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morerandombullshit · 1 month

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Deserve (Vergil x f!Reader)

Rating: 18+ (MDNI but not like that stopped you guys anyway)

Pairing: Vergil x f!Reader

Summary: You finally left your abusive ex for good over him cheating on you, but it's still weighing on you. Vergil finds out and decides to comfort you in the only way he really knows how to comfort another person.

CW: Cheating, implied abuse, slightly angsty, bit of hurt/comfort, comfort sex (kinda??), unprotected sex (DO NOT TRY AT HOME) oral (f!rieceiving), face-sitting, consent, begging (only if you squint), creampies, slight dom/sub dynamics (or it's not slight idrk), dom Vergil/sub Reader, praise, degradation (just a little sprinkling only if you squint i promise), slight edging (ok maybe not so slight aha), clothes-ripping, semi-monster sex, aftercare pet names used: darling, sweetheart, pretty girl, perfect girl, good girl, my love, mine

Word count: 4573 (i totally didn't get too into this fic, no i didn't)

Note: I don't even fucking know how I came up with this idea (guess I was scrolling through too much DMC Boys x Reader smut and shit but oh well I have zero regrets), but in my notebook it's literally 18 and a quarter pages long and I was up until 2am finishing it off because I couldn't sleep and then I tried to show my best friend my writing at some point but he couldn't read my handwriting and shit (2am writing ftw, I guess)—

Anyways, enjoy this...explosion of smut, because I'm kinda on a little bit of a fluff writing kick/writer's block thing rn and idk when I'm gonna write more soooooo

Also Cameron Grey's I Want It All is basically the vibe for this oneshot, I recommend listening to it on repeat as you read—

Sitting on the couch at Devil May Cry, you force yourself to focus on the magazine print in front of you. It's after hours and everyone's gone home—except for you and Dante's twin, Vergil.

Vergil's cold and intimidating presence makes you feel like a storm is approaching every time he's around. But that body, though...shit. Strong jawline, short and slicked back silvery-white hair, ice blue eyes, cherry lips, toned body, ass like it was sculpted by a fucking ethereal being...Something lights like fire low in the pit of your stomach, and you shift a bit on the couch, still trying to focus on the magazine. Footsteps sound from across the room, and as the familiar scent of storms, fresh-cut grass and sage permeates your senses, that warmth between your thighs transmutes to a light throbbing.

Vergil steps into the room and you drop your eyes to the magazine, deciding it better to ignore that feeling right now. It's always happened whenever he's around—even when you were dating your abusive ex, but you push that thought away and continue hyperfocusing on the page in front of you. You toss your feet up onto an arm of the couch, leaning your head and putting the magazine at a tilted angle in the air.

"Y/N."

You sit up a bit, dropping the magazine. Vergil's always had a cold and imperious vibe around everyone, so you have to admit you're surprised he bothers to know your name. "Shit, didn't notice you." you reply, lying and hoping he doesn't know you are. "What is it?"

He walks a bit closer to you, grabbing a chair—his usual plastic one (he has threatened murder if someone else so much breathes on it before, now that you think about it)—and sitting in it, setting the Yamato against one of its armrests and letting it lean against the white plastic. "What're you doing here so late? I'd have thought you'd be at home right now."

At the mention of home, your stomach churns with nausea—the week before, you'd moved your stuff out of the apartment you had shared with your ex, and you're still trying to find a new place to live. Dante—after you begrudgingly told him why you were looking for a new place to live—said you could stay in Devil May Cry for as long as you need.

Vergil doesn't know, though. But something in you wants to tell him, so you take a breath in and say, "I'm...between homes right now. Dante said I could stay here for as long as I need, and it's a better option than the streets."

"Would you mind if I asked why you're between homes at the moment?" he asks you, and you hear his voice sound less...cold for a moment. "Uh...my abusive ex cheated and I was sharing an apartment with him. Couldn't stand to live there after all the shit he pulled."

Your eyes have been trained to your boots the whole time but you look up, but you look up at Vergil and see the ice blue eyes blazing—a surefire sign he might go Devil Trigger. And for some reason, that makes the throbbing between your thighs more apparent, and harder to ignore. You shift your weight on the couch, trying to do it subtly enough that he doesn't notice—but knowing how shitty your luck is, he does. Vergil raises an eyebrow at you, and you regret all your fucking life decisions. "Something wrong?" he asks.

Oh, nothing. Just the fact that you're somehow turning me the fuck on, you think to yourself before clearing your throat and replying with, "No."

"You're always clearing your throat before you speak a lie." he says, and your brow furrows. His voice imperceptibly softens at the next thing he says. "It's...cute, in a way."

You cough a bit, startled by his sudden statement. "What?"

"It is." Vergil leans forward in his chair, a little closer to the couch you're sitting on. "But I have to wonder...what is wrong?"

You shrug, resisting the urge to clear your throat again. "Wanted to shift my position on the couch—it was getting uncomfortable sitting in one position for that long."

"Hm." he replies, his ice blue eyes boring into yours, making that already noticeable throb between your thighs even more unbearable to hide. A taut tension blankets over the two of you, and your tongue swipes out to lick your lips. Vergil's eyes drop to your lips instantly, and that taut tension becomes even more taut, if that's possible.

You drop your gaze to the ground, but your eyes snag on a growing bulge tightening the black leather of his pants, which causes your mouth to go bone dry, causing you to lick your lips again. As quickly as you had noticed his cock growing harder through his pants, you drop your gaze to its intended destination—the floor—and try to forget you ever saw it.

That taut tension between you and Vergil continues, neither of you talking. His gaze locked on your lips, yours locked on the ground—though seeing how his cock had strained against his pants is at the forefront of your mind, and that throbbing between your thighs becomes mildly painful. It's an effort not to wince, an effort to not press your hands so tightly together you might break a few bones.

"Y/N." Vergil says, his voice a little lower and rougher than before, his breath hitting your ear. When the hell did he move?, you wonder to yourself before realizing, Oh, wait. He's half-demon.

"Yeah." you mutter as a form of response, since your mind's more focused on how close he is to you right now—the distance between your bodies only inches apart, which makes that throbbing between your thighs even worse. "Tell me what's wrong," he murmurs, his breath still hitting your ear as he uses one hand to tilt your chin up towards his face. "And tell me how to make it better."

Other than the fact that you're so turned on you almost can't see straight, something you'd never tell him even if your life depended on it, there's an...emptiness. Having dated your abusive ex for so long before you ended it because you'd found him with his face between the thighs of some girl you didn't recognize has left a bigger toll on you for the past week, more than you care to admit. "I was living with my abusive ex. A week ago, I caught him eating some other girl out, and I decided I wasn't taking the abuse anymore, so..."

Vergil's eyes flash slightly, and for a moment, you think he's going to go Devil Trigger, but he doesn't—only that kernel of demonic power lies in his eyes, a show of his rage. "I will fucking hunt him down and end him. Slowly," he says, voice taking on a slight and low snarling quality in his anger. And you don't know if you've ever heard him curse before, but the throbbing between your thighs intensifies when you hear it. "Did he hurt you?"

It takes you a moment to respond to that, unsure of how to do it for fear of what he's going to do, but you reply with, "Yes."

"He never fucking deserved you." he says matter of factly, his voice still taking on that slight, low snarling quality. "You're better off without him."

"I know." you sigh. "But abusers tend to manipulate their victims. And I hate how I agreed to move in with him a month into our relationship. Should've realized it was of him—"

Your words get cut off when Vergil straight up puts his mouth on yours. The kiss isn't exactly gentle, but there's a comforting quality to it behind all the pure want he's kissing you with. It takes you a second to kiss back, but once you do, you're lost in it. God, the feeling of Vergil's mouth pressing against your has been chasing your dreams for so long now, maybe even you first met him or your first day at Devil May Cry—your mind and body keep wanting more more more as that throbbing between your thighs starts to ache, causing you to let out an unbidden whine into his mouth.

He pulls away again, and you almost whine again, hating the loss of contact as you resist the urge to rub your thighs together. His breath and yours are mingling, both of you panting slightly. "You have no fucking idea how I've wanted to do that." Vergil murmurs, voice rougher than usual. "No fucking idea of the things I want to do to you."

A breathless sound is your only reply, and the hand that isn't gripping your chin falls to your hip, and your back arches slightly as he kneads your skin through your shirt, "Let me touch you," he mumbles, burying his face into your neck and brushing his nose against your skin. "Just—let me touch you. Please."

You're silent for a moment, and Vergil pulls back a tiny bit, making you realize he's letting you decide—letting you decide whether you want to go further or stop and forget this ever happened. He'll keep going only with a confirmation that you want this, and only if it's a yes you're sure about—he doesn't want you to be pressured. You swallow, and you see his eyes flick to the hollow of your throat, tracking the movement. "Okay." you say, pressing a hand to his chest, right above his heart.

No sooner than the word leaves you, Vergil has his mouth right on the side of your neck, his hand dropping from your chin and going to your other hip—both hands kneading through your shirt now. You tilt your head back, a silent plea for him to keep going. A sound emerges from low in his throat—some kind of growl?—and he skims his mouth along your skin to the hollow of your throat, causing a chill of pleasure to go down your spine.

Vergil's mouth presses against the hollow of your throat, his hands still kneading your hips through your shirt, and your back arches into him, his hips settling between your thighs once you do—causing an unbidden whimper to leave your mouth. The feel of his cock, even with the barriers of his pants and yours, makes you see fucking stars. His tongue laves along the hollow of your throat, and you whimper louder this time, your senses narrowed to his tongue moving over your skin. Your head falls back even more, baring pretty much all your neck to him.

"You taste so much better than I ever fucking dreamed you would." Vergil murmurs onto your skin, pulling on it with his teeth. You moan now, your hips uncontrollably grinding against his—eliciting a soft groan from him, and that sound only adds to the throbbing between your thighs and the desire sparking in your blood. He dips his head a bit, nibbling on more skin of your neck, and every singular throb between your thighs feels like fucking torture. Your hands are aching to touch him, aching to feel his bare skin, his mouth, his fingers, his cock...

You tentatively put your hands on Vergil's shoulders, kind of digging your nails in when he drags his teeth on your skin. His hands hook into the bottom hem of your shirt, and your breath hitches. "Can I take this off?" he murmurs against your neck, and you nod. But his hands don't move, leaving you to rub your thighs together in a need for friction and some impatience. "I need to hear you say it, darling. I need you to use your words, okay?"

You take a fractured breath in, forming some words as you fight through the lust fogging your mind right now. "Fuck yes. Please, Vergil. Please." you mumble, so wet you might soak through your pants altogether. "Thank fuck..." he murmurs, moving one hand up to the neckline of your shirt before tugging and ripping the cotton and polyester fabric clean down the middle.

You gasp at the cool air hitting your upper half—now, your bra's the only barrier. Vergil pulls away from your neck, his eyes glazing over as he looks at your bare skin. "So fucking beautiful..." he says as his hands land back onto your hips, kneading your skin. You whine, so turned on it's hard to think of anything else. He dips his head down, teeth grazing one of the edges of your bra.

Your hands go from digging your nails into his shoulders to tangling in his short and slicked back silvery-white hair—it's so fucking soft, and it's thicker than it looks. A low growl rumbles from deep in his throat, and his hands continue to knead into your hips, but hands feel more like claws now. "Please tell me I can keep going." His teeth still graze the edge of your bra.

"Don't—don't stop."��

Vergil's head moves a bit to the middle of your bra, and you could've sworn his canines are now fangs as he rips your bra in two with just his teeth. Your breath stutters as your upper half is fully exposed now, the throbbing between your thighs becoming so painful that you whimper a bit. His hands leave your hips and rise to cup your now bare breasts, your breath almost stopping altogether when you see the reverence in his eyes and his body language. You feel like a fucking goddess under his scrutiny, and when his hands creep up a bit, those almost-claws drawing circles on your skin, making you into the touch as lightning bolts of pleasure spread from where he's touching you.

Your hips rolls of their own accord again, a fractured moan slipping from your mouth as you feel his cock growing harder against you. You can't think, can't form words, because of the overwhelming pressure going through you right now. Vergil groans as you do that, his head dipping and his tongue teasingly tracing one of your nipples. And fuck, that feeling...You cry out this time, breath so shallow you off-handedly wonder how the fuck you're getting oxygen.

One of his hands goes from cupping your breast to hooking into the hem of your pants, but you don't focus on that as he flicks his tongue over your nipple again, taking it into his mouth, teeth grazing the slightest bit—

You cry out again, this time mixed in with a moan, and your hips buck into him, whimpering at the way he feels against you, even if there is the barrier of clothes. "That's it, pretty girl." Vergil murmurs against your breast. "It's me who makes you feel like this."

A moan is your only reply. He moves a bit, straddling you slightly, every thought eddying from your mind as he rolls his hips against yours, but unlike when you had done it, it's purposeful.

He's teasing.

Vergil raises his head to whisper into your ear, his lips grazing the shell of it and triggering a needy shudder that wracks your body. "If I were to rip these pants off of you right now, how wet would I find you, sweetheart?"

Fucking soaking.

You can barely decipher his words through your lust-fogged haze, and every part of you is screaming, more, more, more, but you manage to choke out, "Play later."

Your voice is breathless, the need in it so abundantly clear, but you're too lost in the pleasure to notice or even care. Vergil dips his head and kisses the skin beneath your ear, causing another needy shudder. A promise and an unleashing. "I will, perfect girl. I will. But we have a couple other things to take care of, do we not?"

Right. He still has all his clothes on. Slipping your hands from his hair, you put them on either side of his dark gray trench coat with bright turquoise coloring. "Can I take this off?" you ask, surprised at how you can function right now. A nod from Vergil. "Please."

You make quick work of his coat, fabric sighing as it drops to the floor, revealing arms that you never were so fucking toned. Amazed, you run your hands down his arms, the smooth skin and taut muscle feeling so good to touch. You hear his breath hitch and you smirk to yourself. "Y/N." he murmurs, and you know what he means—stop gawking and get to the point before he spontaneously combusts. Taking a breath in, you reply with a quiet "Okay" before unzipping the high neck of his armored black and dark slate gray tank top, revealing his bare chest to you. Just as his coat had, it falls to the floor behind him, the metal making a faint clinking sound.

But you're too focused on greedily inventorying the fucking masterpiece that is Vergil's chest. Abs that look like they've been hewn from stone in a mountain's cliff face, pecs that aren't too big but are still hot as hell...your gaze snags on a thin dusting of white hair that disappears beneath his pants and a very defined V-line that flows beneath his pants like his happy trail does.

The only thing that leaves your mouth is a breathless "Fuck". You reach for the top of his pants, but his hand lightly catches your wrist—those almost-claws tickling your skin. "I want to taste you first." he says, his voice that low, lush growl that makes that throbbing between your thighs even more unbearable. "I want to feel you come on my fingers and tongue."

You swallow as Vergil's other hand—the one hooked into the waistband of your pants—moves down, utilizing those almost-claws and shredding the fabric straight down the middle, like he did with your shirt. His hand lightly brushes the fabric of your panties now, nearly making your heart stop.

"Turn around and spread your legs," he says quietly, his voice still having that growly quality—but also pure dominance. "And hold onto the back of the couch. You'll need it."

Sparks of more arousal rise in your blood as you hasten to do what Vergil tells you, and a satisfied hum from behind you has you knowing you did it right. "Good girl." he says, his hand hooking into the edge of your panties. Your breathing stutters at the praise, and you're sure he smirked at that reaction from you, even if you can't see his face. He doesn't move for a moment before asking, "Do you still want this? Because I don't think I'll be able to stop after—though I'll try my damndest to."

You ponder on it for a moment, the throbbing between your thighs growing as you do, before you reply with a simple, "Yes."

A low growl rumbles in Vergil's throat before you pulls on your panties hard enough to rip them off your frame, and your breath sharpens for a moment. "So fucking beautiful..." he murmurs, nudging your legs just a bit wider with his knee before sliding a finger inside your dripping pussy. Your hands tighten on the back of the couch, your knuckles going white as you bite on your tongue to keep from screaming in pleasure.

Vergil adds a second finger, and your pussy walls clench around him, spasming at the pleasure of being filled as he picks up a pace, starting a sort of rhythm—pumping his fingers in and out, said fingers being knuckle-deep in you. You moan, hips rocking against his hand—

"That's it." he murmurs, his voice still having that low and growly tone to it. "Ride my hand, pretty girl."

And you do, your soft moans permeating the silence broken only by the squelching of his fingers pumping in and out. After an indeterminable amount of time, Vergil's fingers slip out of you, making an obscene sound between squelching and popping—but also eliciting a whine from you. You were so close, and he had to go and do that.

But that feeling of intense, world-shattering pleasure returns when he laps at you, tongue giving you short, teasing licks all the way up to your swollen clit. And when his mouth finds that sweet, sensitive bud between your legs, and sucks on it, your hands are gripping the back of the couch so hard that you might break a couple bones. You let out an involuntary scream, and Vergil's hand gently clamps over your mouth to muffle it.

Then his fingers go back to where they were before, his tongue swirling in a figure eight as he sucks on your overly sensitive clit, and you're so, so fucking close—

But Vergil takes your clit out of his mouth for a moment, making you squirm. "I want you to do something for me," he says, voice hoarse, still having that dominating quality to it. "Sit on my face, darling."

"W—What?" you stutter. While you'd be glad to do what he tells you, you've never...done what he's asking you to do. The hand Vergil had gently clamped over your mouth to muffle your scream drops to your jaw as he says, "Sit on my face, perfect girl. You can't do anything wrong."

You swallow, but his reassurance has you doing as he tells you to do, feeling a little out of your comfort zone, but doing it nonetheless. When Vergil taks your clit back into his mouth and his fingers fill you again, your hands ache and you moan your loudest so far—this position hits far deeper spots than the previous one did, even if it had hit pretty deep.

A few more passes of his tongue and pumping of his fingers has your back arching, grinding against his face as you come, his name on your lips. Vergil laps up every last drop of your orgasm before releasing your clit with a groan and saying, "Your taste is going to drive me fucking insane."

Too winded to even speak, your hands bracing the back of the couch are your only support. Vergil's hands lift your hips slightly—a way of supporting you, you realize—and he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh before murmuring against your skin, "You did so fucking good, sweetheart."

Your breath skips at the praise, and when your post-orgasmic bliss subsides, you mumble an incoherent reply. You hear a hum of contemplation from him and his hands knead your hips as he silently thinks something over. "Turn around and spread your legs again for me." he says. You obey almost instantly—which should be embarrassing, but you're too turned on to care—and you hear a snarl of approval behind you. Buttons being unbuttoned and zipper being undone sounds from behind you, followed by the whisper of leather dropping and boots clacking onto the floor.

You're instantly wet and throbbing again after thinking about what's going to happen, your juices slicking down your thighs. You feel Vergil's hand grip your ass and squeeze it slightly as he asks, "Ready?"

A nearly incoherent "Please" slips from your mouth, and once it does, his cock slides inside you, all the way to the base. He's bigger—and wider—than you thought he'd be, and he stills, giving you a moment to adjust to him. You breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.

Now, this isn't your first time having sex, but you haven't done it for a while, and this is Vergil we're talking about here, for fuck's sake. You feel his lips graze along your spine as he murmurs, "You're so fucking tight."

After that comment, he pulls out near to the tip and slides back into the base, which is really easy considering how soaked you are, making a moan leave your mouth. "Mine," he grunts, sounding like he's close to DTing. "My beautiful whore, taking my cock so well."

The praise mixed with degradation should sting, but instead it stokes the flames of your need, and you moan again. "You like this, pretty girl?" Vergil asks as he kisses your spine again, thrusting in and out. "You like when I pound into your sweet little cunt with my cock?"

Another moan, louder this time, is your only reply—more, more, more, until he pumps you full of his cum—

For a few blissful moments, there's only him and his rough thrusts before he stops. Your brow furrows a bit. "Why'd you stop?"

Vergil doesn't say anything, he just grabs your hips and positions the both of you so that he's on his back and you're straddling him, his cock inches away from your entrance. You can see his face now, and has a bit of a self-confident smirk on his mouth. Even if you don't have sex much, you can tell what that means. You sink onto his cock—it's deeper this time, and your moan occurs at the same time as his groan.

His hands knead into your hips as you brace your hands on his muscled chest, moving up and down in a rough rhythm, moaning whenever his cock deeply hits in a sweet spot. You keep going, lost in the pleasure, riding Vergil into oblivion until he lifts his hips and his cock hits a spot that makes you come and sees stars at the same time—you let out a sound between a moan and a scream at the sensation. His orgasm comes right up on the heels of yours, and he lets out a long, low groan as he cums deep inside you, and your inner walls clench, milking it out.

When he pulls out, there's a small whine from you, but you can feel his cum dripping from your pussy, along with the juices from your own orgasm. You sit there on top of him, still dazed from post-orgasmic bliss, taking in air. You off-handedly wonder where your clothes are before remembering Vergil quite literally ripping them off of you earlier.

He seems to have seen something in your face, because he raises his head and kisses the tip of your nose. "You okay?" he asks you, and his checking in brings a small smile to your face. "Yeah...just wondering what I'm gonna do since you ripped all my clothes right off."

Vergil winces a bit. "Sorry, I just...I wanted you so bad that I wasn't thinking straight. I still want you."

"I know," you murmur drowsily. "I do too."

You get off him and let him put his clothes back on, for some reason expecting him to leave you here naked since he'd gotten what he wanted from you. Fabric is draped around your shoulders, and you see Vergil kneel in front of you, fully dressed now, doing seemingly hidden buttons to protect your dignity. He further surprises you by picking you up bridal style as if you weigh nothing. He then presses his mouth to yours—an offer you immediately accept by kissing back—before he pulls away just enough for his mouth to graze yours as he talks. "I'd do anything for you. Kill, steal, lie, cheat...you name it, I'll do it, because you deserve the fucking world, my love."

You smile and reply with, "Same goes for you."

Vergil laughs softly and kisses you again before grabbing the Yamato—mostly forgotten in your guys' frenzy—and holds it one hand as he bridal carries you to his room.

#vergil dmc #vergil smut #dmc smut #i regret nothing #i wrote most of this at 2am forgive my shitty wording #ashs bullshit

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thebookreader12345 · 2 years

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Protective

Requested by anonymous

"Hey. Is that the new guy that's shadowing you?" I ask Jay and nod towards the younger hispanic gentleman that was standing by Jay's truck.

"Yeah," Jay replied.

"And you haven't introduced me yet? Wow. What a guy," I joke.

"I haven't had the time. We just caught a new case," Jay defended. "But if you want an introduction, I'll give you one. Torres! Get over here!"

"What's up, Halstead?" Dante questioned.

"I don't think the two of you have met. Dante, this is my girlfriend, Detective Y/n L/n. Y/n, this is Officer Dante Torres," Jay introduced.

"It's nice to meet you," I say and shake his hand.

"Yeah. You too," Dante returned.

...................................................

"What the hell, Torres?" Jay seethed. "I told you to stick to the plan!"

"I know, but we caught the guy, so I don't see what the problem is," Dante claimed.

"The problem is that you got Y/n hurt! So I'm gonna ask you again. Why did you blow off the plan?" Jay quizzed.

"Jay, stop," I instruct and place a calming hand on my boyfriend's arm. "He apologized to me, and I'm okay. It's just a graze. It doesn't even need stitches."

"That's not the point," Jay argued.

"Jay. I'm okay," I assure him and squeeze his arm. "Go take a breather. I'll meet you by your truck."

"Okay. Fine," Jay breathed out and walked off.

"Sorry about him," I apologize and give Dante a small smile. "He can be quite protective over me sometimes."

"I noticed," Dante said. "You two been together long?"

"Uh, just over a year and a half," I answer. "But we've been working together much longer."

