3/3

(Cravendy Hound) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnHmskwqCCQ )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( *dies* This was what was *exactly* what was playing in my heat. ))

Cravendy Hound is too busy swatting away the bugs and plant monsters to notice the source of the sudden smoke, so she thinks it’s the Elementals toying with her further. Her confusion serves to make her even angrier. “If yer gonna kill me, just do it an’ be done with it!” What follows is a long-winded, story of a swear that ends with a coughing fit.

Cravendy Hound - The smoke, meanwhile, does disperse the bugs. They now hover at the edges of where the cloud stops. You can’t see through it, though you can certainly hear all sorts of things happening beneath its foggy exterior.

Bertram Windshadow bobs his head to the side slightly and makes his way forward at a slightly accelerated pace, breaking his way into the opaque cloud and speaking so that he can make his presence known. "I don't think you're going to get killed today, stranger, but we should probably get you closer to Gridania ..." He calls out before attempting to reach out and touch Cravendy's arm to let her know where he is.

Cravendy Hound: “Who, in the name of Llymlaen’s left teat, are you?!” Upon being touched, she instinctively aims her gun right at Bertram, and then glances to the side. “Behind ye!”

Cravendy Hound - Her aim shifts ever so slightly, from being pointed at Bertram’s forehead to something else entirely. The shot rings out, wind brushing dangerously close to his ear, and then sinks directly into a microchu that had been sneaking up behind them. “Gods, ye...let’s get out of ‘ere.”

Bertram Windshadow winces visibly -- or invisibly given the current circumstances -- at the sound of the gunshot so close to his ear. The ear on that side of his head was nothing but ringing in the moment and he could barely make out the latter half of her speaking. My this woman was an aggressive one. Some dots were starting to connect regarding the Shrouds current state of upset. 1/2

Bertram Windshadow called out in a voice slightly louder than necessary, "Let's get out of here," he echoes her sentiment without realizing it. "They're just going to keep coming if you fight them like that." 2/2

Cravendy Hound nods. She had no desire to let the ‘friendly, forest friends’ have their way for any longer. “Gridania’s a tad far...But Hyrstmill’s just a rock skip away. Let’s find a ‘ovel to ‘ole in and be done with this.”

Bertram Windshadow has to strain to hear the suggestion, but he calls out with an affirmative sound before reaching in to the same pouch again to remove another sphere. With a 'click' the smoke begins to spew and he pivots on a heel to face the direction of the small outpost. As he does he throws his arm back and then swings it forward; throwing the smoke-spewing orb like a bowling ball. In its path it leaves a trail of smoke. "That'll hopefully then thin the herd and give us an opening!"

Cravendy Hound stares curiously at the orb, and then back to Bertram. It clicks in her mind. The smoke? Not the Elementals. This guy. This...stranger, who happens to have smoke-spewing orbs in his possession. Questions would have to wait until after they weren’t being hounded by angry flies and grass. She makes a break for Hrystmill, coughing all the while.

Bertram Windshadow set his pace to match Cravendy's as he kept himself in her wake. He felt compelled to keep an eye out for anything that might lunge at the woman while she was making a break for it. This wasn't exactly what he was expecting to do with his day but it certainly beat being stuck in his own head. "Just keep running they'll break off eventually!"

(Cravendy Hound) LOL I'm seeing an unintentional, but reoccuring theme...in an earlier rp, cravs sucked in a feather and had a coughing fit. After this, she's gonna be super hoarse xD )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Hahaha! It helps in sounding grumpy!! )) (Cravendy Hound) let's move to hrystmill! :3 )) (Cravendy Hound) LOL 6-pack a day scratchy voice. "WATER..." ))

Cravendy Hound - As they run, they can hear, but not see, the monsters pursuing close behind. But eventually, as Hrystmill comes into view, the noise grows fainter and fainter. In reclaimed silence, the sound of hearts pounding and panting breaths come back to the forefront. Cravs lets out a long groan and falls to the ground in a kneel. She beats the dirt twice with her fist, gets back up, and faces Bertram. She has no idea what to say.

Cravendy Hound: “.................So. That ‘appened.”

Bertram Windshadow eases as the sound of pursuit fades a quiet breath draining from his lungs as he finally gives himself a moment to glance over his shoulder. It hadn't seemed like they were in *mortal* danger, but it was hard to say when an elemental would decide to be a little extra cranky at any given moment. He dusted his hands off on his legs as he shifted his attention back to Cravendy. "Sure did ..." he answered, allowing himself a quiet laugh before bobbing his head to the side.

Bertram Windshadow: "I hope they didn't get any nasty bites in ..."

Cravendy Hound: “Couple of bruises and scratches, but nothin’ major. Gods, first dodos, now bugs and bloodthirsty flowers.” She lets out a long sigh. The world was conspiring against her, which...well, was fair, as she had a lot to answer for. But she wondered, why now? Why not before, or later? One thing is for sure, though. She’s thankful that this stranger was here to help out.

Cravendy Hound sizes up Bertram. He looks kind of familiar, but she shelves that feeling off to the side. “Thanks for ‘elping out. I’m Cravs. And ye are?”

(Bertram Windshadow) (( Would Bertram know that nickname? I don't *think* he would, but I figured I'd check before having him be oblivious, hahaha (Cravendy Hound) hmm I mean, she refers to herself as such, but idk if others would to her?? haha )) (Cravendy Hound) up to you really :P )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( I think Lin has only said Cravendy to him! So I don't think he'd make the immediate connection! Not yet anyway! ))

Bertram Windshadow bobs his head to the side slightly, "I can't pretend to know *why* but I think you did something to upset the elementals," he offered quietly as he finished dusting himself off and glancing around Hyrstmill, ". .. they can be a bit sensitive about how you treat the forest." He pauses for a moment before dipping his head toward the woman. "It's nice to meet you Cravs. Most folk these days call me Windshadow."

Cravendy Hound brings a hand up to her face and covers it in thought. Upset the elementals...no. Her target practice? She had thought since it was an accident, it’d be fine, but perhaps not. Blast it all, now she’d have to get a conjurer to help her apologize to those, frankly, eldritch spirits.

Cravendy Hound: “Windshadow. Now that’s a title -and- a mouthful...any reason why people call ye that?” Her brows knit together and her eyes narrow. He clearly wasn’t your average adventurer, judging from his gear. “That yer secret, crime fightin’ identity or somethin’?”

Bertram Windshadow blinks in surprise, though not that one could tell from behind the visor, at her comment. He'd never really thought about it like *that* before. There's an awkward pause before Bertram's hand rises up to the back of his neck and he shook his head. "Oh, no. It's nothing like that," he responds with a laughing tone, "It's ... an epithet. A Gyr Abanian thing."

Bertram Windshadow: "I can be ... pretty fast when I need to be. Quiet too."

Cravendy Hound just realizes that she’s smiling. Everything that had happened in the past hour. The smoke, the running...and now, Windshadow standing here, as polite as could be. He was an amusing enigma to her. “No need to be bashful. If people call ye something like that, then I doubt ye only go ‘pretty’ fast. But can ye outrun a chocobo? I’d be willin’ to bet against ye.”

Cravendy Hound laughs - the challenge only half serious. “But seriously. Ye saved my ‘ide back there. What can I do for ye...’ow about round of drinks on me?”

Bertram Windshadow can only laugh a bit more fully at the prospective challenge, his head shaking slightly as a smile finds solid purchase upon his lips. "Depends on the terrain and distance, honestly. A 'bo's going to out last me in the long run on flat ground." He shakes his head gently, as though he was dismissing the thought as overly self-indulgent. He cleared his throat at the new offer. "I ... " he pauses, tilting his head to the side, "... I wouldn't turn down a drink or two, no."

Bertram Windshadow: "But I'm just glad to have been at the right place at the right time."

Cravendy Hound scratches the back of her head, amused by how seriously Windshadow is taking the chocobo challenge. She can hardly imagine what it’d look like for a hyur to move that quickly. Would he send himself sailing forward like a rocket, or would he just move his limbs -that fast-?! Either way, she steps over and playfully bumps his shoulder with her fist. “I know a spot nearby that serves a solid Mun-Tuy Brew. Over ‘ere.”

Cravendy Hound would bring the two of them to an unassuming establishment. When she enters, she dips her head towards the Elezen barkeep, who returns the gesture. By the time Cravs takes a seat, the barkeep has already set out two cups and a bottle of brew on the table. The usual.

Bertram Windshadow laughed -- albeit a bit nervously -- as Cravendy bumped his shoulder gently while passing by while making her way further into the town. He certainly couldn't complain about a good drink of mun tuy so he followed behind her whilst glancing around the village with a thoughtful expression. He didn't say too much on the way but, as he settled in before the second cup of drink, he couldn't help but ask. "What had you out in this neck of the woods anyway?"

Cravendy Hound has already finished a cup and is halfway through pouring herself another glass. She places the bottle back to the center of the table with a satisfying, though loud, thump. “......Ye’d be surprised ‘ow far those critters chased me. That said, I come out ‘ere now and again. Nice trees, nice folk.” She clears her throat, and then says in a slightly lower voice: “The drinks not bad too.”

Bertram Windshadow might have -- perhaps -- been attempting to discern what the woman might have down to agitate the elementals, but ... he didn't seem like he was about to start prying where he wasn't invited. It didn't seem like he was Like That. Instead he bobbed his head forward and began a much more *measured* approach to his drinking. "I find it similarly calming. Spend time up in the boughs can really help clear the head when you're feeling a bit overwhelmed."

Cravendy Hound raises a brow. “So, ye run really fast, and ye have orbs that shoot out smoke. What are ye, some kind of courier? If ye feelin’ overwhelmed, then just tell the big man to stuff it. Don’t work so much.” She lifts her cup up with a grin. “Lifes too short not to indulge in the good stuff.”

(Cravendy Hound) lmao I can't get over how these two haven't connected the dots )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( It's *pretty* great! Hahaha. ))

Bertram Windshadow tilts his head to the side slightly as he listens to Cravendy's Words of Wisdom. He sips upon his drink thoughtfully for a moment before giving a concessionary bob of his head. He certainly found himself dwelling on the bad recently. Though it wasn't quite related to work as she might be assuming. Given his effective unemployment at the moment. "... I suppose that's true." He murmurs quietly, maybe more to himself than to Cravendy proper, "Is that what you were doing out there?"

Cravendy Hound leans back on her chair, feet propped up on the table. “Chin up. Ye seem the earnest type. Try at somethin’ long enough and it’ll change, eventually.” She takes another sip and listens to the sound of the waterwheel turning on the river. Windshadow’s second question gives her pause. “What? Was I...out ‘ere to indulge, ye mean?”

Bertram Windshadow quietly nods his head in response to her further words of assurance -- though it seemed difficult to determine how they were received behind the vidor -- before she asked her clarifying question. "Oh," he cleared his throat and shook his head, "Well, that or just ... enjoying the 'good stuff' as it were."

Cravendy Hound smirks, and gestures to the alcohol on the table, as if that was answer enough to his question. The two made an interesting drinking duo, and Cravs found herself drawn to her withdrawn, fast-running companion. When they eventually parted ways, she let him know that he was welcome to swing by for another round of drinks...or perhaps, she would find him, and make good on her bet that he could outrun a chocobo.