"I can tell. The way the Intelligence Unit works together, it's easy to tell that you guys are family. I hope I end up with a unit like that one day," Dante confessed. "And I really am sorry."

I waved him off. "It's fine. Seriously. Jay has bandages in his truck, and this should heal within the next week. For this being your first official case on the job, you did pretty good. Welcome to the force, Torres."

____________________________

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sajaffery · 7 months

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unblock...2...

thank you gobstikelsa1970..although i blame you for having to break one of my earlier rules. this was supposed to be all part of the same post. which started yesterday and was supposed to continue and continue until tumblr officially decided to kick me off their website altogether for being a nuisance and a show off at which point i would be forced to roam the face of this earth with words pouring out of my fingers into the thankless earth. sorry. i kind of got ahead of myself there. but ive decided to continue this on a seperate post, titled the same with a few sad dots and a 2 at the end. perhaps my two followers wont hate me so much anymore, and they might even ask other people to follow me. although they seem to only be interested in large naked men with bulging muscles. i hope thats not why they added me for i can only ever be a large naked man with a bulging stomach. they might be into that, after a few beers, maybe a couple of tequila shots and five hundred years of solitude. another cliched literary refernce. see earlier post for reference and explanation for terrible grammer and spelling. fuck dead white old men! were they old? i cant remember. and I cant go back and check either. you certainly can. but you wont. because youve got better things to do, like continue reading this post. emoticon alert. okay this is starting to get repetitive. I’m making the same jokes as yesterday. its probably a good thing i cant go back and reread my posts because then i definietely would be cracking the same jokes again and again. or i might be able to build on them and improve them. isnt that what all writers do? Bukowski certainly does. I’ve read three books by him and countless short stories and it seems to be the same books over and over again with very similar characters, especially women. doing the same things over and over again and him just finding us better ways to tell us about it. so I guess I can do that. but I cant rered what I wrote yesterday so I cant. and I’m not great. by any stretch if the imagination. but then neither was Bukowski. another reason why my wife cant read this, she’d pick up the laptop and smash it over my head for saying that. (FORCED DELETION)

I FUCKING HATE DONALD TRUMP. compared to him, i’m jesus christ. i.e. impossible to hate. everyone loves jesus, even the people who hate bible bashers because the man just talked about love. and he had cool hair. the poor guy was even ready to marry a prossi. how fucking awesome can you get. my mum called me jesus the other day because she was yelling at me and i just kept smiling at her. thats how amazing the man was. although it does kind of help the argument that he might have been deluded. even mad. huh. i didnt think of it like that. not a very nice thing for my mum to have said. hmmm. i’m blanking for a bit. oh new rule! i have to tell you, i say you even though i know nobody is reading this, and if someone is…cringe!!! but yes i have to tell you why i stopped writing yesterday because i wrote down i have to go to work but thats not good enough as an excuse because i’m actually at work as i write this. my work involves sitting behind a counter with a laptop infront of me and ignoring every customer who walks in as much as i can. yes i’m a till jocky and not the cool kind like randall from clerks, but more the sad kind like Dante because he hates being there but has nowhere fucking else to go. my parents own this place. hence my dad being a rich capitalist and my being a fake socialist. and ive been stuck here for the last six years now and i reconize 90% of the people who walk into this place and i want to punch atleast 90% of those 90%. I cant punch the rest of the 10% because theyre too fucking old. not because I like them. wow I hate a lot of people. no. no. this is just a symptom me hating myself again. it has to be I’m starting to come out like a monster in this post, my two hypersexualised followers are going to be defollowing me any second. can you find out if someone has defollowed you? do you get a little notification for that? like you do when someone is following you. such and such person is no longer following you. LOSER! me. not them. i’m the dumpee remember, not the dumper. maybe this is me. maybe this is why i’m writing this, because i cant possibly hope to tell anyone any of these things. not face to face anyway. who would want to listen? God knows I wouldn’t. except maybe if i was getting paid for it. even then. clearly ive gone through medical school or at least graduate school to be sitting there and getting paid to listen to this crap and eventually i’d reach a point where i’d want to get this person out of my room, out of my face out of my life, just as far away from me as possible, wow. i want to stop writing this now. i suddenly dont feel great. and i feel tired

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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years

Text

Sorceress (Loki Oneshot)

Summary: Loki comes to stay at the Avengers Tower while you are away on a mission. He becomes quite interested in you when he learns you wield magic similar to him and Doctor Strange.

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,260

Warnings/Disclaimers: Anxiety issues, brief mentions of blood loss and injury, Wanda being an awesome friend

Masterlist

You wound your way into the kitchen and flipped on the electric kettle. Gathering your mug, you pulled out your calming tea blend. Today was the first day of the semester, and it always made you anxious. You felt like you had not rested one bit over the summer break. It probably didn’t help that Fury had sent you on a mission for most of it and you just returned yesterday, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. Just keep moving. This was your life now.

You went over the mental checklist in your head. Syllabus, notes, handouts...

“And who might you be?”

The low, charming voice ripped you from your thoughts, causing you to jump and almost knock over your mug. Swinging around to face the intruder, you found Loki the God of Mischief hovering closely behind you. You had forgotten about Thor contacting you on your mission to tell you Loki would be kept at the Tower for his punishment. Tony made him call you, something he did when he was afraid of you being angry. You had heard Tony coaching Thor in the background of the call.

“Don’t do that!”

He chuckled, taking a step back. “My sincerest apologies.”

“Riiiight.”

You folded your arms and took in his appearance. He definitely did not look the same as he did on the news when he tried to take New York. From the images you had seen, his eyes were wild and sunken and his face gave off a sense of malnourishment. The god standing before you now looked healthy with bright not quite blue but not quite green eyes that held a sprinkle of boyish mischief. Maybe Thor had it right about the possible mind control.

“Shall we start anew?” He bowed lightly, delicately taking the fingers of your right hand in his, forcing you to uncross your arms. “I am Prince Loki of Asgard.”

Oh no... Boyo was laying it on thick.

Nervously clearing your throat, you introduced yourself.

“A lovely name, my lady. May I ask why I have not seen you here before?”

He was still holding your hand. You could feel his energy pushing against yours. Was he trying to test your abilities?

“I was on a mission overseas. Just got back last night.”

“That is a shame. I would have preferred your presence here when I first arrived.”

You heard the click of the kettle and pulled your hand away to pour the hot water in your mug. He seemed almost disappointed by the loss of contact.

“I heard from Wanda that it was pure chaos for a while. She practically begged me to abandon the mission and come home,” you chuckled. “Don’t know if that would have done any good though.”

Taking a sip of your still brewing tea, you realized Loki had retaken the step back from earlier and was nearly looming over you. You regained that space, heading for the door.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish preparing for class.”

You rocketed out the door before he had a chance to respond.

You flopped on your bed after taking a portal home. Your closest friend Wanda was there to greet you.

“So how are all the magic newbies you ditched me for?” she teased.

You huffed a laugh. “Same old, same old. College freshmen who think they already know everything. They’ll be in a world of hurt in the coming weeks.”

“At least being an adjunct professor has its perks, right?”

“Yeah. I have some semblance of a life.”

You both started giggling at that.

“Are you still going to eat with everyone for dinner tonight?”

“I don’t see why not. Today was only day one of classes. Nothing to grade yet.”

“Maybe Loki will chill out then.”

You casted Wanda a concerned look. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes and sat up on the bed. “Ever since Thor mentioned you could wield magic, Loki kept asking when you would be back.”

“Huh,” you mulled. “Guess that would explain this morning.”

“This morning?”

You nodded and hummed. “Yeah. I was in the kitchen making tea when he showed up.”

“You talked to him before me?!” She shoved you playfully, feigning hurt feelings.

“Because I totally planned it,” you laughed.

“So what did you think?”

“You mean other than tall, dark and handsome?” You paused as she snickered. “He’s alright, I guess. He was being overly nice.”

Wanda scoffed. “That little... Okay. So, when he wasn’t holed up in his room or the library being all nice and quiet, he kept making all these snarky comments to everyone. Then, there was the pranking... He saved that mostly for Tony though.”

“So what you’re saying is to keep my guard up because he could go bipolar on me.”

“Yup.”

“Great... This is going to be fun... How long is he staying?”

“Indefinitely.”

All you could do was groan and hide your head in your pillow.

Dinner was suffocating to say the least. Loki joined the team in the dining area, apparently a rarity for him, and they were not happy about it. Well, it was mostly the original team members, the ones who fought against Loki in the Battle of New York. The newer members like you and Wanda, while not fond of him either, couldn’t care less. Thor seemed to be the only who was content, shoveling food down his throat, unable to read the room with a silence so palpable and deafening.

This is... awkward. Wanda spoke to you through her mind, something she usually did when she was uncomfortable but still needed to express herself.

No kidding. I’m thinking about ditching.

Aren’t you hungry though?

Starving! But I can’t eat like this. I’ll come back down in a couple of hours for something. Maybe I’ll watch a movie til then.

Room for one more?

Always!

With half your plate empty, you excused yourself and disposed of the scraps in the kitchen. Steve, who usually fussed at you about your not so great eating habits, did not say a word. Sneaking some snacks for the movie from the kitchen, you went back to your room to wait for Wanda who popped by about ten minutes later.

You woke with a start, stomach growling and gurgling. You blinked away the sleep from your eyes and looked around. Wanda was long gone. You guessed she went back to her room after you fell asleep at some point. She was at least nice enough to turn off the TV before disappearing.

Your belly rumbled, again. Reluctantly leaving behind the warmth of your blankets, you stumbled to your feet and hobbled to the kitchen. You reached for the light switch, the kitchen being too dim in the low lighting left on at night. The lights turned on before you could find it.

“I was wondering when you would arrive.” Your name slid off Loki’s tongue like silk.

Letting out a breath, you tempered your scowl. “What made you think I was coming down here?”

“Aside from the dinner you barely touched?” he chuckled as he traced a finger across the counter. “Well, it can be considered rude to hold a private conversation from such a small group of people.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised by a magic wielder being able to see what other magic wielders are doing.

You folded your arms. “It’s definitely considered rude to eavesdrop.”

“That is quite true.” His signature smirk graced his face. “Although, is it really eavesdropping when I did not listen to what was being said? I merely sensed the exchange of energies.”

“Sure...” You didn’t believe him, but you would let it go for now. It’s not like you two had said anything damning. You just needed to be a bit more careful moving forward. “Now would you be so kind as to stand aside? I would like something to eat, and you’re blocking the fridge.”

“My apologies, but perhaps I may be of better service to you with,” he snapped his fingers, “this.”

The leftovers from dinner instantly appeared piping hot on a plate.

“How did you-”

“Come now. I thought you were a sorceress,” he smirked teasingly.

There was the ego you were expecting.

“I can manage the same end result,” you pouted. “But... the steps leading to it would be different...”

“I could always show you how.”

That grin and those alluring aventurine eyes would be the death of you. You wanted so badly to say yes. While you had the schooling and moved on to helping others, there was still so much more to learn. To say you were eager would be an understatement. The problem was you just met this Trickster God. How could you trust him so soon?

“I... I appreciate the offer, but maybe another time.”

You tucked some of your hair behind your ear. Why did you feel guilty for turning him down?

“Of course. The offer remains standing. Enjoy your dinner, Sorceress,” he replied, his disappointed voice betraying his stoic demeanor.

With that, he swiftly left the room. Yeah. You felt bad. Maybe you would find a way to make it up to him.

Weeks later, and you were frustrated beyond belief. The last lesson you attempted to teach was going nowhere. You needed help, and you needed it now.

You sprung from your room with your notes and textbook and practically sprinted to the library where Loki could usually be found. You were right. There he was lounging with his back to you on one of the couches amongst the books, reading Dante’s Divine Comedy.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Sorceress?” He didn’t even look up from the text. Not a good sign.

Taking a breath, you answered, “I was hoping I could get your help with something.”

That got his attention. “Oh? Would you not rather ask that Strange fellow the others prefer to associate with.” he scowled.

Great. Of course, he had to be in one of those moods today. His mood swings were to be expected but the timing was difficult to predict.

“Pff. The last time I asked him for help, he was a total ass. Just because he trained with a master overseas for a short period of time and has a photographic memory does not mean he fully understands every magical concept.” You brought your rant to a halt. You could say so much more but doubted anyone wanted to listen.

“Well, someone who sees that charlatan for what he truly is,” he snorted, snapping his book shut. “Now, pray tell, why would I assist you when your magic is so similar to his?”

Adding fuel to the fire. The rant was back on. With a huff, you came around to the front of the sofa and dropped your supplies on the coffee table, taking a seat next to him.

“You really want to get me started, don’t you? Look, I have been practicing and studying magic since I was child before I even knew what I was even doing. Hell, I’m still learning. That will never stop. I have worked my ass off to get this far. That’s why I get frustrated with Strange. He never believed in magic until it could help him in some fashion, and then he’s deemed a ‘master’ so soon after starting. Admittedly, yes, I am a bit jealous. However, I would not change how I have learned because it has allowed me to dig deeper and understand more.”

You inhaled deeply, signaling the end of your monologue. You had not really meant to go that far with it, but it was too late now. Your words hung in the air as Loki studied you.

“What do you need assistance with?” He flashed you a grin.

You silently screamed with relief. “Okay, so there was a theory I was trying to teach yesterday.” Flipping open the textbook to the right page, you brought your notebook and pen to your lap. “The students just aren’t getting it.”

Loki leaned over the table to read the book. “Magical Exchange: The Equal Exchange Theory...” His eyebrows could have rocketed off his forehead with how surprised he was. “This is an elementary subject.”

“It is a 101 course,” you shrugged. “I just don’t know how to explain it better. I’ve not taught a class that had issues with this before. This particular group has proven... Difficult.”

“Have you attempted a more... Oh what do you mortals call it,” he hummed. “A more ‘hands on’ approach?”

You sighed and unconsciously tapped your pen on your notebook. “Yeah. I tried to improvise like that when the text did nothing. It just made things worse.”

“I see...” His lips drooped into a frown. “Perhaps a new perspective is required.”

“You read my mind,” you teased, winking at him. You still had not forgotten that first day. “So if you were teaching this, how would you go about it?”

Clearing his throat, he picked up the text book and lounged back on the couch. An anxious silence droned on before he finally spoke again.

“This text describes the various classifications of what is considered Equal Exchange, yet there is little on what does not qualify.”

Loki proceeded on his own mini-lecture about the experiments performed by both mortals and Asgardians, many of which ended in failure due to the lack of Equal Exchange. One ended up being about the Philosopher’s Stone, a topic you had already learned quite a bit about. You scribbled notes as fast as you could, filling up a good quarter of your notebook when he had finished.

You chewed on the end of your pen while looking over your notes. “This could work. Between these explanations and showing some examples, they might grasp what all it means.” Letting out a tired sigh, you looked up at him with full sincerity. “Thank you, Loki. I owe you one.”

He chuckled deeply, sending shivers down your spine. What was he up to?

“There is one favor I wish to ask of you in exchange.”

You blinked deftly. “And what might that be?”

Taking your free hand in his, he gently swiped his thumb across your knuckles. “I merely ask for a dance.”

“A. Dance?” That was not what you had expected.

“Yes. Stark is holding one of his... illustrious parties next Saturday.”

Oh crap. You had purposely forgotten about that. Parties were not normally your thing.

“R-right! I forgot...” you mumbled, swiping your hair behind your ear.

“All I ask is one dance. Would that be acceptable?”

You gazed into his eyes where a dabble of insecure hope hid. “I... Yes. That would be nice.”

Your face felt like it was on fire when he kissed your knuckles, whispering, “Excellent,” before he helped you to your feet and gathered your belongings.

Saturday seemed to arrive all too quickly. Anxiety pulsated through your veins most of the day. Why were you so nervous? It was just one dance.

You sucked in a breath as you took in your appearance in the mirror. The off-the-shoulder, malachite dress hugged your form just right until it flowed gracefully from your hips to your knees. A silver pendant and heels tied off the look. You looked... Good. Better than you had anticipated. Now if you could just calm yourself down.

All those people, people you did not know for the most part would be there, too. Tony always invited so many guests no one else knew. But you also wouldn’t be alone. The whole team was going to be there. You would not be alone. One party should be manageable.

A knock at your door tore you from your spiraling thoughts. With a half-hearted sigh, you meandered to the door and open it to find Wanda and Vision. Wanda must have sensed your distress. She took one look at you, told Vision she would meet him downstairs, gave him a chaste kiss and stepped into your room, closing the door behind her.

“I-I don’t know if I can do this, Wanda.” You sat on the edge of your bed, thoughts of nausea swimming in your head.

She said your name with such resolution, your gaze snapped up to hers. “You can do this.”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t start. One, you look gorgeous. Two, you’re a professor AND Avenger. You teach in auditoriums and fight bad guys for a living. This party should not be a problem.”

“Small auditoriums...” you mumbled, earning you a look.

“Three, Vision and I will stay nearby. If any weirdo tries anything with you again, we’ll be there.”

Because you needed to remember the one party where some drunk rando was getting too handsy, the one where you had trouble controlling your abilities because you did not and do not like crowds. Tony, Steve and Wanda had to extract you after kicking out the drunk moron. That was your last party.

“I don’t want to be the third whe-”

“Shush. I’m not done.” She waved you off. “And four, once you have your dance, you can get the hell out of there. Okay?” She smiled sympathetically.

You nodded and looked at the floor. Wanda took you by the shoulders and forced you to stand.

“Alright, now breathe with me. Ground and center. Breathe. Raise your shields. Breathe.”

Doing what you were told, you started to feel better, the deep breaths helping the most.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s get going. Remember, you can do this.” She guided you towards the door.

“Right... I can do this...”

I can’t do this...

You leaned on a wall out of the way, sipping on a light cocktail that you had hoped would keep you calm. It didn’t. Between the flashing lights, pounding music and the chaotic array of energies emanating off the guests just made you want to crawl in a hole and bury yourself.

Wanda and Vision were out of your sight but you could still sense them nearby. They’d be there in a blink of an eye if you needed them, but you didn’t want to ruin their fun. It also did not help that Loki was nowhere to be seen. At first, you thought he and Thor were getting ready, but that thought was thrown out when Thor arrived fashionably late alone. Maybe Loki decided the whole thing was a waste of time and backed out of coming. Yeah. That had to be it which meant you could bug out of here early.

“There you are, Sorceress.”

Never mind. Just as you had moved to the bar to set your glass down, Loki showed up behind you. You spun around, dress flowing out as you did. He looked taken aback with his cheeks slightly flushed. He muttered something under his breath but the music and chatter drowned him out.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

He just shook his head, smiling as he reached out a hand for you. “Would you care to join me on the balcony?”

Balcony?! Why didn’t you think about going out there? It would be so much quieter.

“I would like that very much.” You took his hand and let him lead you outside.

The balcony was so much better. The doors muffled the incessant beat of the club music along with the yelling guests. You took in a deep breath, taking the chance to glance at Loki and appreciate his look.

Yup. Still attractive in Midgardian clothing. His designer suit looked as though it was made only for him, the black color matching his curling hair that brushed past his shoulders. The green tie brought out his eyes and made them seem more saturated like an emerald. You definitely appreciated the new style.

“You’re staring, Darling,” he chuckled.

“Sorry. I’m so used to seeing you in your Asgardian garb,” you flushed. “T-the change is not unwelcome though. You look great!”

Great. Where were your words when you needed them most? And did he call you “Darling”?

“Thank you, my dear. Now, about that dance...”

That’s when you realized he was still holding your hand.

“What about the music?”

“I have something better planned than the noise Stark has chosen.”

He pulled you close, one hand encased yours while the other placed your free hand on his shoulder before snapping his fingers and keeping you close by the small of your back. A record player appeared playing Merry-Go-Round of Life.

“Shall we?”

You smiled and nodded, “Yes.”

Loki swayed with you along the length of the balcony, leading you into spins in time with the music. Neither of you had said a word since you started moving, but you did not need to. Everything was perfect. You felt like you were dancing on clouds amongst the stars. All of your anxiety had melted away. Needless to say, you were disappointed when the song ended.

“I do not suppose I would be able to convince you for another dance?”

Loki held your hands in his as he pulled back. He seemed just as disappointed as you.

“Well,” you mocked contemplation, “That wasn’t part of the original agreement.”

The soft grip on your hands loosened even more.

“But, I don’t see why I can’t make an exception, especially seeing how your explanations went over so well with the students. I haven’t thanked you for that part,” you smirked and with a golden flourish of your hand, changed the music on the record player.

Loki’s grin put the starlight to shame as he brought you back to him. As one song ended, one of you would switch it out to keep the music going.

Neither of you knew how long you were out there for. It had to have been more than a couple of hours since Tony was the one to break up your private party.

“Reindeer Games, Magic Hands! Pack it up! Party guests have already left!”

Both of you grimaced, hating your nicknames. Regardless, Loki led you back inside. Wanda and Vision had stayed throughout the party while you were on the balcony, and gave both of you these little knowing looks as you passed them. Ignoring them, Loki walked you to your room.

“Thank you, Loki. You made the night much more enjoyable,” you smiled brightly.

He smiled back, playing with the fingers of your hands. “I am happy to be of assistance, Sorceress.”

A moment of silence and you stepped forward, thinking of something a touch bold. “You know, if this were to become a regular occurrence, I might be persuaded to show up at Stark’s parties more often.”

A low chuckle reverberated in his chest. “That could be arranged.”

“I hope so.” You leaned on your toes, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, again.”

You slipped past your door so quickly you didn’t notice the lightly dusted blush on Loki’s face.

Today was not a good day. Scratch that. It was a terrible day. Some senior in Advanced Summoning got cocky and accidentally summoned a few large, irate creatures from the Fae Realm. With you being an Avenger and working for the school, it was no surprise you were chosen to handle the situation. Killing would have been easier, but you could not bring yourself to do it. It’s not their fault they were ripped from their home and dropped in an unfamiliar world. You were able to open a portal and send them back but not without sustaining a critical injury. You were barely able to close the portal before passing out from blood loss.

You woke up in the medical wing of the campus, a fog clouding your brain. You felt the dull pain in your side where one of the creatures had swiped its claws whenever you tried to move.

“Oh! Please lie still!” A healer came rushing over. “You don’t want to reopen the wound. We’ve done all we can to heal you without overloading your body.”

You just nodded and rested your head on the pillow. Looking at the window, you noticed how dark it was.

“What time is it?”

The healer looked at you nervously. “A little after 10PM.”

Groaning, you sank into the pillow more. “Do you know where my phone is? I need to make a call.”

The team knew your schedule, and they were going to flip, especially Loki. You two had grown attached to each other since the start of your balcony dances (there had been at least six so far). The status of your relationship was in limbo, somewhere between friends and romantic partners. Neither of you seemed to know which way to go.

The healer left the room momentarily before rushing back in. Handing you your phone, she warned, “Now, your phone started going off non-stop since about six this evening. We had to answer just to see if it was important and if they could wait until you called back. Th-the man on the other end. He was.. Not. Pleased. He started demanding to know where you were...”

“I understand,” you cut her off softly. “If I could get some privacy please, I will call him.”

She nodded and headed to the door.

“And whatever else he said, don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure he behaves.”

The healer pursed her lips and closed the door behind her. What the hell did he say to her?

You picked Loki’s contact in your phone. He answered in barely one ring, calling out your name. “Norns, are you alright?! Where are you? What happened?”

“Loki, I’m fine. I’m still on campus. There was a little mishap that I had to take care of. Got a little banged up in the process, but everything is okay.” You added that last part quickly.

“A little mishap? You should have returned hours ago. Please, allow me to bring you home.”

“Loki, the school only allows faculty members and students on campus. The wards make sure of that. And despite the constant demands, even Fury and Strange have not been granted access. They don’t even know where to look. Besides, you’re on lockdown. Remember?” You tried to reason with him, but knew he would not give up so easily.

He pleaded your name. Lately, he almost always stuck to pet names for you, only using your name when he was truly upset. “Please... I need to know that you are in good health.”

“I am, Loki. I will more than likely be back at the Tower in the morning.”

“Not tonight?” His pout was clear even over the phone.

“It’s late and I doubt the healers would let me check myself out at this hour.”

“I- Alright.” The defeated tone in his voice made your heart break.

“I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Please...”

“Goodnight, Loki.”

“Goodnight.”

As you pulled the phone away to hang up, you heard him call your name.

“Yes?”

“I... I will see you tomorrow.”

You hummed with a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

It was early morning when you finally left the campus. Loki didn’t answer his phone, so you left him a voicemail instead, fairly sure he knew how to access it. Cell phones still were not his strong suit, but he was getting better.

Stepping through the Tower doors, you were greeted by Happy who gave you the world’s most gentle bear hug. He had Friday let the others know you were headed up.

“By the way,” he yelled to you as you stepped in the elevator. “Loki was up all night worrying about you. You should go talk to him.” He winked at you.

You just shook your head as the elevator doors. When they reopened at the common room floor, you were greeted with Wanda tackling you before she dragged you out.

“Loki told us something went down at the University. What happened?!”

She pulled you into the common room to one of the sofas.

“Some moron was trying to impress a girl in Advanced Summoning. Brought in some undocumented creatures from the Fae Realm.”

“Of course... Now you were hurt? Where?” She started looking you over.

You lifted your shirt just enough to show the heavy bruising on your side. “The healers did a decent patch up. Just have to deal with this for a couple days, and then I’m good.”

“I wish I could help, but healing is not my forte.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine,” you smiled reassuringly, letting your shirt fall.

“Fine is not how you would have been classified yesterday,” a low voice came from behind the couch, startling you.

“L-Loki! I thought I had told you not to do that!” You clutched your chest, taking a deep breath.

“Darling, may I speak with you? Alone.” Loki gestured for you to follow him.

You squeezed Wanda’s hand apologetically. “I’ll come find you later.”

Loki led you out, down the hall and into the library. He didn’t say a word until he sat you down on the couch next to him, gaze on his lap.

“Loki... I-”

“Dove, what were you thinking taking on those beasts on your own?” He clutched your hands tightly.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m one of the few stateside who is trained in battle magic,” you pleaded.

He was upset. It was obvious. Your heart shattered with how he looked at you, fear and worry melded into one.

“You could have called for assistance.”

“Loki, we’ve been over this-”

“Would they not have made an exception with their students in danger.” It was a statement. He was right about that.

“If there were time, yes. They needed to be dealt with immediately.” You tore your hands from his grasp and cupped his face for him to really look you in the eyes. “Loki. Everything turned out alright. I’m still here, and I’m okay.”

“And yet you almost were not.” His voice was so quiet, you barely heard him. “I... I do not...”

You stroked his cheeks with your thumbs, encouraging him to go on. He pulled one hand away to hold while leaning into the other.

“Just be more careful from now on. Please.”

“Of course.”

“Promise me.” He squeezed your hand.

“I will. But first.” You took your hand from his face. “Finish what you were saying.”

He froze. “I am not sure what you mean.”

“You cut yourself off three times within twenty-four hours. You always finish your sentences. Now. What were you going to say?”

He still was not used to being caught, his initial confusion evident in his eyes which then darted about the room nervously. You sighed, and with a golden flourish of your hand, the library doors shut and locked.

“There. No one to walk in and disturb us or overhear.”

Loki was silent. He stared at your hand that was intertwined with his, then met your eyes.

“I do not know what I would do without you,” he whispered, bringing you into his arms in one fluid motion, your head tucked under his chin.

The scent of cedar and sage filled your senses as you returned the embrace and carded your fingers through his hair.

“Well, that’s not something you need to think about. I’m not going anywhere,” you responded softly. “Promise.”

He hugged you close, pulling you into his lap. His chest rose with a deep breath before he kissed the top of your head.

#loki x reader #loki marvel #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x you #marvel #marvel avengers #the avengers #s.h.i.e.l.d.#loki imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki friggason #loki oneshot #wanda maximov #wanda #wanda marvel

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tenthgrove · 3 years

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500 Followers Celebration!!!: Part 1 (La Squadra Backstories)

Hey! Thank you so much for 500 amazing followers! Every single one of you mean so much to me!

Part 1 of this celebration is, as the title suggests, my headcanon backstory for each of La Squadra. As some of you know I was at some point in the process of writing a full multi-chapter fic on this, but since that unfortunately never came to fruition beyond the first couple chapters, here is a shortened version of the stories that were originally planned.

Part 2 is going to be a little something I wrote a while back but never felt brave enough to send to more than a few people. That will be seeing the light of day soon. ;)

Risotto

Risotto Dante Nero was born in a small, poor farming village in Sicily, somewhere in the vicinity of Catania. His parents were a young, dysfunctional couple who weren't ready for a kid in the first place. Seeing their newborn son had 'evil' eyes was the last nail in the coffin for them, and they gave the baby up to his paternal grandmother when he was only days old.

Despite being shunned by his family over the aesthetic defect, Risotto was able to form a close bond with his older cousin, Domenico, who would eventually move in with him and his grandmother after being disowned by the family himself. Domenico helped Risotto find friends, and was the main reason why the next few years were the happiest in the young boys life.

Unfortunately, Domenico was struck and killed at age just 19 by a drunk driver, a millionaire from Milan who on top of his intoxication, was driving incredibly fast. Risotto never recovered from the grief; his personality was altered drastically and he eventually dropped out of school. His grandmother indulged him in his revenge fantasies, believing that he would never seriously carry them out. This proved the biggest mistake of her life.

At age 18 Risotto left home to hunt down Domenico's killer. Despite the years of preparation he was in way over his head and was eventually forced to make a deal with Passione for the resources he would need to break into the mansion and not get caught. But the newly initiated mafioso found that revenge did nothing for his grief. Now, he simply had nothing to work for.

Risotto fell into a deep depression for the next two years, doing his duties as a low-ranking soldato for Passione but feeling utterly empty inside. It became so dire that after becoming injured in a fight with a stand user, he welcomed what looked to be his impending death.

But Risotto did not die that day, being saved by an associate of the gang and rushed to hospital. After hearing word that Risotto had defeated a stand user, Prosciutto became interested and approached Risotto for help with a hit he had been assigned to. Risotto agreed and Prosciutto developed a liking for the young man. A few months later, when Prosciutto was tasked with forming a specialised squad for assassination, he remembered Risotto and requested he become the team’s captain. Risotto was put through at once for receiving a stand, and was seated at the head of the brand new La Squadra di Esecuzione.

Prosciutto

Maiale Crepuscolo was born the daughter of a powerful Don in Naples, and his much neglected wife. Raised in luxury, he came to resent his callous father, especially when the man continued to behave adulterously despite his wife’s failing health. The death of Mrs Crepuscolo was a huge blow to her 16 year old son. It was around this time that Maiale discovered his male identity and chose a new name for himself: Prosciutto.

Mere months after the death of his wife, Don Crepuscolo married his pregnant mistress, a young woman by the name of Loreta. Despite the circumstances, Prosciutto and Loreta got on very well together, and the young man confided in her about his transgender identity, to be met with her full support. Any faith that Prosciutto may have had in his father before was immediately lost when Loreta was thrown out onto the streets by her new husband, along with their infant son Pesci. His sole reason for doing this was that he had become tired of her, and the baby's crying.

Without his father’s knowing, Prosciutto continued to wire Loreta and Pesci money through his hefty allowance, and counted down the days until he could graduate highschool and become eligible for his mother’s inheritance. The very day he gained access to it, he cut his father off for good.

The next few years of Prosciutto’s life were the best. He went to a prestigious university to study politics and afterwards found work as a journalist. With his father no longer an issue, he medically transitioned and upped the money he was giving to his half-brother and former step-mother. Everything was going perfectly.

At age 24, Prosciutto received a visit by members of Passione, who informed him they had annexed his father’s gang and killed him. As much as Prosciutto insisted they had been estranged for years, the men maintained that Prosciutto was still considered a threat, and could only be allowed to live if he joined the gang. Worse, they threatened him with Pesci’s life. Prosciutto knew he had no choice.

Over the next few years, Prosciutto worked his way up. By age 27 he was granted the privilege to develop a stand, and was quickly pushed into the assassination business as a result of its deadly power. At that time, Passione had no designated assassination team, and individuals ordered to carry out hits had to go running around for volunteers if they needed help on a mission. This is why Prosciutto had sought out Risotto.

When the order to form a hitman squad was given, Prosciutto was initially primed to become the captain. However, he was strongly against taking this role, as Loreta was starting to show signs of chronic illness and Prosciutto wanted to make sure he could still take care of Pesci if it became necessary. Tasked with finding an alternative, Prosciutto initially approached his old friends Sorbet and Gelato, who had been part of the squad sent to confront him after the death of his father and had kept in touch out of pity. The pair were cleared to join the team, but were not trusted by the team’s superiors to become captain. And so, Prosciutto turned once more to Risotto.

Sorbet and Gelato

Sorbet and Gelato could not have been born in more different circumstances, the former in absolute poverty, and the latter in comparative privilege.

Sorbet’s mother was by no means a bad woman. It was just the case that through her crippling addictions and mental illnesses, she was in no means equipped to care for her 6 children, forcing Sorbet, the eldest, to pick up the slack. Though he loved his siblings the young Sorbet resented this role and was easily tempted by a street gang at age 12, who offered him escape from his miserable life through drug peddling. Sorbet began to drift from his family more and more. He soon disappeared from school, and became completely estranged from his mother and siblings.

By age 17 Sorbet had developed a reputation in the gang for ruthlessness, and was approached by its leader to carry out a number of assassinations. He soon became the group’s designated hitman, and was paid generously for the role. He was still however, functionally homeless.

Gelato was born to an upper-middle class family in Minsk, Russia. The youngest of four boys, his parents had been hoping for a girl, and their resentment only grew when it became clear the young Gelato was both autistic and ADHD. He suffered from extreme emotional neglect.

When Gelato was 13, the family moved back to Italy where his mother was from. Though he preferred it here, the problems with his family continued and Gelato was eventually kicked out at just 17 years old.

Following the word of a friend, Gelato made his way to Naples and found work running an illegal bar for a street gang in exchange for a room to sleep in. The same gang, incidentally, that Sorbet was working for. The two first exchanged words when Gelato found Sorbet beating up a patron who had been abusive to him, and decided to join in. Within weeks, they were lovers.

One night, while Sorbet and Gelato were asleep upstairs, the police raided the bar. In a panic, Gelato shot two, and Sorbet took out a third. The fourth got away. Knowing they would be hunted, the pair begged refuge from their gang but were denied. They were not a powerful enough syndicate to deal with something of this size. And so, with only each other, Sorbet and Gelato fled Italy.

They were on the run for two years, passing through just about every country in Europe at least once. As a means of surviving, they took on assassination contracts from local gangs and became very skilled, but of course this only turned up the heat to catch them. Eventually, it got too much, and in a final desperate bid to avoid capture, the pair went back to Italy to plead their gang to reconsider.

What they found now in charge of Naples was not their gang, but Passione. A capo by the name of Pericolo listened to their story, and agreed eagerly to dissuade the police from pursuing them in exchange for their loyalty to the new gang. Sorbet and Gelato agreed at once, and developed stands soon after.

Formaggio

A Naples Boy through and through, Formaggio was born in the central city to a large, loving family. Owing to their poverty, all the aunts, grandparents and cousins lived in one house. Although many were part of the mafia, it was always stressed to the children they were under no obligation to choose such a life. Nonetheless, many of them still did.

One night, Formaggio’s eldest brother Miguel sneaked off from the house, telling nobody but Formaggio. His goal was to seek initiation into Passione. The young Formaggio pleaded to come as well, but was told he was not ready yet. Miguel returned a couple of hours later, carrying a metal arrowhead. He told his brother that something unexpected had happened, and he needed to go now, but it was vital Formaggio told nobody of this meeting. He promised it would all be worth it in the end.

Years passed, and Miguel did not return. Then one day- a hastily-written letter, addressed solely to Formaggio. In his final message, Miguel apologised for the absence and announced that he did not expect to survive the next few hours. However, if Formaggio wanted the answers to all that had transpired, all he needed to do was recover the arrowhead that he had last seen Miguel with all those years ago. Most likely, it would have been returned to where he found it, address enclosed. Saddened and eager to understand what had happened to his brother, Formaggio followed the instructions and broke into a heavily guarded warehouse. He found the arrow, just as Miguel had said, but failed to understand how this could solve his problems.

Formaggio looked for a way out of the warehouse, and was suddenly set upon by the guards. He ran for the exit and tripped, impaling himself on the arrow. Little Feet came forth at once, stunning the guards. Not wanting to deal with whatever that was, they called in Risotto and his newly built execution squad, based nearby, to deal with it.

Fortunately, the assassins’ skills were not needed. In spite of the circumstances Formaggio met the assassins with charm and cooperation. Risotto phoned his superiors to see if killing the man was really necessary, and they agreed it wasn’t, provided Formaggio became Risotto’s business. An agreement was reached, and Formaggio was inducted into the hitman squad. It would take two more members for Formaggio to piece together what had happened to his brother.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio was dealt an awful hand in life. Poor, and with parents that hated him, he had little respite as a child. He was autistic, but never diagnosed, and had visual impairments that were never addressed. His fondest memory was of a bizarre couple he met as a child, a dark-haired, dour man and his blond lover, who kept him company after his mother walked away from him in anger at a shopping mall. She came back, unfortunately.

When Ghiaccio was 15, a frantic knock sounded at his door while his parents were out. Answering it nervously, an equally frantic man stood on the other side brandishing an arrow-head. He introduced himself exhaustedly as Miguel and begged for shelter- he was being chased.

Before Ghiaccio could answer a squad of men burst onto the porch and attacked Miguel, dragging him out of view. Ghiaccio was thrown to the ground and told in no uncertain terms to speak of none of this to anyone. It wasn’t until later he realised the arrow had accidentally slashed him.

At that time, Ghiaccio’s soul was not fit to manifest a stand, but it was close. And so, Ghiaccio began to suffer the slow, agonising fate that some in his position fall victim to, his half-manifested stand slowly sucking the life from him. His parents didn’t even have the heart to call a doctor.

Two months into this agony, Ghiaccio heard something outside his room. His parents. They were talking about what to do if he died. He’d had enough. He snapped.

And so, Ghiaccio’s soul reached the point where it was strong enough to bare a stand fully, after having already partially manifested one. This unheard of situation created a stand with no physical form, but unspeakable power. A surge of ice broke out around the house without Ghiaccio even meaning it to, killing his parents at once. His sickness gone, Ghiaccio got up from the bed. What the hell had just happened?

Convinced he had lost his mind, Ghiaccio fled, but left a trail of unexplainable events behind him. Realising they were dealing with an unaccounted stand user, Passione had Ghiaccio hunted down and propositioned to join them. Terrified and with no other idea of what to do, he agreed. With a stand like this, there were only 2 options: La Squadra and La Unita. La Unita had no interest in an impulsive teenager, so Ghiaccio was sent at once to La Squadra.

The group was reluctant to house a teenage boy as an assassin, but took him in nonetheless. Formaggio was grateful for the crumbs of information Ghiaccio could give about the fate of his brother. Sorbet and Gelato couldn’t shake the feeling they’d seen the boy before somewhere.

Illuso

He was an only child. There was nothing particularly wrong with his relationship with his parents, but nothing particularly right either. There just… wasn’t a connection. They were a middle class family, well to do but nothing special. An arrogant boy, Illuso struggled to make friends, though he did become somewhat close with a boy in the year below him named Formaggio, for a short time.

When Illuso was 15, his parents came to him with a proposition. A distant relative of theirs was in possession of a large castle, but could not pay for its upkeep any more. The man had asked if Illuso would be interested in becoming a live-in caretaker, to be paid less than industry standards but still a lot by the standards of a 15 year old boy. Illuso agreed at once, and moved out of his parents home in a matter of days.

At the castle, his loneliness only grew. The place was closed to visitors and had no inhabitants apart from his new employer, who even then only lived in the castle 4 days a week. Illuso thought he was okay with this life, but the effect on his psyche was indisputable.

Then one day, the castle had a break-in. Illuso was accosted by a young man named Miguel, who had been squatting in the cellar for days and believed the castle was abandoned. The pair came to an understanding, and Miguel proposed that in exchange for his silence, he would give Illuso something amazing. He pricked him with the arrow.

Thrilled with his new power, Illuso agreed to keep Miguel’s existence a secret and the pair co-existed for many years. Illuso learned that Miguel had stolen the arrow from a gang named Passione, after discovering its power and making the decision to take it on impulse. Passione is still hunting him, hence the need to hide.

But eventually, they found him nonetheless. Illuso and Miguel tried their best to fight but it was an uneven battle. Miguel fled with the arrow, chased by one half of the attacking squad, leaving Illuso to deal with the other half.

But against all odds, Illuso survived, using his stand to eliminate the attackers one by one. Eventually the last attackers gave in and fled, The next people sent to confront Illuso came with a deal: join Passione, and all will be forgiven.

Despite his stand’s power, Illuso’s superiors disliked his attitude. After a few months of being thrown between teams, he was saddled with La Squadra.

Melone

The middle of three children, Melone was born to an upper-working class family in Florence. His parents were eccentric-academic sorts, who encouraged Melone and his sisters to act without regard for social convention. Though intelligent, Melone was never quite top of the class due to his inability to stay on task. Still, he got into a decent university and had plans to become a gynaecologist.

In his second year, Melone was approached by a poor couple seeking antenatal care for their pregnancy. As they explained, they were in a gang and could not go into public care for fear of their identities as criminals being discovered. They pleaded Melone for whatever rudimentary checks he could provide, just so they could have some assurance their baby was okay. Melone agreed, and met with the couple several times.

Over the course of the next year, Melone gave similar services to a couple more women who were recommended to go to him by the first patient. It was only a matter of time before the university discovered what he was doing, especially once he started stealing equipment to improve the quality of his examinations. Melone was expelled and referred to the police, but one of his patients got Passione to bribe away his charges. Unfortunately, this put him in their debt. Melone told his family he was simply going away for a while.

Melone languished around in Passione for a while. Though he did receive a stand, its lethal capabilities weren’t immediately clear, and so he remained in the lower ranks. His main respite was the bar scene, in which he got to mingle with many of Passione’s members from different squads. It was through here that he met Illuso, Formaggio and Ghiaccio of the execution team, and formed a friendship. Through them he even formed links with the group’s leader, Risotto.

The team were eager to help Melone advance to a better position, and aided him in exploring his stand. Eventually, he discovered how lethal baby face could truly be, outshining everyone’s expectations. Risotto was pleased to welcome him into the team.

Pesci

By the time Pesci was 13, it was clear his mother’s illness was terminal. Initially reluctant to involve him around the team, Prosciutto increasingly allowed Pesci to stay with them while his mother was at the hospital, since there was nowhere else for the young boy to go. As much as everyone tried to comfort him, he was terrified.

Two years later, it was clear Loreta was in her final weeks. Pesci dedicated as much time as he could to being with her, sleeping at her bedside more often than not. It was here that he first felt the strange occurrences begin. It would be subtle at first, the peculiar feeling of his mother’s heartbeat in his hands as he drifted off to sleep. It was comforting, then. It assured him his mother was still alive. Then, it got weirder, a long string extending from his fingers and into his mother’s chest. He thought he was just sleep deprived.

When the fateful day came and Loreta’s heart monitor stopped, Pesci felt a surge of panic. Desperate to find some proof this wasn’t really happening, his stand burst forth from his body and shot its hook into Loreta’s chest. Unfortunately, it was all for nothing. Loreta was dead.

As Pesci held the rod in his hands he realised this was far too real to be a hallucination. He could sense everything, the fading metabolism of his mother’s body and the vibrations in the floor. As the nurses confirmed the death, they could not see it. Why couldn’t they see it?

Prosciutto came into the room. With one look, Pesci knew that his brother could see the rod as well. He panicked and ran.

Prosciutto tried desperately over the next couple days to get in touch with Pesci. He knew exactly what had happened- clearly the boy had summoned a stand from the anguish of his mother’s death and had freaked out in confusion. That’s all completely understandable, but if Pesci isn’t informed of what his new power means soon, he could get himself into serious trouble. Especially if Passione found out.

And so, Prosciutto set off with Risotto to hunt Pesci down, eventually finding him at a run down park near his childhood home. Prosciutto comforted him and explained he knew what was happening, but if everything was going to be okay, he had to go with them.

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #formaggio #illuso #prosciutto #pesci #melone #ghiaccio #risotto nero #sorbet and gelato

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

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With Me

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Request by Anon: I absolutely loved the new Nestor fics!! Can i request “(She/he/they) don’t belong with (her/him/them)!” “Than who do(es) (she/he/they) belong with?” “…..with me.” with him????

Warnings: light angst (with a happy ending), language, Nestor being ~jealous and protective~

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Sorry my blog has been kinda dead lately. Been struggling with some work stuff and it’s given me a bit of writer’s block. I’m hoping to get back to it. Just know that if you sent me a request I am totally planning on writing for it, it just might not happen quickly. And I’m hoping to update my multi-chaps soon as well. Thanks for all your patience. Enjoy this lil Nestor one-shot! xo

General Mayans/Nestor Taglist: @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @garbinge @amandinesblogofstuff @bucky-iss-bae @the-radical-venus

You were sitting on the barstool next to Nestor’s, both of you commiserating over how exhausting your weeks had been. Work was very different for the two of you, obviously, but you were both drained nonetheless.

The bar you went to was a quiet one. It was mostly business men and women doing the same thing the two of you were—blowing off steam after a long week. People didn’t pay the two of you much mind, which suited you just fine. You and Nestor had a habit of getting lost in your own little bubble anyway.

You were about to jump into your next work story when your phone started going off in your pocket. You glanced over at Nestor as if to ask if it was alright to answer. He nodded and you lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you paused, smiling, “Hey, baby. Nothing, I’m at the bar with Nestor. Do you wanna st—” you stopped, expression falling, “Oh, okay. No, I get it. I’ll talk to you later. Yea, you too. Bye.”

You hung up with a heavy sigh. Nestor sat silently for a moment before asking, “All good?”

You nodded, rolling your eyes, “Yea. Cancelled again.”

Even though he knew the answer, he still asked, “Dante?”

“Mhm,” you shook your head slightly, wondering why you were still at all surprised.

Nestor bit back the snide comments swirling around in his brain. He had never been a fan of Dante, and he let you know that. Nestor wasn’t ever rude to him, but they weren’t friends either. You knew that it didn’t help that your boyfriend was intimidated by Nestor, even if he never admitted it.

“That mean you have time for another drink?” he tried to lighten the mood.

You laughed, “Means I have time for a few more,” you immediately flagged down the bartender to order another round for both of you.

A few quickly turned into…more than that for you. Nestor tried to get you to slow down but he knew that it was a losing battle at that point. The best he could do for you was to take your keys, so he did. He knew that after an already shitty week, this was the final straw, but he still hated to see you so drained and frustrated and still trying to pretend that you were alright.

“Fuck him,” you blurted out as Nestor helped you stumble-walk to his car.

He chuckled, “I know.”

He let you rant the whole drive to your apartment about how fed up you were with your boyfriend. He wondered if you’d remember it all in the morning and finally, maybe, break up with him. Nestor knew he was biased, but you deserved better. He told you that constantly, but you always waved him off, saying it wasn’t that bad.