#ff14 rp logs #Cravendy Hound #Bertram Windshadow #A LATE POST BUT #fddkjsl these two #the power of BEEs have brought them together #Cravs just thinks Bertram is a very very professional courier

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andinewton · 4 years

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Since You’ve Been Gone - Mystic Messsenger Alternate V Ending Jumin x MC

I feel like I’ve been writing this for years! It’s probably been just one year, but I finally finished it!

The concept is this fic will have two (maybe three) endings. Both are set firstly during V’s two years away then moving into the party where he reappears. The first, this fic, has MC and Jumin beginning a relationship, while the second has Jumin crushing on MC but her heart belongs to V. Both a little angsty, though mostly that’s left to your imagination, with fluffy undertones too. I think that about explains it! I might even get around to a third ending which is the poly ending! We’ll see how I go!

Since You’ve Been Gone - Mystic Messsenger Alternate V Ending Jumin x MC

Relationships: Jumin x MC

Warnings: None, really.

Two years. That’s how long it had been since you came to Korea on the promise of a position as a video games tester. It had turned out not to be what you thought. At all. Firstly, you thought testing would be more technical, matching your fledgling skills more, but it turned out it was more onsite beta testing on a prerelease. Until it wasn’t. Until it turned out that the AI’s you had been talking to were real people. Until it turned out you were staying at the headquarters of a cult. Until you had run from the place with a red haired hacker and an aqua eyed photographer. Until you had played nursemaid to the latter while he sweat the poison the cult had given him out of his system. Until you started to have feelings for him.

Throughout it all the one thing you were always sure of was the way you felt towards V, Jihyun. You had liked him immediately, the way he trusted your word when the rest of RFA didn’t, he vouched for you, he saved you. And then he was gone.

You understood, you really did. Besides the fact his fiancee had been batshit crazy and started the cult in the first place, besides the fact she had not only almost blinded him but had stabbed him. Besides all of that, you understood his need to find himself, to take time to rediscover who he was and what he wanted. He still kept in contact, though sporadically, and it was enough for you to know he was safe and happy. He had asked Jumin Han, his most trusted and oldest friend, to watch over both you and RFA, especially when you made it clear you had no desire to return to your home country, that you planned to stay on as RFA’s guest coordinator, if they would have you. The answer was an emphatic yes and, after not very long, Jumin had offered you an apartment in a modest complex he owned at a reasonable rent.

You began working in a local office, turning down Jumin’s offer to work for C&R as you felt he had done enough for you. However, that didn’t stop him calling you every day at least once, texting when he had time, and whenever you logged into the messenger he always seemed to be there. Then he began calling into your office during your lunch break, saying he was in the area and would you like to join him for lunch, or he would call you to say he was passing and would you like a ride home. He asked you to attend parties with him, business dinners, as you had proved to be confident in conversation with strangers without being overfamiliar. It was a quality he admired and found many of his associates warmed to you quickly, allowing many deals to go through much smoother than he expected.

Then, finally, only a month ago, Jumin invited you to dinner at his penthouse. You had come straight from work, wearing a navy slim leg pants suit and matching blouse decorated with lilac flowers, your shoes were sensible two inch heel pumps. You had your bag slung over your shoulder and a raincoat over your arm. The weather had promised showers. They had blown over early but you were always prepared, if nothing else. Driver Kim had dropped you outside the building where the head of security had been waiting to escort you to the penthouse without delay. You were familiar with all of Jumin’s staff now, knowing them by name and able to make polite conversation with each one, even though it confused Jumin as to why you would want to know how a security official’s son’s last soccer match had gone. You accepted that Jumin had been raised in a particularly elitist way and that he meant nothing by it, he didn’t mean to be rude he just didn’t know any different. The fact he was so cordial and considerate of you, a mere office worker, meant it was less a status thing and more an employee/employer thing. You thought. You might be wrong. Jumin was something of a puzzle in himself. Often you would find yourself at dinner while he had his phone pressed to his ear, sipping your wine and regarding him curiously as he spoke. You understood why Zen referred to him as a robot from the way he spoke and carried himself, so formal as to almost be painful, but you knew that inside that harsh exterior lay a man with so much passion for that which he deemed worthy. You found him fascinating. He could change subjects at a moments notice, something coming to his attention he simply had to tell you or address, and once he got something in his head there was no dislodging it until he had seen it through. You were unsure what this dinner was in aid of, you could only guess the upcoming party. You had had meetings with the entire RFA and with both Jaehee and Jumin, but this was the first time you had been invited to his penthouse alone. You hoped everything was okay and that you hadn’t made some sort of error with the guest list. This party was going to be the biggest yet, extremely extravagant and elegant, and you were worried that you may just screw up such an enormous event somehow. Time to find out.

The chief of security knocked on the door and you respectfully stayed a few paces behind him. Jumin never kept you waiting long and, sure enough, he opened the door just moments later, wearing one of his trademark three piece suits with matching tie and a striped shirt. You had always considered this sort of outfit stuffy and formal but on Jumin it worked, it accentuated his figure without being loud or flashy, and you had to admit it was quite a nice figure.

You were close, you admitted that, perhaps closer to him than any other RFA member, but a large part of you denied what you actually felt. He was V’s friend, and although the photographer had never confirmed that he considered you as anything other than a that himself, your mind still thought back to when he told you that if he was ever ready to love again he would consider you. Consider you. It felt like your emotions had been put on hold when he left, as though you weren’t permitted to think of anyone else until you knew for sure, but recently you had found yourself thinking more and more of Jumin and less and less of V. Your heart seemed to know what this meant, however, your common sense had not yet caught up.

‘Ah, MC.’ He greeted you as he always did before turning to his head of security. ‘That will be all.’

The security chief left as Jumin stepped back to allow you entry and took your coat from you without hesitation.

‘Are you well?’ He asked politely as you put your bag on the dresser by the door as always.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Jumin. How was your day?’

‘Far too long.’ He admitted before stepping ahead of you. ‘Allow me to get you some wine.’

‘Thank you.’ You replied as he disappeared into what you knew was his expansive kitchen. You had never seen a kitchen so big and even that was only once. Jumin liked to keep you out, as though going where the food was prepared burst the mysterious bubble behind its creation. Instead you went to the large picture window that filled one entire wall of the suite, overlooking the city below, and you toyed with the locket the members of RFA had chosen for you as a gift on your last birthday. You suspected, from the name of the jewellers it had come from, that Jumin had put in a good deal of the money towards it, although the thought was most likely Jaehee’s.

‘Here you are.’ Jumin said as he approached, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet below his feet, and you turned to accept your glass, but instead found him a bouquet of blue roses.

‘Jumin?’ You asked curiously as you took the bouquet when he offered it, tied with a matching ribbon and wrapped in delicate paper and plastic. ‘What are these for?’

‘They are for you.’ He stated the obvious. ‘Please, can we take a seat?’

‘They’re very beautiful, thank you.’ You said as you took in their scent and moved with him to the couch, finally realising he held two glasses of wine in his other hand. You accepted one as you placed the flowers in your lap. ‘But really, what did I do to deserve flowers?’

‘Do? I don’t understand.’

‘You’ve never given me flowers before.’ You pointed out. ‘There must be a reason, because you never do anything without one.’

You thought you saw him blush as he took a large sip of his wine before putting it on the table behind him. ‘MC, I wished to talk with you, and I thought blue roses would be a good icebreaker for the conversation to come.’ He said formally and it made you frown slightly.

‘Okay, should I look up what blue roses mean so I know what’s going on?’

‘I shall explain, if you permit it?’

‘Of course. It’ll take longer otherwise.’ You said encouragingly.

‘Very well.’ He adjusted his cuff before taking the flowers and wine from your hands again and placing them with his own. He turned back to face you and seemed to compose himself before he began. ‘MC.’

‘Jumin.’ You replied overly seriously, hoping to put him at ease.

‘I am trying to be serious.’ He huffed out a breath.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous.’ You rested your hand on his knee. ‘Are you sure everything is alright?’

‘I am uncertain right is the wrong word, however I must clear the air between us before I can decide.’

‘Did something happen to V?’ You asked, thinking this may be the only thing that he would want to sit you down and talk about.

‘No, not at all. He checked in just a few days ago, as you know. He was in Alaska of all places.’

‘Then what is it?’

Jumin looked down at your hand on his knee then took it in both of his, holding it between you as though it were something more precious. ‘MC, I feel it would be unfair on each of us if we were to carry on as we are without me expressing to you the changes I have felt.’

‘Things have changed?’ You asked in concern, assuming you had done something wrong to make him think so. ‘Please, tell me what it is, and I’ll change it back, if I can.’

‘I do not need you to change anything, to my eyes you are perfect.’ He said sincerely and you felt a blush tint your cheeks. ‘Which is what I wish to tell you, and I would appreciate you hearing me out before you ask any questions.’ When you nodded, concern now written on your face, he continued. ‘I first of all wish you to know that this will change nothing between us, unless you want it to. I am, if nothing else, honourable, I just feel that to not tell you would be tantamount to lying, which I will not participate in. When V was injured by Rika I promised that I would take care of you, watch over you, and I have taken my duty very seriously, but now I find it less of a duty and more a necessity, a pleasure. I enjoy spending time with you.’

‘I enjoy spending time with you too.’ You assured him, ideas still filling your head as to what he might be leading to.

‘I’m glad, and I do not want what I am about to say to stop you feeling that way, however I must confess. I cannot deny my feelings for you any longer. MC, I care for you very deeply, very much more than I do about anyone else in RFA.’

‘I care deeply for you too.’ You smiled, glad that it was only something he wanted to get off his chest. You knew that Jumin didn’t like errant emotions. They ruined his concentration.

‘I’m sorry, I am not explaining myself very well. Perhaps I should use the roses.’

‘Alright.’ You were unsure what he meant but that but you tended to allow Jumin his eccentricities.

‘The blue rose is very rare, therefore it remains for many mysterious and unattainable. I thought them the best way to express to you that although I want you, I know I shouldn’t, yet I cannot stop thinking about you, despite how inappropriate it is.’

He continued to talk but your brain switched off. Something about being loyal to V, words of emotions, his heart speeding up whenever he saw you. Jumin…liked you? Had feelings for you? This was…new. Your stomach did a nervous flip-flop at the thought of staunch, austere Jumin Han confessing his feelings for you. Suddenly it all became clear. The many visits and calls, the fact you spent your day thinking about him, wondering if he had eaten and what. He wasn’t alone in his feelings.

‘Say something, MC. You’re being awfully quiet for you.’ He prompted and you did the only thing you could think of. You leant in and kissed him.

Jumin couldn’t move with your lips pressed against his, and so he remained, unmoving and unresponsive, until you sat back, your cheeks flushed and eyes on your lap.

‘Jumin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

You never finished as his hand slipped into your hair and he closed the gap between you, his lips stealing your words more effectively than anything he could have said. His kiss was languid and slow, as though every motion brought a new flavour to him and he wanted to try them all. His hand that still held you pulled you closer until you rested your free hand on his chest more for support than anything else, but you could suddenly feel his heart beating hard and fast against your palm, like a caged animal trying to escape. You finally broke for air but Jumin held you in place with his hand on the nape of your neck, his eyes closed as he pressed his forehead to yours.

‘Do I take it you feel the same?’ He asked breathily, his already deep voice throaty and rough.