“Your relationship should be better than just not bad, Y/N,” trying to talk sense to you in the state that you were in was futile, but he still had to try.

“You’re so sweet, Nestor,” you cooed tiredly from the passenger seat.

He didn’t respond, not wanting to feed into words you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He glanced over at you a couple minutes later and saw that you’d fallen asleep. There was no stopping the smile that spread across his face at the sight of you.

Before he knew it, he was parking in front of your apartment building. As much as he didn’t want to wake you, he knew he had to. He got out and walked over to your side of the car, nudging you awake. You groaned in protest, but allowed him to help you out of the vehicle.

He was thankful that you only lived on the second floor of your building. With a sigh, he knocked on the door. He’d already let your roommate know that he was bringing you home. She opened the door, clearly exhausted and bundled up in her bathrobe.

“Sorry,” he offered up as he crossed the threshold into the apartment.

She shook her head, “Don’t be. Thanks for getting her home safely.”

He helped you to your room, gently lowering you onto the bed. You had no desire to change into pajamas and it wasn’t a battle that Nestor was going to pick. He pulled the blanket up over you, letting out a quiet sigh as he lightly rested his hand on your shoulder for a moment.

Not wanting to linger for too long, he turned and walked back towards your bedroom door. He heard you mumble out a quiet thank you, and he smiled to himself as he shut the door behind him.

Your roommate was still in the living room, an expectant look on her face, “Can I ask what happened to her?”

Nestor sighed and shrugged, “Shit with Dante.”

She shook her head, “Of course.”

“They have a lot of issues lately?”

She shot him a curious look, “No more than usual, I guess. Why?”

“He’s a waste of her fucking time.”

She bit back a laugh, knowing that Nestor was extra protective of you. She had a pretty good idea of why, too, “No, really, tell me how you really feel,” she smiled.

“Come on, you see it too, right? He doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t belong with him.”

She fought back the urge to smile, “Who does she belong with, then?”

“With me,” the words came out before he could stop them. His eyes went wide, instantly realizing what he had said. Before he could try to take it back, though, she held up her hand to stop him.

“You ever gonna say anything to her about that?”

He shook his head, “What’s the point?”

She shrugged, “You might be more convincing than you think. That’s all.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, “Mhm,” he sighed, “Anyway. Sorry for barging in so late.”

She chuckled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can take her to get her car tomorrow.”

She nodded, “Sounds good. Have a good night.”

“You too,” he walked out of the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He was mentally kicking himself the whole drive home. Why he wasn’t able to catch himself before he said anything was beyond him—he was usually better than that. He just hoped that your roommate wouldn’t say anything to you about it.

You woke up the next morning with a groan, and a throbbing sensation in your head. You had a vague set of memories from the night before, but it was hard to think about it through the hangover. You slowly forced yourself to sit upright, gently rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You checked your phone and saw that you had multiple missed texts from your boyfriend, and that was when it all really came rushing back. You let out a heavy sigh, making the conscious choice to ignore him for the time being. You weren’t done being upset with him.

You slowly made your way to the kitchen for coffee and aspirin. You heard your roommate chuckling from the living room and shook your head, “Don’t.”

She laughed, “What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”

You sighed as you poured coffee into your mug, “You don’t have to. I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

You threw back a few aspirin before turning to look at your friend, “You’re going to say that he is more stress than he’s worth, and that I should’ve left him about ten cancelled dates ago.”

She nodded, “And the number will keep getting higher the longer you put it off.”

You shook your head slightly, “I know it’s shitty, Julia. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said that you were. But you know that if the roles were reversed you would be telling me the same thing.”

You let out a dry laugh, “Since when do I ever take my own advice?”

“Maybe you should start,” she paused for a moment, “Nestor said he’d take you to go get your car, by the way.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, “My car. Didn’t even think about that.”

She shrugged, “Call him. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to come and whisk you away.”

You chuckled as you got your phone out to text him, “You make it sound so extravagant.”

“He’s a good guy, you know,” she sipped on her coffee.

You looked over at her, “Don’t.”

“What? I’m just…stating a fact.”

You took another swig of your coffee and walked away without another word on the matter, desperate to take a shower and put some more comfortable clothes on. You couldn’t remember the last time you fell asleep in your work clothes like that.

By the time you were done showering and getting ready, Nestor was already outside your apartment building. You said goodbye to your roommate, trying to make it was quick as possible before she could say anything else. On a couple other occasions, before Dante, she had made comments about you and Nestor. She laid off of it once you got a boyfriend, though, so you were wondering what made her pick the habit back up again.

You collapsed into the passenger seat of Nestor’s car with a sigh. He looked over at you, smiling, “Looks like you had a rough one last night.”

“Thank you so much for bringing me home. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, “Don’t be. Glad I could help,” he paused, “You talk to him at all?”

You sighed, “No. I don’t even want to at this point. He’s just gonna apologize and say it won’t happen again. But it will.”

“Why are you wasting your time with him, then?” he kept his tone fairly neutral considering how much the situation bothered him.

You shrugged, “Sometimes I’m not even sure, honestly. Sunk cost, maybe? I don’t know. Breakups are always so messy.”

“I can deliver the message for you,” there was a lightness to his tone but you knew that he definitely would.

“Ha, that would be a sight for sure,” you laughed, shaking your head.

The rest of the ride passed with silence between the two of you, the only noise coming from the music playing quietly from the car radio. Every now and then you’d look over at Nestor, thinking about what your roommate had said. With concentrated effort you were able to push the thoughts from your mind.

“I’m just saying,” he said out of nowhere as he pulled into the parking lot of the bar, “you deserve someone who, at minimum, fucking shows up for you.”

You smiled at him, “I appreciate it, Nestor,” you unbuckled and stepped out of the car, walking around to his side as he got out, “And I appreciate you always looking out for me. I’ve got it handled, though.”

He stood in front of you as you leaned back against the side of his car, toying idly with the keys in between your fingers. There was a small smirk on his face as he took in the sight of you, still thinking you looked beautiful hungover in your sweats, fresh out of the shower.

He shrugged, “I know I can’t tell you what to do. But you deserve more than being disappointed all the time,” he sighed, “You know I think Dante’s an asshole. But I’d be willing to look past that if he was at least good to you, but he’s not. You talk about sunk cost but why keep wasting your fucking time if he’s not even making you happy?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, “Because it’s better than being alone.”

“He’s still making you feel that way anyway, though!”

“I know!” you snapped. You took an unsteady breath, knowing that this blowout was a long time coming. You just wished that it didn’t have to happen right in that moment, “You’re right, okay? And yea I know better than to just be with someone for the sake of being with someone but…I don’t fucking know, Nes,” you shook your head, “Sometimes I just think that it’s easier this way. I know what to expect, even if the expectations aren’t exactly good. Leaving and having to tear down all those walls again with someone new? That’s fucking exhausting and I don’t want to keep doing that over and over again.”

“So you’re just gonna stay with him and be miserable forever?”

“Forever,” you scoffed, “C’mon, don’t be dramatic.”

“Well that’s the alternative, right? You either leave him, or you stay with him forever.”

“Why is this such a fucking issue for you all of a sudden?”

“Because you were on the brink of a fucking bender last night because of him. I hate that someone out there is making you feel that way when they’re supposed to be the one making you happy.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me and keep me in check,” your eyes were glued to the tips of your shoes.

“Yea, it is,” he stepped in, gently cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him, “because I care about you.”

A wave of heat washed over your entire body and you couldn’t force yourself to move, or talk. All you could do was look into his eyes and try not to let your knees buckle underneath you. You and Nestor had hugged and touched a million times but not like this, never like this. He made you feel small and safe all at once.

“I just want you to be happy,” his voice was soft.

“I know,” you finally forced the words out, barely audible.

He traced his thumb across your cheek, “I could make you so happy, Y/N.”

You didn’t know why you felt like you were about to cry, but you did. You tried to take a deep breath to calm your nerves as you rested your hands over his. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“Will you let me do that?”

“Nes…”

“You know I’m right. You said it yourself,” he let out a soft chuckle as his hands slid down so they were resting on your shoulders.

You smiled up at him, realizing how close he had gotten, closing what little distance was between the two of you and nearly pinning you against the side of the car. You ran your hands over your face, a smirk fighting its way onto your face despite the myriad of emotions coursing through you, “You’re not gonna let this go, huh?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “No.”

You laughed, but your expression quickly sobered as you looked him in the eye, “I can’t lose you, Nestor.”

“You won’t,” there was no hesitation in his response, “I promise. You just, you gotta give me a chance.” You took a deep breath, leaning forward so your forehead rested against his chest. You shut your eyes, reveling in the way his arms instantly wrapped around you. He gave you a light squeeze, “You deserve to be happy.”

You pulled back from him just enough so that you could look at his face. He had one of the softest smiles you’d ever seen, and you couldn’t help but to smile in return when you saw it. You rested your hands on his chest, “We’re really gonna do this?”

“Only if you want to.”

You nodded, “I do.”

He smiled, “Then yea, we’re really doing this,” he pulled you tight against his chest with a laugh, “Can I break the news to Dante?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Absolutely not. I get to do that part.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, “Fine. I guess that’s fair.”

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, processing the weight of everything that had just happened. You could feel the steady beat of his heart through his shirt, and despite the chaos of the situation that you were in, you found yourself feeling calm, reassured.

“Thank you,” you finally broke the silence, “for, you know, for not giving up on me.”

He squeezed you tight for a moment, “I’ve got you, always.”

It was refreshing to be able to believe what you were being told. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he meant it, knowing that your days of questioning things and being filled with disappointment and uncertainty were over. He felt like a breath of fresh air, like you were coming home after being away for far too long.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #my writing #fanfiction #nestor oceteva request #drabblesmc

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queenmuzz · 3 years

Text

A ‘Peaceful’ Family Breakfast

Set in an AU, where both Eva and Sparda live, and Dante and Vergil live (relatively) normal lives....well, they DID... A prequel to THIS piece

Tagging @toschiworlds for coming up with this AU in the first place

It was such an unusual feeling, Eva thought to herself as she set out the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table. How long had it been since they had a proper meal together, all four of them, in peace? Certainly before her sons had turned eighteen...before Dante had gone to work on his new demon hunting business, before Vergil had taken a year to travel before he started university. And even before then, when did a meal not end up with the two brothers bickering, only to be broken up by a piercing glare from their parents?

But now, this beautiful spring morning, the windows flung open to let in the fresh air, for the first time this year, she felt that today’s Pancake Sunday would go beautifully. Dante, with the help of his father, had finally gotten on his feet financially, so he was in a good mood. And Vergil… while he looked the very picture of calm, she could tell he was barely keeping his turmoil together. Both Sparda and Dante seemed unaware of how well he hid his inner thoughts, but Eva had seen that look before, although not on her sons, and it was painful to watch.

He has had his heart broken. She knew that intuitively, and yet she didn’t press him for details. He would tell her eventually, and her alone. Sparda, despite his countless years among humans, still was clueless about subtle emotional clues.

And while Dante was a bit more clever, was too preoccupied with his new independence to pick up on his brother’s distress. God help us if he does though, she thought, that’ll be the fight that not even I could stop. It was best to let Vergil confide in her, of his own choice, in private. But not today. Today, she would enjoy the family pancake breakfast.

“Man, this smells delicious!” Dante had already seated himself down and was helping himself to the top three pancakes from the platter, still steaming.

“You’ve outdone yourself, milady,” her husband kissed her cheek in approval as he placed a few breakfast sausages on her plate, before helping himself.

“Dante!” her youngest froze, his fingers grasping the handle of the glass pitcher. “Vergil should have the first glass of juice.” Dante sulked as he sat back down, “after all, he provided the oranges for this, fresh from that island called…?”

“Fortuna” Vergil quickly answered.

“Fortuna….” Sparda murmured… “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time…”

Dante’s interest was piqued, “Hmmm, what’s so special about that place?” “Ah,” his father smiled while reminiscing, “I spent many generations there, a loooong time ago, aiding them against the onslaught of demons that threatened to overwhelm them” his face darkened a bit, “Unfortunately, they started to rely on me a mite too much, to the point of reverence, so I decided to leave, before they went down a path that was too dangerous. How fares the island? I do hope that the Cathedral in the city centre still stands, it was beautiful during my stay.”

“It is still there, and yes...very beautiful, the second most beautiful creation on that island,” Vergil admitted, before realizing that he had revealed something he ought not have.

“Second eh?” Dante was quick to pick up on that, “What’s the first? A really nice looking pizza parlour?”

Vergil began to turn as red as the strawberries, and Eva knew exactly what he thought was the most beautiful. Her eldest would never reveal it, and her youngest would never stop asking, leading to yet another disrupted family meal.

Never had she been so relieved that the phone rang from the living room.

“Dante,” she asked sweetly, “would you be a dear and answer it?” That might be enough to distract the young man, and she saw Vergil let out a sigh of relief as his brother gave her a casual salute, before sauntering off. Sparda, of course, didn’t notice a thing, too focused on soaking his pancakes with syrup.

“Let’s just enjoy a pleasant morning, you boys can talk about what you’ve been up to for the past year later, shall we?” Vergil a bit too eagerly agreed.

Even though his voice was muffled from behind the wall, she could make out snippets of the conversation.

“Sparda residence, Dante here!” A bit of silence, and then she noticed Vergil stiffen. No doubt he could hear what was being spoken, with his demonic heritage, “Wait, you want to talk to him? Babe, hate to break it to yah, but I’m the better lookin’ twin by far.” Vergil’s knuckles popped and turned white, but before he could get up, Dante’s dejected voice replied “Oh okay… don’t get your panties in a twist, I’ll grab him. HEY VERG! PHONE’S FOR YOU!”

Eva didn’t even mind that Vergil didn’t ask permission to leave the table, and bolted towards the phone. She couldn’t see it, but she assumed that he yanked the receiver from his brother, before glaring at him to get out, if the way Dante made a hasty retreat back into the dining room was any indication.

Dante looked at her and gave her a clueless shrug, before sitting back down and grabbing yet another couple of pancakes. Unlike Dante, Vergil kept his voice down, and she couldn’t hear anything he said.

But both Dante and Vergil did. Because despite how clueless the men could be, their exceptional hearing was unsurpassed. Both father and son dropped their forks, and stared at each other, as if they were looking at confirmation at what they had just heard.

Eva couldn’t help herself, her curiosity demanded it. “What is it?”

Dante looked like he was about to blurt it out, but Sparda cut him off. “My dear, I believe we should have some tea, would you be able to make some? I’d do it myself, but I can never get the temperature right, it always comes out tasting bitter and burnt.”

Eva knew when she was being herded out of a conversation, but Sparda did this so rarely, that she trusted his intentions. So, faking a smile, she headed back to the kitchen, and turned on the stove top kettle.

She could hear both her husband and son in a quiet argument. She didn’t know what was being spoken about, but she knew it was from something they had overheard.

“Dante...this is not for you to reveal. This is your brother’s duty.”

“But you know how he is! He’ll probably pretend it didn’t happen! Mom HAS to know!”

“And she will, but give Vergil the chance to tell her. He’s probably as shocked as we are.”

“But VERGIL of all guys? I expected him to stab himself in the chest before this ever happened…”

“Be patient...your brother is full of surprises, but he will find a way to make it work.”

Eva’s blood went cold. Had Vergil done something? Was he hurt? Did someone want to hurt him? Her motherly instincts screamed at her to check up on her eldest, to make sure that he was alright, to assure him that whatever he was keeping back, she would love him unconditionally. But then, the kettle whistled, so she distracted herself by pouring into the teapot, the fragrance wafting up providing a temporary sense of calm. Forcing a smile, she brought the teapot in, and acted as if she hadn’t heard anything. Both Sparda and Dante focused intently on their pancakes, refusing to look at each other, or at her. In the living room, she finally heard Vergil’s voice, low, yet trembling.

“I...I will think of something. I’ll be there as soon as I am able. From there, we’ll take it one step at a time.” A pause. “Take care of yourself…” and she could have sworn, spoken almost as a whisper, an “I love you.”

She was in the middle of bringing out the sugar pot from the kitchen when Vergil came back, pale and slightly wobbly, as if he had been punched in the head. The air was still, and there wasn’t even the chirping of spring birds. Both Sparda and Dante stared at Vergil expectantly.

“Well…” her husband stated, carefully adjusting his monocle, “I believe we all heard what was spoke, save for your mother. Would you like to fill her in?”

Vergil looked like he wanted to be anywhere other than this room as he stood stock still, his Adam’s apple bobbing rapidly.

“If you don’t tell her bro, I will…” Dante promised, and got a stabbing glare for his threat.

Eva waited patiently, not pushing her son. She knew, more than anyone, that the more you pushed Vergil, the more resistant he became. But she still stood there expecting anything and everything.

“Mother…” Vergil slowly gave in, “I’m going to be a father…”

The delicate china sugar pot shattered into countless pieces as it hit the floor, the sugar just adding to the mess. And the noise it made could barely uproar that both father and son made at the revelation.

So much for a quiet meal together...

#Devil May Cry #canon divergent au #Vergil #Dante #Sparda #Eva

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icycoldninja · 25 days

Note

Headcanons for the Sparda boys and V with a s/o that got turned into a demon? (As for how: My best guess is something like the Ascension ceremony from DMC4.)

Reader shows up to the Devil May Cry one day after healing from a cooking related injury (burned hand, knife slipped and cut them, whatever), because they were kinda hoping the people at Devil May Cry could help. They'd probably be hesitant to tell anyone they're a demon right out- if that's even what they are, because they're not really sure themselves- but the lads could probably piece it together. Or just sense/smell the other demon nearby. Reader probably just thinks the shop and the shop employees stink, but if trying to be polite about it.

Not sure if humans/human blood would smell tasty to a new demon, but maybe? If so, that's another horrifying change they'd have to deal with and ask for help on.

Very interesting concept, hope I did it justice. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V X Demon!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Your transformation was relatively recent, but terrifying. You'd managed to keep it a secret from everyone since the day you discovered your sudden change, but coping on your own was hard.

-You were constantly anxious about hurting the others unexpectedly, as demons are known to do, and couldn't concentrate on most of your tasks.

-You ended up burning your hand on the stove one night while trying to heat up some dinner, and in your panic, decided to head to Devil May Cry to see if someone could help you.

-At the same time, you hoped someone would notice your situation and help you out, though how could they? You had no physical changes, just internal ones.

-When you set foot into Devil May Cry, your heightened sense of smell caught the scent of something oddly appealing. You had no idea what it was, or why it smelled so good, but it did, and following the scent led you to the staff.

-The girls didn't think anything of it and assumed you were just disoriented because of your burn, but the boys--Dante specifically, noticed your behavior and thought it was weird that you were behaving the same way as demons did when they were tracking their prey.

-After your burn was dressed, he pulled you aside to ask you if anything was wrong. The concern in his eyes as well as the unusually grim timbre of his voice proved that he knew something was wrong. There was no other choice than to come clean.

-And so you revealed your secret, explaining how you'd been forced to take part in some sort of dark ritual whose side effects manifested days later. You broke down in tears, sobbing over your changed state, expressing your worries that you'd never be able to turn back.

-Dante took your hands and pulled you into his chest, pressing kisses to your head as he assured you everything would be fine. He'd help you find a cure, no matter what it took.

-He told you that no matter what you turned into, he'd still love you, and he'd be more than happy to offer up some of his blood if you need to feed, as some species of demons do.

■ Vergil ■

-The day you noticed your transformation, which came in the form of scales breaking out all over your body, as well as sharp fangs that replaced several of your teeth.

-You tried to hide it, but Vergil was a very observant man. He knew something was wrong, but chose not to say anything because he wanted you to come to him on his own. Also, there was a chance it was just you being moody, in which case, he didn't want to get involved.

-Your scales soon spread to your hands, making it hard for you to feel things with your palms and fingers. This made chopping food with knives very difficult because you couldn't feel the knife or the food in your hands.

-At one point the knife slipped, cutting the back of your hand. Swearing like a sailor, you bundled your hand up in a rag and stumbled off to Devil May Cry for someone to heal the injury.

-The moment you got there, you smelled something awful. It was worse than rotting food; it was beyond putrid. Just what was that smell?!

-Then you walked into the kitchen, where everyone was gathered at the time, and the smell got worse. It quickly became apparent that the smell was coming from the staff.

-While the girls helped fix up your wound, you did your best to keep your disgust from being expressed upon your face. Despite your best efforts, Vergil noticed that something was definitely wrong with you.

-He approached you, hoping to inquire about your strange behavior, but the proximity between the two of you resulted in the horrible smell getting worse, untill it was too much to bear.

-You started coughing and gagging, your hands flying up to clutch your throat. When Vergil saw the scales on your hands, he instantly realized what was wrong with you.

-He immediately stepped back into the next room and spoke to you from afar. You confessed, begrudgingly, that you'd been turned into a demon somehow and that you were able to smell human blood, which was disgusting. You expressed your fear and discomfort, to which Vergil assured you he would find a cure.

-In the meantime, your task would be figuring out how to grow accustomed to your demonic sense of smell--and the stinkiness of human blood.

□ Nero □

-Nero was actually present when you turned during the ceremony, and therefore was more involved when the aftershocks began to surface.

-You grew a tail, your eyes changed color, and your pupils dilated to slits. You also became noticeably more hungry for raw meat.

-Nero started to freak out over your erratic behavior and was very reluctant to leave you alone, but you insisted, and so he complied.

-Unfortunately, Nero's fears became more justified after he learned you tried to grab a steak off a steaming hot frying pan, burning your whole hand in the process.

-When you reached Devil May Cry to ask him to patch up your burnt hand, you smelled the unmistakable, extremely appetizing scent of human blood.

-Had Nero not been physically holding you back, you might have leaped forward and tried to devour everyone in the shop.

-After tying you down to a chair and dressing your burns, Nero made a vow to search for a cure for you as soon as possible--before the transformation got any worse and turned you into a full on, bloodthirsty demon.

-He would be gone for a long, long time, leading you to lock yourself inside your own home and give Nero the only key so you couldn't break out and wreak havoc while he was away.

-The next few months, or maybe years, would be trying times, but the both of you were strong--you'd get through this, no doubt about it.

● V ●

-When you noticed your transformation, it was already too late. You suffered from violent muscle spasms, headaches, and pain in your joints as a result of the dramatic changes your body was undergoing.

-You never reached out to anyone, especially V, because you had no idea what was happening to you.

-You were afraid, and feared dragging anyone else, including your beloved, into your problems.

-Sadly, your body had other plans. It decided to force you to undergo a seizure in the middle of your kitchen, during which you temporarily sprouted an extra limb. All the flailing and trashing you were doing caused you to bash several of your body parts against the counteracts, hard.

-By the time the seizure was over, you were throughly and entirely bruised.

-Casting aside your pride, you dragged yourself to Devil May Cry to reluctantly ask someone to bandage your aching limbs.

-It was there where you ran into V, who noticed your bruises and exhausted appearance, which made him worry. He pulled you aside, pressed ice packs to your aching bones, and gently requested you tell him what was wrong.

-It took a lot of convincing, but V managed to get you to confess your issues. You explained how something was making your body change, and with teary eyes, described the pain you went through because of it.

-V had no idea why this was happening to you, but he was sure you two would figure things out together. The first step was to deduce what was afflicting you, then, to find the cure.

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gamekids-firewolf · 2 years

Text

on another note (aka me trying to get all my writing actually typed up goddamn), here’s the second part to the AU: We Didn’t Need You!