‘I do, I just…I never thought that you…’

‘How could I not?’ He brushed your nose with his own. ‘You are the most incredible woman I have ever had the pleasure to know. I feared, however, that my feelings may not be reciprocated and that I was somehow hurting V by acting on them.’

‘I’m not V’s. I’m not anyone’s.’ You shook your head just enough to rock both you and Jumin from side to side. ‘V only said that maybe one day he could love again, that maybe it could be me. He never asked me to wait for him, he never asked me not to fall in…’ You stopped yourself before you confessed what your heart felt. ‘I’m not V’s.’ You repeated finally.

‘Then would you, perhaps…consider being mine?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Jumin wanted to make things official. Jumin wanted everyone to know you were his. It took a lot of convincing but you finally had him agree to keeping this between the two of you, just for now. You had spent a lot of time together and even the press had ceased querying who you were, once they knew you were a member of the RFA. Only the occasional tabloid still ran photos of you both and you were so used to that by now that it wasn’t an issue. You were sure things would change if and when you did make it official, but for now, even from the RFA, it was your little secret. The next RFA party was only weeks away so it only made sense that your meetings were increasing. Between you, you had decided to tell the RFA first, before the party to be precise. Things between you were going well and you saw no reason to keep things behind closed doors.

Jumin had tried to sway your choice of outfit that evening, wanting you to wear something from a famous designer, but you had chosen your dress months ago, beautiful but not expensive, not by the standards he was suggesting at least. One thing you did allow him was to send a car for you as he was doing so for the rest of the RFA too.

The doorbell rang as you were applying the topcoat to your lipstick and you hurriedly put the lid on, not wanting to keep the driver waiting. You had a small purse which was already slung across your body for convenience and you slipped the lipstick inside as you picked up the key to your apartment and opened the door. You hadn’t been expecting Jumin himself to come and collect you, although really you should have guessed as much. He looked dashing in a silver frock coat suit and cream cravat, a diamond pin glinting against it. He smiled softly as his eyes took in your outfit and you knew now why he wanted to know the colour of your dress. His silver and cream ensemble contrasted well with your own black and silver. The dress was long sleeved, wraparound and ankle length with a split to your hip. Across your breast and from your hip to your knee was black and silver sequinned, making it look like you wore a short dress underneath. You had fastened the top of your hair back with a black and silver clip, the stones in which you doubted were even glass let alone actual gems, and your lobes sparkled with simple silver drop earrings.

‘You look exquisite.’ He greeted you, bowing his head to kiss your cheek.

‘Thank you. I love your suit, very…you.’ You settled on. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I would not allow anyone else to accompany my lady to an event of such calibre, let alone unaccompanied.’ He reached for your hand, or so you thought, but instead you found a slender velvet box pressed into your waiting palm, and you glanced down at it in surprise.

‘What’s this?’

‘A gift.’ He said simply.

You stepped back and let him inside, closing the door before opening the box, your breath catching at the diamond bracelet within. ‘Jumin, it’s lovely.’ You breathed as he took the box from you and fastened the item on your opposite wrist to your watch.

‘Not as lovely as you.’ He raised your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your wrist.

‘Not that I don’t appreciate it, but what’s the occasion?’ You asked as his storm grey eyes looked into yours.

‘Do I need an occasion to treat you like a princess?’

‘Considering this probably cost more than a years salary for me, I think so.’

‘Then consider it a token of my affection. Every diamond, like every star in the sky, cannot compete with the beauty before me.’

‘You’re too sweet.’ You went up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, cupping his jaw with your palm. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Shall we?’

You left your apartment together, Jumin with his palm pressed to the centre of your back. You had found it was a way of maintaining physical contact in public that didn’t draw suspicion, rather it drew attention to Jumin Han being the well raised gentleman everyone expected him to be. It was more personal than anyone in RFA was used to him being and your friendship had not gone unnoticed, although no one realised quite how far it went.

You hadn’t been expecting a limo, although in truth you should have. Jumin liked the finer things and as you were going somewhere the press would be awaiting your arrival then it stood to reason. He let you in first then offered wine as soon as the driver closed the door. You made smalltalk, Jumin sitting in a very deliberate position so his knee touched yours, his fingers brushing yours on the seat between you.

There was already a considerable crowd of press and gawkers when you arrived, despite knowing you were there long before any guests were due to enable you to go through final checks of equipment, place settings and, of course, the all important guest list. Jaehee had been here for several hours already so you were certain everything would be perfect, but this was now your routine, where the parties were concerned. Though none of you would admit it, it gave you a chance to each have a drink and chat before the evening kicked off, a brief catch up as you were all so busy you rarely saw one another in person.

Jumin alighted from the limo first, holding his hand to help you out as the press yelled his name and questions at the two of you, but while he was quick to release your hand he ushered you inside just as fast, not sparing a moment for the press. You could see Jaehee across the room with her tablet in her hand, no doubt checking off last minute items with the staff who would shortly be milling with canapés and drinks. Yoosung’s blond hair could be seen out on the terrace where he was no doubt talking to Zen, who would be having a last minute cigarette. He had cut down recently but still it continued. There was no sign of Saeyoung but he could simply be running late or working on the PA system behind the scenes. A professional company always provided it but that didn’t stop him from tinkering whenever he got the chance.

Jaehee saw you and waved before finishing what she was doing, heading straight towards you both with a confident stride. ‘Mr Han, MC.’ She greeted you both with a small nod of her head. ‘Everything here is just about ready.’

‘Very good, Assistant Kang.’ Jumin replied. ‘Is everyone from RFA here?’

‘All present and accounted for. There was a small mix up with the wine you requested, however by way of an apology the company have provided us with a better vintage at no extra cost.’

‘Excellent. Are we about ready to have our final meeting before the doors open?’

‘As soon as Saeyoung finishes what he is doing.’

‘Perfect. Have wine poured for us all, I wish to propose a toast before we begin.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She walked away as quickly as she had arrived while you looked up at Jumin curiously.

‘We don’t normally get a drink until all the guests are here.’ You reminded him.

‘Tonight I wish to make an exception.’

‘For any particular reason?’ You teased, suspecting you now knew why.

‘I wish for our friends to be able to help us celebrate our happiness.’

‘For someone who’s reputation is that of a stern businessman, you really are quite the romantic.’

He leant towards you, and when he spoke it was quietly as the staff were now milling around in preparation, carrying trays of drinks for the guests. ‘It just took the right woman to bring it out in me.’

‘Look who finally showed up,’ Zen greeted as he came back through the doors with Yoosung in tow, ‘now all the work is done.’

‘Was there anything for you to actually do when you arrived?’ Jumin quirked him an irritated eyebrow which changed to a scowl when Zen kissed your cheek.

‘That’s not the point.’ Zen graced you with his most dazzling smile. ‘I hope this jerk didn’t bore you too much on the way in, jagiya?’

‘He was the perfect gentleman.’ You assured him as Yoosung gave Zen a playful nudge.

‘Don’t hog MC’s attention like that, Zen.’ The younger man groaned before you stepped forward and hugged him.

‘How are you, Yoosung?’ You asked.

‘A little tired.’ He blushed as you parted. ‘I stayed up late on a raid.’

‘You knew we had a lot to do.’ You admonished him playfully. ‘And a late night tonight.’

‘I know, but my guild were depending on me!’

‘We are depending you not to yawn all through the party.’ Jumin adjusted his cuff, a sure sign he was feeling nervous.

‘I won’t, don’t worry.’ Yoosung waved to someone and you turned to see Saeyoung emerge from one of the side doors. ‘Looks like we’re nearly ready.’

‘Good. Come.’ Jumin touched your elbow and you headed towards where the bar staff were pouring the wine he had requested. Just moments later you all stood together, glasses in hand, everyone slightly confused by Jumin’s request for a toast before the party begun. As soon as the area was clear of staff he cleared his throat before speaking. ‘I think I should first apologise for lying to you all for so long.’

‘I knew it.’ Zen rolled his eyes.

‘This is it!’ Saeyoung laughed gleefully. ‘He’s going to confirm the rumours!’

Jumin and Jaehee glared at Saeyoung while you rubbed at the bridge of your nose in a modified facepalm that also hid your faint smile. ‘I am not going to even dignify that with a response.’ Jumin said disdainfully. ‘I…we…merely wanted you all, as our friends, to be the first to know.’

‘We?’ Yoosung asked. ‘We who?’

‘We us. MC and I are…are…’ He looked at you for help as he struggled with the exact definition. ‘No longer friends.’

‘Jumin, that’s not the best way to tell them!’ You laughed, lacing your fingers with his. ‘We’re together.’

‘This…is a joke, right?’ Zen raised a hopeful eyebrow.

‘No joke.’ You said as Jumin replied; ‘I would not joke about such a thing.’

Everyone just stared at you for several moments, and finally it was Saeyoung who broke the silence. ‘Congratulations!’ He thrust his glass forward, the golden liquid within sloshing at the edges. ‘I, for one, am pleased for you both.’

Everyone else joined in with the congratulations then, even Zen, although he did give you a concerned look before mouthing; ‘Are you sure?’ To which you nodded with an emphatic grin.

‘Goodness!’ Jaehee put down her glass rapidly. ‘Look at the time, I have to check in the guests!’

‘We should all take our places to welcome them.’ Jumin beckoned over a waiter to clear your glasses.

You began to walk away, planning to join Jaehee as you had invited the guests, but Jumin didn’t release your hand, pulling you back until you faced him.

‘That was not too terrifying, I hope?’

You shook your head. ‘Not at all. I’m glad they know.’

‘As am I.’ He cupped your cheek with his gloved palm before kissing you softly, being careful not to smudge your lipstick. ‘Do not stray too far during the party, my love, I would like to be able to steal you away whenever I choose.’

‘You’re ridiculously romantic.’ You chuckled, running your hand down his cravat. ‘You’re also ridiculously territorial.’

‘I think I was remarkably behaved.’

‘You were.’ You pushed up on your toes and gave him another quick kiss. ‘Come on, we have to be ready to welcome the guests.’

‘With that as my encouragement how could I refuse?’ He gave you a rare yet warm smile, letting you go as he did so.

The party was in full swing, the last of the invited guests were now checked off and you had all gathered once more, Jumin coordinating who should speak with which guests in the few moments he was not being sought after himself by business associates. Jaehee walked by where you stood alone, between conversations, and said; ‘Mr Han wants us to coordinate another brief meeting with the RFA, to see how things are going. Five minutes, where we met before.’

‘Alright, Jaehee, thanks.’ You replied as she hurried over to Zen. You headed to the bar, tucking a hair behind your ear as you went. You were happy just to spend a few more minutes with Jumin, regardless of the reason.

‘Good, we’re all here.’ Jumin nodded. ‘Saeyoung, could you speak with the representatives from the LFG Corp regarding their technical questions. Yoosung, the youth organisation representative should be your next stop, give them the point of view of today’s college students. Zen,’ Jumin gave him a raised eyebrow, ‘just continue to flirt with anything in a dress but don’t go too far.’

‘Hey!’ Zen snapped, but Jumin continued regardless.

‘MC, ensure you have spoken to everyone so they know who you are for future parties.’

‘Okay.’ You nodded.

‘And, Jaehee.’

You felt her back straighten beside you. ‘Yes, Mr Han?’

‘Try and look a little more relaxed.’

You hid a snort of laughter as Jumin waved his hand and conversation broke out among the group.

‘I can’t believe it’s been two years since V was discharged.’ Yoosung shook his head. ‘It’s also been two years since Rika…’

Saeyoung interrupted him, not wanting him to dwell. ‘The last time we tracked him, he was in Alaska. About three months ago.’

‘Why would he go there?’ Zen wrinkled his nose in a way you knew the fans went wild for. ‘Hey, CEO-In-Line! No recent calls from V?’

Jumin turned his full attention back to the group with a sigh. ‘None whatsoever. He’s apparently not planning on showing himself at this party either.’

‘Well, whether he is here or not, congratulations on a successful opening of the RFA party.’ Jaehee smiled warmly.

‘Nice work, everybody.’ Saeyoung agreed.

Jaehee adjusted her glasses. ‘I didn’t think we’d be able to hold a party again to a success.’

Jumin entwined his fingers with yours. ‘This party was also held in order to remind ourselves that now we have defeated the event that befell two years ago.’

‘Yes, and you performed a major role in forming this party, Mr Han.’ Jumin waved a dismissive hand but Jaehee continued. ‘Of course, we wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for Zen, Luciel, Yoosung…all of you.’

‘And we can’t leave MC out of this.’ Yoosung added excitedly.

‘I’ve only done what I’m supposed to.’ You shook your head.

‘Being humble isn’t bad, but I think you can take more pride for a day like this.’ Jaehee was definitely one of your biggest supporters and you didn’t like to argue with her.

Zen waved a slender finger at you ‘That’s right. You’ve worked so hard to organise the list for the party guests.’

‘Why don’t we have a glass to celebrate?’ Jumin indicated to the approaching server. ‘You can look forward to this champagne.’

‘Hey, let’s be honest, Jumin.’ Zen began as he took a glass. ‘You’re an alcoholic, aren’t you? And you keep uploading alcohol pictures on the messenger. You also uploaded some strange wine image yesterday.’

Saeyoung laughed. ‘I think all of the wines he uploaded could match the price for one of my babes waiting in the garage.’

Jumin just rolled his eyes before clinking his glass to yours and taking a good slug, but Zen wasn’t ready to let it go.

‘Hey…just how much are you going to chug? You’re the CEO-In-Line! You think it’s okay for you to drink every day? MC, tell him!’

‘My friend and father happen to be stressing me out on a daily basis. I’m merely de-stressing on my own terms. But don’t you ever get tired of uploading your own face? It’s not like there’s a major change in your looks. I don’t understand why you would upload the same image over and over again.’ Jumin acted casually but his words held bite, and you squeezed his hand in an effort to get him to tone it down.

‘Hey, I didn’t do it for you.’ Zen spluttered. ‘It was for the entirety of mankind! And they’re all different, in little ways.’

‘They’re all completely different from each other.’ Jaehee argued in his defence.

‘That’s right. Ugh…I shouldn’t lose my temper on a good day like this.’ Zen flicked his hair towards Jumin in a dismissive gesture.

Yoosung leant towards Saeyoung. ‘I’m so glad Zen and Jumin meet only during parties.’

‘Same here.’ The hacker laughed into his glass.

Yoosung grinned, he was so happy lately it was great to see, but his smile suddenly turned to a small pout as his eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh right! I forgot to decorate table twenty-eight! Seven! Could you give me a hand?’

‘Aw, come on, this champagne’s a delicacy! Mind if I give you a hand after I finish my glass?’

‘You can have it later, Seven! Come and take a look at the ornament I chose!’ Yoosung pulled on his arm and Saeyoung put his glass into Jaehee’s waiting hand.

‘Hmm…I’m actually wondering which ornament you bought. You didn’t log into the LOLOL for two days because you had to choose an ornament so it had better be good. I’ll be the judge for you.’

‘Judge? You? Yeah right…anyway, follow me.’

‘I’ll catch you later. Make sure to leave my portion of the drink.’ Saeyoung threw you all a grin.

‘I prepared several spare bottles. So no need to worry.’ Jumin called after him.

‘Seriously? So you really are determined to drink, CEO-In-Line?’

‘Zen, leave it.’ You asked sweetly, knowing he couldn’t resist when you did so.

‘Yoosung is very eager.’ Jaehee smiled after your youngest member left.

‘He is. And Seven’s also enjoying himself.’ Zen finally seemed happy with a change of subject. You were all happy with the way the RFA was heading, everything was so positive, a far cry from the state of things two years ago.

As though reading your thoughts, Jumin spoke. ‘I hope we all can show the potential of the RFA in the future, starting with this party Today cannot be any happier.’

‘And this is the day that I, Zen, make a grand comeback to the society!’ Zen laughed in such an attention grabbing way several heads turned.

‘Zen, there are a lot of women over there almost glaring love at you.’ Jaehee remarked, pointing subtly with her glass.

‘And I can also see a pack of hyenas, I mean reporters, clustering right nearby.’ Jumin all but groaned.

‘Talk about this popularity of mine…but no showing off. Let me run now, but I’ll come back!’ Zen took a overdramatic bow before heading out into the crowd once more.

‘We should give him some bodyguards.’ Jaehee watched him go with a hint of worry in her eyes.

‘Let him be. He seems to be enjoying himself. He looks good.’ Jumin shrugged.

‘Are you serious?’ Jaehee’s eyes went wide at Jumin’s words.

‘Which reminds me, Jaehee, I got a call that my father’s arrived.’

‘He did?’ You asked as Jumin raised your hand to his lips for a soft kiss before releasing it.

‘You mean the chairman? I haven’t received such a call…let me double check.’

‘He called me himself before I called us all together. I believe I should go and greet him. I beg your pardon, MC, Could you stay here and enjoy the party for a bit? I’ll be right back.’

‘Of course.’ You nodded, smiling warmly at the adoration in Jumin’s eyes before he left.

Jaehee rapidly put down both glasses she held on a table and pulled her tablet back from under her arm. ‘Mr Han! You know there’s something we must relay to him. Allow me to accompany you. I’ll see you in a while, MC.’

You laughed as she ran off after him, taking another sip of the champagne as the crowd filled in the gaps around you. As such, you then weren’t expecting the voice that came from behind you.

‘I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.’

You thought your heart had stopped, that your memory was playing tricks on you, and all you could reply as you turned was; ‘Pardon?’

There before you stood the very man you had all been talking about minutes before. V. He had had his hair cut since you last saw him, not that that was a surprise, but he looked so grown up, the shorter cut suiting him well. His white shirt was unbuttoned showing an enticing expanse of pale skin, with several necklaces contrasting. His khakis and dress shoes were the only thing out of place in such a relaxed outfit, as though he would be more at home relaxing on a beach somewhere. You knew your eyes were wide and your mouth open but you just couldn’t think of anything to say.

V took another step towards you, his smile more genuine than you had ever seen it. ‘Congratulations, MC.’

‘V?!’ You spat, the only thing you could finally vocalise being his name.

He chuckled softly. ‘It’s Jihyun Kim now. Long time no see. You look surprised, puzzled. I actually missed that look. Did I keep you waiting too long?’

‘Uh, we missed you.’ You stammered.

‘You couldn’t have missed me more than I missed you. There’s not a single day I spent without missing you, MC. I missed you so much. So fathomlessly. You can’t imagine.’

You swallowed hard, worrying where this was going, but still he continued.

‘I’ve booked and cancelled tons of tickets to see you. Now I even have a scrapbook of tickets I cancelled. MC, but you know what? I think it’s worth the wait.’

‘I, uh…’ You seemed to have lost the ability to string more than a few words together, but V was happy to continue.

‘Have I ever told you that my hobby happens to be putting together white blank puzzles? I’ve been putting together blank puzzles for the past two years. And I’ve been drawing and painting them. I deliberated what I should draw, what I should use. It took hours for me just to think. Though it took so long I can guarantee that those puzzles now hold my sincerity. Do you want to know what became of my blank puzzles?’

‘Yes, I do.’ You managed. In all the time you spent together he had never opened up to you this willingly.

He took another step towards you and took your hand, holding it between both of his. ‘Then why not go see them together? I’ve been lost for years, but I’ve filled them up with a variety of fun colours. Now I finally discovered an array of colours to paint my blank puzzles. And if you like the puzzles I coloured there’s something I’d like to offer you.’

He stepped closer still until your toes almost touched, your heart rate had sped up as you pondered where this was going. Sure, being away he probably had a lot to share, but this seemed more personal than a travel journal.

When he spoke again his voice was low and just for you. ‘Do you still remember…what I said in the past? I said that I want to love again, though I wasn’t sure if I could. That I’d like to love again once a chance arises. I’d like to love now, so…I’d like to draw paintings more beautiful than the pictures of the sun…with you. I want you. I want to choose you.’

Oh shit! You thought.

‘The paintings we draw will flourish with the colours of our own. I’ll give you my word every time we hold the brush that we’ll draw together what you truly want, MC. I give you my word that I’ll paint only the real you. I, too, will fill our artworks with a man called Jihyun Kim. We might run into a fight even at the outline part. We’ll discover something in each other we weren’t aware of. Regardless, I’d like to make my choice. I’d like to choose a future not alone. A future we paint together. Please be yourself with me, not my canvas. Please keep your darkness, light, everything with you. I want to love you. I will love you. I love you, MC, just as I love myself.’

‘V?’ Jumin arrived behind you just as V’s hand was coming up towards your cheek, and he draped his arm around your waist as he stopped beside you. ‘We weren’t expecting you. What are you doing here?’

‘He’s, uh, back.’ You said as V lowered his hands away from you, his eyes flickering to Jumin’s hand on your shoulder.

‘I decided it was time.’ V’s words were less confident than they had been a moment before, his smile faltering a fraction. ‘It’s good to see you, my friend.’

‘And you, we must celebrate.’ Jumin gave a small smile. ‘Darling, would you excuse me while I arrange some more champagne?’

‘Of course.’ You forced a smile as Jumin kissed your cheek before leaving the two of you alone again.

‘So…’

‘You and Jumin are…’

You both spoke at the same time but V waved his hand to allow you to continue.

‘I’m so sorry, V. Jihyun.’ You swallowed hard, your heart in your mouth as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. ‘We didn’t now how to reach you, or when you’d be back, and…’

‘MC, it’s fine.’ He stopped you. ‘I didn’t ask you to wait for me and it’s not fair of me to expect you to have done so. It was selfish of me to think you wouldn’t have…but Jumin? I’m happy for you both.’

You shifted your feet nervously. ‘Yeah. It’s still pretty new, for both of us.’ Your lip quivered as you looked into his aqua eyes. ‘I really am sorry. I didn’t mean.’

‘Shh, it’s okay. I’m glad you have someone who makes you happy, and to think Jumin has someone as wonderful as you to love him. But, speaking of Jumin, could you ask him to hold the champagne for another time. I had a long flight and I really need to go get some sleep to help fight jetlag.’

‘Oh, of course.’ You said hesitantly. ‘But don’t go on our account.’

‘It’s not you, I promise. But you’ll come see my puzzles soon, yes? With Jumin?’

‘I promise.’

‘Then please pass my apologies to everyone for such a brief visit, we’ll catch up soon.’