(major spoiler warning from here on out, since unrestrained Dante is way more upfront about what’s bothering him and Jonathan is a very smart cookie)

----

Why was separating himself getting increasingly harder? Dante wanted to know before it drove him mad. Had his parents added some sort of bullshit 'gather' passive somewhere in his coding? Did they mean for Dante to somehow continue his testing out here when they hadn't told him where the computer and scanners might be? Sure, it was pretty obvious (locked towers, forbidden things, rumours; anyplace that was off limits just screamed of his parents' handiwork), but then he had no idea how to do the same work they had. He was never allowed to touch anything, after all.

He was fed up with the Rabbit Hole by this point. He never wanted to interact with another computer again. They'd left him all these constant reminders of how shitty they were willing to be, how escaping that trauma wasn't an option, and now they wanted to force him to make friends with the rest of their unwitting subjects?

Dante refused. Holy shit, he refused with every part of him that was fire and anger and done with this stuff.

Okay, so maybe they hadn't tweaked his code so that others wouldn't be afraid of him. Perhaps the other subjects simply recognised him on a subconscious level as having the same framework built into them and therefore didn't see his danger. Fiamma and Charon were easy to explain. They were just tormentors. But couldn't everyone else just stay away, like they'd always known to around a fire as volatile as him?

He'd write a letter to his parents demanding an explanation, but they wouldn't reply. They'd never reply. Not when there were experiments to run, testing to start. Not until he followed their orders and fed them the information they craved.

By this point, he'd rather burn down this school than ever return to the Rabbit Hole.

The sudden knocking on his room door snapped him out of that line of thought and back to the present moment. He took a moment to breathe again, to close his notebook abandoned on his bed (he'd tried designing some new wards, he really did, but frustration rose in him like molten magma and he ended up just pacing to get that out of him), then went to answer the door.

The Headmistress stood there, all smiles and practised politeness, as she chirped, "Good news, Vicaio. Your roommate has arrived." He had a boy behind her. A new character Dante hadn't seen around the school yet. She gestured for him to come forward, saying, "Don't be shy now, Ketziah. Meet your roommate."

The new boy seemed more interested in staring at Dante that doing much else. Maybe it was the shock of Dante's red eyes. Maybe it was the name association. This Ketziah had gold eyes, curious and almost glowing.

Whatever.

Dante opened the door the rest of the way to allow the two to enter. The Headmistress placed a box on the previously unclaimed bed (Ketziah's things, no doubt), then turned to address the new boy with her authoritative and somewhat approachable manner.

"If you have any questions, feel free to seek me out or one of the staff. Even Vicario can help you. I hope you come to think of this school as your home away from home in the meantime."

She nodded shortly to Dante, then left and closed the door behind her. Ketziah was intent on studying the room around him, a naive sort of wonder in his expression, so Dante went to sit back down on his bed. So much for having a place to himself anymore.

He picked up his sketchbook with the intent to get back to work, to make something workable in order to counteract his parents' shitty design choices, when Ketziah finally spoke up.

"A home away from home. Such an odd turn of phrase to use when every bit of code in this realm labels it as 'school' and nothing more."

Dante paused mid-pencil stroke and looked up at Ketziah, incredulous. Had he said, 'code'? Who talked like that? Why were all of his parents' subjects a bunch of weirdos and tech geeks? Ketziah caught his staring and smiled politely, straightening himself up almost regally.

"My apologies, we haven't been properly introduced yet. I am Vektor Ketziah, crown prince of the Mainframe Kingdom, golden Key and sworn protector to--"

"No."

Dante flinched at his own interjection while Ketziah paused in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Dante had meant to voice that incredulousness, but 'Mainframe Kingdom'? That was too specific. That was too familiar. There was no way this guy was pulling a joke, a goof, as deeply cutting as that. And now that he looked for it, Ketziah did resemble that awful, awful child Dante once had the displeasure of knowing. Ketziah did remind him of worse times, of worse fucking times. Ketziah's expression decided on a grimace and he shook his head. "No one is willing to let me finish today. You, of all people, Inferno, I'd thought would understand."

"No!"

Dante stood this time, abandoning any semblance of polite and glaring down at Ketziah. The fires rose up his throat in a hotter, bubbling anger as he stared down at this torn piece of the First Child. A remnant of that tormentor from his childhood. Someone had activated those computers and gotten the two of them out and, of course, one of them still ended up with Dante. His parents had planned everything so carefully that it made this anger near overwhelming. It made him want to vomit the fires out and let them consume, to wash away all of this wrong and awful and leave nothing but ash in its wake.

He couldn't be afraid when he was this angry. There was no way the spectres would dare taunt him while he was fire and rage and burning.

And he was pressing all this heat down on Ketziah, who met all that anger with simple annoyance. He was also unafraid.

Dante had to reign in the flames, had to sit back down and force out his words with the steam and resentment and no embers or fire to spark anything. "Don't call me that. Don't ever refer to me as that again."

Surprisingly, Ketziah didn't argue. His tone only conveyed pragmatic and polite. "How would you like me to refer to you, then?"

"Dante." He didn't even need to give it any thought. "Just Dante."

He nodded once to himself, satisfied with that. Enough people here reminded him of his heritage. Ketziah frowned, but again mercifully didn't argue. "All right then. Dante."

The fires were still broiling, too upset to settle or be anything less than acceptable. Dante stood and checked the box quickly (there weren't any traces of them on it; why would there be? Caro and Lietta were careful and conniving and--), then grabbed his room key and left without explanation. Ketziah made a sound of protest, but didn't stop him. Smart decision there. Dante must have radiated enough danger to get the point across.

As he stormed across the campus, headed towards his favourite spot against the wall fencing them off from the rest of the world, he wondered if he was expected to write to his parents about this development. Seemed like their careful little plan didn't need him after all. At least, not to get it started. But no, they'd undoubtedly be forced to send him something about this, so he'd wait. He'd force them to contact him instead of being the one to reach out every time. Maybe that would satisfy this burning fire inside of him.

He exhaled a long breath, watching the steam rise into the chilly autumn air. Or maybe the fires would simply continue to grow until they consumed him, body and soul.

Jonathan was, to say in the least, just a little bit distracted.

Damon had been so excited when Vektoria emerged from the central scanner, saying something about the games beginning, but of course Damon would get excited about something childish like that. The real intrigue lay with the game itself, the system able to handle such a fantastical amount of processing, and everything being in goddamn Italian. Jonathan knew enough to get by, strangely, but operating this computer and its systems was a bit tricky without fully understanding what it was telling him.

And still, that wasn't the most interesting part. Or the thing that had him so distracted.

Vektoria's arrival led to the school introducing her as a new transfer. That much was expected, though he wondered how she got entered into the school's systems so quickly and without any fuss. The surprise came from there being a second new transfer, this one looking suspiciously similar to her but also radically different.

Vektor Ketziah, the 'lying prince' Vektoria was running from. His golden eyes and silvery hair were the most captivating features Jonathan had ever seen on another person.

"Hey, Jonathan! Earth to Jonny boy!" Natasha's cheery, insufferable voice (along with her well-aimed flick to his forehead) snapped him out of his thoughts and back into the moment. "Are you even listening to the conversation or are you just tuning us out over there?"

"Someone's been lost in his own thoughts more often than usual." Damon teased, standing in the place ahead of Natasha in the line to get lunch. That smug, self-important prick. "Somehow, I doubt it's over our newly discovered game we get to play."

Niculaie, who stood in front of Damon, glanced back in concern. "Is something wrong? Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's -- I'm fine." Jonathan stressed, ducking his head and avoiding their prying looks as best he could. "Even if not, it's none of your business, anyway. And stop calling me that, Zima."

Natasha laughed brightly and faced forward, placated for now. She wasn't about to stop giving him weird little nicknames, but she did engage Damon in some sort of discussion, meaning that prick at least wouldn't have another chance to prod at Jonathan. Niculaie got involved in their conversation as well (Jonathan caught something about the Fourth) and Jonathan scanned over the rest of the cafeteria. He found neither Vektoria nor the golden-eyed guy, but did spot Vicario sitting on his own again.

Vicario was Italian. Or, from Italy, at least. Jonathan could ask him for some help with the notes he'd scribbled down from the system.

He stepped out of the line and headed over, pulling his notebook out from his lab coat pocket. The others would no doubt notice (except for maybe Aglaé, despite standing directly behind Jonathan; that kid always had his nose buried in a book and honestly, what a valid way to put up with this motley gang), but Jonathan didn't really care about that right now. If they wanted an agreeable Navigator, then they'd have to just leave it alone. He was going to enjoy holding that little bit of power over their heads, even if they'd complain endlessly about it.

This time, as he neared the table, Vicario took notice of him and raised his head. It also looked like Vicario had actually eaten more of his food this time, though it also looked a little overcooked. That didn't bode well for Jonathan. He raised a hand in greeting, stopping to stand right across from Vicario's seat. "Hey."

Vicario looked a little uncertain, but waved a bit in return. "H-Hi."

"I have a favour to ask, if that's all right with you."

Jonathan held up his notebook to illustrate his meaning. Again, Vicario seemed wary and spoke slowly. "Um. We don't, uh. Share any classes?"

"Not about classwork." Jonathan shrugged and slid into the seat across from Vicario. "You can read Italian, correct?"

Vicario perked up noticeably, losing almost all of that caution. "Yes! Uh. Y-Yes, I am -- I c-can read it."

It was kinda cute how he tried to contain his excitement. Jonathan ended up smiling as he handed over his notebook, opened to the pages of scribbled notes he had on that computer. "Cool. Would you translate these for me, then, please?"

Vicario gently pushed his tray to the side, then pulled over Jonathan's notebook with a clear restrained excitement. A sort of emotion Jonathan was all too familiar with, for better or worse. As Vicario read over the words, he mouthed them to himself and it struck Jonathan that perhaps Vicario was homesick. Perhaps Vicario kept to himself for lack of having anyone to speak to using his native language. Vitayev had Ravenell, after all, but Vicario had no one, really. He pulled out a pencil and jotted words down on a blank page in Jonathan's notebook and Jonathan really, truly wished he could be friends with Vicario.

Being alone was nice and all, but having even one friend could be life saving. Jonathan knew that truth painfully welll.

Vicario paused a moment, then put his pencil down and handed the notebook back to Jonathan. "I think. That should, um, should be right."

Jonathan glanced over Vicario's neatly frantic writing and nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, Vicario. I owe you one."

"No, it's." Vicario stumbled a bit on his over-eagerness to dismiss Jonathan's gratitude, floundering a moment before picking back up. "It's, uh. Was m-my pleasure. Um, what's it -- it s-sounds like. Computer?"

Vicario pointed at Jonathan's notebook, his shyness doing a good job of masking that unabashed curiosity. Jonathan wondered briefly if he should even let Vicario know about this (the kid's parents were the heads of the Vicario Tech Industry, after all), but Vicario seemed like a good kid. Besides, it was pretty unbelievable to begin with. "Asheford found this computer thing here and it's all in Italian." He said.

For a moment, pure terror seized Vicario. It really took Jonathan aback at first. Was he afraid of computers? Was that why his parents had him sent out here instead of going to a more local schooling? The moment passed and Vicario bowed his head, his entire posture defeated. He mumbled something to himself, too quiet and unrecognisable for Jonathan to catch, then looked up and said, "I appreciate your sentiments, but. Please, don't involve me in this any further."

With that, before Jonathan had time to process the full meaning of those words, Vicario stood and left to dump the rest of his tray in the trash. He could only watch as Vicario left, too gobsmacked to react. Clearly, there was a deeper narrative here. It took a few minutes for Jonathan to collect himself enough to stand and go back to the lunch line, to collect his meal and continue on with his break. Damon and the others had all ready claimed their table to eat at, leaving Jonathan alone with these very troubling thoughts.

Was it hotter in the whole cafeteria all of a sudden? Despite the chill of late autumn outside, it wasn't enough for them to turn on the heaters yet. They usually held off until the first snows began to fall. Maybe it was just in Jonathan's head.

Once he had his food, he headed over to sit with Damon and the others. Niculaie greeted him politely enough, but Damon, ever the mischief maker, smirked at him with an incendiary, "And how was the Fireball today?"

Jonathan could go for a simple answer. Could easily dismiss things and thought more on it with his own time. But he was smarter than that. He levelled a cool, no nonsense look right back at Damon and said, "Tell me the truth here, Asheford. How long have you and Vicario known about this game?"

Damon lost all that smugness in his shock. Knocking the Kingpin off that pillar so soundly was definitely gratifying. Niculaie also seemed uneasy, however, guilty about something. This mystery seemed to keep getting deeper and more tangled by the minute.

Damon bowed his head, ready to talk. Right before he could, though, Vektoria dashed over to their table and slammed her hands down on it, interrupting all of their conversations and making them jump.

"Good for nothings, all of you!" She shouted.

Just as agitated as she'd been when they'd first met her. What a one-note character. Natasha smiled, though it wasn't out of politeness or even friendliness. "Wow. We've known you how long again? A day? And you're all ready calling us names?"

"I asked for your help and you agreed to give it to me." Vektoria huffed, standing upright and placing her hands on her hips. "So then what, might I ask, is HE doing here, allowed to roam free so uncontested?"

The entire table went silent in confusion. Jonathan hadn't noticed before, but it looked like even Aglaé had been startled from his book by her appearance. Gaëlle even snarled quietly at Vektoria for disturbing her little brother. Finally, Damon asked, "Uh, who?"

"That lying Prince!"

Again, they all shared a look with one another before Damon asked once more, "Who?"

"The unworthy, blithering fool of a royal! The one who means to stop my reign of terror back at the Mainframe! The one who is sworn to protect what I am desperately trying to erase!" She paused in her tirade, noticing that they were all still looking at her cluelessly, then groaned and spat out a name. "Vektor. The idiot Prince, Vektor."

"Ohh." Damon nodded along, finally getting it. As did the rest of their table. "Next question; why do you think any of us have the power to detain him in any way?"

"You're on my side, are you not?" Vektoria gave another noise of furstration, then took a step away from their table. "Whatever, I suppose I never formally welcomed you lot into my gang. I'll let this indiscretion slide for now."

Jonathan's eye twitched. This girl may have claimed to be a poor thief, but she had the airs of a spoiled rich brat if he'd ever seen one. Almost eerily similar to how Damon could get, in fact. Damon grimaced and Niculaie shook his head, drooping. Aglaé, who had yet to return to his book for once, aimed his unimpressed frown at Vektoria as he asked, "Are we to assume you took care of the problem yourself and that's why you're so upset?"

She seemed to perk up at this, less angry and more agreeable for once. "Right. I was here the whole time. As my gang, you're duty bound to corroborate my alibi."

She nodded once, then took off and left the cafeteria. Not even giving any of them a chance to get a word in edgewise. Jonathan was sure that she'd bring them more trouble than she was worth. And by the general air of annoyed disbelief shared around the table, he could see that everyone agreed with him on this one. Damon rubbed at his forehead and sighed heavily, slumping forward in his seat to lean against the table. "I'll tell you the whole story later, Jonathan." He said.

"I hope she didn't actually do anything bad to him." Niculaie mumbled, still frowning after Vektoria. As sensitive as ever.

Natasha leaned over to pat him on the back reassuringly. "If she did, the teachers'll notice right away, at least."

"Yeah, classes and all." Charon joined in. She stood, her empty tray in hand. "I'm going ahead, see you all later."

She grinned in parting, then headed out of the cafeteria as well. Jonathan twirled his fork in his food idly (it was spaghetti and meatballs today, because of course it would be; notably, though, not as overcooked as Vicario's portion had been) and considered all this evidence he had before him.

Damon knew Vicario long before they attended this school. That much was a certainty. And, from the little bit Vicario had revealed, Vicario knew about this game on their school's campus. Vektor and Vektoria had both come from this game, meaning Vicario and Damon had to either know of them or had known them personally before this, too.

And with two computer systems. Well. It seemed like they were going to have themselves a challenge much sooner than they'd thought.

That just left Jonathan with the privelage of paying attention to who exactly had let Vektor out of the other system. Jonathan busied himself with eating and pulled out his notebook to check those translations Vicario had graciously given him. He'd been too caught up in shock to remember to check them until now.

Hearing whatever Damon had to say about the whole thing, then cross-referencing it with whatever he could get from Vicario would be a great way to pass the time. He could even take a late night stroll to clear his head some more.

That sounded good. 'To clear his head'. Jonathan smirked to himself as he studied these translations carefully. This was getting actually interesting.

#Game Kids need their own tag #spoilers #AU #AU: We Didn't Need You #Dante #Dante Vicario #Jonathan #Jonathan Wallace #Vektoria #Vektor #my writing

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blueroseblaze · 3 years

Text

Devil May Cry INK

New Devil May Cry Nero x GN!Reader tattoo!AU series based on the lovely work by @hennatheantenna

also available on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203587

Please enjoy this first installment

The shop was quiet, save for the soft sweeping and the low hum of the radio. The Sunday early evening light shining through the windows was blinding if you weren’t sitting in the right spot. The orange lights cascading through the front windows warming the waiting area. It was a nice respite from an otherwise busy day.

Nero sat behind the counter, thumbing through, and counting the stack of cash with practiced speed and rhythm before placing it back in the register drawer. He glanced up at V who was too preoccupied sweeping the storefront floor and being distracted by the sleeping black shop cat on the windowsill.

“When is this new artist coming in?” V asked in his normal low poetic voice, not even looking In Nero’s direction while speaking.

“They should be here in a few minutes, we agreed on 6:30 for the interview,” Nero replied.

“Are you going to hire them? Dante did give you the final say on it.”

“Their portfolio is really impressive, and Nico spoke highly of them. So, we’ll see. We’re short-staffed anyway so I don’t think we’re in the business of being super picky.

“Right,” V hummed before continued his cleaning.

Devil May Cry Ink had been short-staffed for a long time despite being located in a relatively popular area, close to many clubs, shops, and an active nightlife. With only 3 artists and one financial manager, they could hardly keep up with patrons when there were rarely all three artists present. Dante, Nero’s uncle and official co-owner of the establishment was remarkably popular and often traveled to meet in person with more high-end clients rather than have them come to their humble little shop. Luckily, Nero’s Father, Vergil, was more than capable of keeping them afloat handling the financial side of the equation.

Nero leaned back in his chair behind the counter, balancing on the back legs with his feet propped up on the countertop. He shut his eyes and sighed, listening to the low drawl of the radio and the humming of the vents that kicked on overhead.

But soon the young man was shaken from his half nap when he heard a knock on the front door, which had been locked at the end of the day.

“Is that them?” V asked.

“Probably,” Nero replied before standing to answer the door.

Nero approached the door and unlocked it, opening it enough only for him to stick his head out to greet the person and make sure that she was in fact their new possible hire.

“Hi,” they greeted in an excited but polite voice, “I’m here for an interview, I’m looking for Nero.”

“You found him,” Nero replied confidently, “Are you Y/N?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” they said.

Nero welcomed them inside, stepping out of the way of the door so that they could slip through and he could lock the door again behind him. they faced him, waiting for any extra greeting or instruction as V approached the two.

“This is my half-brother, Vitalie,” Nero introduced.

V held out a lanky tatted arm and Y/N took his hand, giving a professional shake.

“You can call me V,” he said.

“Noted,” they said with a smile glancing down as something rubbed against their leg making them jump.

“That our shop cat, Shadow,” Nero explained, “Don’t worry she’s had all her shots.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Nero led the young artist towards the back of the shop where there would be little disturbance. They tried taking in the atmosphere of the shop but found the man walking before them too distracting. Their eyes traced over the intricate blue and red roses that sleeved his arms, all the way up to the ink covering a sizable portion of his neck leading right up to the snowy white undercut he was sporting.

“Hey um, is your…”

“My hair is natural, yes,” Nero replied before they could even get a word out.

Y/N started to internally panic, their face going red as they averted their gaze trying to explain themselves and apologize, stumbling over their words like a flustered cartoon.

Nero chuckled, “It’s ok I get it a lot.”

Y/N huffed in embarrassment as they continued to follow him to the back room. The office wasn’t particularly big, just enough to fit some shelves, a desk, and a couch. It was mostly just a place for Vergil to get away to do work or discuss business, and for Dante to take naps.

Nero took a seat at the desk, pulling out a large portfolio as he instructed Y/N to sit down. He opened the portfolio and began flipping through it for what was probably the twentieth time.

“You can take your jacket off,” he said, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Y/N shrugged out of their jacket, adjusting their shirt as they laid it nicely on the arm of the sofa. Nero glanced up from the portfolio and stared at their bare arms and chest in confusion.

“Do you have any ink?” he asked incredulously.

Y/N huffed out a nervous laugh, hand moving to the back of their neck as they looked away.

“Yeah, I know how it looks. I’m just not a fan of needles is all. But I promise all that work is mine. You wouldn’t be the first to think it wasn’t.”

Nero looked back down at the portfolio. He was surprised at the lack of ink but had no reason to think it was plagiarism. He trusted Nico’s judgment so if she recommended an artist he would trust she knew what she was talking about.

“It’s not a problem I’m just surprised. I mean I was really impressed by your work it was just a surprise that you didn’t have any on you. So anyway, how long have you been tattooing,” he asked attempting to dodge the now awkward tension.

“About 3 years,” Y/N began, “I started getting interested in body art when I was young because my best friend’s dad owned a tattoo parlor in my hometown. I actually did my apprenticeship there before moving out here. I met Nico about a year and a half ago and we became fast friends and she asked me to do one or two pieces for her.”

“You ever been to art school?” Nero asked.

“Yeah! Majored in drawing and illustration,” they replied.

The interview went on with more questions and straightforward answers. Mostly about Y/N’s experience and a walk-through of their best work. A few quips and jokes thrown in here and there. Nero couldn’t keep his eyes off them as they went on and on about their artistic process and what inspires them. He couldn’t deny that they were cute. The way their eyes lit up as they spoke about what they were passionate about.

“So when did you first start?” Y/N asked, turning the questions back around on Nero.

“Pretty long time ago,” he answered, “My uncle started this place when I was like a toddler and roped my dad into it. Once I turned sixteen the old man finally let me get my first one. And when I turned eighteen my uncle let me start working.”

“I see you like roses,” they said, eyeing the expansive work on Nero’s arms.

“Yeah, they’re my favorite,” Nero explained, “Had them done by my uncle.”

The two of them had ended up talking for almost two hours, changing subjects to things like movies and music that they liked, and they found they had a lot in common. It was only when V poked his head through the door and reminded Nero of the time that they decided to call it quits.

“Can you start Monday?” Nero asked.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide and they vigorously nodded, almost jumping in their spot with excitement. They thanked both of them for their time before Nero offered to walk them to the door. They wished him a goodnight and he locked the door behind them. But not before exchanging phone numbers.

“They seem nice,” V said, smirking at Nero’s confused face, “And attractive it seems.”

Nero sputtered a broken response before playfully slugging his brother in the arm, causing the thin man to laugh.

“Just making an observation,” V excused.

“Yeah well keep your observations to yourself,” Nero chided, as he walked back behind the front counter. He reached over and picked up his leather jacket and blue helmet that matched the floral print on his sleeves that were hanging off the barstool. He slung the jacket over his shoulder and tucked the helmet under his arm.

“It has been a while since your last relationship, perhaps something could blossom from this.”

“Work is work, V. Don’t make it sound like I hired them just because they’re hot.”

“Did you?” V asked with a grin.

“No of course not!” Nero cried out defensively, “Anyway whatever, are you good to lock up by yourself?”

“Yes it shouldn’t take me too long,” V replied, “Can you feed Griffon when you get home?

Nero huffed in annoyance at the thought of feeding that little demon chicken.

“Yes, I’ll feed Griffon. See ya at home.”

V gave a subtle goodbye to Nero as he exited the shop and gave one last head pat to Shadow. Still smiling to himself at his sibling's flustered response.