He was already backing away and you were sure you could see his heart breaking. ‘V…’

‘Goodbye, MC.’ He smiled warmly and turned his back on you. All you could do was watch him go.

‘Where’s V?’ Jumin returned to your side with three glasses linked through his fingers and a bottle of champagne in the other.

‘He, uh, had to go.’ You murmured, forcing down your tears once and for all. ‘He was tired.’

‘Understandable. We will have him come to the penthouse for dinner to catch us up on his adventures.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ You let Jumin’s arm on the small of your back pull you towards him, allowing him to press a kiss to the top of your head.

‘Are you quite alright, MC?’

‘I’m fine.’ You smiled up at him. ‘I think the reality of V being back was a bit of a shock.’

‘I certainly wasn’t expecting to see him, but him not being here shouldn’t stop us having a celebratory drink.’

‘Right, no, it shouldn’t.’ You spared one more glance at the door, V having already disappeared from view, and you allowed Jumin to distract you from your thoughts.

V stepped outside the venue, allowing the night air to cool his skin. Of course she was with someone else, she was amazing. Who wouldn’t want her? And that it was Jumin? You couldn’t even begrudge him that. Of all the people she could have ended up with, Jumin he would gladly concede defeat to. His friend needed love perhaps more than he did, in his opinion, and MC was just the kind of woman who would do him the world of good. So why did it feel like his heart was breaking? Why did tears flow unbidden as he slipped his hand into his pockets, planning to walk home and clear his head. But, in truth, even after all his work, he wasn’t sure his head, or heart, would ever be the same again.

#Jumin han #jihyun kim #V route #mysme #mystic messenger #dedicated to the discord group #v is not wearing a KILT

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earthssprout · 10 months

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🌼🐌 Mr. Boo - no, who is ever so kind, magical, & shiny ! // @jukudoku ( continued from 🍃 ! )

HOW HEAVY THE SCOLD SHE'D HEAR FROM THE MATRON once discovered; how terribly far she's wandered from the park; how awfully DANGEROUS it was to so willingly approach a stranger …

It's a situation that would unsettle the hearts of the most cautious, and yet little Ari was not concerned in the least, for she was far too distracted by the stranger that TWINKLED in various magical ways: the golden charms that dangle off his shoulders … the similar trails that line the curves of his suit … the shimmering clips pinned to his head … and the hair beneath them with a color so deep and true that it shined wherever the light hit it.

Ari had never seen someone like him before!

After her eyes bounced all over to briefly note his Special Somethings, each sending a new and pleasant thrill to her heart, they finally settled on his gaze, her innocent set meeting his calm one effortlessly. A light, somewhat excited chuckle escaped Ari as soon as the stranger spoke. She found his voice both Pleasant and Comforting—two things sure to make a child feel safe—and when he asked for her name, she was instantly reminded of something Most Important: MANNERS.

One freckled arm rose, the other basket - laden, so she could offer out her tiny hand. It is always polite to shake hands.

" I'm Ari! " Ari greeted jovially, bouncing on her toes. " it's vvv … ve … it's very, very nice to meet Mr. Boo - no … vvv … very, very nice. "

" m — mr. Boo - no is the shi … shih … the shiniest mister I ever saw! "

It was then when Ari noticed the empty spot on the bench beside him, which inspired a Hopeful Thought—an idea that cannot be pursued without permission.

“ mmm … muh … may I sit next to m — mr. Boo - no, peas? ”

#jukudoku #( ❀ | v; not a familiar face around; though perhaps there might be a flower or two! // .undetermined. )#( ❀ | chapter; my roots have grown but i don’t know where they are. // .orphaned. )#( I was so torn 😭 I thought she might call him ' mr. cow ' bc of his suit #but ' mr. boo - no ' is far more precious & way less insulting JGJKLGGJKLKG )

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a-earthssprout · 1 year

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🌼🐌 do they hurt you ... ? 😟// @galaxofmuses ( continued from 🌞 )

WITH ATTENTIVE EARS AND WILLING HANDS, Ari did not resist as Skyler gently guided her fingers away from his quills. She was certainly well - aware of the potential risk that naturally came with such an attempt, if one so boldly made it—but there was something in that naïve little heart of hers that told her TRUST erased risk.

For how could someone as gentle as Skyler ever hurt her? Ari couldn't imagine such a thing even if she tried.

Ari possessed a mildness to her that was not typical for most children her age; she was not fitful, and her temper was not an easy one to spark. Even when her deepest wishes were not granted and she felt terribly hurt as a result, the most one might worry about was the certain way that her precious face could transform. The way her eyes shimmered as tears welled in them, how her bottom lip trembled as she desperately tried to fight them back—it was a sight that wrenched most feeling hearts.

And as worrying thoughts—things she had not thought of before—filled her mind, it inevitably changed now.

But such a twist in Ari's expression was not caused by disappointment—for, again, Ari was cooperative, agreeable and respected Skyler's position as a ' big brother'—but rather by concern for his well - being. It was only then that Ari imagined terrible things—things that made her heart feel so heavy in her chest and that couldn't be endured without tears to help relieve the ache it all caused. She wasn't allowed to touch his quills, for they were DANGEROUS—pointy things used to protect him, serving their purpose as a SHIELD just as well as they could a sword.

So she began to silently wonder …

Had they ever hurt him? When he rolled around in his bed and tried to sleep? Would they bend and prick his neck—pierce his skin? Skyler was a BRAVE sort of hero—the kind that wouldn't tell others about their boo - boo's.

Even the familiar feeling of his soft cheeks in her hands was not enough to comfort her, though they remained where they were as if to comfort him. Little thumbs gently ran over his cheeks, wiping tears that she only imagined away.

" th — th … thhh … the point - ies hurt Sky, please … ? "

" whe … whe— when Sky sleeps? do they p — poke him and hurt him? "

" I ... I dont wa— don't want the point - ties to hurt skuh ... skih ... to hurt Sky ... nnn ... no, thank you ... "

Ari then leaned forward to tuck her face into Skyler's shoulder and wept softly, painting his fur with tears.

" i ... if Skuh— if Sky gets hurt then it huh ... it hurts my heart! "

#galaxofmuses #( ❀ | v; not a familiar face around; though perhaps there might be a flower or two! // .undetermined. )#( ❀ | chapter; my roots have grown but i don’t know where they are. // .orphaned. )#long post cw #( I warned you but ... I'm not sure that I warned you well enough Astra 😭 )

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keeroo92 · 4 years

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Be My Nightmare Ch12

The Precipice

Warnings for rape/non-con, violence/murder and some steamy spice. Enjoy!

Word count - 3,923

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

________

The exhibit featured reproductions of some of his favorites. The Blinding of Samson, Saturn Devouring His Son, Judith Beheading Holofernes, and several others. He kept his head tilted low, avoiding the cameras entirely where he could as he made his way deeper into the museum. While the other pieces were sublime, he was here for one reason only.

The murderous artist hid his tattooed hands in his pockets as he entered the room of his target, a small alcove off the main hall of artwork. Not many of the visitors bothered to view this piece, since no well-known names were attached to its creation, and it didn’t merit a large viewing area. Security for it was abysmal, to boot.

Still, he waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. This was private, not for anyone else to witness. Even his friends remained silent as he approached the wall where the canvas hung, barely two inches to spare on either side.

It always stole his breath to see it. A field of flowers on a mountainside, crimson petals a blanket under the feet of those gathered there. The figures all faced slightly away, so just a profile was visible. The composition hinted at the unreachable, that this group was somehow separate from the viewer. That they existed somewhere most people would never reach.

He recognized two or three faces, but only one mattered to his twisted heart.

Nero.

His friend stood on the edge of the field, a forlorn look on his face as his crystal-blue eyes gazed at the sky. Seeing his face again, even just his own meager attempts to capture it, brought the familiar tightness to his chest and throat. He remembered every stroke of the paintbrush as he crafted his friend’s likeness.

All for this pale imitation of his kindness...

A rhythmic click broke his thoughts; footsteps. Who could say whose feet they belonged to? He needed to conceal himself, now. Whoever dared to interrupt him would pay the price.

The artist dipped into the shadows, choosing the corner he deemed most likely to be ignored by anyone viewing the artwork. The blade in his pocket greeted his fingertips like a lover, the same blade he used to craft his latest work. It sent a thrilling pulse of adrenaline through him to imagine what he might create here, in the same halls that held such classic works. Perhaps they’d inspire him?

A slim figure entered the room as he raised the blade. Female, with a pleasing shape. Lovely hair, and-

Wait…

Is that…?

It couldn’t be you, what were the odds? In such a vast city, for you to wander across his path was something he never expected. He’d imagined a multitude of ways to draw you out, but for you to simply appear?

Yet there was no mistaking that face, those pursed lips and furrowed brow.

“In Memoriam…” you murmured. “Why does each face… that’s odd.”

V smirked and slid to the next shadow. What an interesting day this was becoming. Perhaps he could accelerate his plans, take the next step today since fate brought you to him? One must never waste opportunity. He licked his lips and stepped closer, lurking behind you like a bodyguard.

“Hello, Y/N…” he purred.

Your eyes widened as you turned to face him, lips parting in shock. He’d missed that, how expressive your face was. No matter how hard you tried to mask your feelings, he saw them all. If anything, it became easier each time he saw you.

“V? What the hell are you doing here?”

---Reader---

You’d almost forgotten how the murderous artist’s eyes gleamed, the way his lips curled when he was amused. How damned tall he was. The intricacy of his tattoos and the poise with which he carried himself.

What the fuck?! Is he trying to get caught?

“Now what kind of greeting is that? Come now, doctor. Show some courtesy.”

The madman stepped closer, tilting his head to stare down into your eyes. You’d never stood this close to him before, so close you smelled a hint of musk from his skin. It sent a rush of dizziness through you. You worked with killers on a regular basis, why did this one in particular cause such powerful reactions?

He took another step, now only inches away. Your heart pounded in your chest, for what reason you weren’t entirely sure. The whole situation made you want to run away, but equally powerful was the urge to stay and finally solve the puzzle of his mind.

Too close, he’s too close! I have to keep it professional.

You shuffled back, trying to establish a boundary between yourself and the obsidian-haired artist. As if he’d pay attention to such things. Maybe you should just run, leave all this behind and never look back.

No. You needed to figure him out, you couldn’t bear the thought of walking away now.

“Am I frightening you, dear Y/N?”

He closed the gap. You stepped away again, only to find your spine pressed against the extravagantly paneled wall. No escape: he had you cornered. The only question was what he planned to do next.

A tattooed finger rose to stroke your cheekbone, leaving sparks of electricity behind. You licked your lips nervously, battling the urge to lean into his fingertips. It felt alarmingly good to be touched. Even by the hands of a killer.

Am I losing my mind?

“No,” you finally replied, but your voice shook. Damn traitorous vocal cords.

He smirked and dropped his hand to rest on your shoulder, running his palm down the length of your arm to seize your hand. Logic screamed at you to run, break free and get security, but what had logic gotten you? Suspended and alone, friendless and isolated. Maybe logic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Yep, I’m losing my mind.

“The truth is obvious in your eyes, my dear. Perhaps one day you’ll even be able to admit it to yourself,” he replied.

The heat of his body withdrew and your hand ached as he dropped it. Disappointment colored his piercing eyes and an apology crept up your throat, begging to be spoken. But why? What did you have to apologize for? You hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Seriously, though. What are you doing here?” you asked. A poorly disguised attempt to change the subject, but you honestly wanted an answer.

He sighed and gazed at the strange painting, his face twisting into an expression you never expected to see. Guilt.

“I came to remember.”

You followed his eyes to find a white-haired figure in the painting. The very same one that reminded you of his unique style, something about the brush strokes…

No way...

“Did you paint this?”

A wry chuckle slipped from his lips. “Part of it, yes.”

And it’s called “In Memoriam”. Did he lose someone?

Of course. Grief was a powerful emotion, enough to break people or change them beyond recognition. You knew it well. The textbooks didn’t do it justice; the desperation and agony, the loneliness and fear that something would remind you of the loss and shatter you into a million pieces all over again, like taking a sledgehammer to a pane of glass. How every breath you took was one more the other person never would, and how much that hurt to know. Anything that eased the pain was a welcome refuge.

The artist murmured a few words, so quietly you didn’t hear anything more than the rumble of his voice. In the next instant, you found yourself pinned once again, back against the wall and wrists held in an iron grip on either side. You twisted and writhed but he was too strong; you were helpless and vulnerable with no way out.

Well, almost.

“L- let go of me or I’ll scream!”

A single sentence, and the status quo flipped. No longer was he your patient, no longer were you the one with the power. In the facility, yes, but here?

He can do whatever he wants to me and I can’t stop him. Shit…

A wicked grin split his face, taunting you with his enjoyment of your distress. He hummed and shifted to press his hips against your thigh, letting you feel the twitching length growing firmer by the second.

“Why do you resist? What has your endless obedience brought you? Nothing but pain.”

You hissed as his hands twisted around your wrists. The automatic protestations died on your lips; how could you argue with the truth?

“Please, just let me go…” you murmured instead.

The artist chuckled. “I think not. I’d much rather show you the alternative to your suffering, perhaps teach you to see through the lies of society.”

A quiet whisper echoed from the main hall, footsteps treading past the room you found yourself trapped in. For a moment you considered calling for help, but no sound escaped your lips.

This can’t be happening…

“Let go, doctor. Surrender and be set free from all that holds you back,” he continued, rolling against you with a quiet groan.

Coils of warmth pooled in your belly at the sound, the first hints of need waking deep within. Your lips parted and heat gathered in your cheeks as he leaned closer, eyes glinting. Hot breath fanned your ear as his mouth neared your skin and a soft whimper slipped from your lips. Completely inappropriate, but how were you supposed to control hormonal responses? It simply couldn’t be done.

“Tell me, my dear. Why do you fear me?”

You thrashed your arms again in a useless gesture of rebellion. Whatever you were feeling, you knew it wasn’t fear. There was an edge of risk to it, a hint of vulnerability and danger, yet you were not afraid.

You were excited.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said.

“Hmm… even after all I’ve done?” he purred.

More voices nearby reminded you of your precarious location. At any moment, another museum goer might wander in and discover the two of you. Or worse, security. You tried to break free again, but your efforts were in vain.

“Perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” he murmured, and then the murderer’s lips were on yours.

For a moment, you froze. How long had it been since you’d been kissed? Quite a while, but that was irrelevant. What was relevant was the texture of his mouth and the heat of his body, the sharp sound of your surprised inhale and the rough stubble scraping against your chin.

Fuck! Oh, fuck!

Separating your biological desires from your logical ones was suddenly out of your capabilities. The flicker of heat in your core grew to a scorching inferno as he ran his tongue over your lip, demanding entrance you were powerless to deny. The sheer wrongness of your dancing mouths had your heart galloping and blood rushing in your ears.

And damn, did he taste good.

The inner voice that guided your steps for years, the one that kept you in control and maintained the mask of normalcy, the force that insisted you could never show your true self…

That which once held such power over you, now seemed so frail and weak.

Playing by the rules and coloring inside the lines, what did it really get you? A job that bored you, false friends and the respect of fools. Nothing worthwhile or truly meaningful, a life devoid of joy and purpose.

Damnit, this wasn’t part of the plan! You were supposed to be whole by now, fixed and undamaged. It was the reason you studied for so many years, worked so hard and spent countless hours searching for new treatment methods.

You were broken, but you could fix it.

Right?

You fixed murderers; your own life should have been easy. Yet it was the hardest case of all, and you were so tired of pretending. Enough of the lies, enough of the secrecy and hidden agenda. Enough blending in and trying to be like everyone else.

Enough hiding, enough smiling at every face as if you gave a damn about them. Enough empty words and masked words. Enough doing what you were told, and enough ignoring what you wanted.

Enough.

---V---

That brief taste of your skin seemed so long ago. The palest reflection of everything hidden just below the surface. The full-bodied flavor of your mouth was infinitely more dazzling.

As he’d requested, his friends were silent. This part was his alone, and they would not spoil it by breaking his concentration. No doubt they’d share their thoughts later on, but for now…

For now, he had you all to himself. The softness of your wrists in his grasp and the scent of your skin had him reeling, each caress of your tongue adding gasoline to the fire of his need. You were teetering on the edge of letting go, he could feel it. All you needed was the right push.

The artist ground against your thigh, easing the ache in his cock by a minuscule fraction. The answering whimper was a thing of beauty, especially when coupled with the twitch of your hips. Images from his fantasies flooded his mind, visions of all the ways you could satisfy him. Mouth and fingers and oh, the velveteen walls of your core…

No! Restrain yourself, she isn’t there yet!

He forced himself to break the kiss and rested his forehead on yours, sharing each panted breath. What a glorious expression you wore, glassy eyed and swollen lips parted. Yes, you were worth being patient and careful. No one else would do.

“You see, doctor? You see how I can set you free?”

The corners of your lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “You say you’ll set me free while you restrain me. You really are insane.”

She’s got a point, pal.

“Hush, Griffon! Not now.”

Despite the infuriating interruption, he couldn’t deny that the mouthy demon was right. His fingers opened, relaxing enough for you to at last break his hold if you desired. A risk, but a necessary one to gain your trust.

Indeed, you jerked away from his grip and glared at him, but he didn’t step back. Freedom wasn’t something he could truly give you.

You had to take it.

With a wicked grin he rolled his hips once again, bracing his arms on either side of you to support his weight. Your hair smelled so good, and just the right length for pulling…

“Fuck!” you whispered.

Then he stepped back, when your voice and body conveyed the need he’d drawn out.

“You’re free, now. What will you do with it?”

Truly, you were a wonder. Only tiny changes revealed your thoughts; less attentive eyes might not have spotted the hesitation or the hunger in your gaze. Yet the conclusion was inevitable, and as he watched resolve harden those lovely eyes he couldn't help but grin.

“Fuck it,” you growled.

This time it was you who closed the gap, pulling his head down to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. Your hands pawed at his back, begging and pleading for more, and who would he be if he denied you now?

Tattooed fingers took hold of your ass and lifted. Lithe legs wrapped around his waist like a bear trap, forcing your core to meet his painfully hard cock. Sparks jumped from every nerve your hands caressed and flames devoured the last of his restraint as you mewled, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

The artist pinned you against the wall and brought one hand to your waist band. He didn’t hesitate and plunged his digits within, tracing the soft flesh hidden beneath. Positively divine, so soft and warm…

And wet…

He grinned and trailed kisses down your pulse, licking and suckling at the tender flesh as quiet moans spilled from your lips. A single fingernail scraped across your core, gathering the slick fluid as it traveled to the small nub of nerves nearby.

“You see? You see what a delight it is to claim your freedom?”

“Fuck, please, just-“

He shattered your voice by pressing against your clit and rubbing. The lewd moan that rewarded him might become his favorite sound and he dragged his digit across again to hear it once more.

Your small hands clawed at his back, hips rotating to rock against his hand. With his nose buried in the crux of your neck, he couldn’t see your face, but every stuttering breath you took guided his motion. A fine sheen of sweat broke out under his lips and he lapped at the salty fluid even as his hand drew more moisture from your body.

Sinful noises filled the air, a symphony of pleasure his mind would play on repeat for days to come. He traced the silken flesh like it was the most precious canvas in the world, deliberately stroking and pressing into your most sensitive spots.

“This is but a taste of what I can give you. Imagine it: total autonomy, each choice your own to make.”

“Ah-! Fuck, please!”

He hummed and sank his teeth into your shoulder, simultaneously burying two fingers in your wet heat with a lewd groan. Soon enough, it wouldn’t be just his fingers enjoying the welcoming tightness.

You scrabbled at his spine and keened his name, your legs pulling his hips closer on instinct alone. Obscene gasps and moans spilled form your lips as he curled his fingers and pistoned inside you. A tiny hint of copper leaked where his teeth cut your flesh, the perfect morsel for his depraved soul.

“Ah-! Shit, I’m gonna-“

“That’s it, Y/N. Break your chains,” the artist hummed.

A final cry, the gentlest of flutters against his fingers. There it was, perfection in ecstasy. He lifted his head to watch your face, twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain.

He’d seen a face like that once before, the day his life changed forever. After the gunshots fell silent and blood soaked the auditorium floor. He was still trapped under Nero’s dead body, desperately trying to appear equally deceased.

A few feet away Becca lied on the floor, mascara-laden tears streaming from her eyes and terror painting her features. Drops of crimson splattered her cheeks.

One of the shooters approached the poor girl and dragged her into position, splayed out across one of the larger patches of floor. Her blond hair reddened along with her face as the killer’s hands groped at her body. Her sobbing intensified and V’s heart clenched in sympathy.

I wish there was something I could do!

But to intervene would mean his death, of that he was certain. All he could do was bear witness.

He watched in silence as the shooters took turns, each adding their own marks to her flesh. Not once did she beg for mercy, instead taking their abuse without a word. If only he were so strong…

The leader was last, identifiable by his swagger laden stride and massive weapon. He held the barrel to her neck and unzipped, gloved hands drawing out his hardened length.

“Don’t worry, Becca. I know how to treat a lady,” the attacker growled.

Indeed, he took the time to guide her forcefully to bliss. His hands teased at her flesh and gently caressed the marks left by his comrades, praise and filthy phrases accompanying his touch. Even as choked sobs still leaked past her lips, moans and whimpers slowly mixed in.

The artist’s heart broke for her. She was always kind to him, a vague sort of friendliness that was more than most bothered with. She didn’t deserve the cruelty she was receiving.

Nor did she deserve to have her body manipulated until a sharp cry broke through her tears. Only her face and part of her torso were visible, but it was enough. Her features twisted in ashamed pleasure, arms tightening as her spine arced off the bloody floor. Such a tortured expression, he’d never seen.

He closed his eyes, but there was no blocking the sound of the shot that claimed her life moments later.

---Reader---

“God damnit, V…”

Heartbeats after your peak, the artist’s face had lost all expression. He mumbled the same phrase over and over, in the grip of a powerful catatonic episode. Somehow, he didn’t drop you. Thank heavens for small mercies.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he murmured. Another small blessing – he didn’t shout.

Still. The longer he stayed like this, the more likely someone would wander across him.

And me…

With a few careful wiggles, you extricated yourself from his grasp to stand on the parquet flooring once more. The resistance he gave you was negligible; never had you seen him so helpless.

I could just… go.