Nero threw on the leather jacket and forced the helmet on his head, rounding the corner to the back of the shop where Red Queen was parked. He paused, letting his brother’s words playback in his head. It had been a while since he was in the dating game. It wasn’t like he was sad after his breakup; it was mutual and they remained on good terms, but he was getting antsy to the point that V had noticed.

Nero huffed, and mounted the motorcycle, kicking it into gear and speeding off.

Hope you enjoyed :)

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc 5 #devil may cry 5 #dmc 4 #devil may cry 4 #dmc nero #dmc v #dmc vitale #nero x reader #nero x gender neutral reader #nero x gn!reader #dmc nero x reader #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #devil may cry fanfic #blue writes

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lxpinwrites · 3 years

Text

Excerpt from an AU from my partner’s story

(for @gingerly-writing‘s craving asdfasfadsf)

He should have died.

The thought rang clear in his otherwise fuzzy mind the moment he awoke in the cold cell, his entire body aching as if struck with a fever.

As if he had lost a crucial battle, one that he never meant to walk out of anyways.

He sat up slowly, stretching his weary muscles and growing worried when his prosthetic didn’t move, momentarily thinking that it was malfunctioning until he saw the mangled arm lying limply against his side, the product of yet another one of Dante’s monstrosities.

He removed the useless arm with a pang, trying to ignore how unnatural he always felt without it. The crystal once used to power it fell to the ground with a clatter, now glowing with a bright green magic that he remembered all too well. Dante had corrupted it, then, just to render him useless enough to be unable to work his crossbow.

Quentin had been right. He would have never won.

A heavy door screeched in protest from somewhere within the dungeon, casting the room in a strange light as boots clattered towards him slowly, confidently. Momentarily he considered ripping part of the prosthetic into a shard, to end his imprisonment before it could worsen, but all he could think of was Quentin, of Maria, of how he would never get to see them again.

“A fine prisoner you make, Flemming.”

The voice, once clear and smooth, scratched through a ripped out throat, harsh in Aleksander’s ears. He didn’t want to look up at the speaker. He didn’t want to see what his - what Dante had become. He didn’t want to know the lich who had changed his name to reflect his monstrosities.

The caged door flew open and green magic was surrounding him, forcing his head back until he could see Xakras, looking down at him as if he were a mere insect on the ground to be stomped.

“Quiet for once, are you? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Sorian in their place before. Or is it perhaps too painful to speak to me?”

Aleksander’s brow furrowed in confusion, momentarily wondering if Xakras was speaking of perhaps grief. That is, until he opened his mouth to speak, the words inarticulate as his tongue throbbed in pain. “You’re a monster.”

Xakras laughed, a cruel sound that made his heart ache. Dante’s laugh had always been so warm, a fireplace in the winter. Aleksander bitterly thought of the feelings he had long ago held for him, naively thinking that making Dante laugh would make him fall in love. That had been a foolish thought, for Aleksander only ever fell deeper whenever Dante laughed.

How idiotic he had been.

“It would be unwise to reopen an already infected wound, Flemming,” Xakras remarked, releasing him of his magic. “I believe we both know that your constitution is rather... unsuitable for infection, is it not? Though, it wouldn’t pain me to see your tongue removed.”

Aleksander looked down at the scepter he held, his stomach flipping uneasily when he saw dried blood on the blade, wishing that it was only his own blood, that Alyssa wasn’t dead.

“I’ll die anyways,” Aleksander said, irritated that he couldn’t even speak like normal. It seemed that Xakras had taken away both his body and spirit. He wished he could hate him. “The best doctors in Soria couldn’t cure the infection.”

“The best doctors in Soria didn’t use magic.” Xakras spoke easily, as if stating a simple fact and not caring for the hope it brought him. He leaned against the caged door, looking down at him and for once, almost seeming like Dante again. “And I didn’t give you permission to die.”

A sudden anger overcame Aleksander, his fevered cheeks red. “I won’t become what you are. I - I won’t. Even if you force your curse on me, I’ll - I’ll find a way to die.”

“I wasn’t offering you lichdom,” Xakras said, rolling his eye. “Spending five minutes with you is long enough. I am, however, choosing to heal you.”

Magic paralyzed Aleksander yet again, and before he was able to process what was happening, Xakras was approaching him, pointing his scepter at him until the pain was only a memory. He released him roughly, not caring that Aleksander didn’t have two arms to catch himself.

He must have noticed how Aleksander was looking at the prosthetic like he had missed an opportunity, because he scoffed. “Please. I was a weakling when you lost your arm. It would have taken ten of me to heal the sickness you had.”

Aleksander thought that for a moment, Xakras sounded regretful, though the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Xakras turned towards the exit, his ripped cloak swaying in the wind. He watched as, before his eyes, a strange magic surrounded Xakras until - to his surprise - he looked like Dante again.

In his shock, he didn’t even react when the prison door was left open. Nor did he react when Xakras said, “You’ll find your old study repurposed for your new life. Don’t try to escape - you’ll find yourself stuck between myself and my guards. Pray that the guards happen to find you first.”

With that, he left, leaving Aleksander with a hopeless exit to inevitable enslavement, wondering only what purpose he could possibly have for Xakras, wondering if Quentin would think to come find him.

—

Aleksander had wondered if it was pity that made Xakras spare him, though the study that had been transformed into a workshop told him otherwise. He barely remembered the dusty old room, having used it when he lived in Sipara. Now, it so closely resembled his workspace in Soria that, for only a moment, he feared that Xakras had already infiltrated his home.

There were several differences, however, that never allowed him to feel quite at home.

Aleksander had stolen one of the guest bedrooms at his estate, turning it into the very place where he had built the first prototypes for his prosthetic. He remembered how Maria would catch him awake late at night, working through the last kinks of his most recent idea. She had always scolded him for sleeping so terribly, and yet she had always left a steaming cup of his favorite coffee on his desk, kissing his forehead before going back to bed.

She had made the entire room warm, despite the constant draft it had.

He sat down at the workbench roughly, still exhausted from the fight. He wanted to do nothing more than sleep, yet he was too terrified to dare close his eyes in Xakras’s palace, fearing that at any moment, someone would come to kill him.

Instead, he scavenged the room for metal, having memorized the blueprint for his prosthetic in case he ever lost it. Building was harder than before, and Aleksander realized that he had grown spoiled by having two arms again. Now, he was practically useless, and he occasionally considered asking one of the guards nearby for help.

He didn’t realize that time had passed until the sun was low in the sky, casting his desk in a red light that, strangely, made him long for his little knight. Gods, he could only imagine what Quentin would have done if he had been imprisoned. The poor bastard had panicked enough when the elves had captured them.

Aleksander stood with a shaky breath, frustrated at the slow pace of which he was building. He wasn’t surprised to find that the only window in the room was barred, though it seemed like a useless precaution. The room was several stories in the air - and Aleksander was terribly afraid of heights.

Dante would have remembered that about him, Aleksander thought.

He stared at the horizon, watching the ocean from afar and wondering where Quentin and the others had sailed to - if they had even survived the chaos of Loria burning. The smoke of a burning village nearby still hung in the air. It had been a massacre, supposedly. He had been unconscious during it, stuck in the dungeon for who knew how long.

Aleksander knew Xakras was near when the guards outside his door kneeled in unison, their heavy armor clanking about and echoing in the empty halls. He tried to prepare himself for whatever the tyrant was planning, though he didn’t think he would ever be able to face him without thinking of Dante, without wishing things had gone differently.

He briefly wondered - only for a moment - what would have happened if he had refused Alyssa’s quest, if he had instead demanded a conversation with Dante instead of an assassination.

He supposed it would have all ended the same, anyways. He wasn’t Oklena, so he supposed there was no use in trying to predict what was the best decision.

“It’s not your best work, I’ll admit.”

Aleksander flinched, whipping around to see Xakras by the workbench, observing the barest mechanics of a prosthetic with a scrutinizing eye. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your abilities already.”

“It’s hard to build with one real arm and one hunk of mangled metal,” Aleksander remarked, his throat lumping bitterly. “The crystal in it is - it’s all beyond repair.”

Xakras snorted. “Did you think it would be easy, facing me? You built the original with a fever and a half-dead arm. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is I had a friend with me, last time.”

#Dante story #not my story #my writing #fantasy #writeblr #writblr #come get ur juice

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

Hill Manor - Part I

Summary: Your life has never been easy, despite being from one of the most wealthy British Families. Between your neglectful parents and a cures you’ve been saddled with since you were a young child, your life gets harder, before it gets easier.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 10,205

Rating: PG-13 - Neglectful Parents, Mention of quick Animal abuse, Abuse, Drinking, Some Victorian Era Insults

Inspiration: I’ve been wanting to do a Fic like this for some time.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernaturalhero, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @henrycavill-yes

Ulysses Dante McFayden was vengeful in all things and parts of his life, from his multi-million dollar company to his family. His wife, Matilda was the near female copy of her husband, though she was capable of being warm and affectionate, when she wanted something, or thought it would benefit her and husband's financial situation. The McFayden's had been part of the British Upper Class Crust for centuries and only kept climbing that social ladder, higher and higher. They were always the talk of Woman's Tea Rooms and Gentleman's Clubs all across Britain, for some new successful business venture or setting a new fashion trend. But, the one place they never felt successful was in their only child, a disappointment for Ulysses for not being a boy and to Matilda, for not being more like her. Y/n McFayden was the spitting image of her gorgeous mother and had the strong willpower of her father, but that's where all the similarities of her parents ended.

You were sweet and attentive, deeply concerned with the welfare and happiness of those around you, human or animal alike. You once took a near dreadful beating from your father, when he caught you nursing a wounded baby duck in the overgrown garden greenhouse at the edge of the estate. You cried for a week, when you found your father had killed the poor thing. From the age of two, your parents relinquished their parental rights to a host of nannies and tutors, some as cold and feeling-less as themselves. One of your nannies, Grace, was the greatest and sweetest out of all of them, she was a much needed breath of fresh air and sunshine in the dark and oppressive expanse of McFayden Manor. Grace was the only one that cared about you, that loved you and gave you any kind of parental guidance, that understood.

Grace was also the only one that you trusted your darkest secret too. When you were seven, not long after she started as your nanny and living in the family house, you had what your parents and previous caretakers called your, hysterical terrors. You woke just after one am, a bolt of sweaty terror washing over your body, as you sat up in your bed. Despite the still warm fire in the grate of your spacious bedroom, you could see each puff of your breath, white like a wintry mist. Your heart starting to pound, goosebumps forming as you trembled, the bumps coming down the long hallway leading to your room, other than your room and Grace's room on the very other side of the hall, the rest of the floor was empty, or to everyone else, it was empty.

There was a thud just outside your door, then the sound of nails running down it. You squeezed your eyes shut and hoped to wake up before it came through the door and stood at the foot of your bed, like it always did. But, it wasn't to be. The cold of the room grew, frosting the window panes of your room as the apparition melded through the thick arched Mahogany door, making you shiver.

“Child.” It rasped, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Let me be.” You whimpered, drawing your legs up inside your nightie and pressed your palms to your ears, desperate to block it out. “You aren't real!”

“Realest anything in this manor.” It gripped back, floating several meters off the black cherry wood floor, at the foot of your bed; flowing, black and mostly translucent. “Other than you, my sweet.” It hissed, moving closer.

“What do you want?” You whined, looking up at it and squeezed your eyes shut again.

“You.” It moaned, hovering above you, a transplant and skeletal finger following the curve of your cheek, freezing your skin like ice. “Lily Hill Manor. That is where you belong, where your curse will be its strongest and most fruitful.” It rumbled so close to your ear, its wispy hair caressing your face. “Only you can protect it from its fate. From his legacy.”

A terrible clicking and knocking sound came from it, its bony hand grazing your neck. A jolt of electricity raced through your spine, a scream ripped from your vocal cords, springing up and bounded for the door, yanking it open and rushed down the hallway for Grace's room. The spirit watched and dissolved away, just as Grace's door flew open at your frantic banging.

“Y/n, what is it?” Grace frowned, tying her robes closed and looking down at your wet and terrified face.

“There's a spirit in-in my room.” You panted, pointing behind you to your room.

Grace looked to your room, open and empty, then back down at you. “It's all right.” She said softly, resting her hands on your shoulders and hugging you against her.

“It was there, I swear.” You sobbed into her robe.

“I believe you.” Grace replied, patting you on the back, she'd never known you to lie and you were vastly too upset not to be believed, perhaps it was just a dream.

Either way, Grace believed you, when you told her about seeing it, and every one after that night. It broke your heart, when you were twelve years old and Grace fell in love with a local doctor and married him, ending her occupation as your nanny. Even though she moved away, Grace made sure to come and visit you as much as she could, knowing how lonely you were in the house, with cold parents.

At age sixteen, you no longer had nannies or tutors, you were the unwilling, for both yourself and your parents, added piece to the social gatherings and dinner parties your parents regularly threw at the manor. Your father's strict threats of never opening your mouth, unless expressly and specifically addressed, with your mother's cold and unblinking glares across the room or the table, to enforce your father's words, like they were law. In essence, they were law, with the amount of money and power he had behind his words and actions. Your life felt so lonesome, imprisoned in McFayden Manor day in and day out, the only breath of fresh air for you was the daily walks you took around the magnificent gardens on the grounds, you spent as much time out in the garden as you could, unable to endure the dark and suffocating house, all five floors, basement and attic. The estate and manor had been in your father's family for the last six generations, built by your seven times great-grandfather, after his first major and successful business venture. Your father was conceived, born and raised in the house, he never lived anywhere else, until he had the country home built, in Suffolk; which you had only been to once or twice, your parents leaving you at the Manor, on your own, with the butler and cook. Not that you cared, the place seemed cheerier without them, darkening the hallways and rooms.

“I swear, y/n.” Your mother hissed, looking you over as you gripped the post of your bed, your lady's maid tightening the laces of your corset. “If you ruin this night for your father and I, you will truly regret being born.”

“Like, you do.” You mumbled to yourself, groaning as the whale bone ribs of your corset cut into your skin.

“What was that?” Matilda snapped, looking down her nose at you.

“Nothing, Mother.” You chimed back with a forced smile.

“I thought not.” She hissed, lifting a sculpted brow at you. “This is a very important night for your father. He has several of his business partners, investors and prospective partners coming to this dinner tonight. It could turn out to be an expensive gain, or loss, depending on how it goes.” She pinched your chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at her. “Don't ruin it.” She growled at you, sternly.

“Of course not, Mother.” You told her, meekly, staring into her moss-green eyes. “I will be on my utmost behavior, I assure you and Father.”

“Good.” Matilda huffed, letting your chin go, roughly. “Though, you couldn't disappoint us more than you already have.” She commented over her shoulder, leaving your bedroom.

You closed your eyes softly, listening to the click of her heels fade down your hall. Collecting yourself, you allowed your Lady's Maid to finish helping you dress for the party, then patiently waited for your mother to return to your room, knowing better than to go down on your own, even though from the window seat of your room, you could see the carriages coming and going along the lane leading up to the front of the manor, people of only the best stations, families and companies were given the coveted and expensive invitations your father sent out to the wealthy elite. You had seen all of their faces before, the only time a face disappeared or changed was, if someone died and their heir took their place, or they fell from the Upper Class Crust and were no longer deemed worthy of the honor to attend a Ulysses and Matilda McFayden party. You flicked through the pages of a book, Dracula, and continued to wait, stifling a yawn against the back of your hand, then heard the tell-tale taps of her heels and put the book aside, stood and smoothed down the skirt of your dress; heaven's forbid you had a wrinkle in the expensive fabric.

“Come along, girl.” Matilda called from your door, mouth pinched into a fine line as she regarded you.

“Coming, Mother.” You replied, following along after her and mounting the stairs down to the formal dinning room on the main floor.

The front hall, foyer, formal dinner room, study and library were brimming with people. You followed your mother to the library, taking your place beside her as she entertained the people in that room. You scanned the room, seeing if there were any changes to the attendees from the last party your parents had two weeks before. There was the Christopher's, the Gladstone's, and the Morris's, though Mrs. Morris looked worse then she had at the garden party. Movement at the door to the library caught your attention and you glanced in that direction, blinking several times seeing someone standing there, the butler taking their coat. They were new to the Manor, you had never seen this man before, and judging by the almost lost expression on his handsome face, he had never been to the Manor before either. He was incredibly tall and broad shouldered, looking immaculate in his finely tailored suit, his chocolate brown curls shining in the candle lit hallway. He felt your eyes on him, turning his baby blues towards you and smiled, revealing straight and pearly whites, raising a warm flush to your cheeks and you glanced away from him.

“Is that him?” You heard a low voice whisper to your mother, Ms. Whitlock.

“Yes.” Your mother nodded, covertly glancing at him, as he entered the room. “Mr. Henry Cavill.” She confirmed, watching Henry greet one of the men he knew. “He owns Cavill Enterprises. His father started the company, when he was just a lad. Rumor has it, his grandfather was a poor farmer.” She explained, turning her attention to Ms. Whitlock.

“How did he amass a company for so much money, if he's the grandson of a farmer?” Ms. Whitlock frowned at Matilda.

“I heard from Mrs. Grahams, his father worked his way up through the stations of a local shipping company, until he was the owner of it, then used his shares to start and invest in his own company, passing the shipping company off to his oldest son, Piers, then turned over Cavill Enterprises to his second youngest son, Henry; when he retired. His other sons, Nik, Simon and the youngest, Charlie, all work for one of the two companies.”

“Well, if his brothers are single, and as handsome, as he is.” Ms. Whitlock giggled, blushing at Henry's back. “Then, sign me up.”

“Oh, hush.” Matilda giggled back, playfully smacking her on the arm.

You repressed your frown at her, feeling that spot of jealousy in your stomach, wishing you had the relationship with your mother, like Leah Whitlock did. There was the high and clear sound of a bell and the Head Butler, Carlo, stepped into the room, announcing dinner. The guests funneled into the dining room and took their assigned places at the table. The room was a murmur with talk, the clink and ring of silverware and fine china, compliments on the food and wine, the amazing hosting and splendid night. After dinner and dessert, the ladies and men separated, men going into the study and the ladies going into the sitting room; talking about business and the upcoming fashion and ball season, before the guests retired and went back home.

Henry nervously paced outside Mr. McFayden's office adjusting his collar and tie as he waited for Mr. McFayden to be done with his meeting and his clerk, Mr. Sims, to show him into the tycoon's office.

“Mr. Cavill.” Mr. Sims called, appearing in the doorway. “Mr. McFayden is available to see you now.” He told Henry, with a polite smile.

“Thank you.” Henry smiled back, stepping into the office and gratefully took the chair he offered.

“Mr. McFayden will be in, in a moment.” Sims told him and stepped out of the room, back to his desk.

Henry glanced around the expensively furnished and decorated office, a painting of all Ulysses's ancestors that headed the company decorated the walls, there was a photograph of Matilda on the left side of his desk and a photo of you, as a small girl, on the right side of his desk. Henry leaned forward and picked up your photo and smirked at it, the classic ringlet curls in your hair as you smiled, bright and beautiful, at the camera; a contrast to the tight-lipped photo of your mother and paintings of grandfathers, that surrounded him.

“She was four, in that photo.” Ulysses's voice called, as he pushed open a pair of double pocket doors and entered his office from a board room. “She was so easy to deal with then.” He commented, taking the photo from Henry and stared at it for a moment, before setting it back in its place on his desk.

“I'm..sure.” Henry replied, slowly, unsure how else to answer him.

“What is it, that I can help you with, Mr. Cavill.” Ulysses asked, seating himself behind his desk.

“I would like to discuss that business venture, we started to talk about it at your party last week.” Henry answered, getting right to the point of the matter.

“The mining venture.” Ulysses nodded, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and tented his fingers together.

“Yes, in Chester.” Henry nodded, smiling, glad that he remembered.

“Tell me about it again.”

“Um,” He cleared his throat, fiddling with the chain to his pocket watch. “My grandfather owned a farm that also sat on top of a mine, but wasn't able to do anything with the mine. My father wanted to make something of it as well, but got held up with running Cavill Enterprises and the Munro Shipping Company. My youngest brother, Charlie, has actually checked the mining site out and found it held a very large deposit of stone. I want to try and tap into that resource.”

“Why are you coming to me with this prospect?” Ulysses asked, brows drawing together. “I know you own and run Cavill Enterprises, as well as having stocks in the Munro Shipping Company and are on the board for it. So, you have a considerable sum of money.”

“I do.” Henry smirked, chuckling softly. “But, I have zero understanding and knowledge on mining and everything it entails. I know, one of your biggest businesses is in mining, that you have the knowledge and understanding of it.”

“You should also know, that knowledge like that has a price on it.”

“Of course.” Henry nodded and shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter. “I would, of course, pay for your assistance and guidance, entering into a partnership with you in the endeavor.”

“What sum are you considering?” Ulysses inquired, lifting a brow at the younger man.

“Well,” Henry cleared his throat, his collar feeling tight. “Until, we find out the success and quantity of the load the mine holds, I would be ready to pay you whatever fee you would like, then once it was found to be fruitful and a business could be made of it, I would be comfortable with going into a fifty/fifty partnership with you on it.”

Ulysses leaned back in his high backed and leather chair, regarding Henry with an experienced and meditative expression, drumming his fingers together. “Do you have a sample of the stone the prospective mine contains?” He asked, tapping his index fingers against his thin lips.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, reaching down to the briefcase he carried with him, flipping open the flap and plunged his hand inside, fishing a large stone out of it and setting it in the middle of Ulysses's desk. “It's Quartz.”

Nodding, Ulysses picked up the chunk and examined it, blindly pulling open a side drawer of his desk and pulled out a magnified eye piece to inspect it closer. “Hmm.” He hummed, turning the stone around and around. “It's clear mineral Quartz.” Ulysses told Henry, putting his eye piece back in its drawer. “In this form alone, this piece of Quartz can go for three pound sterling.”

“Really?” Henry squeaked, eyes huge with shock.

“Yes.” Ulysses nodded, setting the rock down within Henry's reach. “So, if the mine is full of rich Quartz like that,” he motioned to the sample. “then, it should be more than profitable.”

“The mine, rumored mind you, my grandfather investigated it not long after buying the land, but I and my brothers haven't had the time to confirm it, to contain Limestone as well.” Henry continued to explain to him.

“That's very profitable as well.” Ulysses pressed his lips together, contemplating the prospects, affordability, profitability and future possibility in the enterprise. “I would like to see the mine, myself.” He said, finally.

“Yes, of course. That's completely understandable.” Henry nodded, licking his lips and rubbed his sweaty palms on the knees of his pants, feeling like the meeting was going really well. “I would appreciate that, really.”

Ulysses shuffled through a calendar on his desk, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he considered dates and events in his near future. “I have an open weekend in a month, I can make the trip up to Chester, then. If you would like.”

“That is absolutely perfect.” Henry beamed, moving to the edge of his seat with excitement. “I can have everything you want and need arranged by then.”

“Fantastic.” Ulysses smiled tightly back, standing up from his chair and extended his hand to Henry.

Henry stood, his smile not even faltering as he took the older man's cold hand in his warm one, squeezing and shaking it, brimming with pride and enthusiasm. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. McFayden.” He thanked him, picking up his bag and putting the Quartz back inside of it. “I really look forward to working with you, and hope our future business is lucrative.”

“Same for me, Mr. Cavill.” He smiled back, nodding his head slowly. “I'll have Mr. Sims contact you ahead of my arrival and anything that comes up between now and then.” He assured him.

“I'll leave my card with him.” Henry replied and showed himself out, pulling a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Sims at his desk, before practically skipping out of the building.

Henry was invited to dinner at the McFayden's home a week later, to discuss the mine a bit more and he was excited about getting the venture started with him. He walked up the front steps of the Manor and checked his clothing, brushing off the arms and shoulders of his blazer, then rang the door bell, patiently waiting for the butler to answer.