He was a killer. He deserved justice, and all you had to do to make sure he got it was walk away. Leave him to his fate, abandon this strange man and let go of your fascination. After what happened, there was no chance he’d end up in your care again. You’d never have to see him for the rest of your life.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he repeated.

A sigh slipped from your pursed lips. There was still so much about him you didn’t know. To try to help him now would undoubtedly mean the end of your professional career, if it wasn’t beyond repair already. You knew where this road would lead; to death and blood.

But also to answers.

Is the cost too high? Is it worth it?

If only the court sent him somewhere else. Then, none of this would be an issue. The murderous artist would be someone else’s problem and you wouldn’t have to make such a ridiculous choice. Your life would still be on its planned trajectory.

Yet that life held little appeal, now. It was pointless to deny his madness, but equally so to deny the tornado he coaxed to life in your heart. Emotions more powerful than you’d ever experienced, not to mention what his lethal hands could do to your body. A single moment in his presence sparked more curiosity and unanswered questions than a year spent in solitude.

No. there’s no going back now.

With a muttered curse, you tugged his skull down to look at you. This was such a terrible idea. “V, I don’t know if you can hear me, but you can’t stay here.”

No response, as you’d expected. Plan B, then.

You took his hand and led him into the shadows, away from the beautifully painted canvas and bright display lights. It was fortunate he liked black, or the darkness wouldn’t hide him so well.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. C’mon, sit down.”

With a little prodding, he managed to take a seat on the floor. Time to get to work.

His glassy eyes refused to follow your finger, but his breathing sounded fine and there was no evidence of a seizure. Gentle taps resulted in appropriate twitches. Heartbeat normal. Physically, the man seemed completely fine.

Okay, all I have to do is wait and he should come out of it eventually.

Considering the last time he had one of these episodes, it lasted over an hour, you settled in beside him. Your jacket made a decent blanket and it was dark, hopefully enough to conceal you from prying eyes.

If it wasn’t, you knew you’d pay the price.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#fanfic #Be My Nightmare #my writing #tw: mental health #tw: assault #tw: rape #dmc5 v #dmc v #v x reader #reader insert #devil may cry #dmc

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smallmediumproblems · 5 years

Text

Life As We Know It

(Also on Ao3)

There is a place, you’ve heard, that people go to for help. It is the only place like it that you’ve heard of in this world. There are countless ways to find advice, information, knowledge, and secrets, but never help. The person who tells you this also tells you that you it’s not a place people should go. That when they do, they are very rarely heard from again. The things that live there are old and dangerous, though perhaps not as much of either as some others you’ve encountered. Most importantly, they are cunning. It’s what makes them dangerous, and what has allowed them to become old. The person who tells you this, who is not your friend, looks you up and down and admits that you might be fine. You, personally and specifically. Sometimes they take a liking to people like you.

You are reminded to be polite. The person who is not your friend suggests that you bring a gift. Music used to be a popular choice, little 45 records and cassette tapes, but it’s hard to know what they don’t have, anymore. If you can bake something, you should do so. If you can’t, then it’s rumored that one of them likes gin. Or was it sherry? You point out that there’s a substantial difference between the two. Your not-friend argues that you could say as much about the people they’re for.

You are not given an address. Instead, you are told which pub to go to, and whom to ask for directions when you get there.

“First time?” she asks. She looks too young for the knowing in her voice, the sympathy she has for you. She can’t know why you’re there. She must, however, know why people go looking for this place. Something in her smirk is unexpectedly sharp, not just with knowing, but with a secret.

It is your first time, so you tell her that. She nods, and pats you on the shoulder.

“Good. Don’t come back.” It’s not a rejection. Not a threat, or even a warning. It is a command, as matter-of-fact as if she were telling you which beer to order from the shabby chalkboard behind her.

The walk is longer than you expected, up steep cobbled roads and down alleyways you’re not sure were there the first time you looked. You are certain that you’ve gone in at least one circle, but nothing looks familiar. As you reach the last couple directions, you realize very abruptly that you are no longer being watched. You can’t remember the last time you felt that way. You can remember the first time, though. It feels like the first time you stayed awake past midnight, the first time you heard that very particular quiet that comes from a place where everyone except you is asleep. It is lonely. It is free.

It’s not midnight when you arrive at the small red-brick house. It is barely past noon. The front yard is also small, and painfully English, overflowing with flowers that you can smell before you step inside. Trestled archways lead back around the house, both so heavily weighed down by roses that they almost look unsafe to walk under. You ignore them. You were told not to wander. A single weathered loveseat is nestled amid an enormous bushel of lavender. There is no other garden furniture. Whatever lives here, you don’t suppose it entertains often.

You pause at the front door for a moment, your mind catching on something that looks out of place. Did the house have this many windows when you opened the front gate? Surely the door wasn’t this color before you took your eyes off it to look at the roses. You only looked away for a second. Something is unmistakably different. You remember, then, that you were told not to wander and not to linger too long without introducing yourself.

So you knock.

The man who opens the door was probably tall, once. His slouch looks intentional, like a petulant teenager. It contrasts with his shock of gray hair, almost white, kept long but not unkempt just around his jawline. He is wearing a green cable-knit sweater that doesn’t fit right and a pair of circular sunglasses, the kind with shields along the sides. They don’t go together even remotely well. The sweater has pulled back from his arm where he is holding the door open, and you can see a large, mottled scar around his hand.

“Alright then, who are you?” he demands.

You give him your name, and as brief an explanation as you can muster. You were told to answer any question you are asked. Hiding things will make it harder for them to help you. The man doesn’t seem to recognize anything he dislikes in you, so he gestures for you to follow him inside.

“You don’t need the lights, do you?” he asks. The inside of the house is in fact completely unlit, though it’s hardly pitch black with the sun streaming in across hardwood floors and thick, bright carpets. You suppose that you don’t, and you tell him as much. It occurs to you that most people don’t wear sunglasses inside. The thought sticks in your head until you notice a pair of white canes propped up next to a coat rack. A clock somewhere in the house strikes 12:15.

You are led to a dining room that is warm with sunlight and opens directly up into the kitchen. There is no music, but the sounds of birds and fountains and very distant cars drift through the open French doors, along with the smell of more flowers in the backyard. The room sounds alive. A second man is bustling around the kitchen, rifling through teabags as he waits impatiently for a kettle to finish heating. He is larger than the other one, though that’s not difficult, considering how thin the other one is. His sunglasses are clunky, unfashionable wraparounds that suit the soft curve of his face. He’s well put-together in a neat collared shirt and v-neck sweater. He is not young, but his curly blonde hair doesn’t yet have a touch of gray in it, and he has the kind of features that always stay a decade or so behind his actual age

“You’re here early,” he comments, with something that might be approval. “Go ahead and sit down, we’ll get started in a second.”

You are already sitting before you can think to respond. There is a low, polite noise at your elbow, and you look over to see very toothy dog smiling at you. You waste a few seconds trying to figure out what kind of dog, exactly, he is. The closest you get is some kind of bull terrier crossed with about five other things, one of which might have been a sofa. The combination is hideous and adorable. He is sitting just close enough that you could reach out to touch him. A tag on his collar reads HELLO MY NAME IS MACGUFFIN, with what you assume to be the same text spelled out in braille underneath.

“Don’t be a pest,” says the man in the green sweater to the dog. Macguffin looks briefly over his shoulder at him and lies down, still staring at you. “He thinks you have food.”

You remember that you do, and you bring out the tupperware container of cookies you made that morning. You explain that you usually put walnuts in, but you weren’t sure if they’d be allergic. They’re not, although the thinner man doesn’t much like them in cookies.

“Well, that’s very thoughtful,” says the man with the wraparound sunglasses. “You’d be surprised how many people bring store-bought stuff, really sort of defeats the purpose.”

“Or gin,” says the man in the green sweater, clearly confused. “I still haven’t figured out how that got started.”

The first man laughs. “I blame Melanie,” he says, “Of course she’s going to tell people to bring us gin if you keep giving it to her.”

The kettle is finished, so he sits down at the table across from you with three cups of tea. The other one, hearing him do so, sits as well.

You are asked to tell your story. You’ve met things that ask questions and pull answers like wings from a trapped insect, and these are not those things. This might be easier if they were. Your answer is slow, halting, and deliberate, tripping over itself and smattered with half-remembered details. The man in the green sweater is clearly impatient, but also silent, reaching for another cookie every time it looks like he wants to say something. After the third or fourth one, the other man quietly puts a hand over his and keeps it there. This seems to have the same effect as the cookies.

You tell them about something that looks back at you out of mirrors, something that has your face and is not you. It was friendly, at first. Saying that out loud sounds like an excuse, but it is true, so it is what you tell them. It was helpful, and when it asked you to do things for it, you wanted to help it back. You knew it was dangerous. That’s what you liked about it. But something happened. No, you did something, something so dark and frightening that you consider lying about it. You take a breath to consider this, and as you do so, you notice another scar on the thinner man’s neck. It is long, wide, and pockmarked, like whatever made it was blunt and jagged. The longer you look, the more scars you see, little crescents up over his jawline. He’s wearing long sleeves. Both of them are. You look at the other man, his head tilted very slightly at attention. You wonder what scars he has, or, if he doesn’t, what he had to do to avoid getting them.

You tell the nice old men about the awful thing you did. It is quiet as you wait for a reaction that does not come. The sound of the world outside continues.

The man with the wraparound sunglasses asks gently what you want to do about it. You want it to stop, to be over. He taps thoughtfully on the other man’s hand, still resting under his own.

“How badly do you want it?” he asks. “You have other options, y’know. What do you think, for the Stranger?”

This is apparently addressed to the other man, who doesn’t sound pleased about the answer he has. “This case? Flesh, maybe.”

“Mmm,” the first man agrees. “Where is Jared, these days?”

“Long gone,” says the second man. “Said he moved to Berlin, I think. Last time I tried to contact him, he said to talk to Marie.”

“Oh, I liked Marie,” the first man says pleasantly. “She fixed up Macguffin after that car accident. Didn’t she boy, didn’t she make you all good as new?”

The dog hastens over to be petted, and the second man makes a derisive noise. “After some negotiating to get the right number of limbs on him, yes.”

Seeing Macguffin move, you’re less sure that his indecipherable mixture of traits is something he was born with. He seems happy enough, either way. As nice as Marie sounds, you explain that that life is not for you. You don’t want to hide behind a different power. You want out. Completely.

More than anything you’ve said so far, this seems to throw them. They don’t exchange a nervous look, of course, but the man in the green sweater tightens his grip on the hand he is holding.

“Are you sure about this?” asks the man in the wraparound sunglasses. “These things have consequences. If it got round to the wrong people that we were passing this stuff out, it might get messy pretty quickly, and not just for us.”

You’re sure. Why wouldn’t you go through with it, anyway?

“It’s… Not pleasant,” says the man in the green sweater. “None of them are, but the Stranger’s is especially harsh.”

You want to know. You need to know. You can’t hurt anybody again, not like you did.

This answer seems to satisfy them. The noise from outside has gone away. You don’t know how long it’s been gone for, or if it will ever come back. The world pauses for these nice old men to tell you how to end your life as you know it. It is a simple thing, which only makes it more frightening. No time for doubts or second thoughts. It is a painful thing, and it would hurt until the end of your natural life if you were to do it. It is a terrible thing. It is not as terrible as what you have done.

You ask them if it’s worth it.

They smile. Each one has a different smile for an answer. The man in the green sweater has given this smile so often that it is etched into his face in creases and lines that you only now match to their source. His smile is tired and persistent, and the way his jaw moves around it, you can almost hear the words upon words that he has decided would not compare with how it makes him feel. His head turns slightly towards where he is holding someone’s hand, as if that might help him picture what it looks like. The man with the wraparound sunglasses is grinning so wide that it almost looks painful. He is getting away with something that he shouldn’t have done, and he is smug and triumphant and full of joy. It’s a private thing, surely meant only for himself, and it strikes you that it might as well be, since the only person that matters cannot see it.

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” they tell you.

#it's 1:30 am time to post jonmartin #whoop this is 2000 words lmao #I got carried away #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #fanfiction #smallsays

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ikesenrambles · 5 years

Note

Hello! Is it okay if I request platonic headcanons with the Uesagi-Takeda forces and a Child MC who’s really reckless and hardworking? Like the child runs around Kasugayama doing all the chores and work for other people, she goes into the battlefield to drag and injured soldier out of the way, etc? Sorry if it’s too specific or too much!

Of course it is okay! (´｡･v･｡｀) Thank you so much for sending in a request. I actually really appreciate the detail that you gave me as it helped me better imagine the child MC. I hope that you enjoy~!

Kenshin

At first, he sees you as nothing more than an innocent, foolish little girl. Lord Kenshin is reminded of the fragility and naïveté that Isehime possessed at your age. Still haunted by the memory of her, he does whatever he can to avoid being around you.

Nevertheless, a hard worker like you is certain to leave an impact on Kasugayama castle. You earn praise from Shingen and the others, but it is Lord Kenshin’s admiration that you yearn for the most. You work tirelessly to beat him to any duties he might have, always volunteering to deliver letters to him, to clean his room, and to serve him food in place of the maids.

And yet, Lord Kenshin spurs any offer of help. To him, you are no more than a casualty waiting to happen.

Time and time again, you prove your use to him. You are dedicated and never know when to give up; in this way, you remind him of a younger version of himself.

It’s not until you nearly lose your life on the battlefield that he suddenly realizes that he had inadvertently become so attached to you. He had grown fond of you without meaning to. He has this fierce urge to simultaneously protect you and to push you away - the former because there is no one who could protect you better than him, and the latter because there is no one you need protecting against more than Lord Kenshin himself.

After you endanger yourself trying to pull one of his fallen soldiers to safety, Lord Kenshin decides to lock you up somewhere you could never, ever be hurt. Of course, that hurts you more than anything else.

“Please, please,” you plead, clutching onto the sleeve of his kimono before he can close the cell door behind him. Warm tears fall down your cheeks as you bury your face into his stomach. “I don’t want to be safe if it means letting everyone around me suffer. I’d rather die knowing I did what I could than live knowing that I did nothing.”

He turns back momentarily to refuse, but he is startled by the ferocity that meets his gaze. Reflected in your eyes is the same desperate desire to serve another, the hopeless resignation of failing to protect someone that burned within him for Isehime and now glows for you.

“Teach me how to fight like you.” You let go of his sleeve and step back, kneeling before him and bowing deeply. “Please, I beg you. I want to be able to protect myself. I want to be able to protect the people that I care about.”

He looks away, shocked by your willfulness. Perhaps he was wrong to think of you as delicate when you possessed a strength, a determination, that was anything but. “Get up. You don’t need to prostrate yourself in front of me,” he sighs, a slight smile forming on his lips. “We start tomorrow. I won’t go easy on you this time. Prove to me… that I was wrong about you.”

Shingen

The castle has livened up since your arrival, and Lord Shingen can’t help but be fascinated by the little lady who has seemingly appointed herself as chatelaine of Kasugayama.

He is endlessly entertained by you. He watches you amusedly, eyebrow cocked in curiosity as you diligently pour yourself into your work, cheerfully chat up the maids, and thoughtlessly jump at any and all opportunities to help out around the castle. Your disruptive, overly excitable, and clumsy personality reminds him of Yukimura. He sees potential in you, the same way he saw potential in Yukimura.

Lord Shingen is more than happy to take you under his tutelage. He offers to teach whatever you’d like to learn. This, of course, earns him a dubious look from Yukimura. “Geez, you better not be filling her head with a bunch of useless–”

In your eyes, he treats you more like an adult than any of the other warlords do because he mostly leaves you to your own devices, trusting you to learn by experience. Though it may seem as though he’s not paying you much attention, the reality is that Lord Shingen is always observing your behavior, ready to interfere if ever you find yourself in danger.

Nevertheless, he can’t help but spoil and pamper you as if you were his daughter. Sometimes, you fall asleep in the garden or while sitting in the hallway waiting for another opportunity to prove yourself. On those days, Lord Shingen can’t help but find solace in your soft, sleepy snores. Lifting you into his arms, he is the one who carries you to your room and tucks you into bed after a hard day’s work.

Whenever you two spend time together, women seem to just flock to him. That was never his intention in welcoming you as a part of Kasugayama, but of course, he’s not complaining about it, either.

Your careless decision to risk your life on the battlefield takes him by surprise and leaves he and Lord Kenshin both trembling as they rush to your side. Never before had he felt so proud of and at the same time, so afraid to lose someone.

Though he shares Lord Kenshin’s fear that you will get hurt if not locked away, he knows that it’s unreasonable to suppress someone as fearless and strong-willed as you. He would never want to hold a little warrior like you back…

… especially when he knows it would be doing not only a disservice to you, but to the rest of Kasugayama. After all, it just may be a brave little girl who can shatter Lord Kenshin’s perception of femininity.

Yukimura

You two… are like a rowdy pair of siblings. You’re always butting heads and getting on each others’ nerves, constantly trying to outwit the other and simultaneously making fools of yourselves in front of everyone else. There’s something endearing about each meaningless argument you share; through the hair pulling and the finger pointing, the taunting and the teasing, the both of you care immensely for one another as an older brother and younger sister do.

Of course, Yukimura would never say that outright. He wouldn’t want you to think of him as a total softie. After all, you look up to him… right? (He’s convinced himself that he is one of your idols but the reality is, you probably think he’s about the biggest idiot you’ve ever met.)

He shows his affection for you in the annoyed tone of his voice, in his relentless nagging, and in his playful shove. The two of you roughhouse quite a bit around the castle, Yukimura chasing you through slippery hallways after you throw a soapy, wet towel at his head during sparring practice. It’s these moments that Yukimura treasures the most since it’s about the only time that the two of you get to act like kids again. It always amazes everyone else how being around a child can make Yukimura act even more immaturely than he already does.

Of course, with your hardworking personality and Yukimura’s fierce loyalty to Lord Shingen, the two of you manage to turn everything into some sort of competition. Who can scrub the floors faster? Who can serve tea faster without spilling? It’s all fun and games for the two of you, but for Lord Shingen and Lord Kenshin, it’s like having two more servants!

Although Lord Shingen advises you against spending too much time with Yukimura, explaining that you’ll become a boor like him if you do, the two of you are frequently together. You enjoy accompanying Yukimura on his espionage trips, posing as Yukimura’s little sister so often that you forget every now and then that the two of you aren’t blood-related. You two share a horse and, when you get tired of walking, he’ll let you sit on his shoulders. Finally, you can get back at him for all of the times he ruffled your hair.

With a diligent saleswoman like you by his side, he actually manages to sell a lot of the women’s accessories that he is pretending to peddle in the Azuchi marketplace. For the record, you’re the only person he would ever let stick a stupid flower hairclip in his hair - and you better not bring it up to Lord Shingen because he’d never hear the end of it.

As an older brother figure, Yukimura is extremely protective of you. Like Lord Shingen, Yukimura has given you some of his own well-intended advice. For example, “Make sure you stay away from weird guys like Lord Shingen when you get older.”

Though he’d never admit it, you have come to mean a lot to him. That being said, he feels an obligation to protect you, to keep you safe, to always be by your side. When he sees you running into the battlefield, throwing caution to the wind, he doesn’t even have to think before he’s sprinting to you, throwing himself over you like a shield. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so enraged with you, and your heart sinks to your feet as you realize how your carelessness has hurt him.

“You idiot–…!” he mutters angrily, almost crying bitter tears as the two of you stand in the midst of a storm, surrounded by thousands of fallen bodies and bloodshed. “I don’t want to lose you tonight too…”

Sasuke

Like Yukimura, Sasuke becomes somewhat of a brotherly figure in your life. Whereas you and Yukimura are like the youngest child and middle child, Sasuke is the eldest. He is cool and composed, the mediator for you two.

Sasuke first introduces you as his rambunctious little sister in order to quell any suspicions the warlords might have about your untimely arrival. Awkwardly, he lifts you into his arms away from his body and presents you to Lord Kenshin, Lord Shingen, and Yukimura. “See?” he tells them, expressionless. “Isn’t she cute?” The warlords are stunned by his display of familiarity, so they merely nod their heads in unison in hopes that Sasuke will put you back down.

Taking care of you has been perhaps the wildest experiment experience of Sasuke’s life. A stellar student even in his teenage years, Sasuke had paid attention in his high school Marriage & Family class. Unfortunately for him, the curriculum was lacking in its parenting techniques for children who time travel to wartorn Japan. He approaches you as a new dad would: cautiously. You, tiny, dainty little girl, are as terrifying to him as a butterfly.

Nevertheless, Sasuke is completely committed to ensuring your survival. This ninja has his eyes on you at all times, even if you may not realize it. There is no one who he is as dedicated to as he is to you and your needs; ever since your arrival, you have been his number one priority.

To him, you are a curiosity - an interesting brain to pick. At first, he was worried that you wouldn’t be able to adjust to Sengoku life. But your precocious, albeit careless, personality proves him wrong. Your excellent work ethic makes Sasuke incredibly proud to call you his sister, even if it is just a guise. He is impressed by the way that you quickly adapt to your surroundings and become a functional member of Kasugayama castle.

Even so, he can’t help but worry about you. After all, you’re still a child - and a daring, impulsive child at that. Each time that you mindlessly wander into town alone, each time that you volunteer yourself to go shopping for the warlords, each time that you accompany them to the battlefield… he worries. Sasuke feels responsible for you and your safety.

You are like an uncontrolled variable: out of his reach, unpredictable, and risky. One false move could get you killed in a time like this. To a scientist like him, not being able to anticipate danger and therefore failing to rescue you, is his greatest fear.

For you, he acts as a voice of reason, advising you against acting without thinking. Though he hardly scolds you in the same manner as Yukimura, you will know when you’ve disappointed him. Somehow, the sting of his fallen face is even more painful to bear.

When it comes to you, it’s difficult to Sasuke to rationalize his fierce need to protect you. These past few months that you have spent together, the two of you have grown extremely close. He cares for you as though you really are his sister.

After you almost perish before his eyes, he kneels in front of you for an earnest, face-to-face talk. For what seems to be the first time, you see a flicker of emotion behind Sasuke’s stoic expression. He looks at you silently, then lowers his gaze in thought. “If I were to return without you…” he trails off, “I would never forgive myself.” He glances up at you once more, and you stare into his sincere eyes. “So please, for me…” he murmurs, “Be more careful.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

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