“I'm Mr. Cavill, and I am expected for dinner with Mr. McFayden.” He explained, when the butler opened the door and lifted a brow at him.

“Of course, sir.” the Butler nodded, stepping aside and motioning for Henry to enter. “Would you like a drink, while I inform Mr. McFayden of your arrival?” He asked, pointing to the glass decanters at the small bar in the study.

“Yes, please.” Henry nodded, biting his lip. “Brandy.” He added as the Butler moved to the bar and pulled out a glass, pouring Henry his drink, then excused himself to go upstairs to Ulysses's personal study. “Oh, hello, Ms. McFayden.” Henry grinned, seeing you passing by the open doorway.

You looked up from your book, catching sight of Henry standing in the study, clutching his untouched glass. Startled for a moment, before you smiled back; politely curtsying to him and then continued on your way. Henry half frowned as the rustle of your skirts faded away down the hall, he had hoped you would stop and speak to him, or at least say something to him. When he was last there, and the first time, he had sat across from you at the table, but never heard you utter a single word the whole three hours at the dinner, you sat quietly and ate each course and dessert in perfect and polite silence, hardly even making eye contact with anyone, other than your mother, who narrowed her eyes at you a lot.

“Hm.” Henry grunted softly, pressing his lips together and resolutely deciding to get you to say something before he left for the evening. “So, how are you liking the food, Ms. McFayden?” Henry asked later, at dinner, smiling at you across the table and took a bite of his steak.

You gulped down your sip of wine and looked across at Henry, caught off-guard that he was addressing you, then looked to your mother for what to do; she lifted a brow at you slightly. “It's very delicious. Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” You replied in a quiet voice, meeting his eye again, nervously.

“Good.” He smiled at you, happy to finally get to hear your voice, but found it odd that you looked to your mother before answering. “You're very quiet.” Henry commented later, finding you alone on the back terrace, enjoying the cool night air.

“Um.” You blinked up at him, eyes shooting to the open double doors, the curtains billowing inside the house, but the pair of you were alone. “Yes, I am.” You gulped, looking back up at him, even in heels you barely reached Henry's shoulders.

“I'm sorry.” Henry frowned, blinking down at you as something struck him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked, afraid that he did.

“No.” You squeaked out, shaking your head at him, startled at the prospect that he thought such a thing. “Not at all, Mr. Cavill. I'm just not used to people addressing me, is all.” You explained to him, trying to put his concern at ease.

“Well, that's a comfort.” Henry replied, relieved, feeling a pressure in his chest loosen. “Are you an only child?” He asked, stepping closer to the railing, and you.

“I am.” You nodded, biting your lip and rubbing the edge of your sleeve, nervously.

“It must be lonely in this big house, by yourself.” He commented, looking over the expansive backyard. “I have four brothers, three older and one younger.” He explained, turning to face you and leaned his hip against the railing.

“I've always wanted a sibling.” You answered, frowning down at your covered feet. “But, even without one, I don't feel completely alone here.” You sighed and relaxed, as alone as you did feel, the ghosts that haunted your family home always kept you company, as tormenting as they were. You tensed again, hearing your mother's approaching steps and became panicked, knowing she would lose her temper if she saw you alone with their guest. “I must go, have a pleasant night, Mr. Cavill.” You bowed to him and rushed off, vanishing around the corner of the terrace.

Henry opened his mouth to bid you good night, but you were already gone. “Mrs. McFayden.” He smiled and nodded his head, as Matilda appeared in the open terrace doorway.

“Have you seen my daughter?” She asked, eyes narrowed and looking around for any sign of you.

“No, I have not.” Henry replied, lying for you.

“Hm.” Matilda huffed, pressing her lips together, then turned on her feels and went back inside.

– A Year Later –

The business venture for the Mine in Chester went off with a booming success, making Henry and Ulysses even richer. Henry spent a lot of time with your family, becoming a big part of it, your father spoke highly of him, treating him like the son he had always wanted. But, your father's attention to Henry came at the cost and jealousy from others, those that had done everything they had and could to be in the position they held in Ulysses's eyes, life and businesses. They felt the audacity of young Henry Cavill achieving such a highly coveted placement, especially with how fresh his entrance into their society was. But, Henry didn't let that bother him, he was assured of himself, he had fought hard to be where he was at, so had his father, and no one would ever discredit it.

“I don't think you deserve the distinction.” Elias Wells growled at Henry, as they stood in the McFayden library. “Some first generation Gentleman, encroaching on the position of someone with older and wealthier blood, should inherit.”

You could hear the conversation from where you sat, by the fireplace. You looked at Henry's face, but he was smiling brightly, genuinely, at the other man, his body language was relaxed and unbothered. You could tell Elias was trying hard to ruffle Henry's feathers, to heat up his blood and fight him. It was normal Elias behavior, you had known Elias since you were ten and he was fourteen, he enjoyed using his position and money to upset those he deemed the 'lesser class'. Even people wealthier than the Wells' family, got placed into the category by Elias, learned from his stiff lipped and nose-in-the-air father, who died six years before, leaving Elias as the 'man of the house' and their textile factories. But, Elias was all hot blood, he'd gotten into numerous fist-fights and duels, always highly public, he wasn't afraid to announce it, whether he won them or not. It was what he was trying to do now with Henry, he wanted Henry to lose his temper and either get into a fight with him or a duel; knowing that such public scrutiny would upset your father. Your father took his image extremely seriously, and would probably disown Henry and close their business plans together, if Henry got into a tiff with Elias, or anyone for that matter. You knew, if your father did that, then Henry would be ruined, not just because your father would end the profitable mining investment they were in together, costing Henry that money; which in itself wasn't a huge blow to Henry's financial situation and wealth, being that he owned and ran Cavill Enterprises, that was larger than the mining operation itself, and was also a board member and CEO of the Munro Shipping Company.

But, if something was to happen between your father and Henry, that would cause him to pull his wealth, name and influence with anything to do with Henry, then all of Henry's businesses would suffer. Depending on the enormity and publicity, People would stop giving Henry's businesses work, people would no longer seek the shipping company to be carried across the pond to the Americas for anything from personal items, like furniture, to official business, such as government contracts. Cavill Enterprises would suffer as well, dealing with trade and commerce. Henry could find himself in a worse situation than his poor farmer of a grandfather.

“The purity and age of a man's blood, doesn't always show his worth.” Henry replied to Elias, taking a sip of his claret.

You watched Elias's face turn the color of his Pinot Noir, his brown eyes taking on an angry sheen as he glared death holes into Henry. As hard as Elias tried to use Henry's past and bloodline against him, the more relaxed Henry became, which only heightened Elias's anger. Thinking quickly, before a full brawl broke out, you set your glass down and stood up, gliding over to the two men, a small crowd had formed as Elias became more heated, slipping between the men and rested your hand on Henry's arm, smiling up at him, sweetly.

“I do believe, Mr. Cavill, you promised me a dance at the next song.” You said, lifting a brow at him, a hint in your eyes.

A smirk twitched up at the corner of Henry's mouth as he looked down at you, getting the hint and gratefully taking the offered excuse to escape the childish conversation. “I did, did I not.” He chuckled, sitting his glass on the mantelpiece beside him, and tucked your hand in the crook of his arm. “Excuse me,” He looked pointedly at Elias. “Gentlemen. I would hate to break a promise to this lovely lady.” He grinned, turning you gracefully towards the door and escorted you out to the spacious ball room as the band your parents had hired, struck up a fresh song. “I appreciate the aid.” Henry told you, bending his head down slightly, so he could speak quietly into your ear.

“Well, it was either this, or sit by and watch Elias rage at you, like a bull in a china shop.” You giggled, turning to face him, resting one hand on his high shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath his coat flex as he hugged his arm around your corseted waist, broad palm pressed to the small of your back.

“He was turning rather red, wasn't he?” Henry laughed, his head throwing back slightly as you both held out your linked hands and started turning and gliding across the dance floor to the flow of music.

“As a beet.” You smiled and sighed, you always felt so relaxed in Henry's presence.

During one of the turns, you saw Elias glowering in the doorway of the ballroom, his hands clasped into fists with a look of utter disgust and jealousy on his still beet red face. Stomping his foot, Elias spun around and stormed out of the house, muttering things under his breath as he stormed down the gravel driveway. You and Henry danced several more times before breaking off for a breather.

“What were you doing?” Matilda's voice hissed behind you, as you poured yourself a glass of punch.

“What?” You replied, sheepish, your punch glass trembling slightly.

“You could have made a scene.”

You licked your lips slowly, stomach twisting in knots. “Was I too just let them get into a screaming match, and possibly a fist fight?” You asked her, a hot brick in your throat. “Wouldn't have that caused a scene and reflected badly on Papa?”

“You should have come to get me.” Matilda jeered at you, quietly, making sure to keep her face fixed into its usual neutral expression, not wanting the guests to see how furious she was at you. “You stupid girl.” Her hand flexing at her side, like she wanted to slap you; and you knew she wanted too.

“Mrs. McFayden, such a lovely party you've organized tonight.” Henry's voice said, cheerily, behind you both, both of your freezing solid.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Matilda replied, her face lighting up with its masterful art of hiding what she was really thinking and feeling. “I am so glad you are enjoying yourself, on this splendid night.”

Henry rested his hand on his chest and bowed, politely at her. “Would it be all right with you, if I stole Ms. McFayden, for another dance?” He asked, smiling sweetly at you.

Matilda looked at you, you could see her still seething, you had known your mother long enough to know what signs to look for, to see beyond the armored wall she erected in her mind. You took a deep drink of your punch and set the cup down on the punch table, and turned to Henry, curtsying to him.

“I appreciate your request, Mr. Cavill.” You smiled at him, trying to hold yourself together. “But, it is late and I am tired, I think I will just retire for the night. I beg your pardon.”

“Of course, it is rather late.” He nodded, his expression soft as he looked at you. “I wish you a good night.” He said, bowing to you. “As well as you, Mrs. McFayden.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Your mother smiled at him, then glanced at you.

Nodding your head, you excused yourself again and left the ballroom. You were meant to go back upstairs to your bedroom, but it was hot, your corset felt the tightest it possibly could be and you weren't actually tired. So, you detoured, using the servant hallways to reach the back of the house and stepped out into the garden. Groaning, you yanked off your shoes and walked barefoot through the dewy grass, it felt great to your sore and aching toes and arches. You knelt down at the edge of the pond, watching the ducks paddling in content circles together.

“Enjoying your night, y/n.”

You sighed, setting your shoes down and rubbed the side of your face. “Very well, and yours, Elias?” You replied, suddenly feeling the exhaustion you had feigned in front of Henry and your mother.

“Bet, you think, you are so cute in front of the ill-bred runt?” He hissed, still steaming with anger towards Henry.

“No, Elias.” You sighed again, wiggling your toes into the grass. “I was only trying to prevent the two of you from getting into a fight.” You told him. “It would have made my father look bad, and you know how he feels about people that make a scene in his home; importantly, in front of his distinguished guests.” You looked at him with a cold look, that would have made your mother unfailingly proud.

Elias snapped forward, grabbing you by the elbows and yanked you up to your feet, shaking you roughly, several times, gnashing his teeth at you as his anger bubbled over. “You will learn your place, just like that runt will.” He hissed at you and shoved you backwards, almost sending you staggering into the pond.

“What does that mean?” You hissed back at him.

“You'll see.” He growled and stormed back into the house.

“Mr. McFayden.” Elias called, squashing down his white hot anger, as he knocked on Ulysses's private study door.

“Come in!” Ulysses called from inside, shuffling around some papers on his desk.

Taking a deep breath, Elias entered the study, closing the door behind him, for some extra privacy. “Mr. McFayden, there's something I'd love to discuss with you.” He started, leading straight into what he had been considering for a very long time.

“Of course, Elias. By all means, speak your mind.” Ulysses replied, giving him his attention.

“I have been a very good acquaintance of yours, and your family's, since I was a small boy. In some respects, I consider you a father.” Elias said, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. “With that being said, I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.” He just came out with it.

Ulysses stared at Elias for quite some time, regarding him, and making Elias feel like he could see his very insides. Licking his lips and looking down at the stack of papers on his desk for a moment, Ulysses looked back up at Elias. “I will consider your proposal of marrying y/n, and give you my answer in a fortnight. Should you not hear from me on the matter, in that allotted time, take it as a no and do not pursue it any farther. Am I understood?” He told him, in a cold and business-like voice.

“Clearly, Sir.” Elias nodded, feeling his anger quiver in the pit of his stomach, he was expecting an immediate yes to his marriage proposal to you.

“Perfect.” Ulysses replied, planting his hands on his hips and glancing around his study. “If you will leave me, I have pressing matters to consider and deal with.” He said, sitting down and pushing his chair closer to his desk.

Elias stood in the hallway after stepping out of Ulysses's study, trying his best to cool and control his temper. He had wanted you as his wife for several years, he had known as a fifteen year old that he wanted to marry you, and it wasn't necessarily a love reason. His own parents hadn't married for love, their marriage had been arranged for the social status and choice blood for children. While he felt something for you, he didn't know if it was just love, or a sense of entitlement and ownership towards you. Didn't matter, your father would tell him yes, and there would be a beautiful, and very public, wedding in the fall. It would be incredibly perfect, especially when your father died and he would inherit his businesses through you.

“She'll be mine, by the end of the year.” He smirked to himself, going down the grand staircase. “Come hell or high water.”

You sat at the breakfast table the next morning, your father turned to you and announced that Elias had asked for your hand. You nearly choked on your breakfast as he said it. “When?” You squeaked, quietly.

“He asked last night.” Ulysses answered, breaking open his hard-boiled egg.

“What did you tell him, dear?” Matilda asked, nonchalant.

“I told him, I would give him my answer in a fortnight.” He replied, both of them as cool as butter about the subject, while you sat there, wide-eyed and panicked at the thought of marrying him.

“Are you going to approve?” Matilda asked, glancing at him.

“I am unsure, my love.” Ulysses replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “He comes from good breeding, his family is quite wealthy and he's quite refined.” He said, frowning down at his toast.

You gulped at his words, remembering the way his was rough with you in the garden, and how easily he was angered, even when he felt the smallest thing slighted him. It terrified you to think your father would approve of Elias. It was something you had known to expect, he was your father and he would vet any suitors trying for your hand in marriage, and being almost twenty-one, the time for him to marry you off, whether or not you liked the man he picked, was closing in on you; which only made you more anxious over the matter. You didn't love Elias, you hardly liked him, but that wouldn't matter, how you felt, it wouldn't matter to your parents, it never has. A crippling fear of being trapped in an abusive and loveless marriage, like you were trapped in the care and home of your parents was nauseating to you. You always fantasized a knight in shining armour would come and rescue you, but that was just the silly fancy of a cursed girl.

“It would be an excellent match.” Your mother commented, staring at you across the table and raised an eyebrow at you, seeing your panic. “Pull yourself together, you silly girl.” She huffed at you, rolling her eyes. “You would be lucky to marry a man like Mr. Wells.”

“Yes, Mother.” You whispered and stared down at your plate, knowing better to comment any farther.

Those two weeks were the longest days in your life, you were always on edge, when your father came home or entered the room, expecting him to tell you he had accepted Elias's proposal and you would be married the next day. But, it never came, the two weeks went by, then three and four, five and six; not a word about the proposal, as if it had never happened. You slowly relaxed over the matter, figuring your father had told Elias no, for whatever reason, and whatever that reason was, you were more than thankful for it. But, one morning, after breakfast, you were sitting on the balcony, reading a new book, when your father appeared in the doorway.

“Papa?” You addressed him, looking at him with wide and expecting eyes, waiting for him to say what he had come to tell you.

“I accepted a proposal for your hand in marriage.” He told you, plainly.

Your eyes grew large with horror and shock, book dropping from your hand, feeling faint. “Who?” You whimpered, hiccuping at the lump in your throat.

“I will tell you, when I return from my work trip tomorrow night.” He told you, then left you in stunned silence.

Twenty-four hours of waiting to find out about the marriage proposal your father had accepted, you prayed so hard that your father hadn't changed his mind about Elias's proposal and accepted it after all. But, tomorrow night would never come, you were woken up by the echoing wails coming from downstairs, for a moment, you thought your ghost was coming back to torment you, but your mind quickly identified the noises as your mother's. You pulled on a robe and flew down the stairs, it was dreadfully unlike your mother to lose her composure over anything, so when you found her on the chaise in a swoon, you were floored.

“Mama, what's the matter?” You gasped, dropping to your knees at her side and took up her hand. “What's happened?” You demanded of the butler, your mother's Lady's maid and a man you knew as your father's business partner.

“Perhaps, you should sit down as well, child.” Ulysses's business partner, Thaddeus, suggested and motioned to a chair beside your mother; which you took up. “There has been an incident.” He told you, taking your hand between his, patting it in a reassuring way.

“What type of incident?” You frowned, glancing around the room, looking for someone to explain to you what was going on.

“Your father has..” Thaddeus cleared his throat and opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by the ringing of the door bell.

The butler shuttled off and answered it, a rush of steps came towards the study and Henry appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic until he saw you and relaxed.

“I came as soon as I heard.” He told you, sitting down beside you and taking your hand from Thaddeus's.

“Do you know what's happened?” You asked him, squeezing his hand for support.

“No, all I heard was there was an incident at the McFayden residence, and rushed right over to make sure you all were all right.” He explained, squeezing your hand back and rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “What's happened, Thad?” Henry asked, looking up at the older man, still hovering over you.

“Mr. McFayden was discovered in his hotel suite,” Thaddeus gulped, looking between you and your recovering mother. “dead.”

You gasped, pressing your knuckles to your lips and turned your body into Henry's, laying your forehead against his shoulder as silent tears overwhelmed you. Dead, your father was dead. Ulysses Dante McFayden was no more, he was never coming home, you would never see him ever again. The darkness of the Manor seemed to grow even more as you clung onto Henry, who pressed his cheek to your hair and rubbed your back, shushing you softly and offering all the comfort he could.

“How?” Henry asked, looking up at Thaddeus, rocking you gently.

“I don't think, it's appropriate to discuss that in front of the ladies.” Thaddeus replied, looking at you and your mother again, sheepishly.

You looked up at Thaddeus, setting your expression. “How?” You asked, firmly.

“He was..” Thaddeus gulped, wringing his hands. “He was stabbed, repeatedly.”

Matilda whined on the chaise, blanching. “My poor sweet Ollie.” She whimpered in a broken voice. “My poor poor Ollie.”

“By whom was he attacked?” Henry asked, gobsmacked.

“It is unsure.” Thaddeus replied, deeply uncomfortable. “He had a client meeting in his rooms, but it is unsure if that's who attacked him, or if that person even arrived for their appointment.”

“Do they know who this client is?” You asked him. “To question him? To make sure, he isn't the scoundrel that did this.”

“The authorities are checking into him, I assure you. We are doing everything that needs to be done to bring this monster to justice and close the matter as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“Thank you.” You whispered and got a hold of yourself, gratefully taking the handkerchief Henry offered you.

“You and your mother will have to finalize your father's estate and businesses.” Thaddeus said, reluctant to bring the matter up so soon, but it needed to be done.

“Of course.” You nodded, your mind reeling even more.

“Don't worry.” Henry smiled at you, squeezing your hand. “I'll be with you, every way I can.” He promised, thumbing away a tear on your cheek.

“Thank you.” You sniffled, throwing your arms around his neck.

Henry was true to his word, he was there for you and your mother in the aftermath of your father's murder. That was still hard to come to terms with, your father was murdered, by someone and you couldn't understand why anyone could be such a monster to kill someone else. Henry went with you, to identify your father's body, being your mother was bedridden in her grief. You clutched Henry's strong arm as the undertaker pulled back the sheet from your father's face, his face a chalky white and flaccid. You reached out and touched his temple, trying to make sure it was all real and not some surreal dream you were having. But, the ice cold skin beneath your fingertips was all too real, shocking your system even more.

“That's him.” You whispered, your voice distant and foreign to your own ears.

“Is that all you need of her?” Henry asked, hugging his arm around you, tucking you into the warmth of his side and body, pushing out the eerie cold of the morgue.

“It is.” The Undertaker nodded, covering your father up again.

“Your mother has asked me to arrange the funeral.” Luis, your family lawyer, said as he stood beside the undertaker, a pile of papers in his hands.

“That's fine.” You nodded, not really paying attention.

Wishing you could be away from this place, squeezing your eyes shut as the throb of a headache pressed in on your temples, you could feel them, the lingering spirits, hanging closely to their now empty flesh; angry, confused and lost on what to do now, that life had left them. You could feel one close to your shoulder, the chill of it reddened your earlobe and a shiver quaked down your spine. Henry felt it and held you closer to him, supporting you against his strong and tall body. You dared to glance at the spirit floating over your shoulder, praying it wasn't your father, thankfully it was not. It was a young-ish woman, eyes white and blank, with half a caved in skull; you jerked at the sight of her, whimpering and squeezing your eyes tight against the sight, willing your mind not to etch it into a permanent place in your brain.

“Let's leave.” Henry said softly, looking down at you, concerned for your well-being. “We can sign the papers at the house.” He suggested, already turning away with you, your solid and living form brushing through the spirit of the young lady, displacing her like a plume of smoke, before her form righted itself. “Are you all right?” He whispered to you as you blinked at the bright sunlight, feeling it warm away the chill of death.

“I'm fine.” You whispered back, taking a deep breath and pushing it all away from your mind.

Henry cupped your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, a crease of deep concern on his brow as he looked into your eyes. “You can confide in me.” He told you, sincerely.

“Mr..”

“Henry.” He interrupted you, gently, smiling at you, hopeful. “Please, please, call me Henry.”

You blinked at him, and felt a flutter in your stomach. “Henry.” You whispered his name for the first time. “Y/n.” You mumbled back, shyly.

Henry grinned, brimming with joy. “Y/n.” He whispered your name back to you, his chest light. “Let's get you home.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms as you shivered, the cold London wind whipping around you both.

“Okay, Henry.” You nodded, it felt nice to say his given name.

“Okay, y/n.” He nodded back, folding your hand into his arm and walked to the carriage with you, opening the door and helping you inside, before following you in and tucking a blanket around your lap, for added warmth.

“Would you..stay?” You asked, walking into the foyer of the Manor and looking up at Henry, so tired and depressed.

“Here?” Henry squeaked, blinking down at you. “With you?”

“You see how big this place is?” You said, waving a hand around. “A person can, and has, gotten lost in this house. It takes a week to go from one side of the house to the other.” You laughed, trying to lighten your and Henry's moods.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable.” He said, biting his lip, really hoping he wasn't overstepping.

“It really would.” You told him, softly. “My mother has my aunt, Bella. So, she won't notice in the slightest.”

It was a week later that you attended your father's funeral. Your mother sobbing on her sister, Bella's shoulder. Your aunt had come down from Yorkshire to be with your mother in her time of need. Thankfully in that time, you had Henry to be your strong arm and shoulder, your borrowed ear as you stood at the graveside in your black dress. Henry's hand rested on the small of your back, while holding the umbrella with his other, the wet snow fell all around you and the large procession, over four hundred people came to your father's funeral.

You laid in bed, staring up at your ceiling, that night, drained in so many ways, but sleep wouldn't take you. You shivered and pulled your blanket over yourself more, and groaned seeing your frosty breath in a mist above your face. A pounding vibrated through the house, shaking your bed, it happened repeatedly in a rhythmic kind of way, it was nothing like any of the ghosts in the house had acted before. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you got up and grabbed the candle stick beside your bed, lighting it and went to your bedroom door, pressing your ear to it. You slowly opened your door and started, seeing the spirit that tormented you the most.

“What's the fuss?” You hissed at her, tired of dealing with the dead.

The spirit extended its arm and pointed down the hall to the stairs. Narrowing your eyes, you took the hint and made your way down the stairs to the landing, leading down to the second floor of the Manor, where you could look down over the railing to the foyer and front floor below. Your mouth slowly dropped open, seeing a spirit floating in the space in front of you.

“Papa.” You gulped, biting back tears as you saw him.

“Y/n.” Ulysses groaned back at you, glancing around the house like he didn't know where he was or why he was there.

“Oh, Papa. No.” You whined, heartbroken, setting your candlestick on a nearby table. “Why are you here? Go, in peace. Please, Papa.” You cried, gripping the banister. “You don't belong here anymore.” You tried to convince him to cross over, you looked over your shoulder to the other spirit. “Helena, help him. Please!”

“Lily Hill Manor.” She rasped back, crooking a bony finger at you.

“I don't care about the stupid Manor.” You roared, tears dripping from your face. “Help him cross over! I beg of you.”

“Say, yes.” Your father echoed, like the hiss of steam being released. “Tell him, yes.”

“Lily Hill Manor is where you belong.” Helena moaned back. “He needs you, his legacy.”

“Ah!” You screamed, frustrated and at your wit's end. “Papa, take my hand.” You begged him, leaning over the banister and stretching your arm out to him. “Take my hand, Papa. I'll help you, just touch my hand.”

Henry had been woken up by your cries and got out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself, he had stayed in the Manor at your request, concerned for you, since your mother and aunt only seemed concerned with each other. He went upstairs to your floor, found your bedroom door open, but empty and icy cold.

“Papa, please!” Your voice echoed up to him.

Turning he started to the ground floor, and found you teetering over the banister, arm extended to your max reach over the far distance to the ground, toes barely touching the floor. Henry's heart started at the sight of you, the look of sheer terror and panic on your face, tears flowing. He shivered, unaware that he was standing right behind Helena.

“Papa, crossover! You can't allow yourself to be stuck here. Not like the rest of them, please!” You begged him, desperate.

Helena turned to Henry, making her clicking and popping sounds as she brought her contorted mouth to his ear. “Save her.” She hissed to him, making his thick body shake with cold, then ran the sharp tip of her finger up his spine, and with a flicker and shake of his head, Henry could see the white, contorted and transparent floating apparition of your father.

“Dear, God.” He gasped, mouth falling to the floor.

Ulysses locked eyes with Henry, his pure white eye sockets burned holes into Henry's very being. “Tell her. Make her, say yes. Protect her.” He rasped and moaned at him.

You looked back and finally noticed Henry standing there. “Henry!” You called out, surprised to see him.

“Y/n!” Henry yelled back, starting forward as you started to slip and lose your balance, just managing to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back from falling, potentially, to your death. “Y/n.” He repeated your name, in a scared pant, hugging you back against him.

“You saw him.” You panted back, in shock.

“Yeah.” Henry let out in a startled rush, glancing back, but didn't see your father anymore. “Is he gone?” He asked, looking back to you.

You looked back and saw nothing either, but still felt the chill of Helena. “No.” You shook your head. “I think,” You gulped, pressing your hand to your forehead. “I think he's crossed over.” You said, softly.

“Well, that-that's good.” Henry sighed, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “Y/n, I know this isn't the best time to tell you this.” He said, gulping and licking his lips as you turned to look up at him. “But, two weeks before your father died, I asked him for your hand.” Henry confessed to you. “He gave me his answer, the day before he left for his trip.”

“You?” You squeaked up at him, stunned at the revelation. “My father agreed to allow you to marry me?” You asked, shaking your head.

Henry looked at you, hot knots twisting up in his stomach, fearing your reaction. “Yes.” He nodded. “He said, he would tell you after his trip and that our courtship would start there after.” He explained to you, chewing on his lip and cheek.

“It was you.” You said softly, feeling incredibly relieved. “Oh, thank the heavens.” You let out a relieved breath, relaxing and slumping against the wall behind you.

“You're not upset, or opposed to it?” Henry asked, shocked that you seemed joyous about it.

“No.” You grinned and laughed, a sense of freedom washing over you. “No, not at all. He told me, the morning he left, that someone had asked, but wouldn't tell me who, until after he returned home.”

“But, you were afraid to find out who it was.” He said, it was plain to see.

“Yes.” You admitted, honestly. “I feared that my father had reconsidered Elias's proposal and told him yes.”

“Elias asked your father?” Henry asked, eyes wide with shock, and anger.

“The night of the ball, where he was trying to provoke you.” You explained to him, and rolled your eyes. “Probably his attempt to 'put me in my place'.” You huffed, shaking your head at the memory.

Henry growled at the thought of Elias trying to encroach on you. “Well, I know, it's not conventional or the best timing, but, would you like to marry me?” He asked, shyly.

You smiled up at Henry, resting your hand on his forearm. “I would love to marry you, Henry.” You told him, out of your wildest fantasies about being rescued from your life, Henry was the closet and most perfect depiction of that knight. “Does anyone else know about this?” You asked, narrowing your eyes, knowing that if you both were to go public with your courtship, Elias might dispute the claim, and now your marital status was in the feeble hands of your mother.

“Yes, Thaddeus was in the room, when I asked and when your father gave me his consent.” Henry assured you, cupping your hands in his, following your train of thought.

“That's good.” You sighed, relieved.

Henry smiled at you, and couldn't help himself, he cupped your cheek in his hand and kissed you, delicately on the lips. You smiled and giggled, your first kiss, and kissed him back. “I should get you back to bed.” Henry whispered, breaking the kiss, but still very close to you. “It's late and been a trying day.”

“It has.” You agreed, feeling the exhaustion and soreness in your body. “I'll tell my mother in the morning.” You said, as you walked back up to your room with him.

“I think that's a good idea.” Henry agreed, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. “Is it all right, if I stay in one of the rooms up here?” He asked, turning his body towards the other closed doorways on your floor, he wanted to be closer to you, in cause you needed him again, but still respectful and proper, at least until you were truly his wife.

“Of course.” You nodded, getting into bed. “There's one at the end of the hall you'll find more comfortable. The others haven't been used in, at least, my lifetime.” Henry bowed his head at you, resting his hand on the knob of your door. “Don't.” You gasped, as he started to close it.

Henry looked at you, a small crease on his brow, but smiled gently at you, nodding his head. “Of course.” He assured you, letting it go. “Good night, y/n.” He bid you, softly.

“Good night, Henry.” You replied, laying down on your side.

You watched Henry go down the hall to Grace's old room, opening the door and stepping inside. He glanced around the room that had been shut up for several years, but you still occasionally went into the room, to sleep, when your hysterical terrors became too much for you. Her room had become a safe haven for you. Henry pulled back the quilts on the bed and laid down, both of you could see each other through the open doorways, and you fell asleep with the calming assurance that Henry was there, watching over you.

-- Part II --

474 notes · View notes

dreamwritesimagines · 4 years

Text

Twisted 15 - Playing with Fire [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking.

Word Count: 3800

Summary: Good intentions can lead to bad consequences.

Your first night with Spencer was different than any other time with anyone else you had ever been with, and you were one hundred percent sure that he would have some scientific explanation for it, but for you, the reason behind that was very simple.

Even if you couldn’t even admit it to yourself yet.

But for the first time in a very long time, your nightmares left you alone. Your sleep wasn’t disturbed, not by anything unpleasant anyway and you were almost sure that the small movement beside you in bed followed by a soft kiss into your neck was a part of your dreams.

The fuzzy feeling spread through you as the haze of the sleep slowly withdrew from your body and you snuggled closer into the covers, not ready to leave the warmth yet but as soon as you turned and felt the empty spot next to you, you opened your eyes, frowning. You sat up in bed, rubbing at your eyes and grabbed the folded paper lying on the pillow beside yours.

Beatrice;

She is the sum of nature’s universe,

To her perfection all of beauty tends.

Dante.

You smiled and your eyes skimmed the next lines under the quote.

New case in Ohio, they called in the whole team.

You heaved a sigh, falling back to bed again, pulling the silk sheets over your head and letting out a groan. The sunshine that seemed to fill your veins had disappeared already, leaving its place to coldness and you kicked off the sheets to walk to the bathroom.

After taking a long hot shower, you got dressed and blow dried your hair, humming a song to yourself, the memory of last night flashing in your mind, sending a spark through your whole system. You turned off the blow drier, stealing a look at your phone to see whether Spencer had texted you yet but there was nothing, so you grabbed it and left the bathroom.

As soon as you stepped into the kitchen, a shriek left your lips, making your mother turn around.

“Y/N!”

“Jesus Christ mom!” you pressed a hand over your chest, “How many times do I have to tell you not to break into my apartment?”

“It’s not breaking in if I have a key.”

“That key is for emergencies,” you let out a breath, “There’s a copycat killer sending me flowers, remember? Now is not the time for surprises.”

She tilted her head, “Speaking of, I heard you let the security I fixed you go.”

“I’m not going to walk around with bodyguards,” you said as you approached the coffee maker, “There’s security at my office already, I can’t have it in my building too.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“As long as you don’t give me a heart attack, I think we will be fine,” you checked your wristwatch, “Damn it, I need to leave in five.”

“Well, I won’t take much of your time,” she said and put a file on the kitchen island, making you look up from the cup you were pouring your coffee into.

“What’s that?”

“I took the liberty of contacting Philip.”

“Your P.I?” you asked, “Why?”

“To look into your boyfriend of course.”

You blinked a couple of times and put the coffee cup down, “Mom, no.”

“Relax, I didn’t read it.”

“No,” you insisted, “No way. Throw that away.”

“Y/N, don’t you want to know if there’s anything in his past that might be—”

“I’m not going to dig into his past!” you interrupted her, your heartbeat getting faster, “Anything he wants to tell me, he can tell me himself, I’m not going to learn it from a freaking P.I file.”

She heaved a sigh, “You don’t know what he might be hiding from you.”

“He’s not hiding anything from me,” you said, “Also, I know his father isn’t a serial killer, which is more than I can say for myself. I’m the last person to judge someone for their past.”

“What your father has done has nothing to do with you,” she said, “I didn’t tell Philip to look into his parents sweetheart, just him.”

“Throw that away.”

She rolled her eyes, “Y/N.”

“I’m not going to read it,” you told her as you put your coffee down and grabbed your purse from the counter, “I gotta go, but lock the door behind you when you leave okay?”

“Y/N, we need to talk about this!”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you turned around to look at her, “Mom, for the first time in my life I actually feel—“ you paused for a moment, “He makes me happier than you could imagine, okay? I’m not going to betray his trust, not like that. Ever.”

She shot you a look and you walked out of the apartment, your phone already buzzing in your hand.

“Erica?” you greeted your assistant as you answered the phone, “I’m on my way.”

***

You definitely had not imagined the next two days going like this.

For starters, you had thought you would get to wake up next to Spencer. That didn’t happen.

You had thought you would have a peaceful morning. That didn’t happen.

You had assumed Spencer would call you, at least text you sometime in these two days, but that didn’t happen either. Between meetings and clients and running from venues to pastry shops to flower shops, you kept checking your phone but there was nothing. Even after you had texted him good morning, it was radio silent.

You tried to convince yourself that it was because of his job. You were busy during the day yes, but he was dealing with actual serial killers and their victims, so it was more than normal that he couldn’t find….five seconds to text you.

Maybe.

On second day though, you were getting way too restless.

“Nothing?” Mina asked as she came back from the bathroom and you put your phone down, taking a sip of your rosé and averting your glances to the other people in the restaurant.

“No,” you murmured, “It’s—it’s fine.”

“Is it though?”

You clicked your tongue and pushed at your salad with your fork, “No,” you admitted, “It’s not fine.”

“Thought so.”

“It’s just that…” you heaved a sigh, “Maybe— I don’t know, maybe I misunderstood what this was?”

“Or maybe he’s an idiot.”

“He has an IQ of 187, Mina.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not an idiot,” she pointed at you with her fork, “Listen, you know what kind of a job he has. Every second counts when you’re hunting down killers.”

“A text takes like five seconds to type,” you reminded her and bit inside your cheek, “What if—“

“No,” Mina said, “Whatever you’re thinking right now, that’s not what’s happening here. You just decided to date a guy who has the worst work hours, that’s it,” she tilted her head, “Speaking of, did mom seriously get Philip to look into him?”

“Oh my God yes!” you looked up at her, finally able to focus on something else, “Can you believe that?”

“Yes I can. I one hundred percent saw that coming,” she sipped her drink, “I didn’t think she would tell you though, not after what happened the last time.”

You frowned, but then a look of realization dawned on your face, “Right,” you said, “She did the same when you and Kenzie started dating. I almost forgot.”

“Kenzie broke up with me when she found out,” she reminded you, shaking her head, “It was the worst week of my life. I had to beg her to at least listen to me.”

“I mean I get that she was angry, but breaking up?”

“I don’t know how I would react if she did the same thing to me,” Mina stated, “I can’t blame her, not really. It was way out of line.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I didn’t read it.”

“You shouldn’t read it,” Mina said, “Did you get rid of it?”

“I told mom to throw it away as I was leaving,” you said, “I didn’t see it on the counter when I came back, so I guess she did throw it away. Or took it with her, I don’t know.”

“You do realize none of this would be happening if you didn’t walk around announcing you’re in love—”

Your eyes widened, “Mina!”

“What? Just because you didn’t tell him doesn’t mean it’s not crystal clear to the rest of us.”

“I didn’t announce anything!”

“You might as well have,” she said, “Now that you got laid, there’s no excuse to that behavior.”

“At least I’m not calling him my love,” you pointed out and Mina scrunched up her nose.

“Don’t remind me,” she murmured, “I don’t know what mom is thinking. Also, apparently, there’s this auction for charity and all of us are supposed to be there. You, me, Kenzie…. Do you want to guess who the sponsor is?”

“Mom’s boyfriend.”

“Mom’s boyfriend,” she repeated, clinking her glass with yours, “Trust me, that’s gonna be a disaster.”

For the rest of the day, Spencer made no contact with you, and it was becoming more nerve-wrecking than you had thought it would be. Every hour your mind came up with some theory that was even more ridiculous than the other.

You had started with the theory of that night before not being as good for him as it was for you and somehow reached the theory of him lying dead in a ditch because a serial killer had gotten to him. Your fingers were practically itching for you to call him but you managed to control yourself, pouring yourself a glass of whiskey and trying to focus on the emails your assistant had sent you.

But the buzz of your phone was more than enough to make you sit up straight and snatch your phone off the coffee table. You touched the screen, your eyes skimming the text.

Sorry I couldn’t call, the case was chaotic and we just landed. Can I drop by? I missed you.

You stared at the screen, trying to repress the fury bubbling inside of you but managed to reply with just one word.

Sure.

Two days of complete silence, and then I missed you.

Lovely.

You let out a breath, forcing yourself to focus on the screen of your laptop instead of the anger filling you, because if you didn’t calm yourself down you were pretty damn sure that tonight would end in a huge argument.

And you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to let yourself play that messed up pushing and pulling game with him, because you knew where that would end.

It took more than an hour and a couple of glasses of whiskey, but when you heard the knock on your door, you pushed the cashmere throw off of you and walked to the door to open it.

Damn it, even the sight of him at your door was more than enough to make you want to rush into his arms, but you managed to hold your ground, leaning sideways to the door to take a look at him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in these two days and he was clearly exhausted, if not physically then mentally. The thought tugged at your heartstrings and you pressed your lips together.

“Welcome back,” you managed to say, not moving an inch to kiss or hug him and of course that didn’t escape his notice. Even when he was tired, he knew exactly how to read you.

You opened the door wider and walked back into the living room, listening to him close the door behind him and follow you.

“Tough case?”

“Yeah- is everything okay?”

His question made you turn around to look at him and you crossed your arms, frowning slightly.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Hm?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said, “I guess I’m surprised to hear from you, that’s all.”

A look of realization flashed over his handsome face, “I wanted to call you,” he said quickly, “I really did, but as soon as we landed in Ohio they took us into the crime scene, and the whole night I tried to crack the case but it turned out the killer had already committed—“

“A text would’ve been fine,” you pointed out, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, “You didn’t get five seconds to yourself, professor?”

“Will you believe me if I say no?”

“No,” you stated, “Not really. It’s fine, I just misunderstood what this was,” you motioned at him,”It’s—like I said, it’s fine. I just didn’t know it before so I got confused, that’s all.”

“What did you misunderstand?” he asked you and you shrugged your shoulders again like a petulant child, keeping silent. He watched you, his brows furrowed as he tried to understand what was happening before he pulled back slightly.

“You thought—“ he started, his voice soft, “You thought I’d leave you like that?”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

Don’t fucking say—

“What do I care if you left?”

Anthony, -your ex you had broken up with months and months ago- had once told you that during the arguments, especially if you were mad at the person in front of you, it was like you were possessed by the devil himself.

“I have no idea what the fuck you want,” he had yelled at you, “I don’t think you know either.”

Now to think of it, you were beginning to agree with him about you being possessed because you knew it was illogical, you knew you were being petty and nonsense, and yet, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“You don’t care.” Spencer repeated, his aura changing completely, his tone calm and collected.

You supposed that was normal. You had already trespassed into his area of expertise voluntarily, and yes you could push and pull someone until they broke, but Spencer could play these mind games and come out on top no matter how much you tried to beat him at that.

The thought of him taking a peek into all these defenses you had spent years building was so intimidating that for a moment you felt almost naked and blinked a couple of times, your nose in the air.

Walking away when you were at your own goddamn apartment was a challenge but your pettiness knew no limits.

“You know what, I’m gonna take a shower, it’s really late.”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah listen, like I said, it’s fine. You missed me, you saw me and we’re clearly both very happy right now, so do you mind closing the door behind you when you leave?” you said, your voice cold as ice and took a step to walk past him but he grabbed your arm before you could do that, his grip firm but not painful.

“You know I can see through that, right?” his voice was low as your heart started pacing in your chest, the fire shooting through you despite anger, “Try to run away from it, lie to me all you want, but I’m not one of those clueless idiots around you. We both know you do care.”

It was as if there was an invisible electric wire crackling between your bodies, getting stronger and stronger with each second passing. Your eyes narrowed as you stood still for a moment, like a snake ready to strike, your mind going overdrive with where to attack him first.

“Then it’s a good thing one of us does,” you managed to say, your voice like a hiss, “Because we both know that you don’t.”

Something behind his eyes shifted but before you could even question what it was he had already pulled you into a kiss, his fingers buried into your hair while he walked you back until your back collided with the wall. You pushed his jacket off of him, not caring where it ended up and your fingers nimbly tried to get rid of his tie, a whine escaping from your lips when you had to break the kiss so that he could pull the oversized shirt you were wearing over your head. He pulled back for a moment, his fiery gaze focused on you and that was when you understood why he had stopped.

He was making sure he would remember this.

You pushed yourself off the wall, flinging yourself into his arms once again. It was nearly impossible to fight the urge of being closer to him, so you gave in as his hand tugged at the roots of your hair while both of you blindly tried to find the nearest flat surface, knocking over a vase and the floor lamp in process before he finally pushed you back to the couch. A squeal escaped from your lips when you landed on the soft cushions, but it soon turned into a moan when his body covered yours, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Well,” he murmured, his low voice in your ear giving you shivers, “Let’s test that theory then.”

***

Of course he woke up before you. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he hadn’t slept at all but he looked better rested than when he first had got there, so you figured he at least got a couple of hours. He had put his pants and white button up on, but his tie and jacket were still scattered along the room. He was sitting by the edge of couch, his files all over the coffee table as his eyes darted between them and he dragged his fingertips over the papers, but when he felt you watching him, he turned his head to look at you, a smile pulling at his lips, mirroring yours.

“Good morning,” he said and your smile widened before he leaned in to kiss you.

“Hi,” you murmured as you reached out to touch his curls, “Why does your hair look prettier than mine in the morning?”

He chuckled against your lips, “You’re seeing things,” he said, stealing another kiss from you before pulling back, his thumb caressing over your cheekbone.

“What time is it?” you rasped out and he checked his wristwatch.

“7,” he said and you scrunched up your nose,

“How much time do you have?”

“Less than half an hour,” he sighed, “How much time do you have?”

“Perks of being the boss,” you wiggled your brows, “I don’t have any meetings before ten o’clock today.”

“Lucky.”

“Incredibly lucky,” you winked at him as you pecked him on the lips and grabbed your bra and underwear off the floor, painfully aware of his gaze on you sending fire underneath your cheeks. You got into your shirt, then narrowed your eyes at him.

“It’s rude to stare professor, where are your manners?” you asked, making him chuckle before he snapped his fingers as if he just thought of something.

“I almost forgot,” he said, pulling away to grab his satchel and he dug into it to pull out a small magnet, making you gasp and snatch it out of his hand.

“You remembered!” you said with a smile, “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll put it on the fridge. Coffee?”

He raised his brows and nodded his head, “Yes please.”

“I’m beginning to think I’m becoming a profiler,” you grinned at him and fixed your hair before jumping over the back of the couch. You had every intention to walk to the kitchen but you couldn’t help yourself as you leaned over to rest your chin on his shoulder and kissed his cheek, making him smile. He entwined his fingers with you, pressing his lips on the back of your hand, the warmth spreading from that spot through your whole body.

“Thank you,” you said softly and he turned his head to look at you,

“Of course, it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s… it’s not nothing.” You shook your head, “It makes me happy.”

The light in his eyes was so warm that you thought you would melt.

“Good, because I want—“ he swallowed thickly, “I need you to be happy.”

You nibbled on your lip before you stole a kiss from him,

“I am,” you murmured, not lying for the first time in your life. You rushed to the kitchen, putting the magnet on the fridge carefully before you turned the coffee machine on.

“So I was thinking,” you said, “About this 7 hour long conference.”

“You lost that bet, you have to attend it with me.”

“Ah no, I’m not trying to skip it,” you leaned on the kitchen island, “I just have a question.”

He looked over his shoulder, “Yeah?”

“There are bathrooms there right?”

“Of course.”

“And everyone will be pretty busy during and after the sessions?”

“Yeah because the Q and A sometimes goes longer than planned.”

“Great, so we can hook up in the bathroom?”

He blinked a couple of times, as if he couldn’t tell if you were joking.

“Come again?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “What? No one ever does anything fun in these conferences?”

“I don’t—“ he stammered, “They’re highly academic, so I don’t think… I don’t think anyone—um—”

“You okay there, professor?” you grinned, aware of your effect of your words “You’re telling me you keep attending these conferences and then you end up not hooking up with anyone?”

He shook his head, still confused and you winked at him.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you said, “You’re going to be late if you just keep sitting there and gawking at me by the way, IQ of 187.”

He tried to pull himself together, gathering his files as you turned around to get the cups out of the cabinet.

“For the record, I think people are having fun in a non-academic way in these things, you just don’t know it yet,” you said, pouring the coffee into the cups “In one of the conferences we had to attend during college, me and my friend got these flasks of whiskey, then we—“ you stopped talking when you turned around and saw him standing there, completely frozen as he skimmed the papers in one of his files.

“What?” you asked when his eyes snapped up to yours, but there was something behind his gaze, completely void of the affection you were used to seeing. He swallowed thickly, his jaw clenched and he threw the file onto the kitchen island, making you frown.

Then a shudder ran down your spine.

Your mom’s file on Spencer. The one she had told her P.I to prepare when she paid him to look into Spencer’s past. You had just assumed your mother threw it away when you couldn’t see it after you came home that day, but apparently you should’ve looked harder.

“Y/N,” his voice sounded way too distant, way too cold, “What the hell is this?”

Chapter 16

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer #reid #spencer x reader #reid x reader #cm #spencer imagine #spencer imagines #reid imagine #reid imagines #criminal minds imagine #twisted

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